jo

every milestone had your fingerprints on it, just like she had hers on yours, something steady and unspoken threading through everything you’d built so of course the night was planned, of course it was thoughtful, because that’s how paige loved you—quietly, consistently, in ways that didn’t need to be loud to mean everything.

she’d made the reservation days ago—one of those quiet dallas spots tucked between glass buildings and warm streetlights, the kind where the air smells faintly like expensive perfume and wine you pretend to understand, where conversations blur into a low hum and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should, like the world has been dimmed down to just the two of you. 

she shows up with flowers, of course she does, because five years in and she still treats you like the first time you said yes, like there’s still something to win, something to prove, even though she’s had you for so long now. 

they’re not dramatic flowers either, nothing loud or overwhelming, just something small and thoughtful, your favorite without you ever having to remind her, the kind of detail that lives in the quiet corners of love where most people forget to look and for a second, when she hands them to you—fingers brushing yours, that familiar warmth settling into your chest like something you’ve memorized so deeply it feels instinctive—you think this is it, this is the life you built, easy and steady and yours in a way that doesn’t ask questions, in a way that feels complete without needing to prove itself to anyone else.

“you look pretty.” she says, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything, like she hasn’t just tilted your entire night with something so simple.

you roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling, already giving in the way you always do, because loving her has never been something you’ve known how to resist. “you say that every time.”

“because it’s always true.”

and god, you hate how she still makes your heart trip over itself like that, like five years hasn’t taught it how to be normal around her, like it still stumbles and rushes and forgets how to breathe properly. five years of this, of her hand finding yours under tables without thinking, of late-night practices turning into conversations that stretch until the sky starts to lighten and neither of you remembers how they started, of learning each other in pieces and then all at once, of dallas becoming home in a way you didn’t expect when she first signed with the wings, when everything felt temporary and uncertain and a little too fast. 

you were there for all of it, every shift, every doubt, every quiet victory that didn’t make headlines but meant everything anyway as five years of building something quiet and solid, something people look at and assume must already have the next step planned out, because that’s what they always ask, isn’t it, at every reunion, every holiday, every passing comment that lingers just a second too long.

so, when are you two having kids? it settles into you even now, tucked somewhere in the back of your mind like a splinter you stopped trying to pull out, something small but constant, something that only really hurts when you press on it too hard.

you don’t get to sit with it long, though, because your phone buzzes against the table, sharp and sudden and out of place in a night that was supposed to be smooth, once, then twice, then again, insistent in a way that pulls your attention whether you want it or not you frown, glancing down at the screen, and paige notices immediately—she always does, her expression shifting just slightly, her focus narrowing in on you like the rest of the room has fallen away, like nothing else matters once something feels off with you.

“everything okay?”

you don’t answer right away, because the message doesn’t make sense at first, not really, your brain catching on certain words but refusing to piece them together—your sister’s name, hospital, emergency, can you take her and your stomach drops before your thoughts can fully catch up, before you can make it something manageable instead of something that feels too big all at once.

“hey,” paige leans forward now, voice softer, steadier, grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “what is it?”

you swallow, reading it again like it might change, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less urgent, less real, but they don’t, they stay exactly as they are, heavy and immediate and impossible to ignore.

“my—” your voice catches, and you hate that it does, hate how quickly the calm slips through your fingers. “my brother-in-law’s in the hospital. something with his appendix, they think. my sister’s with him but—” you pause, exhaling shakily, trying to keep your thoughts from tangling over each other. “they need someone to take lila.”

lila, your niece, four years old with soft curls that never quite stay in place and bright, curious eyes that seem to hold more emotion than they should at that age, with sticky hands that always reach for yours the second she sees you like you’re something steady in her world, something she doesn’t have to question paige doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, not even long enough to consider what this does to the night she planned so carefully or how long she’s been looking forward to it.

“okay,” she says, already pulling her phone out, already shifting gears like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “we’ll go get her.”

we, it’s always we, always something shared, something that belongs to both of you without needing to be defined as you blink at her, still caught somewhere between the life you were about to have for the night and the one that’s suddenly replaced it.

“paige, the reservation—”

“we can cancel.”

“the flowers—”

she shrugs, like it’s nothing, even though you know better, even though you saw the way she checked the time earlier, making sure everything would line up perfectly. “she’s more important.”

just like that, the night shifts, not in a way that feels like it’s falling apart, but in a way that feels like it’s being rewritten, reshaped into something you didn’t plan but somehow still fits just as naturally as anything you would have chosen.

lila answers the door in mismatched socks and a t-shirt that hangs too big on her small frame, eyes lighting up the second she sees you like you’ve just given her the best surprise she could’ve asked for.

“auntie!” she launches herself at you, small arms wrapping around your legs, and whatever tension was sitting in your chest melts instantly, replaced by something warmer, something easier that you didn’t even realize you needed.

“hey, bug,” you murmur, crouching down to pull her close, pressing a quick kiss to her hair that smells faintly like whatever shampoo your sister bought last. “missed me already?”

“yes,” she says, completely serious, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like there’s no version of reality where she wouldn’t.

paige’s hand settles at the small of your back, steady and familiar, grounding you without drawing attention to itself. “hey, lila,” she adds, softer, and lila turns immediately, her grin somehow widening.

“paigey!”

that’s when it becomes obvious—immediately, overwhelmingly obvious that you are not the favorite this weekend, not even close, not even competing. because the second paige crouches a little, opening her arms just slightly, lila doesn’t even hesitate before reaching for her instead, abandoning you mid-hug like you were just a checkpoint on the way to where she actually wanted to be. 

paige laughs, surprised but easy about it, lifting her up like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there, and lila just melts into her, small arms wrapping around her neck like she’s not planning on letting go anytime soon.

“hi, paigey,” she says again, softer this time, like it means more up close, like she’s been waiting specifically for this part while you let out a quiet, offended huff. “okay. wow. i see how it is.”

lila doesn’t even look at you not once.

she’s too busy pressing her cheek against paige’s shoulder, already settling in like she’s claimed her spot for the entire weekend, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt like if she loosens her grip even a little someone might take her away.

paige glances at you, amused, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. “i think you’ve been replaced.”

“you think?” you mutter, but there’s no real bite to it, just something softer, something that settles in your chest in a way you don’t expect.

“you ready for a sleepover?” paige asks, adjusting her hold like she’s done it a thousand times.

lila pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes wide. “really?!”

“really.”

“with snacks?”

“obviously.”

“and movies?” paige glances at you briefly before looking back at her, her voice warm in a way that feels effortless. “as many as you can stay awake for.”

lila gasps like she’s just been handed the best deal of her life and then immediately buries her face back into paige’s shoulder like she never plans on leaving it, and you realize then that this isn’t just excitement, it’s attachment, immediate and intense and completely unfiltered in the way only kids can manage.

the weekend unfolds in layers of that same energy, lila glued to paige in a way that becomes almost ridiculous, like she’s decided, without discussion, that paige is her person for the next forty-eight hours and nothing is going to change that. 

she follows her everywhere, small footsteps trailing right behind hers, reaching for her hand before she even thinks to ask, climbing into her lap the second she sits down like it’s the most natural thing in the world when paige tries to stand up at one point, lila tightens her grip around her neck and mumbles a quiet “no.” like that settles it, like movement is no longer allowed.

