Mads!?

It had been exactly three weeks since the world as you once knew and trusted it, began to unravel. Twenty one days of confusion and disbelief, of trying to stay sane when sanity had no currency anymore. Fourteen days of staring into the static, wondering when the shift began—was it the broadcasts? The power outages? The first time someone knocked and didn’t sound quite human? You’d stopped trying to answer that. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did, except survival.

It had been Thirteen days since you last stepped outside. Thirteen days of stale air clinging to the corners of the house, of half empty cans stacked on the counter, of curtains nailed shut so tightly not even sunlight could beg its way in. You’d let a few people inside during the first days. The crying ones, the shaking ones, the ones who swore they were safe, but you’d learned quickly that mercy was a luxury. That trust had teeth.

Ten days of silence, broken only by the hum of your breath and the slow, metallic ticking of the clock that no longer kept real time. Ten days of speaking to yourself in whispers just to remember the sound of a voice.

The televisions had gone dark on the Seventeenth day. Before that, the channels had been full of screams and flickering news anchors, their faces pale and frantic. They warned about the Visitors, about how they looked like us, talked like us, even begged like us—but their eyes never quite met the camera. And then one by one, the screens went white. You left them that way. You couldn’t bear to see your reflection staring back at you through the screen.

Now, you were in the living room again, crouched beside the wall. A rag clutched in your hand, damp with bleach and something darker. You scrubbed in circles, over and over, though most of the blood had already faded into the paint—thin, rust colored ghosts that wouldn’t leave, no matter how much you tried to erase them. The smell had almost gone too. Almost.

The last one hadn’t gone quietly. They never did. But at least they didn’t linger long. The convenient thing about Visitors, if convenience could still exist in a world like this, was that their bodies didn’t stay. They faded. One moment, there was the ruin of a body on the floor, a grotesque stain of what used to be human. The next, there was nothing but the echo of it. Like they were never there at all. Like you’d imagined it.

You’d turned down two more since then, two people at the door, their knocks too steady, their smiles too wrong. You’d watched them through the peephole until they left, slow and patient, their shadows stretching across the porch long after the sun had disappeared.

Still, you couldn’t help but think: maybe you shouldn’t rely on looks. Because sometimes, the eyes lied. And sometimes, the monsters looked more human than you did.

You were nearly finished scrubbing when the knocks came. Two sharp raps, quick and confident.

You froze, the damp rag dripping pink water down your wrist. The sound vibrated through the hollow quiet of the house and for a moment, you thought you’d imagined it—another trick of a tired mind too long without real voices. But then it came again.

Knock. Knock.

You let out a breath that trembled at the edges. Of course. Another one.

You were already frustrated. Two others had shown up earlier, disturbing you while you were trying to erase the last of that crimson red from your wallpaper. Their knocks had left a ringing echo behind, long after you’d sent them away. You didn’t have patience for a third.

Still, seeing as the stains were mostly gone and you’d reached the point where bleach couldn’t help anymore, you dropped the rag into the bucket and stood.

The house groaned faintly with your movement. Outside the windows, the light was that same green yellow hue the sun had taken on since the world began to turn wrong. Through the slats, you could still see the silhouettes of the FEMA agents out back—or what was left of them. Their bodies had begun to stiffen, lying half buried in the dry grass like halloween decorations you couldn’t bring yourself to remove. They were proof that you’d made the right choices. Or something close enough to it.

You walked to the door, every step creaking under your weight. Another knock came, slower this time, almost polite.

Through the peephole, you didn’t see what you expected.

A woman. Young, maybe your age. Blonde hair tied back in a bun that looked too deliberate for this world. Clothes not quite clean but not ruined either. A little dirt on the fabric, a faint sheen of sweat on her temple, and that was it. No bruises. No frantic eyes. No trembling hands.

She was composed. Attractive, even. That alone made your pulse pick up.

“Do you want me to knock some more to get your attention?”

Her voice came through muffled but clear enough to feel. Confident, even light, like she’d rehearsed it.

You hesitated, pressing your forehead lightly to the cold door. “Well, you got it now,” you said after a pause. “What do you want?”

