buffalo1221

chicago, illinois [2026]

azzi is kind of tired of waking up hungover. she looks at herself in the mirror—frizzy curls, sleep lines on her cheeks, mascara still clumping her lashes—and sighs, combing through the bottles on the counter for her facewash. 

the last time she’d been drunk three days in a row was…actually the day she won her second national championship. she shudders as she remembers how close she got to alcohol poisoning the last night—yogurt bowls do not taste as good coming up as they do going down. 

but today she doesn’t have the kind of hangover that comes from drinking too much; her stomach isn’t queasy, her brain doesn’t feel like it’s sloshing around in her skull—it’s more of a dryness under her eyes, a fading dull ache in her temples. different, but still there. 

the small tube of toothpaste she packed is almost out too. she squeezes the last spurts out, tossing the flattened tube in the trashcan once she’s done. now she has to buy more toothpaste. what a horrible morning. 

there’s a knock on her door and she pauses mid-brush, toothpaste foam sitting in her mouth. who in the world is at her door at 8 a.m. in the morning? the knocking starts to turn louder and faster and azzi spits out her toothpaste before grabbing her hairbrush—just incase—and walking over to the door. light footsteps, so she can stare out the peephole without being noticed.

and because the universe or god or someone must hate her, knocking on the door is paige fucking bueckers. the one person she doesn’t want to see. 

she’s standing outside azzi’s door in a faded uconn hoodie and linty gray sweats, hair loose over her shoulders, banging on her door with a completely serious expression on her face, no smile to be seen. 

the banging is intermittent; first two knocks, then a pause. then three knocks, a pause, then two again. another pause, then four. a specifically designed pattern broken down to irritate azzi.

azzi steps back from the door. 

there’s a few seconds where she stands completely still, gripping the hairbrush in her hand, hoping for the knocking to stop. paige has to leave eventually, right? she can’t just stay outside azzi’s door all day. 

the knocking stops, and azzi peers through the peephole again. 

paige is still there, now on her phone texting someone. texting her, azzi guesses, since she can hear her phone buzzing from the bathroom. then, paige pockets her phone and azzi waits for her to leave. 

but no. 

she starts knocking on the door again, a little bit softer than before, and not as frequently, but still knocking.

the sound is starting to grate azzi’s ears. she tosses her hairbrush on her bed, no use for it since it’s just paige, and yanks open the door.

paige drops her hand quick, smiling like she hadn’t been knocking on azzi’s door like a fucking woodpecker at 8 a.m. in the morning. “hey!” she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

“what d’you want?” azzi asks flatly. she can’t help it, there is a small part of her that’s still thinking about last night. probably the part of her that’s still a little bit drunk too, if she’s being honest.

“nice pajamas,” paige says, ignoring azzi’s question.

azzi looks down at her outfit—her loose gray georgetown basketball shirt, with a freshly formed toothpaste stain on it, and her underwear—and blushes. “shut up,” she says, tugging her shirt down to better cover the top of her thighs. 

paige laughs and bends down to pick something up from the floor just outside the door—a plastic bag that azzi hadn't even noticed sitting there. she holds it up, giving it a small shake, the plastic crinkling.

"for your headache," she says, and opens the bag for azzi to look into. inside is a bottle of advil, a bottle of tylenol, a turmeric shot, a light blue gatorade, and a green packet of something else that azzi doesn’t recognize. “i didn’t know which one was better for headaches so i got both,” she says, pointing at the pill bottles. 

paige takes the turmeric shot out, turning the small bottle over in her palm to read the back. “also, um, i was gonna get you juice or something but i know you don’t like all the added sugar stuff, and this was all they had so, uh…” she trails off, biting her bottom lip, then shakes her head, dropping the turmeric shot back in the bag then grabs the gatorade. “gatorade, for electrolytes ‘cause you probably need some. and yeah i knowyou say don’t really like gatorade but i’ve also seen you chug it after games before so i know you don’t hate it as much as you say you do,” she puts the gatorade back, picking up the green packet, “and gummy bears, but they’re the gross organic, all natural flavors kind. look, ‘no added sugar’ so that means it’s healthy, right?” she finishes, pointing at the small gluten free! no added sugar! vegan! all natural juices! lining the bottom of the packet. 

it’s a sweet gesture, a perfectly paige thing to do. 

but it’s not really doing anything for azzi right now.

"i don't have a headache anymore," she says, crossing her arms, leaning against the door. 

"okay, well–"

"and you thought banging on my door would help? if i did have one?"

“but–you–okay, wait.” paige’s eyes widen, caught off guard by the hostility. this is new territory they’ve entered.

“i mean, i knew you'd be up," she says, matter-of-factly. "you always schedule a morning workout." 

fuck, paige is right. azzi does have a morning workout scheduled. 

"well," azzi says. "yeah. but still." 

a long, awkward, pause ensues. azzi spins her oura ring around her finger, watching paige twist and untwist the plastic bag. 

"why didn't you text me you were leaving last night?" paige asks finally. she sounds…disturbed. like the idea of it is unsettling to her. 

but she doesn’t get to be unsettled, azzi decides, she was the one who—whatever. she’s moving on from it. 

azzi focuses on a point past paige's shoulder. "i was tired."

"you didn't say bye."

"i said bye to kiki."