“lila,” you laugh softly, leaning against the counter as you watch them, “you’re gonna have to let her breathe at some point.”

“no!” she repeats, firmer this time, face tucked into paige’s hoodie, paige just shrugs, completely unbothered, one hand rubbing slow circles over lila’s back like it’s instinct. “i think i’m fine.”

she is, that’s the thing, she doesn’t look overwhelmed or unsure or even slightly out of place, she looks comfortable, settled into it like this is something she’s always known how to do, like taking care of someone small and soft and completely dependent isn’t something new, it’s just another extension of who she already is.

there are pancakes in the morning that turn into more batter on the counters than in the pan because lila insists on helping paige specifically, standing on a chair beside her and handing her things she doesn’t need just to be involved, just to be close there are cartoons where lila refuses to sit anywhere except pressed against paige’s side, occasionally looking up at her instead of the screen like she’s more interesting than whatever’s playing. 

there’s a moment in the afternoon where you try to pull her away to wash her hands and she actually pouts, reaching back toward paige like you’re taking her from somewhere she belongs. “she’s really attached.” you say quietly later, watching as lila dozes off against paige’s chest, completely knocked out like she spent all her energy just existing this close to her.

paige looks down at her, something soft settling over her features, something quieter than you’re used to seeing. “yeah.” she murmurs, careful not to move too much. “i noticed.” and then, after a second, almost like she doesn’t mean to say it out loud. “i don’t mind.”

you don’t respond right away, because there’s something in the way she says it, something deeper than just this weekend, something that lingers a little too long to be brushed off as nothing.

the rest of the time passes the same way, lila orbiting paige like she’s the center of something important, like everything else is secondary, and you exist somewhere just outside of it, watching it happen in real time, feeling something unfamiliar settle in your chest that you don’t quite name but don’t push away either and then sunday comes too fast, like it always does when something matters more than you expected it to.

your sister texts that they’re back, that everything’s okay, that they’ll come pick up lila in an hour, and you read it twice before you say anything, like you’re trying to slow the moment down just by holding onto it a little longer.

“she’s going home.” you say eventually, your voice quieter than before paige nods, but her hand doesn’t stop moving against lila’s back, slow and absentminded, like she’s not ready for that to change yet.

when you tell lila, she doesn’t react at first, like she didn’t hear you, like the words didn’t quite land where they were supposed to but then she lifts her head, blinking sleepily, and looks between the two of you like she’s trying to understand.

“home?” she asks. “yeah, bug,” you say gently. “mommy’s coming to get you.”

her face falls not in a dramatic, not loud, just quiet and immediate in a way that hurts more than anything else could.

“but…” her voice wobbles, small hands tightening in paige’s shirt. “i stay with paigey.”

paige exhales softly, something in her expression shifting as she adjusts her hold, pulling her just a little closer. “hey,” she murmurs, brushing a curl back from her face. “you gotta go home, okay?”

lila shakes her head, quick and stubborn, burying her face into paige’s shoulder like if she can’t see it, it won’t happen. “no. i stay.”

you swallow, glancing at paige, but she’s already focused on her, already handling it in that quiet, steady way she does everything.

“listen,” paige says softly, not forcing, not rushing, just patient. “you can come back, yeah? this isn’t the last time.” lila sniffles, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy. “promise?”

but something about that—something about the way she asks it, like it matters more than anything else—makes your chest tighten paige doesn’t hesitate.

“promise.”

lila studies her for a second like she’s deciding whether to believe it, and then slowly, reluctantly, she nods, but she doesn’t let go, not until the very last second, not until your sister is at the door and gently coaxing her away, not until her fingers finally loosen from paige’s shirt like it physically hurts to do it.

“bye, paigey.” she says, small and sad, reaching for her one more time paige crouches down, pulling her into one last hug, tighter this time. “bye, bug. i’ll see you soon, okay?”

lila nods against her, but she still looks back twice before she leaves, like she’s not sure she wants to walk away at all.

when the door finally closes, when the apartment settles back into something quieter, something emptier it lingers that feeling yet that shift.

you look at paige, and she’s already looking at you, something unreadable but soft sitting right beneath the surface, and neither of you says it out loud but it’s there, clear as anything, this wasn’t just a weekend, it was something else entirely. 

it lingers in the quiet that follows, in the way the apartment feels bigger now, emptier in a way that doesn’t quite make sense because nothing actually changed, nothing is missing that wasn’t always gone before, and yet it feels like something was there, something warm and loud and alive that settled into the space so naturally you didn’t even notice it happening until it was gone. 

the cartoons aren’t playing anymore, the countertops are wiped clean, the small socks that had been abandoned near the couch are folded and set aside, and still, somehow, the echo of her laughter sticks to the walls like it hasn’t decided to leave yet.

paige doesn’t move right away, still standing where she had crouched to hug lila goodbye, like her body hasn’t caught up to the fact that there’s no one there to hold anymore, like her hands are still expecting something small to reach back for her. 

you watch the way she exhales slowly, the way her shoulders drop just slightly, not heavy, not upset, just more aware, like she felt it too, whatever this was, whatever settled into both of you over the last two days without asking permission.

“it’s quiet.” you say finally, your voice softer than you expect it to be, like speaking too loudly might break something fragile still hanging in the air.

paige huffs a small breath that almost turns into a laugh, but not quite. “yeah,” she murmurs, straightening up, her hand dragging absentmindedly over the back of her neck. “a little too quiet.”

you lean back against the counter, arms crossing loosely as you watch her, taking in the way she moves through the space now, slower than before, like she’s noticing things she didn’t earlier, like every corner holds some small reminder of the weekend she walks past the couch, pauses for half a second like she’s about to sit, then doesn’t, like she forgot what she was going to do once she got there.

“you miss her already.” you say, not teasing, not really, just stating something that feels obvious.

paige glances at you, something flickering in her expression before she looks away again, like she’s deciding how honest she wants to be, like she’s weighing it in real time. “she’s hard not to miss,” she says after a second, voice quieter now, more grounded.

you nod slightly, because that’s true, because lila has always been like that, easy to love, easy to get attached to, but this—this felt different you saw it in the way she clung to paige, in the way paige never once pulled away, never once seemed unsure or overwhelmed or out of place. 

it wasn’t just that lila liked her, it was that she trusted her, immediately and completely, like there was something about paige that felt safe enough to hold onto without question and maybe that’s what’s sitting in your chest now, heavy and light all at once, something you can’t quite sort out.

paige finally moves again, stepping into the kitchen, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the counter like she’s looking for something to do, something to ground herself in. “she really didn’t let me breathe, though.” she adds, a small smile tugging at her mouth, softer now, almost fond.

you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “you loved it.”

she doesn’t answer right away and that’s what makes you look at her like really look because paige isn’t someone who hesitates, not like that, not over something simple, but right now there’s a pause, small but noticeable, like she’s standing on the edge of something she hasn’t fully stepped into yet.