The woman smiled. It was small, just a ghost of a smirk that made you wish she’d keep talking.

“What do you think?” she said. “Shelter. Same as everyone else who’s knocked before. I’d prefer not to die out here, you feel me?”

Her voice—low and smooth, that soft rasp around the edges—slipped through the door like warm smoke. It wasn’t exactly deep, but it carried weight, resonance. There was something quietly husky about it, a closeness that made it sound like she was right behind you instead of outside.

It distracted you. More than it should have.

“And how do I know you’re not a visitor?” you asked finally. “You don’t exactly look like someone in distress, you feel me?”

Her smirk deepened as she dipped her head, trying—and failing—to suppress a quiet laugh. The sound prickled the air.

She didn’t look desperate. She didn’t act like someone who’d been running or hiding. That alone was reason enough to keep the door shut.

“How long have you been out there?” you asked, rubbing at a spot on your wrist that wouldn’t come clean.

“Like a day or two,” she said with a shrug. “Hard to tell now with the sun doing whatever it’s doing.”

Her tone was even and casual. Too casual.

You studied her a little longer through the fisheye lens, eyes tracing the clean line of her throat, the dirt smudged collarbone that disappeared into her shirt. You swallowed.

“Who were you with before you came here?”

“No one. That’s why I left.” She shifted her weight, resting one hand against the doorframe. “The area I was in was too dangerous for anyone to come knocking on my door. Can’t let them catch you alone, remember?”

The way she said ‘them’ made your stomach twist. There was something rehearsed about it, like a line learned by heart. You couldn’t tell if that made her more or less convincing.

She tilted her head slightly. “So… you home alone?”

Her voice lowered as she said it, softer and slower, like she knew it was an intimate question. It felt like she was staring straight through the door, through the peephole, through you.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” you said. “Who knows.”

You tried to sound nonchalant, but your pulse had started to pound. Something about her presence was getting under your skin.

“I would know,” she said, her smirk returning, “if you’d just open the door.”

You forced a scoff, trying to regain control. “I don’t think I will. How do I know you’re human?”

“You keep asking questions,” she said, her voice a quiet hum, “but your hand’s already on the lock, ma.”

Your brow furrowed and you looked down.

She was right. Your hand was on the lock. You didn’t even remember moving it there. Your fingers clutched the cold metal so tight your knuckles had turned white.

A chill ran down your spine. “How do you know that?” you whispered.

“If you’re so sure I’m not human…” she paused, her voice dipping lower, almost tender, “then why do you sound so tempted to let me in?”

You couldn’t answer. The question hung in the air between you like static.

You exhaled slowly and turned the lock. It clicked, soft and final. You told yourself you were just tired of the silence. That it was safer to have someone—anyone—inside than risk facing another night alone.

The door creaked open, just enough to let the light catch her eyes. They were blue. Clear, unsettlingly so.

“‘Cause I need someone inside with me, I guess,” you muttered.

That seemed to be good enough for her.

Paige smiled—small, knowing, almost kind.

And as she stepped forward into the sliver of light, the air in the house shifted.

It wasn’t colder. Just… alive again.

You led her inside, slow steps, eyes never leaving her back. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound almost too final for comfort. You made sure to stay close enough to watch her movements, far enough that she couldn’t reach you first if she turned. Your hand hovered near the gun tucked at your waistband, the safety off, and bullet ready. You didn’t plan to shoot, but the plan never mattered when it came to the Visitors.

She didn’t hesitate. Not once.

Paige walked through your home like she’d been there before—each step steady and unafraid. She didn’t scan her surroundings like most survivors did. She didn’t whisper or tremble or stare at the boarded up windows.

She just knew where to go.

You followed her into the living room. The air there was stale, mixed with bleach and something copper underneath. Paige stopped in the middle of it, hands in her pockets, tilting her head slightly like she was listening to the house breathe. Then she dropped herself onto the couch, sprawled out, legs open, and completely at ease.

“Might as well just rip that bit of wallpaper off,” she said casually, chin tipping toward the faded stain you’d been scrubbing for hours. “Smell won’t go away.”

