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beep, beep, bee–

paige buries her head into her pillow as silence befalls the room – for three seconds. then, it gets ripped out from underneath her. 

“morning, paige!” azzi’s voice rings, annoyingly chipper for – paige cracks an eye open, finally looking at her alarm – 6 in the morning.

hesitantly, hoping if she moved slowly enough azzi would not notice she was awake, she looked towards where the voice had come from. instead, she comes face to face with neon pink. azzi steps back, and paige finally gets to take in everything in front of her – gray sweats, a bright hoodie, and a black gym bag slung over her shoulder.

the sight makes paige want to die. 

“az,” she groans, yanking their blanket up over her head, “it’s six in the morning.”

azzi promptly pulls the entire comforter away. “six-thirty,” she corrects helpfully, balling up the blanket and leaving it on the opposite end of the bed. paige groans again, reaching blindly for it. it’s decidedly too far, so she settles instead on falling limply against the mattress.

azzi’s nose scrunches in response. “you promised you’d come to the gym with me.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like another complaint, but her voice is muffled in the mattress. azzi shoves her shoulder, forcing her face up. “c’mon, don’t make me pull you out.”

paige just barely cracks a smile. “you never have to pull out, ma.”

“paige!” azzi yelps in response, slapping her chest half-heartedly. “that doesn’t even make sense! get up!”

feeling particularly unamused again, paige's voice comes out groggy. “you know not to make plans with me before nine in the morning.”

azzi’s eyes narrow. “then you shouldn’t have said you’d go with me.”

paige doesn’t answer, throwing an arm over her eyes instead. azzi lets out an overly-emphasized sigh, leaning down so her face is level with paige’s.”you’re lucky i think you’re cute.”

paige peeks out from under her arm. she’s met with that soft, sickeningly fond look azzi reserves only for her, and can’t help the smile it warrants. “you think i’m cute?”

“i think you’re lazy,” azzi shoots back, standing straight again. “but, because i know you soo well, i brought you coffee.”

paige perks up immediately, reaching for the cup expectantly. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi immediately pulls back, holding it just out of reach. “nuh-uh,” she chides, a glint in her eye that can only mean trouble for paige. “not until you’re ready to go.”

paige scowls. “you’re joking.”

“it’s strategic.”

the second the word leaves azzi’s mouth, it’s a mistake – she knows it because paige immediately shoots up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her. 

“paige!” she tries to sound annoyed, but the giggle that follows is indisputable. “get off of me!”

paige immediately fumbles for the coffee cup, a disposable one from downstairs, and briefly wonders when azzi had time to even go get it. “taunting opponents is not a strategy, it’s a flagrant foul,” she corrects, still fighting for the drink. azzi pokes her side in that spot that always has paige jerking away and frees herself, holding the still-intact coffee up triumphantly. 

“all is fair in love and basketball,” she grins. 

paige scowls. “don’t use my favorite movie against me.”

“it’s my favorite movie.”

“i had it first.”

“you did not!”

“did too, i’m older than you.”

baffled, azzi jerks back. “what does that have to do with anything?”

paige straightens, looking particularly smug. “it means i had time to watch it before you did.”

“paige!” azzi groans, shoving her towards the dresser. “get dressed!”

paige grumbles but acquiesces, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. there’s cold biting through the windows of their apartment, and azzi briefly comments on paiges lack of a jacket, but paige shrugs her off lazily. “ion’ need no jacket, i’m a big dawg.”

azzi doesn’t try to correct her again, (even though the phrase big dawg has her rolling her eyes) and instead leans against the doorframe of their room. paige all but throws herself back onto the bed, tying her shoes with drama only rivaled by toddlers.

azzi tracks each tug of laces with barely concealed amusement, taking a purposefully loud sip of paige’s coffee.

giving one last tug, paige stands from the bed and saunters over to where azzi is leaned. raising her eyebrows and staring expectantly at the coffee again, azzi finally hands it over. “now, all that drama was for nothing,” she says pointedly. paige hums as if she disagrees, but doesn’t add to her argument as she follows azzi out the door.

they don’t speak again until their feet land on the sidewalk outside. the air in storrs is sharp, frost clinging to the ground like broken cobwebs, and paige can’t help the shiver that wracks her body.

really and truly, she should have grabbed a hoodie like azzi had suggested. she can already hear the i told you so forming in azzi’s mouth, though, so paige stays quiet. instead, she scrunches her nose against the breeze and turns finally to look over azzi’s features.

the sun is just barely rising – the barren trees lining the sidewalk are casting long, soft shadows across her face. azzi walks a step ahead, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets and posture straight. the light flickers over her features – the way her lashes fan against her eyebrows, the pink dusting the easy slope of her nose, the way her lips are tugged into that ever-present smile.

paige can’t help the way her gaze lingers. azzi’s exhale rises in a delicate plume, curling lazily into the quiet air. 

paige thinks she’s pretty – and, actually, that she’s quite lucky to have someone like azzi dragging her out at 6 in the morning.

ever the instigator, though, paige chooses not to voice the softness of her thoughts. instead, she tears her gaze away and rolls her eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air. 

somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound.  aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it. 

because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her. 

she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use. 

her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat. 

she should look away. 

she knows she should. 

because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare. 

but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.

paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.

for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.

she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.

then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”

paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”

azzi smiles. “you are.”

paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.

azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”

paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).

paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them. 

i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.

then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.

azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.

but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.

the fudd household is warm even as flakes of snow fall outside, a product of both the woodburning stove and the warm body sprawled across azzi’s legs.

it’s hard to imagine paige anywhere else during the holidays – azzi’s memories of christmas without a blonde in her lap are faint. it’s one of the many, many perks of dating your best friend – they’ve never really had to experience life without the other. 

unfortunately, when your best friend is paige bueckers, there is one downside. fangirls.

azzi is scrolling through redbubble when she sees it – a phone case, white except for loopy pink lettering that reads “paige bueckers’ girlfriend.” 

azzi is completely scandalized. because as far as she’s aware, there is only one position available in that department, and it has been filled since freshman year. really, it’s been filled since they met. 

paige has one girlfriend. and it is azzi fudd. 

this can’t slide.

she huffs once, loud and dramatic enough for paige to hear, but her head doesn’t move from azzis lap. she’s watching a hockey game on her ipad, and there are very few things that will tear paige away from said ipad when there is a game on.

so azzi huffs again, as attention-seekingly as she can muster, and paige finally glances up. “wassup, mama?”

paige is good at using pet names to delay consequences – they’re like little distractions, sprinkled into conversation so that azzi forgets about little things like paige ignoring her for a hockey game.

when azzi doesn’t respond, paige nearly asks again. her mouth opens in confusion, maybe even worried she’d missed something actually important, but then her ipad buzzes. They both glance down, scanning the airdrop notification: Azzi’s Phone wants to share 1 photo.

paiges head tilts, a smirk tugging at her lips as if this might be something dirty, and she looks up at azzi with her eyebrows raised. azzi rolls her eyes in response – leave it to paige to never be turned off. “just accept it,” she groans.

the second paige does, a screenshot of the phone case in all of its glory takes over her hockey game. paige barks a laugh, loud and surprised at the intrusion. “az, what the hell is this?”

azzi rolls her eyes, gesturing to the ipad like they aren’t both already looking at it. “your lil fangirls are confused about how many girlfriends you have.”

azzi’s joking now, but one wrong sentence and paige is in the dog house. she must tread carefully. 