“yeah,” she admits finally, her voice low, almost like it slipped out before she could stop it. “i did.”

it settles between you, heavier than the words should be, because it’s not just about this weekend, not really, it’s about everything that came with it, everything it showed you without asking if you were ready to see it.

you push off the counter slowly, taking a step closer, not rushing it, not forcing anything that doesn’t need to be forced. “you’re good with her.” you say, softer now, more careful.

paige looks at you again, properly this time, her expression open in a way that feels rare, like she’s not trying to hide behind anything. “she’s easy.” she says, but there’s something under it, something that doesn’t quite match the simplicity of the words.

“no,” you shake your head slightly, closing the space between you just a little more. “you are.”

she holds your gaze for a second longer than usual, like she’s searching for something, like she’s trying to figure out what you mean without asking you to explain it. “you think so?” she asks, quieter now and it’s such a small question, but it lands heavier than anything else she’s said.

you nod without hesitation. “i know so.”

something shifts in her expression then, something softer, something almost uncertain in a way you don’t see often, like she’s not used to looking at herself through that lens, like she’s not sure what to do with it now that it’s there.

“she didn’t wanna leave you.” you add, your voice gentler now, like you’re easing into something neither of you has said out loud yet.

paige exhales slowly, her gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you. “i didn’t really want her to.” she admits, and there’s no humor in it this time, no deflection, just honesty, plain and steady and there it is.

that thing which is the one that’s been sitting between you since yesterday afternoon, since the moment you caught her watching, since the moment lila drew the three of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your chest tightens, not in a bad way, not in a way that makes you want to pull back, just in a way that feels real. “paige.” you start, quieter now, your voice catching just slightly on her name.

she doesn’t look away, doesn't interrupt, just waits for you as you swallow, trying to find the right words, something that won’t make this feel bigger than it already does, even though it is, even though there’s no way around that now. “this weekend—”

“i know,” she says softly, cutting in just enough to stop you from overthinking it, like she’s already where you are, like she’s been there a little longer you let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “yeah?”

she nods, slow, deliberate. “yeah.”

another pause settles, but it’s different this time, not uncertain, not hesitant, just full, like everything that needs to be said is already there, sitting in the space between you without needing to be spelled out.

“they’re gonna ask again,” you say after a moment, something a little more grounded, a little more familiar slipping back in. “next reunion.”

paige huffs a quiet laugh, her head tilting slightly. “they always do.”

“and we always say someday.” she watches you carefully now, like she knows where this is going, like she’s not going to let you back out of it this time.

“yeah,” she says, softer whereas you hesitate, just for a second, just long enough to feel it fully before you step into it. “what if someday isn’t as far away as we keep pretending it is?”

the words hang there, heavier than anything else you’ve said, heavier than anything you’ve let yourself think too clearly before now.

paige doesn’t react right away, doesn't joke, and doesn't deflect; she just looks at you, really looks at you, like she’s taking in every part of what you just said, like she’s measuring it against something she’s been holding onto quietly for longer than you realized.

“you mean that?” she asks, her voice low, steady, but there’s something under it, something that feels a little like hope and a little like fear all at once.

you nod, slower this time, more certain. “i think i do.”

another silence, but it’s not empty but it’s full of everything you haven’t said over the years, every moment you brushed off, every question you avoided, every “someday” that felt easier than figuring out what you actually wanted.

paige steps closer then, closing the last bit of space between you, her hand finding yours like it always does, like it doesn’t know how not to. “okay,” she says quietly just that.

okay.

it’s not an answer, not fully, not something that maps everything out or makes it simple, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough, because it means she’s there with you, in it, not running from it, not brushing it off.

you squeeze her hand gently, something steady settling into your chest, something that feels less like a question now and more like the beginning of an answer and somewhere in the back of your mind, you can still hear lila’s voice, small and certain “i stay with paigey.”

but for the first time, the thought doesn’t feel distant or overwhelming or too big to hold it just feels possible.

it doesn’t happen all at once after that, not in some sudden, life-altering moment where everything shifts overnight instead, it settles into you both slowly, like something finding its place, like a quiet decision being made in pieces rather than all at once. 

the conversations aren’t big at first, not heavy or serious, just small things that slip into your days without warning paige asking what you think about houses instead of apartments, you lingering a little too long in the baby aisle at target without meaning to, both of you noticing it and neither of you pointing it out right away. 

it becomes something shared, something understood without needing to be defined, and somehow that makes it feel more real than anything you could’ve forced into words.

lila comes back, of course, because paige keeps her promise like she always does, and the second she steps through your door again it’s like nothing has changed except now she’s even more certain of where she belongs. 

she doesn’t even greet you properly this time, barely managing a quick “hi auntie” before she’s already reaching for paige, arms out like she’s been waiting all week just for this exact moment, like everything in her small world has been leading back here.

“paigey!”

paige laughs, dropping down just enough to catch her, lifting her up like it’s automatic, like there’s no thought behind it anymore. “hey, bug.”

lila wraps herself around her immediately, cheek pressed against her shoulder like she never quite stopped being there, like she just picked up where she left off.

“i told mommy i stay with you,” she says, completely serious, like this is a fact she’s already decided on.

you snort softly, leaning against the doorframe. “oh, you did, huh?”

lila nods firmly, pulling back just enough to look at paige. “i stay forever.”

paige well paige just smiles not in a joking way, not in a brushing-it-off way, but in that quiet, soft way you’ve come to recognize, the one that means she’s feeling something deeper than she’s letting on.

“we’ll see about that,” she murmurs, brushing a curl back from lila’s face.

but you catch it the way her voice softens the way her eyes flicker to you for just a second after and the way something unspoken passes between you both, quick but certain.

it builds from there, quietly, steadily, until it becomes something you can’t ignore even if you wanted to.

you don’t know when she starts planning it that’s the thing about Paige she moves in ways that don’t draw attention until suddenly everything clicks into place and you realize she’s been building something behind the scenes the entire time.

it’s a normal day when it happens, or at least it feels like one.

your sister invited you over, something about a small family dinner, nothing special, nothing that stands out as different from any other time you’ve all gathered together as you don’t question it, because you’ve gotten used to these, to the noise and the questions and the way your family fills up every space they’re in.

paige is quieter on the drive over, not distant, just focused, like her mind is somewhere else for a second longer than usual. “you good?” you ask, glancing at her.

she nods quickly, almost too quickly. “yeah. just tired.” you hum, accepting it, because it’s not unusual, because her schedule’s been packed lately and you know how much she’s been balancing.

you don’t see it yet you don’t notice the way her hand squeezes yours just a little tighter when you get out of the car, or the way she exhales slowly like she’s steadying herself before you walk in.

you don’t notice the way your mom smiles a little too knowingly when she sees you both you don’t notice any of it not until you step into the backyard and everything, everything feels different.

there are lights strung up, soft and warm, wrapping around the fence and the trees like something out of a memory you haven’t made yet there are flowers, your flowers that are placed carefully along the table, the same kind she brought you that night in dallas, the same quiet, thoughtful choice that means more than anything loud ever could. 

your family is there, all of them, standing a little too still, a little too expectant, like they’re holding something in your breath catches before your brain catches up.