Your grip on the gun tightened. She hadn’t even looked at it.

“How’d you know it was there?” you asked quietly.

Paige finally looked up at you, blue eyes meeting yours in a way that felt wrong. They were soft and cold at the same time, too steady to belong to someone human. There was something hungry in the stillness of her gaze.

“Lucky guess.” Her lips curved up again into that faint, lazy smirk.

You didn’t respond, because you didn’t trust your voice not to shake. You wanted to break eye contact, to move, to breathe—but you couldn’t. She looked at you like she was peeling your skin away layer by layer, and part of you wanted her to keep going.

“Paige,” she said after a long silence, her voice low and rough around the edges.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“My name.” She leaned back slightly, still staring up at you from the couch. “It’s Paige.”

You blinked. Of course it was. That should’ve been obvious, but somehow, your brain lagged. You couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or something she was doing to you.

“Cool,” you murmured, voice flat, trying to sound unaffected. But she was still watching you, pupils dilated just enough to make you uneasy.

You wondered, for one awful second, what her skin felt like. If it’d be warm. If she’d flinch at your touch.

You shook the thought off hard enough to make your jaw ache. No. You couldn’t want anything right now. Not when wanting got people killed.

She tilted her head again, like she could hear your thoughts knocking around inside your skull. “You’re not gonna test me?”

Your pulse stuttered. She said it too easily, too sure of herself, like she already knew the answer.

You kept your face blank, forcing your voice into something cold. “Don’t get too excited about it. Or too comfortable.”

Her grin widened just enough to show a sliver of teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You turned away before she could say anything else, your fingers twitching near your gun again. The hallway light flickered overhead. You stopped by the radio, twisting its knob, smacking the side and hoping for a voice, static, something. But there was nothing. Just that endless, pulsing hum beneath the silence.

You could feel her gaze still on you from the couch. Heavy. Like hands pressing against your back.

Your throat felt dry when you finally slipped into your bedroom and locked the door behind you.

For a long time, you just stood there, staring at the handle, half expecting it to turn on its own. But it didn’t. Not yet.

You exhaled slowly and let yourself collapse onto the bed. The sheets were warm. The world was quieter than usual, and still you could swear you heard her voice under your skin.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to shake it off. Trying not to think about her, about her voice, her eyes, her smirk. But it didn’t work.

You didn’t know if you’d ever sleep again.

And deep down, you weren’t sure if you even wanted to.

You didn’t expect to wake up the next morning, if you were being fully honest with yourself. You weren’t even sure what you expected. An attack in the dark? A stranger’s breath against your neck? The sound of your front door swinging open to the things outside?

But it definitely wasn’t waking up to your clock blinking 12:38 PM in a lazy, casual way. Like the world wasn’t ending. Like everything was normal.

Your brain was groggy, like you’d been drugged. You rarely slept deeply anymore—your dreams were usually too violent, too loud. Lately, every time you closed your eyes, the Visitors showed up. Sometimes they watched. Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes they smiled.

But today? Nothing. Just blankness and a faint ache behind your eyes.

You pressed your palm to your forehead as you sat up. You tried to search your mind, forcing it to rewind the night, but all you found were flashes. White teeth, blue eyes, fingers wrapped around your wrist. A laugh. Or a growl. Or breathing. You weren’t sure.

It made your chest tighten.

You stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. The faucet sputtered before releasing a cold, biting stream of water. You splashed your face repeatedly until your skin stung.

When you finally looked into the mirror, your breath snagged in your throat.

Your reflection wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t right either.

Your eyes were bloodshot and glossy.

Your skin drained of warmth, like light reflected off porcelain instead of flesh.

You leaned closer and noticed the way your pupils looked a fraction too dilated. Like prey.

Or like something nocturnal.

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth as you finished brushing your teeth and stepped out into the silent hallway.

Silent, except for the soft creak of the house breathing around you.

You forced your feet to carry you past the living room and past where you last saw her.

You slowed.