“they’re definitely overestimating,” paige agrees.

satisfied with that response, azzi leans back into the sofa with mock-irritation. “i think they’re underestimating how much i can bench,” she complains. “i’m gonna have to whoop somebody's ass.”

“nobody underestimates how much you bench, baby,” paige responds. she stretches back for extra emphasis, wrapping three fingers around azzis bicep and squeezing. “swear, look at that. god damn–”

azzi snorts, ducking her head in embarrassment.. “paige,” she chastises, even though her laughter overshadows any actual irritation.  it’s stupid how pleased she is whenever paige reassures her, especially over something unimportant. “its not funny.”

the room quiets for a second, the way it always does before paige says something particularly annoying. and then, unsurprisingly, her mouth opens. “imma buy it for you.”

“don’t, paige,” azzi giggles, even though it’s really not funny. paige is a PR nightmare. “CD would die.”

“CD will love it,” paige assures, already copying the users handle. “we’re supporting small businesses.”

azzi watches her, helplessly fond even as paige clicks add to cart. it’s not like she’s going to use it.

azzi had not planned on using the phone case. in fact, said phone case has sat unused on her bedside table since her and paige had returned from christmas break. 

a lot has changed since christmas – they’re national champions now, and paige is in dallas, just to name a few. but one thing has stayed the same: the phone case? untouched. nothing more than tangled legs and quiet laughter. 

that is, until azzi gets as close as she possibly can to hard launching their relationship, and there are still tweets stuttering out the words former teammates. 

it’s honestly diabolical. and while over christmas break their college careers were kind of a concern, there are no rules in the UCONN Husky handbook about dating former teammates. something paige has recently become. 

so, for shits and giggles on a friday night, azzi fudd switches her phone case out for one that reads paige bueckers’ girlfriend. 

her intention is only to ruffle some feathers. to quietly but clearly stake her claim. take a few photos with a strategically placed iphone in hand, let it appear in the background of some videos – really just remind everyone that paige bueckers only has one actual girlfriend.

now, the uconn team is heading down the halls of mohegan sun, chattering quietly and discussing dinner plans. 

KK notices before the national media does – whether the media or KK is worse is still up for debate. her eye catches on the phone dangling from azzis hand and she grins, delighted. “girl, boo. are you even allowed to have that?”

azzi’s confused for all of two seconds, and then her gaze follows KK’s. “we’re former teammates,” she states matter-of-factly. they both know its bullshit — azzi had arrived 45 minutes late and two travel bags lighter that morning.

(she’d argued it wasn’t a walk of shame if she left in different clothes, even though the “different clothes” were paiges jersey and cargos.)

“you guys are super subtle,” KK deadpans.

for the rest of the night, azzi is super subtle about it. she walks down the seats of the stadium without fuss (although she does make sure that her hand is low enough for the lettering to be read). she sits casually, nonchalantly, phone sitting case-up in her lap. 

unfortunately, the night passes without drama. it appears no one actually sees the phone case – unless you count two girls across their row, one of which had blatantly squinted and then elbowed her friend. 

regardless of the sightings, there are no images (that azzi is aware of) to spread the news. with all of the huskies in the stands, security had tightened considerably, and there’d been exactly zero fans able to approach for a photo.

(although azzi did have one fan pass a phone case down for her to sign. KK had suggested she trade them, but they’d quickly decided that would be a tad overkill.)

the post-game plan is even more nonchalant. they’re going to run down, grab a few team pictures, be totally besties, and then head back to storrs. 

although, as they make their way down to the gym floor and paige catches her eye, azzi feels that nervous buzzing in her stomach. 

every time her and paige are around each other in public, that awkward, crushing teenager feeling returns. she imagines paige feels the same — it’s kind of difficult to turn off the whole touchy-girlfriends thing in public, and the tense awareness of hundreds of eyes only makes them overthink each interaction more. am i being chill enough? too chill? 

azzi stands off to the side as paige greets the rest of the team, trying not to fiddle or look like she’s been walking around with undiagnosed ADHD. 

when the arena is finally mostly empty, paige approaches, a lazy smile taking over her face. the second she’s in touching distance, azzi wraps her hands around paiges waist and buries her head in her neck. she breathes in the scent of her #1 pick and paige lets her, head coming to lay on azzi’s shoulder and tug her just a little closer. perhaps they can meld together, and azzi won’t have to leave for storrs.

physics does not decide to give them an exception. they pull away when KK makes a loud gagging noise behind them, and paige rolls her eyes affectionately. “you’re just mad your girlfriends not in your jersey,” paige says, tugging on the material. 

KK grins. “oh, she’s got more than just your jersey, P.”

paige squints. azzi’s forehead creases – she’s been so wrapped up in seeing paige again she’s completely forgotten the phone case, and it isn’t until this moment that paige sees it.

“what the hell is that?” she laughs, eyes wide with both horror and giddiness. “i can’t even believe you kept that thing!”

azzi giggles back, delighted, and holds her phone case up with a dimpled grin. “isn’t it great?”

“i can’t believe they even let you bring that.”

“i don’t think anyone saw it,” azzi replies. “security wouldn’t even let people come up to us.”

paige raises an eyebrow. “that’s their job, az.”

“i know,” azzi sighs, as if she’s deeply troubled by the whole ordeal. “they’re just really interrupting my soft launch plans.”

paige laughs, throwing an arm around her shoulder like the two minutes they haven’t been touching is too long. “my phones pretty quiet,” she says, “so, prob’ly no one saw it. crisis averted.”

azzi hums, briefly considering the idea that there would be a crisis if someone had seen the phone case. she then responds quietly, “unfortunately.”

paige raises an eyebrow, smile ever-present in the orbit of her girlfriend. “what do you mean, unfortunately?”