"that's not–" paige stops, tries again. "okay."

there’s something in the way that she smiles when she says okay that irritates azzi. a light, teasing, smile, like that’s all azzi needs to get out of her funk, all that paige is offering up. like azzi’s going to be easily swayed by paige being charming. and it makes sense, paige is probably used to getting whatever she wants with just a smile. 

but azzi fudd is not easy.

“okay,” azzi says before paige can continue. she has stuff to do, and paige is being annoying, twiddling her thumbs outside her door and wasting her time. 

paige blinks. then, more cautiously; “okay.”

"okay," azzi huffs, and starts to push the door shut. 

paige’s hand comes up to catch it. she steps closer, through the doorway, always so comfortable in azzi’s space.

"wait," she says, no longer smiling. her blue eyes run over azzi’s face as she slowly comes to a realization, eyes widening just the slightest bit. "are you mad at me?" 

azzi looks at her. the strings of her hoodie are uneven, the ties of her sweatpants are undone. her socks are mismatched, one blue, one green, in the slides she’s wearing. 

the honest answer to paige’s question is complicated.

she wonders if paige had just hopped out of bed, went straight to the cvs nearby and came over. did she get home late last night? was there someone waiting for her in bed? was that why she was so persistent in getting azzi to open the door? to rush back?

the honest answer is yes, but sometimes, the honest answer isn’t the one that needs to be shared.

“no,” azzi says, and paige doesn’t look convinced, squinting a bit as she scans her for any tells. azzi may call her dumb sometimes, but she’s still smart about some things. 

“you seem kinda mad,” she says, finished with her assessment. 

azzi sighs and crosses her arms, rubbing them absentmindedly as her gaze drifts past paige to the doors lining the hallway behind her. “i’m just hungover, i promise. sorry for being…weird.”

paige is quiet for a moment, standing in the doorway close enough that azzi could reach out and fix the uneven strings on her hoodie if she wanted to. she doesn't.

"okay," paige says finally, softly, no longer teasing, but no longer cautious either as she hands the bag over.

their fingers brush briefly in the exchange, even though azzi had held both hands out with her palms up, ready for paige to deposit the plastic bag. paige does, the bag crinkles and the pads of her fingers lightly skim the back of azzi’s hand before dropping to her side. 

and azzi thinks, as she stands in front of paige in her toothpaste-stained shirt and her underwear, holding a bag of advil and organic gummy bears; paige can do whatever she wants. she can flirt with whoever she wants at whatever bar she wants at whatever hour she wants, she can sleep with whoever she wants—it just won’t be azzi. but she can still show up at azzi's door at 8 am in her pajamas with a cvs bag meant to make her feel better and azzi can’t do anything about any of it. 

paige looks at her for one more second, then she steps back out of the doorway, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie. “brunch?” she asks, “after your workout?”

what azzi can do is set boundaries. 

“i’ve got plans,” she says, twisting her face up apologetically—she doesn’t, and she hates that she’s lying, but the first step to getting over a crush is distance.

paige nods once, clasps her hands behind her back and gives azzi a small smile that’s more of her lips pressed together in a line than it is a smile; she’s disappointed, azzi can tell, but she’s not going to push it. “cool, yeah, okay. um, well, i’ll see you at the game?” she asks, and azzi nods, gives her a small smile, and paige nods, returns the smile, and leaves. 

----

Mack: have you been on tiktok recently 

Mack: like wbb tiktok?

Azzi: My fyp lowkey just brainrot rn but I got some about the three pt contest lmao

Azzi: And some edits of me 😛

Mack: they’ve got you and paige on the jumbotron 😭

Azzi: What??

she waits, chest tightening, for mackenzie to respond. kiki’s eyes are on her from across the table, curious, flicking between her and her phone—she’s being rude, having her phone out during brunch, but azzi knows kiki doesn’t care about that.

“mack just texted me something weird,” she murmurs, drumming her fingers on the table.

“what she say?” 

it’s hot outside; a fly buzzes near her ear and circles the plate of eggs and toast—just crumbs and a smear of yolk left now—before she shoos it away. she had been having a lovely brunch with kiki at a cafe near their hotel, within the few hours of free time between events and the all star game. a much needed outing to take her mind off…things. 

“something about a jumbotron and paige,” azzi replies, scrolling back up to the text. she slides her phone across the table to kiki, who pushes her sunglasses up to her hair and shades the screen with a hand from the sun. 

“ohh,” kiki says, nodding understandingly, “i know exactly what she’s talking about.”

“what? what’s she talking about?”

kiki hands her the phone back wordlessly and flips her own phone over, brows knitting together as she searches for something, scrolling frantically with one finger on the screen. finally, she finds what she was looking for and hands azzi her phone. “she’s probably talking about this,” kiki says, a mischievous smile on her face. 

azzi takes the phone cautiously, brings it closer to block out the glare on the screen. the smile on kiki’s face worries her. she turns up the brightness on the phone to see the screen properly—a tiktok of her and paige with all their friends from last night, screen recorded from the studbudz’ livestream; the camera work is shoddy, it keeps shaking and the connection is horrible. she can hear courtney yell “all star!” in the background as the camera points towards the booth, kiki messing with her hair before smiling brightly, sonia, nika, kk all hiding, mackenzie posing, paige’s arm around azzi, smiling drunkenly as she throws up two thumbs up, their shoulders pressing together as paige drifts closer. azzi watches herself smile shyly at the camera, squinting at the bright light, leaning into paige too. 

goosebumps rise across azzi’s skin and she shivers, pausing the video on the two of them.

it really doesn’t make sense, because everyone was sitting close to everyone—they were sitting in a booth with like, seven people. the video inexplicably has twenty thousand likes, an insane amount for something that seems so innocuous. 

fans are weird, she thinks, pinching the screen to zoom into paige’s flushed cheeks. 