“paige…” you start, your voice quieter now, uncertain in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

she’s already looking at you with that same look that was laced with something soft, steady, sure. “wait!” a small voice cuts through everything, loud and urgent.

lila.

she comes running toward you, curls bouncing, a wide grin on her face like she’s been holding onto a secret she can’t keep anymore as she stops right in front of you, slightly out of breath, holding something behind her back like it’s the most important thing she’s ever carried.

“i helped!” she announces proudly you blink, your heart already racing for reasons you’re starting to understand but not fully ready to accept.

“you did?” you ask softly she nods, then carefully brings her hands forward and there it is.

a small box not perfectly hidden, not carefully presented, just held out to you with all the excitement and seriousness a four-year-old can manage at the same time.

“for paigey,” she says, turning slightly to look at her. “do it.”

your breath stutters because now you see it all of it the way your family is watching the way paige’s hands are just slightly unsteady at her sides and the way the entire moment feels like it’s been waiting for you to catch up to it.

“paige…” you whisper, your voice barely there now.

she steps closer, slow, deliberate, like she doesn’t want to rush a single second of this, like she’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have without even realizing it.

“hey,” she says softly, her eyes not leaving yours lila tugs on her hand impatiently. “do it.” she repeats, quieter this time, but somehow even more serious.

paige lets out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, but it’s nervous, real in a way you don’t see often. “okay,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, like she’s grounding herself in the moment before it slips away.

then she takes the box from lila and drops down onto one knee and everything, while everything goes still. “i had a whole plan,” she admits, her voice softer now, a little uneven but steady where it matters. “like… something really thought out to say.”

you let out a shaky breath that almost turns into a laugh, your hands already trembling slightly at your sides. “but i think you know me well enough to know that i’m not gonna get through that without messing it up,” she adds, a small smile breaking through.

there’s a quiet ripple of laughter around you, but it fades quickly, because this, well this is everything paige looks up at you, and there’s nothing guarded in her expression, nothing held back, just honesty, just love, just five years of everything you’ve built sitting right there between you.

“we’ve done everything together,” she says, her voice steadier now. “every step, every change, every big moment. and none of it ever felt scary because you were there.”

your vision blurs slightly, but you don’t look away you can’t. “and i don’t wanna do anything else without you either,” she continues, quieter now, like the words mean more the softer she says them. “not the big stuff, not the small stuff, not any of it.”

lila shifts beside her, resting her hand on paige’s shoulder like she’s part of this too, like she belongs in this moment just as much as either of you and somehow she does.

“so,” paige exhales, her grip tightening slightly on the box before she opens it, revealing something simple, something perfect. “will you marry me?”

your heart stutters, then races, then feels like it’s trying to do both at once, like it doesn’t know how to process something this big happening all at once.

you look at her at lila and at your family and then back at her and there’s no hesitation there never really was. “yes,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the word. “yes.”

lila gasps like she’s just witnessed something incredible. “she said yes!”

paige lets out a breath that sounds like she’s been holding it for days, standing quickly, pulling you into her like she needs to make sure you’re real, like this moment is real.

your arms wrap around her just as tightly, laughter and something softer mixing together in your chest, something that feels like relief and excitement and love all at once.

somewhere between the noise of your family cheering and lila jumping up and down beside you, chanting “i knew it, i knew it,” paige pulls back just enough to press her forehead against yours.

which didn’t feel possible until you were living it in real time, until you were the one standing under the bar while she hovered too close, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. “you’re not even counting,” you mutter, breath steady as you press the bar up again, arms burning in that slow, familiar way that should’ve been the only thing on your mind.

it isn’t because she’s there because she’s always there behind you, spotting—but not really spotting, watching, lingering and yet grinning like this is her favorite part of the day.

“i am counting,” she says easily, like she isn’t leaning just a little too close, like her fingers didn’t just brush your side for no reason at all. “that was…six.” you rack the bar with a quiet clank, sitting up slower than you need to, giving yourself a second to breathe, to reset, to not react.

“that was ten.”

“same difference.”

“it is literally not the same difference.”she shrugs, unbothered, eyes dragging over you in a way that feels deliberate, like she’s taking her time with it, like she knows you can feel it. “depends. you look better when you’re annoyed. so maybe i’m helping.”

your jaw tightens because she’s right because she always knows exactly where to press.

“go away,” you say, grabbing your water bottle, tilting it back just to have something to do that isn’t looking at her, isn’t reacting to the way your chest feels a little too tight, a little too full.

she doesn’t go away of course she doesn’t instead, she lowers herself in front of you, elbows braced on her knees, close enough that you can feel the heat of her without even trying, her voice dropping just enough to slide under your skin.

“you love when i help.”

the words settle between you soft, dangerous, yet so familiar you roll your eyes, but there’s no real edge to it anymore, just something quieter, something that gives you away more than you want it to. “i loved you when you actually spotted me instead of—whatever this is.”

her grin shifts, something sharper slipping into it. “this is elite level motivation.”

“this is harassment.”

“same difference.” she repeats, softer now, like it’s meant to stay between just the two of you and for a second, the gym fades the weight room, the noise, the steady hum of everything around you—it all pulls back, blurring at the edges and suddenly you’re somewhere else.

smaller, brighter, louder back at uconn where everything had felt new and uncertain and overwhelming, and she had walked in like none of that applied to her, like she existed just slightly outside of everything, like she didn’t need to adjust because the world would just adjust to her instead.

azzi had said your name like it was nothing like it wasn’t going to change anything. “this is paige, she’s—”

“—better than you at everything,” she had cut in, hand already out, smile tilted, eyes bright with something that felt like a challenge.

you should’ve been annoyed but you were but you still took her hand and even then—even that early—you remember the way she held onto yours for just a second longer than necessary, like she was already testing something, already seeing how far she could go you never really let go after that.

“hey.” her voice pulls you back, softer now, closer you blink, the present snapping back into place, her face right there in front of you, brows drawn just slightly. “where’d you go?” she asks, quieter, like she’s trying not to break something she can’t quite see.

“nowhere.” you say automatically, but it comes out softer than you meant it to she hums, not convinced, but she lets it go—for now.

she always knows when to push and when not to. “let’s go,” she says, standing, clapping her hands once like she’s resetting the energy between you. “my turn. you spot.”

you raise a brow, forcing something lighter back into your voice. “you sure you don’t want to just…stare at me instead?”