“i mean, unfortunately i’m going to have to take this into my own hands.”

azzi fudd’s hobbies include basketball, reading, calling paige, and soft launching their relationship on random saturdays.

to her credit, she waits an entire day before she actually takes matters into her own hands – but when the internet is disappointingly quiet about her phone case, she has no other choice.

hayley is fixing her hair when the idea hits her. they’re chattering about life — basketball, her next sponsor, the upcoming mystics game. hayley hums and runs a comb through the ends of azzis hair, resting one hand on her shoulder to look in the mirror. “soo.. after tonight, you doing anything fun?”

azzi catches her eye in the reflection and grins. “depends on how many people are texting me.”

“why would people be texting you?”

it’s then that azzi flips her phone around, screen facing the mirror, and showcases her perfectly legible paige bueckers’ girlfriend phone in all of it’s redbubble-custom glory. “oh my God,” hayley suddenly laughs, leaning forward like the text might morph into something else. it’s honestly nearly impossible to miss, bold lettering on white background. “that cannot be real. where did you even get that?”

azzi smiles, self-satisifed. “paige bought it for me.”

hayley gasps. “stop it.” 

azzi nods her head vigorously, biting down on her bottom lip to stop the delighted grin already overtaking her face again. “she told me not to use it.”

“and you already did,” hayley says, pointing an accusatory comb in the mirror. 

“duh,” azzi replies. “nobody even got to see it, though,” she adds, sighing wistfully. “i don’t even think twitter saw it.”

“seriously?”

azzi nods vehemently. the chances of twitter missing anything are seriously low. but alas, here azzi is, with a dreadfully quiet phone.

and then she thinks – a dangerous action for azzi fudd.

“we should take a picture.”

“with the phone case?”

“in the mirror.”

“ooooohhhh,” hayley nods, smile widening. “i get it.”

azzi crosses her legs, uncrosses them, and then crosses them again, inspecting herself in the mirror. “i’ll tag you,” she offers, offhandedly. 

“i don’t want tagged in your relationship drama,” hayley grins. “i’m going to get one of paiges managers in my DMs.”

“you wooooont” azzi groans. “you’re gonna be my excuse.”

“you’re conniving.”

“i’m being smart,” azzi defends. “i’m gonna tag you for doing my hair and if people happen to notice—“

“it’s neon pink, az.”

“happen to notice,” azzi emphasizes. they both break off into giggles, and then azzi straightens in her seat. “okay, lets do this.”

azzi shifts again, looking for a good angle. changes the way her phone is pointing, tries to decide if she wants it to be easy to read or leave part of the text to the imagination. 

she sees hayley raise an eyebrow in the mirror. “you good?”

azzi shuffles. “i’m nervous,” she admits. it sounds silly, girlish coming out of her mouth, but she’s being real. “this shits gonna go viral.”

hayley nods slowly like she’s pondering, and then she looks away from the mirror to see azzi eye-to-eye. “except everybody already knows you’re dating.”

azzi sputters. “that is not true—“

“that dinner tiktok had like a million likes.”

“okay but—“

“az. for real.” hayley huffs, going back to absentmindedly dragging through azzis curls. “if you wanna do it, do it.”

azzi hums. considers. and then decides. “okay, you’re right. lets do it.”

the picture, when posted, is casual. her legs are crossed and hayley smiles behind her like she’s in on a joke. which, she kind of is.  

azzi decided to completely forgo being subtle — a blind animal should be able to read the paige bueckers’ girlfriend on her phone case. 

a minute passes.

azzi had put her phone on do not disturb the second she’d posted — it’s her adult version of throwing her phone across the room. but one person can get through her DND, and her phone buzzes now. 

paige 💗is calling…

azzi looks back at hayley, guiltily, who returns the stare with tight, barely concealed laughter.  

then paifes voice cuts in. “azzi.”

“hi, baby,” azzi says sweetly. her phone buzzes again, paige requesting to facetime, and azzi reluctantly accepts it. when she does, paige is (thankfully) smiling. her azzi-fudd reserved smile. azzis shoulders slump. not in trouble. 

paige raises both eyebrows, eyes wide as she stares at azzi. “you tryna start some rumors?”

“they were already started,” azzi grins back. 

“riiiight..” paige drawls. “i think people are freaking out.”

“what makes you think that?”

“i got a text about your post before i saw your post,” paige deadpans. “and i literally have your notifications on.”

azzi giggles, feeling quite self-satisfied. “i told you i had to do something about it.”

“i thought you’d like — like a tiktok edit or something,” paige jokes. “we’re gonna be on overtime.”

“you’re always on overtime,” azzi points out, helpfully. 

paige just stares back, looking fond and in love. “you looked pretty.”

“you’re just saying that because i have your name on my phone,” azzi laughs. 

“well, i’m not saying it didn’t help,” paige responds, head tilted. from anyone else's point of view, it would be an absolutely disgusting display of affection. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” azzi says. 

hayley finally announces her presence, interrupting their discussion with an, “i hate you guys.”

paige groans from the phone. “you didn’t tell me anyone was thereee,” she complains. “now i look like a softie.”

“that was never in question for me, paige,” hayley laughs, peeking over azzi’s shoulder to look at her. “i had to listen to you all draft night.”

paige rolls her eyes, even as azzi laughs. “aight, you’re fired bruh.” then she looks back over to azzi, her eyes crinkled in the way that they do when she’s trying not to look too smitten. she fails. 

“alright,” she sighs. “i’m gonna hang up so you can make my girlfriend look really good.” and then, after a pause, adds, “call me after?”

“always,” azzi nods, so quietly that hayley pretends not to hear it. 

the call ends. 

hayley lets them sit in the quiet for all of five seconds. then she inhales deeply and reaches for a new section of hair. “alright,” she says, effectively dragging azzi back to reality. “lets fix your hair so you can go stress your agents out.”

the bus hums beneath them, a steady roll down I-84. their flight isn’t even supposed to start boarding until 9:00am, but here paige is, head pressed against the cool window at six in the morning. her hoodie is bunched awkwardly on her shoulder, long legs bumping azzi’s to her side, and shes about to fall asleep when a backpack suddenly slams into her shoulder.

paige groans, forcing an eye open to glare at whoever disturbed her. 

it’s KK. of course it is, because who else would have such disregard for someone clearly trying to go back to bed? before paige can complain, KK begins shoving her bag into their overhead compartment. she mumbles something about it not fitting under her seat like she wanted it to. 

the grin on her face insinuates that the backpack-shoulder collision was purposeful.

paige does little other than hum in acknowledgement, grateful when the compartment clicks shut and KK plops unceremoniously back into the seat behind her, because that must be the end of the disturbances. 

it’s not.

someone in the back (aubrey?) is complaining about her cheez-its being missing, and while she doesn’t respond, allie looks a little guilty in the seat diagonal to paige and azzi’s. 

paige sighs, pressing her forehead back against the glass. think happy thoughts. she’s back in the comfort of her bed, blanket draped over the window and nothing but a box-fan for noise.