“i don’t get it, we’re just sitting next to each other,” she says, handing the phone back to kiki.

“hello? did you even read the caption?” kiki asks, shoving the phone back into her hands.

no, she didn’t. who reads the captions on tiktoks? she takes it back, squinting again and then, her stomach drops, and she suddenly understands what kiki, what mackenzie means. 

the caption—omg azzi’s hand on paige’s thigh 🤭—startles her, grip loosening and phone slipping out of her hand for a split second as she looks up worriedly at kiki. 

“hey–” kiki warns, and azzi adjusts her grip. she watches the video again; yes, with the curved booth and the bright camera light hiding nothing from the viewers, there is—very clearly—her hand gripping paige’s leg.

on display, for everyone to see. 

she’s practically squeezing paige’s upper thigh and, unfortunately, her hand is around five inches past platonic. she might as well just have cupped her through her jeans for all it matters—everyone in the comments is taking it about the same way. she quickly closes the comment section, not wanting to see more of the oh my god they’re so cute 🥺 with the stupid emojis and the threads of people arguing whether they’re dating or not. 

dating. they think she’s dating paige.

“here,” she mutters, handing kiki her phone back. “god. i was way too drunk.”

kiki pockets her phone. she shoots azzi a concerned look over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip of her orange juice. 

“you good?” she asks, smacking her lips after her sip. “y’know it’s not that big of a deal, right? like–in the grand scheme of things, i mean. fans are gonna be fans. they’ll move on to the next thing eventually.”

azzi nods and takes a sip of her own drink to settle her twisting stomach. even though she knows kiki is right, there’s still something strangely humiliating about people assuming she and paige are dating—like she’s gone outside in the rain without an umbrella, and even though people aren’t pointing and laughing, they’re pointing and cooing at her, like she’s a stupid little soaking wet idiot who forgot the one thing she actually needed. 

“i know, it’s just–” she pauses, not sure on how to continue. then, she clears her throat; “you know what,” she starts, setting her glass down, “that girl, um, alex. give her my number.”

kiki’s eyebrows go up. “seriously?” 

“yeah.” azzi picks up her fork, pushing a piece of honeydew melon around her bowl. “i mean, why not?”

kiki sits up, elbows on the table and squinting with one raised eyebrow—a 6’0 tall lesbian who plays basketball for the dallas wings is the most obvious why not to both of them—but azzi holds her gaze, unwavering, chin up.

after what feels like a decade but probably closer to a few seconds, an exchange happens between them; kiki finally relents, leaning back in her seat and nodding. azzi lets out a breath, her shoulders dropping a little.

“okay,” kiki says. “i’ll text her right now.” 

“cool,” azzi says, and skewers her melon. on the table, next to her elbow, her phone buzzes frantically, once, then twice, then a couple more times. she flips it over—mackenzie has sent her about a dozen or so tiktok links.

Mack: i’ve had these saved for wayyy too long

Azzi: Kiki already showed me the stupid studbudz stream 

Mack: babes half of these are from before ASW 

Mack: also you guys are lowkey so cute together 

Azzi: We aren’t together 🙄

Mack: yet 👀

Azzi: 🖕🖕🖕

----

the actual all star game is somehow the least important aspect of the whole weekend, azzi has come to learn. two hours of the worst basketball she’s ever played in her entire life passes by in a blur, her team loses horribly—much to paige’s delight—and then she’s in kiki’s hotel room with sonia and mackenzie, pregaming for the last party of all star weekend.

“where’re we going again?” she asks mackenzie, lying down across kiki’s bed. 

mackenzie balances a bottle of tequila on her stomach, the glass clinking against her belly button piercing and cold pressing into her skin, and turns down the music blasting through kiki’s speakers to answer. “uhh, i think some place paige or–was it rhyne?” she asks kiki, who nods from the vanity mirror, “yeah, rhyne told kiki everyone was going there to avoid the budz.”

azzi hums, wrapping a hand around the bottle, before sitting up, and fluffing out her curls again. she takes a sip of the tequila, then wanders over to the vanity next to kiki to check herself in the mirror. “where’re the budz going?” 

“uhh some club downtown, i think?” sonia calls out from the bathroom. “they’ll probably end up at the party eventually but like–a few hours without them is what rhyne promised apparently.” 

“oh az, paige texted you,” mackenzie says, handing her phone from the nightstand. 

Paige Bueckers: Yoooooo

Paige Bueckers: Fudddddd

Paige Bueckers: Azziiiiiiiiiiiiii

azzi looks at the texts, then clicks her phone off. paige is definitely drunk already—the amount of extra letters in her texts are a strong indicator of alcohol being involved pretty early into her night.

“can you–?” she asks, tossing her phone back on the bed to be plugged back in. mackenzie gives her a look—confused, but azzi shakes her head. later, she means, because she hasn’t told mackenzie about the whole thing with paige, not even about the stilted interaction they had at her hotel door this morning. and, despite her nonverbal platitudes to her friend, azzi isn’t planning to. 

what she is planning on doing, however, is getting mackenzie super duper drunk tonight, hopefully enough to forget the entirety of all star weekend, then never bringing up paige around her again until eventually mackenzie forgets all about azzi’s stupid little crush and also never brings it up ever again. 

it’s a plan that she came up with in the ten second span between reading paige’s texts and tossing her phone back to mackenzie, and it’s completely foolproof.

azzi is also a tiny bit drunk already.

but, though she’s ready to enact said plan, everyone seems content to relax in kiki’s room, even with the night slowly crawling into the earliest hours of the morning.