She was still there. Exactly as you left her—same posture, same casual sprawl, same hands loosely resting on her thighs like she had nowhere else to be. Her focus was fixed dead ahead at the wide open window.

A window you were certain you’d latched last night.

Your heart crawled up into your throat. You didn’t want to look outside, didn’t want to risk seeing them… The ones that scanned houses for movement and begged in voices that mimicked people they’d devoured.

So you kept your gaze locked on Paige.

“Good morning.” Her voice drifted out smooth and quiet—too quiet—like she didn’t need volume to reach you.

“Did you sleep well?”

You froze, body angled halfway behind the doorframe like a child hiding from a ghost. You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. You just hummed a weak, unsure noise that barely qualified as communication.

She didn’t look at you, her attention stayed on the sunlit horror beyond the glass.

Were you missing something? Was she seeing movement? Shadows? Someone staring back?

Your fingers twitched.

Then, slowly, she turned her head.

When her eyes met yours, every muscle in your body seized. Blue. Too blue. Unblinking.

Like she wasn’t looking at you, but into you, carving your secrets out from the inside.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Her tone curled at the edges in a knowing, delighted way.

It felt like a pressure wrapped around your ribs, squeezing so tight your next breath came out as a shaky exhale. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up one by one.

The room was warm, but you suddenly felt cold.

You backed away before you even realized you were moving, retreating step by slow step until the living room disappeared from your view. Paige didn’t follow. She didn’t need to.

Her gaze still clung to you.

You pressed your shoulders against the wall and tried to calm your breathing, but clarity refused to come. Something about her was wrong. Too sure of herself, too calm, too comfortable in the nightmare your home had become.

You knew you should test her. You knew you should be ready to kill her. You knew you should never, ever turn your back on her.

And yet, despite the dread going down your spine, you couldn’t shake the twisted comfort that came with her presence. Like if something terrible tried to break in, she’d already be waiting for it.

Whether to protect you—or to join it—you still couldn’t tell.

You sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine on one side and your loaded gun on the other, lined up perfectly to your dominant hand in case survival demanded speed again. You stared at the gun as though you were seeing it for the first time, even though it had been your closest companion these past weeks. Your heartbeat counted the moments you had used it and the number of times you wished you hadn’t.

If someone had told you a month ago that you’d be using it to blow ‘people’s’ brains out—watching blood and something more metallic splatter across your walls and into the carpet threading like spilled ink—you would’ve laughed. Maybe even offered to walk them into a psych ward yourself.

But here you were three weeks later. Too many dead. Most were visitors, but two had still been human. Just as breakable and just as terrified. Warm blood, warm eyes, warm voices. They haunted your dreams, or they had, until today. Maybe they were grateful now. Maybe freeing them from this nightmare was the closest thing to mercy left. It was the *‘Thank you’*s that scared you the most.

“You seem like you’re having fun.”

Her voice—uninvited, too casual for the apocalypse—rang through your kitchen.

You jerked violently at the sudden voice. Paige’s voice. Your hand flew for the gun, knocking the wine glass over with a sharp crack. Dark red splashed across the table and floor like spilled blood. The stem shattered, pieces glittering like tiny teeth.

Your pulse hammered against your throat.

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she leaned against your doorway with an almost bored amusement, eyes dropping to the spill and the shattered glass, studying the scene like a painting.

“Fuck…” The word left you in a whisper only loud enough for you to hear. Yet her lips twitched like she’d heard every atomic vibration of it.

She stepped further in, every pace deliberate, almost predatory in its calm. Then she crouched before you, kneeling right at your feet as if she belonged there, and began examining the mess.

“It’s okay. Accidents happen,” she murmured. “At least you’re not hurt.” She looked up at you through her lashes, voice soft and warm with something like kindness.

And suddenly your lungs forgot how to work.

You looked down at her. Too close. Too calm. Her head tilted up, eyes locking onto yours. That stare hit you like a hand around your throat—gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to own.

Intimidation, heat, fear, curiosity, and something unnamed and feral braided itself around your spine. Her blue eyes were too vivid, too hungry, and that’s when you noticed how red the whites were. Strained, sleepless, and feverish. It didn’t automatically make her a visitor right? Yours looked the same by now.