“paige.”

jesus.

the voice is soft, warm, close. paige cracks an eye open again, not bothering to turn toward her. she can already see the picture – azzi, sitting far too awake for six in the morning, with a book settled in her lap and an iced coffee in hand. 

paige grumbles, “‘m sleepin’,” in response.

“you were,” azzi corrects. paige hears a page turn. she sighs dramatically, letting her head fall forward onto the seat in front of them.

“wake me up when we land.”

azzi finally lifts her gaze from her book, a smile tugging at her lips. “you still have to get through security.”

paige waves her hand dismissively. it falls heavily on azzi’s lap, effectively disrupting her book-reading position. “that’s a problem for future me.”

azzi inhales deeply, takes a sip of her coffee. she glances over at paige, a little amused by the way her breath is already evening out again. “future you is going to be a problem for present me.”

paige smirks, eyes still closed and shoulders loose. “that’s love, az.”

azzi softens for just a second, and then KK slaps the back of her chair. “can y’all not be gay up there?”

the airport is hell with escalators. 

the fluorescent lights are blinding and there are weird, circular patterns in the carpet like whoever designed it was hopping off psychedelics. paige thinks the floor might be moving.

they’ve been here for – she grabs azzi’s wrist, turning the watch towards her – sixteen minutes. azzi hardly even spares a glance in her direction. 

it’s not until they get to the very end of TSA that paige notices her mistake. 

the worker (who, in paiges opinion, had been feeling her girlfriend up a little bit more than necessary) holds her full water bottle up at the end of the line. “you’re going to have to dump this out.”

azzi turns incredulously towards paige. “i told you to dump that out when we got here!”

paiges shoulders slump, staring pitifully at her bottle. “i was gonna do it in the bathroom..”

tiffni, judging by her nametag (which is decorated in pink bow pins) looks unamused. “i can either keep this here or you can go back around to the dumping site.”

paiges jaw drops. “back through security? why can’t i just dump it out here?”

tiffni stares, like the answer is obvious. “there isn’t a dumping site here.”

for fucks sake. 

paige sighs overdramatically, shuffling her luggage towards azzi with urgency. “i’ll be back.” azzi rolls her eyes.

she doesn’t return for another twenty minutes. azzi’s beginning to learn that paige is the reason why they needed to be at the airport three hours early.

when she does appear, she’s trudging towards the group like she’s being led to her execution. her water bottle is gripped tightly against her side. “i ran into like, seventeen fans on the way here.”

they find a row of seats so uncomfortable they can only be justified by the airport architecture. paige slumps. they’re too stiff to sleep in, too close to get comfortable, and the weird plastic arm is cracked down the side.

paige yanks her hoodie sleeve out of the crack for what feels like the umpteenth time, fishing around in her pocket for her phone and yanking it out with the grace of an elephant. 14%.

sighing dramatically, she shuffles around in her carry-on for a charger. 

it’s in her suitcase.

paige steadies herself with one deep breath, turning to look at azzi. unfortunately, azzi could sense the bullshit coming from a mile away, and is already staring at her. 

“no.”

paige whines. “az, my phones about to die.”

azzi’s voice lacks any sympathy. “you should’ve charged it on the bus.” she digs through her bag anyways, pulling an unnecessarily short charger out. it doesn’t reach to their seats, and paige has to decide between leaving her phone unattended at the mercy of her teammates, or leaving azzi’s side.

her phone sits unattended. 

eventually, paige decides she can’t go any longer without eating and leaves for the convenience shop ahead of them. she looks irritated when she gets back, $20 lighter and a bag of beef jerky in her hands. “this is extortion.”

azzi opens an eye, smiling lazily at paige. “should’ve brought your own snacks.” she watches as paige shoves a piece into her mouth, glowering at the price tag. 

“they probably would’ve confiscated my snacks, too.”

azzi scoffs at that.

by the time boardings started, paige has a new enemy: the intercom voice. it drones on with useless information she couldn’t care less about, and every once in a while it announces welcome to bradley international airport, like they haven’t been there for the past hour.

then, it says something actually relevant: “boarding group B may now begin lining up.”

azzi stands.

paige does not.

“paige.”

paige shuffles back further into her seat. “i just think it’s interesting,” she drawls, “that we’re all getting on the same plane, and yet everyone pushes to get in line anyways.”

azzi groans, gripping paiges arm and yanking her towards the door. “lets gooo, i wanna sit down.”

paige relents, following azzi toward the front and peppering the air with complaints despite azzi’s lack of response. sarah turns to investigate her grumbling for a second, but intelligently turns back around when she catches paige's stare. 

a new crisis emerges once they board. paige stares at her ticket, dumbfounded. “az, i’m in the middle seat.”

azzi’s already shoving both of their luggage in the overhead. “yup.”

paige blinks. “azzi.”

her girlfriend does not look even remotely sympathetic. “what?”

“switch with me please.”

azzi’s face crinkles. “no.”

“i’m going to lose my mind,” paige exaggerates, waving her ticket around pitifully. she’s not sure if its because she actually feels bad, or if she just doesn’t want to listen to paige complain any more today, but azzi backs up to let paige in the aisle first. victory.

azzi slaps her ass as she pushes past, muttering something about paige not having any mind left to lose. it doesn’t matter, though, because paige is sitting next to the window and all is right with the world.

azzi settles comfortably next to her, stretching her legs out against paige’s. paige shifts, but theres nowhere for her to move. “azzi.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, like she’s daring paige to complain again. she dares.

“move your legs.”

azzi smirks, now purposefully pressing against paige. “didn’t seem like a problem when you were all up in my business on the bus.”

“i was sleeping!” paige protests, shoving at her knees. “it’s totally–”

caroline, who was sitting behind them, suddenly rises so fast azzi’s seat shudders. “somebody switch me.”

not a single team member moves. carolines gaze rakes over the freshmen, landing on sarah. sarah’s hands immediately raise in the air. “i had to sit by them last time!” she defends, then immediately throws morgan under the bus. “it’s her turn.”

caroline stares. this may be the one scenario where someone is actually willing to not listen to her, but after a couple beats of silence morgan rises from her seat and moves to trade caroline. 

azzi’s voice comes out chiding, but she’s grinning either way. “look, now you made caroline move–”

“oh my god,” paige laughs, finally shoving azzis legs onto her own side. “get over yourself.”

she’s just starting to get comfortable (or, as comfortable as six feet can get in an airplane seat), when paige hears the soft thud of the armrest lifting. paiges eyes snap open. “what are you doing?”

azzi settles further into her seat, shoulder pressing insistently against paiges. “getting comfy.”

paige narrows her eyes. “without the armrest?”