“guys,” she says into the lull of conversation after kiki’s rant about how guys don’t know how to be gentlemen anymore and god i’m just going to block him i think. “shouldn’t we get going?” 

it’s already 1 a.m., she just checked her phone again, and mackenzie hasn’t taken a sip of tequila since 12 and she just asked kiki to set her up with that girl (who’s name she’s maybe, kind of, sort of, forgotten already) today and kiki and mackenzie are here together—and she’s actually quite stressed about the possibility of them talking about it together. 

“in a rush, az? anyone in particular you wanna see?” mackenzie sings out, and a chorus of oooh’s from kiki and sonia follows. 

“no,” azzi says, and grabs a pillow to throw at mackenzie, who splutters as it hits her face. 

“hey!” 

“it’s what you deserve.” azzi stands up, grabs her phone, and checks herself in the mirror, before turning to sonia. “is the uber here yet?” she asks, at the exact same time kiki says, “az, y’know alex just responded and she’s like–”

“fuck, guys, we gotta go like right now, the uber’s been here for like–four minutes already, we actually gotta go,” sonia rushes out, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and azzi has never wanted to kiss sonia citron before—but she would’ve, right then and there. 

after a ten minute uber ride spent being a mildly noisy inconvenience to the uber driver chatting away on his phone, they pull up to the venue, music blasting through the entrances every time the doors swing open and people passing by, clinging on to each other, giggling. inside is loud and crowded and exactly what azzi wanted for the night, with the floorboards rattling and bodies packed together like sardines. kiki drags sonia, who drags azzi, who drags mackenzie through the crowd, searching for rhyne to say hi then say bye to.

they find rhyne at the edge of the crowd, three drinks balanced between two hands, an elbow, and her chest. “hey,” rhyne says, then laughs as she almost drops her drink, but quickly steadied by kiki who gives her a quick side hug. “y’all want drinks?”

she directs them to the bar, as crowded as the rest of the place but they make their way to the front, where azzi surprises everyone and herself, just a little, by flagging down the bartender and ordering two rounds of shots. 

“what?” she asks, directed at the look on kiki’s face. “i wanna have fun, get drunk.”

kiki schools her expression again, but still a note of suspicion slips through. “nothing, nothing,” she says, and takes a shot from the tray to distribute around. 

“no shots for me, i wanna get something to sip,” mackenzie says and azzi groans. 

“no, we’re all doing shots, what’s the point in going out if we’re not doing shots?” she pushes the small glass towards mackenzie, shoving it at her until she laughs and takes it. 

“‘cause we already drank,” mackenzie says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “but fine, just one though.”

one shot eventually turns into two, which turns into three, and after three is four, but who’s counting? not azzi, that’s for sure—at some point between sonia accidentally snorting her long island iced tea up her nose and kiki getting lost then getting found with a bag of chips that she couldn’t explain the origins of, azzi realizes she is wasted. 

and mackenzie is faring no better, clinging onto azzi’s arm, laughing with her head thrown back at something dijonai says, something about an ex that didn’t know how to do their own laundry, or something about laundry, and azzi blinks once, sluggishly, and tries to steady her brain swimming around in her head.

but a sudden round of cheers from near the entrance carries over toward them—loud and obviously excited, and she steps on her tippy toes, trying to peer over the crowd with renewed energy.

“did the queen just arrive or something?” azzi asks, turning back to dijonai and mackenzie.

“nah, paige’s here, she’s gonna come over,” dijonai says with a slight smirk.

“i think the queen’s dead,” mackenzie supplies, and azzi grabs her by the arm in a flurry, putting down both her drinks on the table in front of them.

she tugs mackenzie a little closer as she takes a step back. then, to dijonai; “we’re gonna go find kiki real quick, bye!” who doesn’t have much of a chance to say anything besides “wai–” before azzi takes mackenzie with her to disappear into the sea of people.

and why did azzi say she was going to go find kiki again?

because now she actually has to find kiki, with a drunk mackenzie attached to her arm, in a packed party, while also avoiding paige, who is apparently somewhere behind her and “gonna come over.” great. wonderful. 

maybe all star parties are just cursed. 

she spots kiki towards the opposite side of where dijonai was, almost diagonal to where paige would be coming from, but miraculously a bit harder to see than if they were all at the back of the venue, and she starts steering them toward her, keeping her body slightly angled away from the entrance.

“why’re we walking so fast,” mackenzie says, trying to slow down as azzi speeds up, “also don’t you wanna say hi to paige?”

“i’m not walking fast.” 

and then, because she’s drunk and stupid, she adds; “who’s paige?”

mackenzie stops mid-stride unexpectedly, and azzi’s arm is yanked back. she mumbles an ow and rubs her shoulder, but mackenzie doesn’t seem to have much sympathy for it. 

“az, okay, i wasn’t gonna say anything but you’ve been acting really weird. did something happen? like, between you and paige or…” she trails off, eyeing azzi who tries to meet her suspicion-filled gaze as casually as she can.

“what? no, i was just joking mack. we’re cool, me and paige are cool, just, y’know…” she trails off feebly, “we’re chilling.”