“oh, i will,” she says without missing a beat, already stepping toward the rack. “multitasking.”

you follow her because you always do even because somewhere between uconn practices that stretched too long and nights that stretched even longer—between missed calls, time zones, airport goodbyes, and finally landing in the same place again—you stopped pretending this wasn’t it for you.

her, it's always been her as she settles under the bar, adjusting her grip, shoulders rolling back, focus settling in like a switch flipping and for a moment, you just watch her.

really watch her the way she moves, the way she breathes, the way she gets quiet right before a lift, like she’s pulling everything inward, gathering it, centering it.

you step in behind her, hands ready, close enough to catch if she needs it, but not touching yet she pushes the weight up.

smooth, controlled, strong.

once, twice, three—“your form’s off,” you say, automatically, because it is, because you notice everything about her without even trying.

her eyes flick back to you for just a second, something sparking there, something playful and sharp all at once. “is it?” she murmurs.you nod, leaning in slightly. “yeah, you’re—”

she racks the bar early too early you frown immediately. “paige—” but she’s already turning, already closing the space between you, hands finding your hips like they belong there, like they always have.

she pulls you closer, just enough to shift your balance, just enough to make your breath catch. “show me,” she says, voice lower now, something softer threading through it, something that doesn’t feel like teasing anymore.

you freeze just for a second. “we’re at the gym,” you whisper, but it lacks conviction, your eyes flicking around out of habit more than concern. “and?” she tilts her head, grip tightening just slightly, grounding, steady. “i asked for help.”

you swallow. “you’re such a menace.” she smiles like you just said something she’s proud of. “you love it.” you do you hate that you do.

you step back anyway, slipping out of her hold before you can think too hard about how easy it would be to stay there, how natural it feels to be pulled into her. “bench,” you say, gesturing, your voice steadier now. “again. and actually finish your set this time.”

she watches you for a second longer and really watches you like she’s trying to read something you’re not saying then she exhales, dramatic again, letting the moment shift back into something lighter. “fine,” she mutters. “but if i die, it’s on you.”

“you won’t die.”

“you don’t know that.”

“paige.”

“okay, okay,” she grins, settling back under the bar. “count this time.”

you do you count every rep but it’s more than that it’s always more than that with her.

you count the way her muscles tense under effort, the way her breathing deepens, the way her focus sharpens—and the way it breaks, just slightly, every time she glances at you like she’s checking something, like she needs to know you’re still there.

you always are by the time she racks the bar again, her chest is rising faster, a sheen of sweat catching along her hairline, the flush in her cheeks deeper now.

“see?” you say, softer. “was that so hard?” she sits up, dragging the hem of her shirt up to wipe her face, just enough to expose skin you try not to look at—and fail.

“no,” she says, eyes finding yours again immediately. “but you watching me like that didn’t help.” you blink. “what?”

“you get this look,” she says, like she’s breaking something down on film, like she’s studied this. “real focused. kinda intense.”

“i’m spotting you.”

“yeah,” she leans back on her hands, gaze softening in a way that feels quieter than before. “but it’s not just that.”

the space between you shifts again slows deepens. “you’re staring,” she finishes, softer. you look away first. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re deflecting.” your grip tightens slightly around your water bottle, your pulse picking up for no good reason other than her, always her.

“next set,” you say, because it’s easier than answering as she laughs under her breath but she listens.

it unravels after that not all at once not obvious enough for anyone else to notice but you feel it the way structure slips the way focus fractures the way she keeps finding you, even when you’re trying to stay locked into something else.

she drifts closer during your sets, brushes against you like it’s accidental—her arm, her shoulder, her fingers ghosting your waist.

it’s never accidental you both know that. “you’re slowing down,” she murmurs when you’re holding a plank, her voice right by your ear, her hand hovering just above your side, not touching, but close enough to feel.

“because you’re talking,” you grit out, core trembling now for reasons that have nothing to do with the exercise. “multitasking,” she corrects, soft, amused you nearly drop later, at the squat rack, it’s worse.

she stands behind you again, hands settling on your hips, firm this time, grounding. “deeper.” she says, voice quieter, more focused you glance back over your shoulder. “i am deep enough.”

“not like this,” she murmurs, pressing just slightly, guiding you lower, closer, her breath brushing the back of your neck, your inhale stutters. “paige.”

“what?” she says, softer now, less teasing, more something else entirely. “i’m helping.” you rack the weight faster than you should, turning to face her, the air between you tight, charged. “you are the worst training partner i’ve ever had.”

she smiles, but it’s softer now less sharp. “and yet,” she steps closer, voice dropping, “you keep choosing me.”

you don’t answer because you can’t because it’s not just a joke.

it never has been you always choose her.

even when it’s hard, even when it hurts even when it means letting her see more of you than anyone else ever has. “last set,” you say, but it comes out quieter now, like something has settled in your chest that you can’t quite name.

she nods and for once, she doesn’t push.

she just stays steady present with you.

by the time you’re done, the gym has emptied out, the noise fading into something softer, something distant you slide down the wall, sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, your body heavy in that satisfying, exhausted way.

paige drops down beside you a second later, close enough that your shoulders touch immediately neither of you moves away. “you survived.” she says, nudging you lightly. “barely.” you reply, letting your head fall back, eyes closing for a second. “because of you.”

“wow,” she exhales, but there’s no real bite to it now. “no appreciation.” you huff out something that almost feels like a laugh, the quiet settling around you, wrapping around the space between your words.

it’s comfortable yet it has always been the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone fully—every version of them, every phase, every shift. “you were thinking earlier,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now, like she’s stepping into something more careful.

you crack one eye open. “what?”

“when you spaced out,” she says, turning her head toward you. “where’d you go?”

you hesitate but it lingers just for a second then you let it go anyway. “uconn.” her expression softens instantly, something warmer settling into it. “yeah?” she nudges your shoulder. “good memories or bad?”

you breathe out slowly, the past settling around you like something familiar. “both,” you admit. “but mostly…you.”

she stills completely you feel it before you see it you turn your head slightly, catching the way her gaze has shifted, something unguarded slipping through, something real.

“azzi introducing us,” you continue, voice quieter now, like you’re walking through it again. “you being annoying immediately.” she huffs, but it’s softer. “i was charming.”

“you told me you were better than me at everything.”

“confidence.” you shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i should’ve walked away.”

“but you didn’t.”

“no,” you say, meeting her eyes now, steady, open. “i didn’t.” the pause that follows isn’t empty it’s full, heavy alive with everything you’re not saying.

she shifts closer, turning more toward you, her knee brushing yours, her presence grounding in a way that feels deeper than before. “good choice,” she says softly as your chest tightens. “debatable.”

she smiles, but it’s different now, quieter. “you’re still here.”

“so are you.”

“yeah,” her voice dips, softer, more certain. “i don’t plan on going anywhere.”

this time, it really lands not as a tease not as a throwaway line but as something solid something you can hold onto.

you study her for a second longer—the way she’s changed, grown, softened in some places and sharpened in others, but still somehow the same person who reached for your hand first and never really let go.