“it was in my way.”

“it’s supposed to be there,” paige scoffs. “for boundaries, y’know?”

azzi’s must be coming off her morning high, because she hums contentedly, head falling against paiges shoulder. “‘m gonna take a nap,” she mumbles. 

paige lets her. 

as expected, creighton never stood a chance.

by the fourth buzzer, uconn had cruised by with a 19-point win. paige did her best impression of geno’s scowl on their way into the locker room, and soon ice was suggesting dinner. they argued for a solid ten minutes (KK apparently does not eat seafood) and then “DJ’s dugout” was decided on –  a bar ten minutes from baxter arena, and twenty from their hotel. 

azzi drags herself back to the hotel, being incredibly uninterested in listening to KK’s sexyy red playlist for the next two hours. paige meets her (post-shower, content and even enjoying KK’s playlist) in the hallway, her hair falling in loose waves and an easy smile plastered on her face. “i already called an uber, says its gon’ be here in 5 minutes.”

which is great, except that they get out of the uber and paige is immediately looking sheepishly up at the towering buildings. “uh,” she says, eloquently.

they can’t be too far off, because they can see the arena in the distance – but they’re staring up at rexius nutrition, which is very evidently not a bar. she turns, but their uber is gone, already melding back into the bustling street.

azzi stares expectantly.

shit.

paige glances back over the buildings, praying to God that one of the signs will morph into a DJ’s dugout. they don’t. she frowns, glancing down at her phone. “this isn’t right.”

“what do you mean?” azzi says. paige wonders briefly, frustratedly, what the hell else she could mean except that they aren’t in the right place.she doesn’t voice this, though, namely because her girlfriend would kill her. instead, she gestures to the buildings in front of them. a mai tai restaurant, chiropractors office, and – well, whatever rexius nutrition is. paige briefly takes in the #REXNATION sign out front and can only imagine how obnoxious they must be.

“i mean, this isn’t where were supposed to be.”

“you must’ve put the address in wrong,” azzi states matter-of-factly. 

paige sighs. “i literally copied it from KK’s location.”

“yeah, well, KK must’ve been busy joining the rex nation.”

paige laughs, grateful she’s not the only one put off by the sign. azzi watches with barely-concealed amusement as paige spins slowly, phone in hand, like a broken compass. “okay, it says were only two minutes away,” she says suddenly. 

azzi cranes forward, squinting against the sun to see paiges screen. there's a blue dot about two blocks down the road, thankfully labelled “DJ’s Dugout Sports Bar”. she immediately turns on her heel, walking in the opposite direction of rexius nutrition. “come on.”

paige is already jogging to catch up. this is never a good sign. azzi only walks this quickly when she’s irritated. 

for the first few blocks, everything seems fine. there isn’t an overwhelming amount of people out, and paige thinks for one heavenly moment that this is going to be an easy reroute. 

then, her map changes course. “um, az,” she starts, and then nearly crashes into azzi’s back with how quickly she stops.

“yes?”

paige buffers – there’s no way out of this. she has to fess up. “it says we're going the wrong way.”

“what?” azzi whirls around, peering at the displayed map. instead of saying two minutes, though, it now says six. azzi groans. “what the hell did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything!” paige laments, thrusting the phone to azzi. “it just changed, dude!” “first of all,” azzi starts, (and paige knows she’s in trouble the second azzi starts with first of all), “don’t dude me. secondly,” she reaches for paiges phone, “this is why i don’t let you put the directions in.”

paige scowls. “i was being gentlemanly!” 

“yeah, well, you’re –” azzi breaks off suddenly, eyes widening in disbelief. “paige!” 

paige squints. “what?” “you have it set to driving mode. that’s why it made us walk through that dumb parking lot.”

ah. paige hadn’t even considered that it was weird for them to be led through a parking lot. she was just following her girlfriend. her girlfriend who, unfortunately, was using her directions. 

“why would it be set to driving mode, anyways?” paige complains, reaching for her phone again. 

azzi yanks it out of her reach. “no, you’ve lost your map rights.”

“i can fix it, trust, i got it,” paige says – unconvincingly, considering this is now the second time she’s gotten them lost.

azzi hands her her own phone instead. “hold this,” she rolls her eyes, rerouting paiges phone once again. they’re ten minutes late by now. 

they’re three minutes into their (silent, because paige is afraid of azzi having a full-on crash out on her) walk, when azzi’s phone starts vibrating. paige picks it up without hesitation. “hello?”

caroline, on the other end, pauses. “paige?”

“yes ma’am.” 

“can i talk to azzi?”

paige scowls. “what, you don’t wanna talk to me?” caroline huffs on the other side. “no, its just that i called azzis phone because i was expecting azzi to pick up.”

paige, stubborn as an ox, rolls her eyes. “well, az has my phone, so you shoulda called mine if you wanted to talk to her.”

caroline guffaws. “how was i supposed to–” and then, her line cuts off.

paiges phone buzzes a second later.

azzi fights back a laugh at paige’s face as she lifts the phone to her ear. “hey, car.”

“hi, azzi. are you lost?”

“no,” azzi says, much too quickly for someone who is ten minutes late to dinner. 

caroline hums, sounding unconvinced. “okay, well, life360 says you’re two minutes away.”

paige, from behind azzi, can’t stop the “still?” that escapes her incredulously. azzi smacks her shoulder.

“okay, well, we might’ve been a little lost. but only because paige put the wrong addr–”

“i used KK’s location!” paige defends immediately, voice raising to be heard through the phone. azzi tries not to laugh.

thankfully, ice somehow knew exactly where paige and azzi were, and were able to successfully lead them to the bar.

when they finally get to the booth, azzi slides in across from paige with a huff. KK raises an eyebrow. “did you guys get lost?”

“for the last time,” paige groans, even though KK was obviously talking to azzi. her palms press into her eyes. “i put the wrong address in because i used your location,” she accuses.

KK’s nose scrunches. “well, you shouldnta done that, ‘cuz me ‘n ice went to get protein powder before we headed here.” “did you get it from rexnation?” azzi deadpans. paige laughs in response, glancing over at KK for her reaction – which is nothing short of amazed.

if you know paige bueckers, there is one thing you can say with absolute certainty: paige cannot lose. it’s not that she’s incapable of it – just ask iowa in the 2024 final four game. no, paige is perfectly capable of losing – but the loss is going to drive her crazy. it’s her best and worst trait, really. only someone with the competitiveness of paige bueckers would play basketball with the intensity that she does. unfortunately, this is a competitiveness that can’t be turned off, and so it’s nearly impossible to do anything without paige turning it into something. even the most mundane activities seem to have paige as their #1 player. her door-frame touching vertical is the “best in the country”. she holds the locker rooms record for fastest-showered, (ice points out that this isn’t a flex), and she’s the best at not breaking eye-contact, even when it’s not a staring contest. so, as she sits cross-legged on azzis apartment floor with a ps4 controller in hand, it’s nearly unbelievable how poorly she's playing. actually, azzi has insisted for the last 3 minutes, it is unbelievable. “paige,” she laughs. “drew builds better than you.”