“you and paige are…chilling?” mackenzie asks.

“yeah, just a couple of, um, chill friends, y’know?” 

“chill friends.”

“the chillest.”

mackenzie shakes her head and sighs, looping her arm back around azzi’s to continue onwards. “so nothing happened last night? because you left kinda weirdly.”

is mackenzie somehow more intuitive when she’s drunk? or has she somehow sobered up in the span of five minutes? 

“uh, no, nothing happened,” azzi says, swinging their arms together lightly. “i jus’ wasn’t feeling it–headache, remember?”

“az! mack!” kiki calls out, beckoning them over to join her and a couple other people. she grins at azzi gleefully when they finally come over, then says excitedly, “did you check your messages yet? i think alex texted you, she said she was gonna like, right away.” 

and azzi, though she doesn’t dare to look at her, can sense the way mackenzie’s jaw drops open next to her. great, she thinks.

“wait–alex? but i thought…” mackenzie trails off, looking between kiki and azzi.

“oh yeah, az just asked me to give alex her number today,” kiki tells her—and wow azzi is the unluckiest girl in the whole wide world. 

“you didn’t tell me about that,” mackenzie says, eyebrows knitting together, and azzi sighs internally. why does everything feel so…complicated all of a sudden? she should’ve just told mackenzie about, well, everything, probably. 

“sorry, i meant to, it just–slipped my mind, i guess.”

mackenzie waits a moment and azzi squirms slightly under her attention before she finally nods. tomorrow morning mackenzie will probably pester her about everything, but for tonight, she’s off the hook. 

they get more drinks—azzi gets a club soda, she’s done with drinking for the night, and mackenzie copies her then wanders away, off to find a friend that just arrived—and more people pass by and stop to chat with their little group of 4, rhyne, the lynx rookies, a couple women’s sports influencers, some sparks players, but it’s only when she’s mid conversation with gabby and kiki that she pauses, some kind of sixth sense sparking up in the back of her head. 

“you looking for something?” kiki asks her as she does a quick sweep from side to side with her eyes. 

“jus’ looking around,” she says, but the feeling still persists—a little trickle down her spine of something. gabby cracks a joke and she laughs offhandedly, still a bit preoccupied. she takes another sip of her drink, bubbles fizzling on her tongue, and—for no particular reason—takes a glance behind her back. 

and then she sees it—the source of the prickle. 

paige, around thirty feet away, partially obscured by a cluster of people but tall enough to be seen over the crowd. she had the straw of her red drink—probably a shirley temple—between her lips, but dropped it when azzi looked over, the top part that was in her mouth slightly bitten up, and then her big blue eyes get even bigger and bluer as they widen in recognition. 

a lazy smile pulls at her lips and she leans down to the person next to her to say something, and she’s wearing a white tank top and no jacket tonight, so azzi can see every line of muscle in her arm, her shoulder blade shifting under skin, and the broad plane of her back and the vein running up her arm still holding her drink, and azzi looks away, but she has to look back, and then paige straightens again, cheeks flushed, brushes a stray hair out of her face, and starts to walk over to azzi.

so naturally of course, azzi has to go. 

she turns back to kiki and gabby very fast, so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash, and rushes out, “bathroom,” to kiki, who gives her an amused smile. 

“okay, i’ll come with–” 

“it’s okay, i’m just gonna be a sec–” and she leaves before kiki can follow, threading through the crowd with a ruthless efficiency, keeping her eyes straight ahead and not stopping for anything until she reaches the neon green exit sign and the sticky bathroom door hosting a revolving gaggle of women, in and out every few seconds.

the bathroom is a wonderful reprieve. a brilliant idea, a stroke of genius, and she actually does have to pee—the club soda working it’s way through her—so it’s not even like she’s lying or anything. she just has to pee.

she stares at herself in the mirror as she washes her hands post-bathroom usage, sandwiched between two women chatting with each other over her head. cool water runs over the rings her stylist picked out for her, soap suds sliding off the tips of her fingers and collecting in bubbles around the drain. she wishes she could splash her face, but she’s not quite ready to test out the lasts 24 hours! and completely waterproof! claims written on the tube of her mascara. 

is it strange to be this flustered over someone wearing a tank top? god, but it’s not even just someone it’s paige. and she looks so fucking good tonight it’s irritating. stupid paige with her stupid little tank top and her stupid muscles and her stupid arms and her stupid veiny hands. 

she pumps another round of soap out of the dispenser, running her hands under the cold water again.

after an inordinately long time spent at the sink, she finally squeezes her way out of the bathroom and emerges back into the crowd again. she lingers a bit at the edges where the crowd is thinner, and pulls out her phone from her purse, needing a moment just to scroll and escape the party. 

Paige Bueckers: Haha where’d u go 

Paige Bueckers: Swear I js saw u lol

she puts her phone back in her purse—didn’t she say she wanted to lower her screen time anyway? 

with nothing to do in her boring corner, she starts making her way back to her friends, trying to remember which direction they were in. it takes her a few minutes, and she does get mildly lost in between, but eventually she locates kiki, first by the sound of her laugh, next by the top of her head, and starts making her way over. 

she’s about five feet away when she sees who exactly kiki is laughing with.

paige is standing there, back mostly turned toward her, gesturing wildly at kiki, who’s nodding along, drink in one hand, phone in the other. they both look comfortable, settled in, like paige has had some time to integrate into the conversation. which means paige has been talking to kiki—no, kiki has been talking to paige for an unsupervised amount of time, saying whatever she wants, maybe even whatever’s been on her mind. today specifically too, something that happened today, maybe something involving a mutual friend.

she pivots on her heel before either of them can turn around, and walks in the opposite direction. 

okay, so she’s going to just find mackenzie or sonia, or literally anyone else she knows instead, and she’ll orbit back around to kiki once paige has moved on to someone else. she checks her phone—no texts from mackenzie, so she’s fine, probably having too much fun to notice azzi has disappeared—then slips it back in her purse, looking up just in time to see herself walk into someone’s back. 