“even if i ban you from spotting me?” you ask, lighter, but your voice doesn’t quite hide the feeling underneath it.

she grins again, but it’s gentler now. “especially then.”you shake your head, but you’re smiling too, something warm settling deep in your chest. “you’re impossible.”

“and you love me,” she says, quieter now, like it matters more this time.

you don’t look away, you don’t deflect, you don’t hide but you just lean your head against her shoulder, letting yourself rest there, letting yourself exist in this moment without pulling back. “yeah,” you murmur. “i do.”

paige for once goes still completely still like she’s holding onto that, like she’s memorizing it, like it means something more than she’s used to saying out loud.

her shoulder shifts just slightly under your weight, not away but closer her hand finds yours where it rests between you, fingers threading together slowly, like she’s giving you time to pull away you don’t you never do.

outside, the world keeps moving—cars passing, lights flickering, everything loud and constant and alive.

inside, it’s quieter and smaller just the two of you, sitting on the gym floor, hands tangled together, breathing slowly evening out, hearts still a little too fast for something that was supposed to just be a workout.

she nudges you again after a while, softer this time, her thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

not teasing, not distracting, just there just making sure and you tilt your head slightly, pressing closer into her, a silent answer, something steady and sure because she still hasn’t learned you’re not going anywhere.

not now, not after everything, not when it’s always been her and maybe, finally she knows that too.

the thing about quiet moments like this is that they don’t stay quiet for long—not with her, not with the way she is, the way she fills space without even trying, the way she shifts things just by breathing a little differently, like the air bends around her without asking.

but for once just for once she let’s it stay, let’s it stretch, let’s it settle into something that doesn’t feel rushed or stolen or halfway between everything else you have to be.

she lets you stay, too your head rests against her shoulder, the fabric of her shirt slightly damp from the workout, warm and familiar and grounding in a way that sinks deeper than it should, your fingers threaded through hers like they’ve memorized the shape of each other over years instead of moments. 

her thumb moves slowly across your skin, soft, repetitive, like a quiet rhythm only the two of you can hear. it doesn’t feel absentminded—not really. it feels intentional in that subtle paige way, like she’s doing something without acknowledging that she’s doing it at all and you feel everything.

in the way she exhales, longer than usual, like she’s letting something out she didn’t realize she was holding, in the way her shoulder dips just slightly, accommodating you without making a thing out of it, in the way she doesn’t rush to pull away, doesn’t make a joke, doesn’t shift the moment back into something easier.

that’s how you know it matters is that’s how you know this isn’t just another in-between second that gets swallowed up by everything else. “you’re very quiet,” she murmurs eventually, her voice softer than it’s been all day, careful in a way that feels new, like she’s stepping into something she doesn’t want to break.

you hum against her shoulder, eyes still half-lidded, not moving. “so are you.”

“yeah.” she exhales, something almost like a laugh catching in it, but it doesn’t quite form. “don’t get used to it.” you smile, small, hidden where your face presses into her. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the quiet returns, but it’s not the same as before. it’s heavier now—not in a bad way, not overwhelming, just… full. like something is building under the surface, gathering weight, gathering meaning, gathering all the things you both usually leave unsaid.

you feel her shift again, just slightly, your head tilting with the movement, your fingers tightening together for a brief second before settling again. she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t create distance—if anything, she leans closer without making it obvious.

“you meant that?” she asks, quieter now you don’t need her to say it out loud you already know.

you lift your head slowly, the movement unhurried, like you don’t want to break whatever this is either, turning just enough to meet her eyes. she’s already looking at you, gaze steady, searching—not teasing, not playful, just…open in a way that makes something in your chest pull tight.

“what?” you murmur, softer than usual, but there’s a faint edge of habit in it. “that i love you?” her mouth twitches like she wants to smile, like she almost will—but it doesn’t quite get there.

“don’t do that,” she says, and it’s not sharp, not annoying, just honest, just real.

so you don’t you don’t hide behind it this time you hold her gaze, steady, letting her see exactly what you mean instead of dancing around it. “yeah,” you say, simple, grounded. “i meant it.” something shifts in her then.

you see it happen—right there, in the space between one breath and the next. the ease she carries so naturally softens, the edges of it pulling back just enough to reveal something quieter underneath. something a little more vulnerable, something she doesn’t show often, something she doesn’t always let you see unless the moment is exactly right.

you’ve seen it before.

late nights at uconn when everything slowed down and the noise of the world couldn’t quite reach you, when she’d sit too close on a dorm bed and talk about nothing until it turned into something.

long-distance calls where the silence stretched too long and neither of you knew how to say you missed each other without making it worse airports goodbyes this feels like that but closer, closer than it’s ever been.

“i know,” she says finally, voice softer, quieter, like she’s choosing each word carefully. “i just—” she pauses, her gaze dropping briefly to your hands, still tangled together like they’ve always belonged there. “i don’t always know if you’re gonna say it out loud.”

your chest tightens in a way that feels deeper than expected because she doesn’t ask for things like that not directly, not like this. “i do,” you say, gentler now. “just not always when you’re being annoying.”

that pulls a small huff from her, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. “i’m always annoying.”

“exactly.” she looks back up at you then, something warmer returning, but it doesn’t fully cover what was there before—it sits alongside it now, something steadier, something more real.

“say it again,” she says, quieter as you blink, caught off guard for a second. “paige—”

“no,” she shakes her head just a little, leaning closer in a way that closes the space between you without making it obvious, like she’s drawn there without meaning to be. “just…say it again.” and there it is.

not a tease, not a challenge, just a want to be simple, clear and you feel it—how much it matters, how much she doesn’t say things like this unless she really means them.

so you don’t make it a joke, you don’t soften it, you don’t hide it behind anything, you let it exist exactly as it is.

“i love you.”

the words fall quieter this time, softer—but they carry more weight, more meaning, settling into the space between you like something solid, something real, something that doesn’t move and paige—paige goes still again, not frozen not distant but just still, like she’s letting it sink in fully, like she’s not brushing past it, not turning it into something lighter, not deflecting the way she usually does.

like she’s holding onto it. “okay,” she breathes out, barely above a whisper, like she didn’t realize she needed that until she had it, your fingers tightening around hers without thinking. “okay?” you repeat softly.

she nods, a small smile finally breaking through—different from her usual ones, less sharp, less teasing, more…real. “yeah,” she says. “okay.” but then—because she’s still her, because she can’t stay in something this open for too long without shifting it just a little—she leans in, nudging her forehead against yours, grounding the moment in something familiar again.

“you’re still banned from complaining about my spotting though,” she murmurs you let out a quiet laugh, your nose brushing hers, your breath mixing with hers in the small space between you. “i never agreed to that.”

“you did,” she says, lighter now, but her hand hasn’t moved, hasn’t loosened, like she’s not willing to give that part up yet. “nonverbally.”

“that’s not how that works.”