“drew’s good at fortnite!” paige insists, even though she’s obviously building without conviction – she’s smashed the A button “by accident” four times now, and is placing walls with the enthusiasm of a confused golden retriever. 

azzi is oblivious, though, convinced paige has just suddenly become the worst fortnite player in the history of video games. and now that paige is playing so terribly, azzi’s never been more locked in in her life. the adrenaline coursing through her veins in this very moment can only be rivaled by her pre-game jitters – she’s gripping the controller so tight it might break. her eyes dart across the screen as the purple storm shrinks exponentially – it’s just her and paige.

azzi crouches quickly behind a wooden build, heart thudding in her chest and a shotgun in her hotbar. “you’re cooked,” she announces, despite the shaking of her hands.

if you know azzi fudd, you know she is absolutely cracked at a lot of things – her three point shot, her academics, her insane discipline and drive – but fortnite? not one of them. paige could end this. right now. 

she knows she can, because azzi hesitates for a second too long every time she peeks out from her build. she has an obvious movement pattern, and from where paige is standing, it’s an easy headshot. 

she doesn’t take it. instead, paige's bullet flies right past azzi’s character. azzi yelps in response, ducking back behind her box, fumbling with the controller in a panic. paige groans loudly. “shit.”

paige builds a little more, trying to make her position less obvious and “barely” dodging shots from azzi’s AR. when she thinks she’s done enough fumbling around to be convincing, she “accidentally” boxes herself in, resulting in a whispered “shit, shit, shit.” 

azzi has never been so close to beating paige bueckers in her life, and paige can feel the energy radiating off of her as she approaches. azzi is breathless and shouting when she breaks into paige's box – paige whiffs a shot and then lets herself get clipped. VICTORY ROYALEazzi shoots up from the bed so quickly she’s bound to get whiplash, her controller flying from her hands and hitting the foot of the mattress with a dull clack. as soon as it’s out of her hands, she turns to grab paige's shoulder and yanks them towards her. 

“NO. WAY.” she grins, punctuating each word with a shake of paiges entire body. for a second, paige can’t fight the corners of her mouth twitching up. unfortunately, she’s more excited about seeing azzi like this – victorious and giddy with disbelief – than she would’ve been if she’d beat her.

still, she dutifully schools an unimpressed expression on her face.  “whatever,” she dismisses. “you got lucky, like, one time.”

paige’s irritation at losing only seems to fuel azzi’s celebration. she flops against the comforter, throwing her arm into paige’s lap like the exhaustion of winning is finally catching up to her, and lets out a deep breath. “you’re just mad cuz you’re a loooooser.” and there’s not many people paige doesn’t mind losing to – but maybe azzi is okay. 

paige does not let azzi win every time – it’s only about 30% of the games they play. maybe 40. and really, it’s not even about letting azzi win – it’s about making sure she keeps playing. because if paige went full sweat mode every time, she would eventually get up to go do something more fun. and then what? so she throws a match here and there – whatever. sue her. paige has been the perfect actor through it all – missing shots just close enough to be believable, complaining just enough when she loses to seem genuinely frustrated. except that azzi isn’t stupid, and all good things have to come to an end.

it all clicks on a saturday afternoon. paige, azzi, ice, and KK are all loaded into a solos match, and paige suddenly goes from fumbling builds and panicking under pressure to absolutely wiping the fucking floor with everyone. ice is the first to go, screams coming from paiges headset so loud that azzi can hear them from the other side of the couch. then KK gets hunted down predatorily, eliminated before she can even get a shot in. it’s effortless. and then there’s just azzi.

paige is settled on top of a building, sniper in hand, staring straight down her barrel at her. she’s fumbling around in the streets of tilted towers, playing so poorly most people would assume she was a bot.

if paige shot now, azzi would be dead before she even realized paige was watching. instead, she misses. she shoots to the left of where azzi was walking to – and when paige takes just a second too long to reload her gun, it dawns on azzi.

she doesn’t say anything at first, though she can hear KK’s indignant “what the hell was that, paige?” from her headset. azzi stares blankly at her screen for a solid three seconds before slowly turning to look at paige.

paige, who is very pointedly looking at the ceiling, jaw tight with forced nonchalance.

“oh my god,” azzi breathes. “unbelievable.”

paiges controller clacks. she moves a little to the left, building a wall and crouching. as if she could intimidate azzi into returning back to the game, into ignoring her world-class fumble. her nose scrunches in mock-confusion. “what?” 

it doesn’t work – azzi’s eyes are already narrowing. “you’re letting me win.”paige scoffs. “why the hell would i let you win?”

azzi looks a little miffed, her eyebrows raising exponentially, and paige might be a little in trouble. “i don’t know, paige, you tell me!” “i missed!” paige throws her hand up in the air, using her other to wave the controller towards the TV. “i’m not a professional fort player. just play the game.”

despite paiges D1 performance, azzi looks unmoved. “you just obliterated ice and KK, but you can’t hit me standing in the road?”

through paige's headset, ice giggles. paige wants to kill her.

paige is just waiting for the drama to start. she knows azzi, knows how this is going to end. and predictably, azzi’s jaw suddenly drops – like it’s just now sinking in. “oh my god,” she repeats. “you only ever choke against me.” her gaze flits between paige and the TV, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “how long have you been doing this?” so, yeah. paige is watching her ego die in front of her. and she desperately wants to keep this lie going, because 1. once azzi finds out she’s been lying, she’s never going to trust her again, and 2. once everyone finds out paige has been letting azzi win, they’re probably going to connect a lot of dots she’d rather leave scattered. 

but azzi looks so convinced, so absolutely sure, that there’s no going back. 

paige sighs, dropping her controller onto the sofa in defeat and leaning back into the arm rest. she rests her chin on her hand. picks a point on the carpet to stare at. and then, without making eye contact, murmurs, “..not that long.”

ice and KK both make offended noises through her headset, and there’s a clamor of “why don’t you ever let us win,” and “what makes her special?” but paige cannot even begin to deal with them.

paige feels the couch shift as azzi moves – closer, probably, as if her proximity might convince paige to look at her. “not that long?” she repeats.

paige risks a glance over, expecting a shocked and maybe even frustrated azzi, but instead she looks.. amused. and what the hell is amusing about this situation? if paige is embarrassed, azzi should be mortified. she’s absolutely dogshit at fortnite! instead, azzi is almost laughing (even though, again, nothings funny) when she says “paige, i brag about beating you.”