“oh shit, sorr–”

“no you’re fine–oh, azzi!” nika says once she realizes who’s bumped into her. behind her is a small herd of people, consisting of who azzi assumes to be current uconn players, with kk as their leader. kk waves at her and she waves back, then to the rest of the group behind her. 

“this is perfect,” nika says, dragging azzi’s attention back to her, “paige has been looking for you all night!” 

and azzi watches, everything seemingly slowing down and all her senses narrowing to where nika’s hand is reaching into the pocket of her jeans, as nika pulls out her phone and unlocks it. 

“no–no, it’s okay–” she starts, heart starting to thump a bit faster as nika starts to type, “you don’t have to–”

but before she can finish formulating her lame excuse, a loud “AZZI FUDD!” comes from behind her, startling and sudden, and then an arm swings around her shoulder.

she turns and finds herself face to face with none other than courtney williams—her beautiful, blue-haired deus ex machina—ready to whisk her away on whatever adventure the studbudz go on at parties like this one. 

“hi court–”

“we gotta do shots!” courtney yells over the music, already pulling her by the wrist towards the bar. “non-negotiable!”

azzi follows, only moderately negotiating. “i’m done drinking, i’ve already switched to soda–” she looks over at natisha for help—the more reasonable of the two budz, “t, can you tell her–” but natisha shakes her head. 

“nah, one more!”

“we didn’t get to celebrate with you properly yesterday,” courtney says, as they approach the bar. “one more.”

azzi looks over her shoulder where she left nika and presumably where paige would be arriving soon, and then she looks back at courtney and natisha, and their cameraman pointing the massive, unblinking camera in her face, and she looks at her reflection in the shiny black lens, then says, “one more.”

but of course, one always turns into two, and approximately thirty seconds after she takes the second shot, she knows it was a mistake. the room does a slow, very slow, tilt, and her stomach gurgles unhappily, upset with the executive decisions her brain has been making as of late. she pauses all movements, her mouth watering uncomfortably, then swallows down the taste of bile rising in her throat. 

“you good?” natisha asks, watching her face carefully.

“yeah, totally,” azzi says, and puts her hand on the bar to steady herself. 

she is not good. not at all good. she has never been more not good.

courtney has already moved on, cameraman in tow, sweeping towards the dj to ‘turn this shit up a notch’, natisha follows after a few moments, but not before asking the bartender for a glass of water, which azzi sips slowly and gratefully. 

she breathes through her nose, purses her lips. she closes her eyes, letting the tilting feeling wash over her again, then opens them to focus on a fixed point at the back wall and waits for the floor to pick a direction. someone passing by says hi to her, and pats her back, and she purses her lips a bit harder, only managing a wave and a slight nod. 

a few more breaths and a few more sips, however, does encourage her stomach to stop yelling at her, decelerating into a mild nausea instead. she fiddles with her phone, twirling it in her hands before unlocking it. 

Paige Bueckers: Hey

Paige Bueckers: Wya I’ve been looking for u all night

“you ever gonna reply to those?” comes from her right, and she drops her phone with a clatter on the bartop. she turns, and there’s paige, leaning on the bar next to her and looking down at the phone screen open to their messages, before her gaze lifts to meet azzi’s. 

azzi’s stomach twists again, a buzz spreading up to her throat that has suddenly gone tight with nerves. 

“i jus’ saw them,” she says casually, very casually. “‘m tryna be on my phone less, y’know?”

“well, could you do that after replying to me, maybe?” paige laughs, and shifts a little closer. “but you having fun? you look good–really good, you look like you’re having fun,” she says, and she’s too close, unaware of the space—or lack of space—between them the way most drunk people are, and her breath smells like something fruity and something sweet, and there’s a sheen of sweat across her collarbones that azzi kind of wants to—

azzi leans back. 

“i’m good–i’m having fun.” 

“whatchu sippin’ on?” paige asks, nodding to her glass. 

she looks down at the half-empty cup. “jus’ water,” she says, and takes another small sip.

paige’s brows furrow slightly. “you switching off?”

“mhm,” azzi says. “had enough.”

“smart,” paige says, and signals the bartender over. at first, azzi thinks she’s about to order more drinks, a shot or something, but then paige surprises her and asks for a glass of water. the bartender returns with her glass and paige takes a large gulp before setting it back down. “i was lookin’ for you all night, y’know that?” 

“i’ve just been around.”

“kiki said you were in the bathroom for like, half an hour.”

“there was a long line!” azzi protests, and there had been, but she did stay an extra few minutes to wash her hands a couple times—because hygiene is important. 

paige laughs again, soft and close, and then she turns slightly toward azzi on the bar and she leans in—just to say something, azzi knows that rationally, just to say something over the music.

but the irrational part of her brain had taken complete control over her when she first said yes to one more shot with the studbudz, and it’s still in control now, and all it sees is paige leaning closer, hooded blue eyes, rosy cheeks, pink lips coming closer, and she jerks back. 

she jerks back, a much more aggressive action than she intended, and her foot stutters against the floor until paige grabs her by the biceps to steady her, fingers pressing into her skin and pulling her closer. 

which is the opposite of what azzi needed.