“it is when i say it is.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and you love me.”

you don’t hesitate not this time. “yeah,” you say softly, your gaze flicking down to her mouth before finding her eyes again. “i do.” and something shifts again smaller this time quieter but just as real her breath catches—barely, but you feel it.

her eyes follow yours without thinking, dropping for a second before returning, like she’s realizing what you’re doing at the same time you are and suddenly, the space between you feels thinner.

closer like it’s waiting like it’s asking she closes it.

of course she does because she always does her free hand lifts slowly, fingers brushing along your jaw, the touch softer than you expect, more careful, like she’s giving you room—room to move, to step back, to say no.

you don’t, you lean in instead just enough, just to meet her halfway and when she kisses you, it’s different not quick, not teasing not the playful, fleeting kind she steals in passing.

it’s slower, intentional but soft in a way that feels like it carries everything she didn’t say out loud, everything she doesn’t know how to.

your hand tightens around hers, your other coming up to rest against her arm, grounding yourself in her, in this, in something real and steady and undeniable as the moment stretches, just a little longer than you expect.

when you pull back, you don’t go far you never do with her.

your foreheads rest together again, your breathing uneven in the same quiet way, her laugh slipping out softly like she didn’t mean for it to, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with how this feels. “we were supposed to be working out,” she murmurs. “you ruined that,” you reply, just as soft.

“me?” she pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, feigning offense, but it doesn’t quite land the same way anymore. “you were staring first.”

“you literally can’t prove that.”

“i don’t need to.” you shake your head, smiling now, something warm and steady settling back into place, but it’s deeper than before, less fleeting, less uncertain.

she watches you like really watches you, like she’s memorizing this version of you—the one that stays, the one that doesn’t pull away, the one that says things out loud when it matters.

then she squeezes your hand one more time before letting go, pushing herself up with a quiet exhale, offering her hand down to you without hesitation.

“c’mon,” she says. “we should probably leave before someone realizes we’ve just been sitting here doing nothing for like…way too long.”

you take her hand you always do letting her pull you up, your balance tipping just slightly forward until you’re closer than necessary again, your space overlapping in that easy, familiar way.

she doesn’t step back neither do you. “food?” she asks, softer now. “always.”

she smiles—really smiles this time—and it’s the same as it’s always been, that spark, that lightness, that pull but it’s different, too.

steadier, grounded in something that wasn’t there before but as you grab your things and move toward the exit, your shoulders brushing every few steps, her hand finding yours again like it’s instinct, like it’s something she doesn’t even think about anymore, something quiet settles in your chest.

she knows maybe she didn’t before, maybe she questioned it in the spaces you couldn’t fill, in the distance, in the silence, in the things you didn’t say.

but now, now she knows and as she squeezes your hand before pushing the door open, the cool air rushing in, brushing against flushed skin, pulling you both back into the world outside of this moment, you realize something softer, something deeper, something that settles and stays.

paige is staring at you yet you don’t even have to open your eyes to know it.

“if you’re being creepy again,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, “at least have the decency to admit it.” there’s a pause, a beat of silence and then. “i’m not being creepy,” she whispers, way too loud for a whisper. “i’m admiring.”

you crack one eye open, and there she is—chin propped up on her hand, hair a mess from sleep, hoodie halfway off one shoulder, looking like she hasn’t moved in ten minutes just to watch you breathe. “you’ve been ‘admiring’ me for, like, twenty minutes, haven’t you.”

“twenty-five,” she corrects immediately, completely serious, you let your eyes fall shut again, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “you’re insane.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.” that earns you a dramatic gasp, followed by the weight of her shifting closer, her leg thrown over yours like she’s trying to trap you there. “take it back.”

“no.”

“take. it. back.” you laugh softly, turning your head just enough to bump your forehead against hers. “fine. i love you. you’re still insane, though.”

“i can live with that,” she murmurs, and you can hear the smile in her voice. by the time you both make it to practice, the world feels louder, faster—shoes squeaking against the court, voices echoing through the gym, the familiar rhythm of drills grounding you back into reality. 

aaliyah is already at the free throw line, focused in that steady, unshakable way of hers, while nika’s voice cuts across the court, loud and teasing, something directed at kk and ashlynn that makes both of them shove her in protest.

azzi’s stretching off to the side, aubrey beside her, the two of them mid-conversation, and ice and kk are laughing about something near the bench as it's loud, chaotic, alive but there’s always that thread between you and her, something subtle but constant, like a quiet hum beneath everything else.

you catch it in the way she passes you the ball just a little softer than she needs to, like she knows exactly how you like it. in the way her eyes flick to you after a play, quick and automatic, checking in without saying anything at all.

your teammates know of course they do not because you’ve ever posted anything or said it outright online—your socials are clean, carefully curated, nothing that gives anything away—but because it’s obvious in the spaces that matter. 

in the way she bumps her shoulder into yours when coach isn’t looking in the way you both end up side by side during water breaks like it’s instinct, not coincidence. “you two are disgusting,” nika mutters loud enough for half the gym to hear when paige jogs past you just to flick your ponytail.

“jealousy isn’t cute on you,” paige shoots back without missing a beat, grinning as she keeps moving. “i’m not jealous,” nika calls after her, even though she’s smiling. “you are a little,” kk adds under her breath, and ashlynn snorts beside her as you roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in your chest that you can’t quite hide.

it’s after practice when she really gets unbearable most of the team filters out—azzi and aubrey heading toward the locker room together, aaliyah grabbing her things, nika still talking as she walks backward toward the exit, dragging ice into the conversation whether she wants to be or not aaliyah and kk linger for a second longer before disappearing too, voices fading down the hall and then it’s quiet.

you’re both lingering on the court, shooting around without much effort, the gym slowly emptying until it’s just the two of you and the faint echo of basketballs against hardwood you’re lining up a shot when you feel it—arms wrapping around your waist from behind, sudden and dramatic you miss. “paige—”

“shhh,” she says, resting her chin on your shoulder like she didn’t just sabotage you. “i’m helping.”

“you are quite literally doing the opposite of helping.”

“no, no, you just don’t understand my process.” you turn your head slightly, just enough to look at her. “your process is distracting me.”

“exactly.” you blink. “that doesn’t—”

“if i can distract you,” she continues, completely serious now, “then nobody else stands a chance.” you stare at her for a second, trying to decide if she’s joking.

she’s not you huffing out a laugh, shaking your head as you lean back into her just a little. “you’re actually ridiculous.”

“and yet,” she says softly, tightening her arms around you for a second, “you’re still here.” there’s something quieter in that, something that settles between the two of you in the empty gym as you let yourself lean into it, just for a moment, just long enough to feel it fully.

“yeah,” you murmur. “i am.” later, when you’re both back in your room, the world shrinks again.

she’s sprawled across your bed, scrolling through her phone, occasionally shoving it in your face to show you something dumb—a meme, a video, something she finds way funnier than it actually is.

“look at this one,” she says, already laughing before you even glance at the screen you barely look before pushing her hand away. “that’s not even funny.”

“you have no sense of humor.”

“i have a better sense of humor.” she gasps again, dramatically clutching her chest like you’ve personally offended her. “wow. wow. okay.”