paige groans, lifting her head to drag a hand down her face. “yeah, i know.” she can feel azzi watching her. like she’s connecting dots. and then ice and KK are suspiciously quiet, like they’re connecting dots, and suddenly paige wants nothing more than for someone to say something. 

azzi suddenly tilts her head, and paige thinks, thank god, we’re going to move this along. but before paige can even begin to celebrate, azzi’s mouth opens. “why’d you let me win?” it feels kind of like when reporters ask invasive questions. she thinks if azzi is asking then she probably already knows, and suddenly paige wants nothing more than for everyone to stop speaking forever. no further questions, please. for the first time in her life, paige wishes that she was in media – there, she could glance uncomfortably over at CD or geno until someone stepped in. but settled with azzi in her apartment’s living room, paige is stuck with the truth – which is that she was letting azzi win just to see her happy.

which is kind of gay.

paige doesn’t say that out loud, obviously, because she’s stupid but not quite that stupid. except that now she’s kind of spiralled, and it’s been a really long time since azzi asked her why, and paige has no choice now but to simply not answer. instead, she averts her gaze back to the carpet. “‘ion know.”

the room is painfully silent. there’s shuffling in paiges headset – KK hums into her mic like shes stupid fucking morgan freeman. “and here in the wild we’ve found a 5 foot eleven point guard, paige bueckers, sounding dumb as hell,” she narrates. ice snorts. azzi finally shifts again, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head on them. “i mean..” she starts, and paige already wants to die. “i didn’t not like it.” what? paige has completely lost the plot.

“winning. i liked winning,” azzi clarifies, and paige thinks, winners do love winning. except that it’s not actually funny at all because she still can’t really decide if azzi is a wuh-luh-wuh winner or a straight one. paige swallows, voice tight. “i figured you might,” she settles on. “that’s why i let you.” “because i liked it?”

 “yes?” she responds, even though it lilts at the end like shes asking. what the fuck are they even talking about right now? there are too many innuendos being thrown around and paige is thirty seconds away from hanging up on ice and KK. azzi hums and kind of side-eyes paige from where she’s seated. “that’s very nice of you,” she says, slowly. “‘s what friends’re for,” paige slurs, moving rather quickly over the word friends, and she thinks for one horrific moment that azzi is going to call her on it.

but she doesn’t. instead, theres a fucking bang from the TV, and paige’s night has turned into some colossal joke. 

There was one thing Azzi Fudd could never do: make a fucking decision when it mattered most.

Especially when her friend was, figuratively and—if the universe had anything to say about it—literally, close to death. And that had Sam, said close-to-death friend, shouting over the phone like Azzi was ten thousand miles away instead of standing right on the other side of a very stupid door.

“Fucking hell, Azzi! Just pick the fucking tiny black bag that fits absolutely nothing—"

Sam hissed as another jagged piece of pavement stabbed through the sole of her shoe.

“—I’m getting non-consensual foot acupuncture from your fucking shitty uneven pavement, it’s ninety fucking degrees, and I swear to God," she pounded on the door frantically,

"GET OUT OR I'M LEAVING YOUR A—"

Azzi comes out, slapping a hand over Sam’s mouth with quite enough force to make both of them stumble backward, "Jesus Christ, do you like, ever fucking shut the fuck up?"

Sam pushed her hand away and rolled her eyes, dabbing the back of her own hand against her lips. “Is my kiko still intact?” She puckered her lips at Azzi for inspection, stepping farther back from the fucking acupuncture pavement.

“It looks like we just ate each other’s mouth and that’s ten times hotter now. Are we going or what?"

Azzi walked ahead of her, already feeling herself get overstimulated by everything happening around them. The neighbor who had moved in barely a week ago—the sweet one, apparently, because she’d left Azzi her dog’s big-ass turd right on the uneven pavement—was standing outside her house, talking loudly on the phone while her dog barked at Azzi.

Somewhere down the street, a car was blasting music loud enough for Azzi to hear the bass before she could make out the song. Someone's grandma was yelling from an upstairs window. A girl wearing three ridiculous layers of clothing was dragging their luggage with apparently three wheels only, the screech of it grating against the concrete with every step. Azzi felt the heat for the girl.

It was hot. Fucking hot.

5 minutes into walking Azzi had already started sweating through her choice of top, linen sweetheart tube, the humidity sticking her hair to the nape of her neck. Why didn't she opt for a slick back? She tugged at her top, trying to get some air in, while Sam followed behind her complaining about the pavement like it had personally wronged her.

A man on a bicycle suddenly swerved across the road, nearly clipping a parked car before correcting himself at the last second. He continued down the street in a series of increasingly questionable zigzags, as if the laws of traffic were merely suggestions.

A horn blared. Azzi flinched.

“Fuck,” she muttered, "Fuck this fucking city, and this fucking country. Fuck everyone." Everything felt too loud, too bright, too hot. Too many people. Too many sounds. Too many things moving at once. And sucks for her because, through all of it, she had still chosen this place.

Lower East Side was a few subway stops from NYU, close enough that she could get to campus without sacrificing half her day to a commute, but far enough from Greenwich Village that she could actually afford to live there on a scholar’s budget. That was the logic, anyway.

Her apartment was one of those suspiciously cheap flats that made more sense if you didn’t ask too many questions. The landlord had been strangely vague about the paperwork, her Mom had dearly gifted her a 2-hour long phone call after she signed them, and Azzi had learned very quickly that asking why the rent was so far below everything else in the area was a good way to make the landlord suddenly become very busy.

It spared Azzi anyway from smelling his awful breath like he always ate anchovies and dogshit on the side for breakfast, and his lingering eyes on Azzi's chest one time she wore a low-cut top for their very much planned meeting (It wasn't. He called Azzi at five in the morning, when she was coming from Sam's hosted party, hence, said top—but Azzi badly needed a place for her mess ASAP and the semester was starting already the following day).

She also didn’t give a fuck anymore. Not when the alternative was paying twice as much for a room the size of a closet. So she stayed.

──────────────────────────

Having arrived at the art gallery launch of Sam’s friend, who wasn’t actually her friend, but a friend of a friend who had managed to casually mention that she was friends with a hotshot rising contemporary artist in Tribeca—Sam had immediately dragged Azzi along with her self-proclaimed mastermind plan to “network.” (but both of them knew she was really just here to find another trust fund to terrorize)—they were immediately separated by the crowd or maybe Sam's disinhibitions.