“woah–” paige says, grip tightening, “you okay?”

“yeah, sorry, i just–” azzi rights herself, letting go of paige’s wrist—she hadn’t even realized she’d grabbed onto her too. “‘m fine.”

paige doesn’t let go immediately. she looks at azzi’s face and raises an eyebrow, her blue eyes narrowing in disbelief. “you sure? you went a little–” she leans back a little, mimicking azzi’s sudden backwards motion. 

“yeah, ‘m good, fine,” she says. her stomach does another flip—disgruntled at the slightest movement, and paige slowly releases her arms, like she’s checking if azzi can stay upright without her support. 

“az,” paige says, serious now.

“yeah?”

“what’s actually going on?”

azzi stills. she wonders how insane she must look from paige’s perspective. “i’m actually like, not feeling well,” she laughs awkwardly. “think ‘m gonna call it a night.”

“‘s’okay,” paige says, smiling soft and sweet, cheeks slightly puffed by the funny way she decided to say it—almost amused, almost fond. another paige-ism azzi always enjoys. “wanna get some air then?” 

azzi swallows.

“you don’t have to–”

“i know,” paige says patiently. her shoulder brushes azzi’s, then her hand comes up to rub at azzi’s back, small circles through the thin cotton. 

azzi swallows again. “i don’t want you to see me puke,” she tries weakly, and maybe a bit too honestly. 

“you don’ want me to hold your hair back?” paige jokes, and scrunches her face up in delight when azzi rolls her eyes. “c’mon, let’s go. i’ll text kiki i’m taking you home, ‘kay?”

----

outside brings an immediate, chilly rush of wind against her face, cooling the sweat off her body and sending a slight shiver across the bare skin of her stomach. she crosses her arms in front of her, and next to her paige shivers too, rubbing her biceps.

“‘s cold outside,” paige says, and shivers again. she scoots a bit closer to azzi, then wraps an arm around her shoulder to steer them through a huddle of people brushing past them to enter the club. they slow to a stop against the side of the building. paige keeps her arm around her shoulder, and azzi lets herself settle back into the muscle cushioning her head, as they lean against the brick wall. 

a minute passes and the nausea recedes by degrees. 

the streets are empty, save for a few stragglers across the road, knocking into each other and giggling. azzi watches them go, their shadows dancing on the pavement under the streetlamps, and paige’s fingers tap her shoulder. 

she looks up at paige, who tilts her head down the slightest bit to look at her, and waits.

“what?” azzi asks, then realizes paige was tapping along to the music leaking out of the building, not requesting her attention. she shifts, embarrassed. 

“nothing,” paige says, and her fingers keep tapping. “you feelin’ better?” 

azzi nods and paige drums her fingers—once and quick in excitement, before letting them rest again. a white car rolls to a stop some ways down the street, headlights on in two bright beams, and the door swings open a couple feet away from them, two women in jackets and heels stumbling with the music out onto the street; dijonai and jackie. 

dijonai stops when she spies them and raises her and jackie’s conjoined hands. “p! you found her!” she yells and gives her a thumbs up.

next to azzi, paige straightens and lifts her palm from azzi’s shoulder. azzi waves with her. 

“yeah, i got her,” paige says, dropping her palm again. 

“you guys wanna come back with us?” dijonai asks, pointing at the car jackie was approaching. 

paige looks down a bit at azzi again, asking her a silent question. and azzi, though she doesn’t really trust herself to be alone with paige, doesn’t particularly want to be around other people right now either. she shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. 

“nah, we’re good,” paige calls out, and dijonai throws them another thumbs up, and a “okay, bye cuties! stay safe!” as she follows jackie, heels clacking loudly against the asphalt.

the car pulls away and leaves just the street and the wind and the muffled music again. 

“ready?” paige asks. 

azzi nods and paige steers them off the wall and onto the sidewalk, her arm still around azzi’s shoulder. it stays there for a quarter of a block then drops naturally as they find their pace, falling into step beside each other, knuckles brushing together. 

chicago at way-too-early-in-the-morning o’ clock is a different city than it was when the night first started; quieter, streets empty of cars, slightly cooler. the sky is a purplish gray haze, few wispy clouds drifting, and it’s actually quite nice outside, azzi realizes. she hadn’t expected it to be quite this nice. 

“feeling better?” paige asks, after a bit.

“yeah,” azzi says. “the air is helping.”

“good.” paige glances at her sideways. “‘cause you were totally about to puke on me back there, i could sense it.”

azzi scoffs. “i wasn’t that bad,” she says.

“bro, you were turning green.”

“okay, that’s an exaggeration.”

“a slight exaggeration,” paige concedes, “but only slight.”

azzi shoves her lightly with her shoulder. paige lets herself be shoved then shoves her back, and they keep walking. 

a block passes, then two. azzi glances over at paige occasionally, streetlight illuminating the sharpness of her jaw, the blue of her eyes. then, her gaze drops down to paige’s waist without her permission, where the waistband of paige’s boxers are peeking out; a thick gray elastic band pressing against tan skin.

and then her finger reaches out, hooking against the waistband. she tugs it once lightly, and releases it, letting it snap back against paige’s waist. “are we supposed to be able to see those?” she asks, watching as a pink blush blooms across paige’s cheeks. 

paige looks down at herself. then back up at azzi, something flickering in her eyes. “it’s the style.” 