“okay what?” she narrows her eyes at you, sitting up a little. “if you’re so funny, make me laugh.” you raise an eyebrow. “you’re kidding.”

“nope. go ahead.” you stare at her for a second, then deadpan, “you.” there’s a split second where she processes it—then she lunges for you. “oh you think you’re funny—”

you barely have time to react before she’s tackling you back into the mattress, laughter spilling out of both of you as you try to push her off and she absolutely refuses to move. “paige—get off—”

“say i’m funny.”

“never—” she digs her fingers into your sides and you immediately break, laughter cutting through your protests as you try to twist away from her. “okay—okay, stop—”

“say it.”

“you’re funny!” you gasp, breathless. “you’re the funniest person i’ve ever met, please—” she finally lets up, but only enough to settle on top of you, both of you catching your breath, faces too close, laughter fading into something softer for a second, neither of you says anything then, quieter now, she brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face. “you’re stuck with me, you know.”

you look up at her, heart doing that familiar, annoying thing it only ever does around her. “yeah?”

“yeah.” she smiles, softer than before, less goofball and more real. “no take-backs.” you reach up, resting your hand against the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer. “good,” you whisper.

“because i wasn’t planning on going anywhere either.” this time, when she kisses you, there’s no teasing in it—just something steady, something certain, something that feels like it’s been yours for longer than either of you ever said out loud.

the kiss lingers longer than either of you expect, not rushed, not playful like most of the ones you share when she’s in one of her moods—but slow, grounding, like she’s trying to say something without actually saying it. her hand stays warm at the back of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and for a second the world feels small again. just you, just her, just this.

when she pulls back, she doesn’t go far she never really does, her forehead rests against yours, her breath still uneven, eyes softer than you’re used to seeing them. “don’t move,” she murmurs as you blink. “why.”

“because,” she says, squinting at you like she’s studying something important, “i have to remember this exact moment so i can recreate it later when you’re being annoying.” you huff out a laugh, pushing lightly at her shoulder. “i’m not annoying.”

“you’re extremely annoying.”

“you’re literally on top of me.”

“and i earned this spot.”

“how.”

“three years,” she says simply as you pause and then it clicks. “wait—”

“don’t,” she cuts in quickly, eyes widening just a little. “don’t say anything yet. i have a plan.” you narrow your eyes immediately. “that’s never a good sign.”

“it is this time,” she insists, already sliding off you and grabbing your wrist, tugging you up with way too much energy for someone who was just half asleep an hour ago. “get up. go get dressed. something nice.”

“paige—”

“something nice,” she repeats, pointing at you like that settles it. “and don’t ask questions.”

“i’m asking questions.”

“no you’re not.”

“i literally am right now.” she just grins, backing toward the door. “twenty minutes. don’t make me come back in here.” then she’s gone she doesn’t tell you anything, not when you meet her outside, not when she opens your door with a dramatic little bow, not even when she starts the car and immediately reaches over to cover your eyes with one hand.

“paige.”

“trust me.”

“you are actively blocking my vision while driving.”

“multitasking.”

“that’s not—”

“multitasking,” she repeats, firmer this time, and you can hear the smile in her voice as you should be annoyed but you’re not.

it ends up being…her, the whole thing you realize it the second you step out of the car and actually take everything in—the quiet overlook she found just outside campus, the way the sky stretches open in front of you, soft pinks and deep blues bleeding together as the sun dips lower. there’s a blanket already laid out, slightly crooked like she tried to fix it three times and gave up and a bag.

way too full to just be random you turn to her slowly. “you planned all this.” she shrugs, trying way too hard to look casual. “maybe.”

“paige.”

“okay, yeah, i did,” she admits, rubbing the back of her neck. “but in my defense, it’s kind of a big deal.” your chest tightens a little. “three years.”

“three years,” she echoes, softer now there’s a beat where neither of you moves and then, of course, she ruins it. “don’t cry,” she adds quickly. “i did not emotionally prepare for that.” you stare at her. “i’m not crying.”

“you look like you might.”

“i literally don’t.”

“your eyes—”

“paige.”

“okay, okay,” she laughs, holding her hands up. “no crying. got it.” you shake your head, but you’re smiling as you sit down on the blanket, watching as she immediately drops down beside you, bumping her shoulder into yours like she can’t help it.

“so,” you say, glancing at the bag. “what’s all this.”

“patience.”

“you don’t even have patience.”

“i have selective patience.”

“that’s not a thing.”

“it is tonight.” you snort, but you let her have it, watching as she pulls things out one by one—your favorite snacks, drinks, even that one random thing you mentioned months ago and forgot about completely. “you remembered that?” you ask quietly.

she doesn’t look at you, just shrugs again. “i remember everything about you.” and it’s so casual, the way she says it, like it’s obvious, like it’s nothing—but it lands heavy anyway before you can say anything, she’s already reaching back into the bag again.

“okay,” she says, suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever seen her. “this is—uh—this is the actual part.” you blink. “the actual part?”

“yeah. like, the important part.”

“paige—”

“stop talking,” she says quickly, not even looking at you now as she pulls out a small box. not big. simple. but her hands hesitate just slightly before she passes it to you and that’s when you realize she’s nervous.

the paige bueckers is nervous you take it carefully, like it might disappear if you move too fast. “what did you do.”

“just open it,” she mutters, so you do inside isn’t anything flashy, it's small things like a bracelet, simple but familiar—your favorite colors woven together in a way that looks handmade. folded notes, edges worn like they’ve been opened and closed too many times. and underneath it all, a photo.

you and her not a posed one. not something perfect just you, laughing about something, her looking at you instead of the camera. “i made it,” she says quietly. “the bracelet, i mean. the rest is just…stuff.”

you glance up at her, and she finally meets your eyes. “there’s one for every month,” she adds, nodding toward the notes. “since we started dating. some are dumb. actually, most of them are dumb. but”

“paige.”

“but i figured if we ever, like, forget something, we could just—” you don’t let her finish you lean forward, pulling her into you, arms wrapping tight around her before she can overthink it any more than she already has.

she freezes for half a second then melts. “you’re crying,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “shut up.”

“you said you wouldn’t—”

“paige.” she laughs softly, squeezing you a little tighter. “okay. okay.” you pull back just enough to look at her again, eyes still a little glassy, heart way too full. “this is the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”

“yeah?” she asks, like she wasn’t sure. “yeah.” she grins then—wide, bright, familiar. “good. because i also got you something else, but it’s not as meaningful.” you blink. “what.”

she reaches behind her, pulling out a second bag you somehow didn’t notice. “paige.”

“i panicked,” she says immediately. “what if you hated the sentimental thing? i needed a backup.” you can’t even help it—you laugh, shaking your head as she hands it over.

inside is something ridiculous. something so her and somehow, it still fits. “you’re unbelievable,” you say, looking back up at her. “and yet,” she echoes from earlier, nudging her knee against yours, “you’re still here.”

you don’t even hesitate this time. “yeah,” you say softly. “i am.”