But deep down, Azzi had been stoked when Sam initially invited her. She rarely got the chance to attend things like this, and whatever Sam’s ulterior motives were, Azzi wasn’t about to complain about getting into an actual gallery opening for free. So she roamed around on her own and took her time with each piece, quietly appreciating the work in a way she knew Sam would probably find painfully boring.

She lingered in front of a piece depicting a mother holding her baby upside down by one ankle, her grip strangely gentle as the infant hung limp toward the floor. There was something almost tender about it.

Almost.

The baby’s face, she realized, wasn’t obscured by its hair—it had no face at all. She stared at it for a moment longer, trying to decide whether that was intentional or her laser-corrected eyesight was regressing once again. Her eyes dragged to the title, printed in small lettering beneath the frame,

A Mother Preparing Her Child For Feed.

Azzi’s eyebrows drew together. "The fuck?" she whispered.

That's one twisted title, she thought.

“Not a fan?” a voice said beside her.

She froze, startled by the sudden acknowledgment that she existed, and frankly, by the low, smooth, and just interesting enough voice to make Azzi’s brain short-circuit for half a second.

Azzi turned slowly to finally see a tall blonde woman standing on her right, about a few inches taller than she is, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her black pants, studying the painting with an unreadable expression (and a severe case of pretty face).

Azzi blinked.

Oh. Oh.

She turned her head faster than scientists could label as light years, looking back at the painting as if she expeditiously wanted to buy it—as if she could afford it.

Azzi cleared her throat, "Uh, I mean...it's a bit fucked." she glances over the woman pretending as if she didn't expeditiously want to ask for her number.

The blonde smiled, "Yeah. It usually is."

As she was about to gather the courage to ask what she expeditiously wanted, someone did not give her the chance. Someone she's now considering on holding hostage and superglue-ing to her foot-acupuncture-inducing uneven pavement.

"Girl, I was looking for my friend and all of a sudden you weren't there—"

Azzi closed her eyes. Sam tilted her head, finally catching sight of the blonde beside Azzi.

"—so I asked literally everyone if they've seen the hottest bitch alive wearing what might be the cutest fucking top ever."

Sam flashed a cheeky grin at the two women, who stood awkwardly a few feet apart—an uncomfortable distance she had very much caused. The mysterious girl just flashed a tiny smirk as she walked away.

That was the last time Azzi saw the love of her life.

At least after a month.

──────────────────────────

The next time Azzi saw her was the last time Azzi decided she was ever going to leave her apartment again.

Azzi was at the grocery store two blocks from her place, standing in front of the cottage cheese section, whose options were painfully limited. She was holding two identical tubs of cottage cheese, comparing their nutritional information with the seriousness of someone making a life-altering financial decision.

All the while, she was comfortably dressed in her tiny heart-patterned red shorts and her “I ❤️ Piss” tee, a stupid shirt she’d gotten from a TikTok game she and her friends had played a year ago—which had annoyingly turned out to be the softest shirt she’d ever owned.

“Nice shirt.”

Azzi looked up. Then down to her shirt. And up again.

It was her.

And Azzi was wearing an “I ❤️ Piss” shirt.

She briefly considered plunging herself directly into the refrigerator and locking herself in there for eternity until she freezes and eventually vaporizes.

The girl must have noticed her sudden embarrassment because she laughed. She laughed with her smile pulling at the corners of her eyes. Fuck, even her laugh is cute and hot. Azzi could not keep it. At all.

“You live ’round here...Pretty?" the girl asked.

Azzi went doe-eyed for half a second.

Pretty?

Her brain promptly stopped being useful. She looked away so quickly she nearly gave herself whiplash, letting out a nervous little chuckle as she dropped the cottage cheese in her cart and reached for the nearest tub of yogurt—any brand, any flavor, she genuinely did not give a fuck anymore.

“Uh…” She stared very intently at the label, "Yes. Just two blocks away.”

She nodded to herself, because apparently that made the answer sound more convincing. Then, because she apparently hated herself, she finally glanced back at the girl.

Big mistake. The girl stepped closer.

“Oh. Cool.” Her gaze dropped to the contents of Azzi’s cart, taking in the cottage cheese, strawberries, yogurt, and whatever other aggressively healthy shit she had grabbed without thinking.

"Your name?”

Azzi immediately pulled the cart closer to her chest, as if she could hide both her groceries and the deeply disturbing shirt she was wearing.

One, she needed to conceal the shirt before she could find a suitable place to bury it in her new neighbor’s obnoxious little garden nook.

Two, she had suddenly become painfully aware that the girl was looking at her groceries. The kind that suggested Azzi had her life together. She absolutely did not.

“Azzi.” She swallowed. “You?”

“Paige.”

Of course her name was Paige. Azzi had no idea why that somehow made her hotter.

“Paige.” Azzi repeated it before her brain could stop her. She blinked. "Cool name."

Why the fuck would she say that?

Paige smiled boyishly, "Thanks."

"Yeah, it's—" Azzi nodded and tried so swallow, emphasis on tried, "It's a good one."

A beat.

"Very name-like."

That's when Azzi died and Paige had the audacity to smile wider.

And then there was a brief pause, Paige looking oblivious like she wasn't causing Azzi mental gymnastics and had her replaying every syllable that just left Paige's mouth like she had suddenly developed a hearing impairment.

Paige glanced toward the end of the aisle when her phone buzzed. “Oh, shit.” She pulled it from her pocket and checked the screen, “I actually have to go. My friend’s waiting for me outside.”

Azzi nodded far too quickly. “Yeah. Of course. Yeah.”

Paige held her fist out to Azzi, still smiling like the girl in front of her was the most amusing person on earth. (which, after this entire interaction and the fact that Azzi was standing there in her piss kink shirt and heart-shaped shorts, she probably was) Azzi, meanwhile, was still somewhere on another planet. Instead of bumping her fist against Paige’s, she inexplicably raised two fingers and made a pair of scissors at her fist.

She froze.

Paige froze.

Azzi stared at her own hand.

This is the part where aliens conveniently land their ship on Lower East Side and saves Azzi from facing the consequences of her painfully lesbian thought-process and decisions. Azzi would be thankful to Gods and consider a straight Christian life—

Paige inhales deeply and grins with her head shaking, pulling her hand away and slipping her phone back into her back pocket. "I'll probably see you around, though.”

Azzi’s heart could not handle Paige, her brain took a mental note.

“Yeah,” she said, trying very hard to sound normal. “I live two blocks away.”

“I remember.”

"Okay. Haha, of course you do—" And then Paige waved her off again jogging away, and left Azzi standing beside her cart, clutching a tub of yogurt to her chest.

She watched Paige disappear around the aisle.

Then looked down at herself.

The shorts.

The shirt.

“Fuck.”

The next time, Azzi meets Paige at the most convenient place ever. Azzi likes to think of it that way.

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