“is it?”

“yeah.” a pause. “you don’t like it?”

azzi hums, looking back at the sidewalk ahead. “i didn’t say that.”

“oh,” paige says. “so you do like it.”

“well, no, i didn’t say that either–”

“but you said you didn’t not like it–”

“yeah but that doesn’t mean i’m saying i like it–”

“bro, that’s basically what you’re saying–”

“oh my god, fine,” azzi groans, throwing her hands up. “whatever, i like it, you win.”

paige smiles to herself, pleased. “that’s what i thought,” she says, very matter-of-factly, and azzi can’t resist shoving her again. 

paige laughs, stumbles away, then skips back towards her—which makes azzi laugh, because the sight of all 6 feet of paige skipping around at 3 am in the morning feels a bit like a fever dream, and paige takes it as a chance to loop her arm through azzi’s loosely, swinging their joined elbows to the beat of nothing. 

“you’re such a weirdo,” azzi says, and she meant for it to come out a bit mean, but she hears the affection tinging it anyway. unfortunately paige hears it too—azzi can see her grinning out of the corner of her eye. but she doesn’t say anything about it, which is somehow worse than if she’d made a thing of it. 

“this weirdo beat you today,” paige says, bumping azzi with her shoulder. 

“no, your team beat my team, you didn’t beat me. you had like, five points, shut up.”

paige whips her head towards her in disbelief, a completely baffled expression on her face. “i had nine assists! and seven points!”

“oooh, triple single, good job,” azzi says, and purses her lips to stop herself from laughing. “how many four-pointers did you make again?”

“...zero.”

“and how many did you airball?”

paige explodes again. “OKAY!” she yells, pushing azzi’s hands away from trying to shush her, “i only airballed ONCE!” and azzi is laughing too hard to keep a straight face, shoulders shaking as she drags paige back to her. 

“okay, okay,” she manages, patting paige’s bicep. she’s got her arms crossed over her chest and keeps trying to drift away from azzi in mock outrage, but stays close once azzi tugs her back by the waistband again. “once is fine.”

“once,” paige confirms. “that’s nothing. nine assists though, ain’t that crazy?”

“stop tryna get me to compliment you.”

“but nine assists though.”

“why didn’t you get ten?” azzi asks, ready to poke the bear again.

“BRO!” paige yells, smoothing her already slicked-back hair in frustration. “i swear to god i’m gonna kill jess for smoking that layup, i gave her the perfect pass!”

“i’m sure jess feels very bad for ruining your single double.”

“nah i yelled at her after and she said she did that shit on pur–hey, wait. stop making fun of me,” paige says, jutting her bottom lip out to pout a little. “i’m sensitive about basketball.”

“sensitive about basketball,” azzi snorts. “you’re jus’ being a big dramatic baby.”

paige just smiles, accepting it, and slings her arm around azzi’s shoulder again. they turn a corner past a closed cafe that azzi vaguely recognizes, and she watches as their reflections walk past the dark windows. in the far distance is their hotel, the golden glow of the lobby lights spilling out of the revolving door, a few people passing through.

and azzi can’t help but notice how paige slows down, just a little. 

“so,” paige says, and waits for azzi to look at her. it’s a bit hard walking so close together but azzi finds that she doesn’t really want to separate. “how’re you feeling? first all star weekend done.”

azzi considers it. “‘s not my first rodeo, y’know,” she finally says.

“oh, i know,” paige hums, a touch of nostalgia in her voice. “how could i forget last year? you fed me crackers when i was drunk.” 

azzi giggles, knocking into paige’s side with her elbow. “okay, you’re making it sound like i hand-fed you like a horse.” 

she remembers, though, the mild irritation at paige’s presence—her goofy outfit and the way small talk with her felt almost like a chore. how paige had been this kind of limbo of a person—barely an acquaintance—in azzi’s life, yet she’s known her since she was fourteen and paige was fifteen. and now, azzi knows her, properly knows her, at least as friends, and she likes her, and a rush of something swells up in her throat. she looks away from paige, with her stupidly blue eyes, and tries to swallow it down. 

“but,” paige continues, “i meant like–as a player, your first all star. how d’you feel?”

maybe that’s what’s making it harder to get over paige (in the one day she’s actually started to try). if paige was this horrible, evil, boring, person, it would be so much easier to just let the attraction run its course. but no, of course paige just has to be funny, and sweet, and charming. and hot. 

“i feel good,” azzi says. then adds, a bit shyly, “i feel…proud, i guess.”

“you should,” paige says, squeezing her shoulder. “three-point winner as a rookie, all star as a rookie, good stuff.” 

the hotel is slowly approaching them; the doorman getting bigger, the lights getting brighter. the glass of the door spins, and someone steps out into the night and into a car waiting by the curb.

if paige had been anyone else in the entire world, maybe azzi would’ve invited her to her hotel room. but she can feel it, with a very specific and very inconvenient clarity, that she could like paige too much. she probably already does, if she’s being honest. and she has no idea what paige wants, not really. she knows how paige flirts, she knows how paige looks at her sometimes, and she knows that she likes it, but if there’s nothing past that, well, she knows it’ll hurt too much, too. 

so in dallas.