Then her cold hand, impossibly cold for weather this hot, for a sun still scorching outside, closed around your bare knee. But the chill wasn’t what you fixated on. It was the softness. The tenderness. As if you could shatter under the slightest pressure. A touch meant to reassure, but it felt like she was staking a claim.

“Are you feeling alright, pretty?” she asked, voice light and almost sing song , like someone practicing affection rather than feeling it. Was she flirting? Or was she simply the type who made endearments sound like threats wrapped in silk like those comforting southern women you loved so much?

You nodded without realizing you’d forgotten to breathe. Though you didn’t remember deciding to nod.

Her fingers tightened—painfully and possessively—as her gaze swallowed you whole. You felt skinned open beneath it.

“Breathe for me,” she murmured, unconcerned and commanding. “I don’t want you turning purple.”

Your whole world narrowed to her. Her voice, her eyes, her face. The way she spoke as if you were fragile and she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Your lungs obeyed before your brain did. Inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly, because logic had drowned somewhere between her pupils.

She smiled. A small, sharp curl of lips, satisfaction disguised as something kind.

“Good girl,” she cooed, quiet and intimate, before withdrawing her hand and calmly picking up shards of glass with her bare fingers, collecting them like precious stones. She didn’t bleed.

She rose, tossed the shards into the trash, and wandered out of the kitchen without another word.

Only when she vanished did you look down at your knee. Her grip had left a blooming red imprint—a perfect ghost of her hand.

So much for not wanting you to turn purple.

The day slipped by in fits of avoidance. You kept your distance from Paige, not because she moved much—she didn’t—but because proximity made your head fog and your pulse stutter. She sat in the same places, watched the same corners, said almost nothing. One thing nagged at you all afternoon though: she hadn’t eaten. Not once. She hadn’t asked for a thing. It should have alarmed you, but you swallowed that alarm because you needed her there. You needed a body inside the house, a voice that answered when you spoke. Needed someone who hadn’t yet learned to kneel at the door and beg for mercy.

Then the knocks came again. Not loud, not frantic—just the pattern you had learned to dread. You’d memorized his rhythm like a warning sign carved into your bones. Three short. Pause. Two long. Pause. A single, final rap. The sound cut through the house, and the silence folded up around it until everything felt smaller.

Your heart turned into a fist of ice in your chest. You’d never had only one other person inside when he chose to call. Your feet moved of their own accord, each step heavy with dread, and sweat slicked yoir palms as you pressed your eye to the peephole. The backyard beyond the glass was the same ruined picture it always was. brown grass and the useless silhouettes of bodies, but he was there too, waiting in the ruin, pale as paper under the sick sun.

“So, you’re still holed up here I see,” he said, his voice sliding through the door like something made to unsettle. It always did. It hit at a frequency that didn’t belong in human throats. “I was outside your window last night. Wanted to show you something, but you weren’t looking.”

You felt the memory in your bones. Last time you’d peeked, he’d stood like a statue for hours, knife in his hand and a head dangling over the other like a grotesque trophy. You could still picture the way the jaw had flopped. The way the eyes seemed to blink when the wind hit them. The thought curled low in your belly and you were grateful you’d slept so hard that night. If you’d been awake, you knew you’d have looked. You would have seen.

“What a shame. Maybe next time,” you managed, keeping your voice steady if not steady feeling.

“A shame indeed.” He flashed that grin—wide, too white, dolphin teeth catching the greenish hue of the evening. The light painted him as something carved of bone and hunger. You could see the shallow rise and fall of ribs beneath stretched flesh or whatever had once been skin. There were hollows under his eyes where sleep had not been welcome for a long time, but his grin made you colder than any lack of rest.

He leaned into the dramatics then, dragging his next word on purpose, a deliberate mocking hum of air. “Listennn. You alone?”

You closed your eyes and let the world press in for a second. He only had the power you gave him. Breathe. Name your ground. “No. I’m not alone. Sorry to disappoint.” Your voice didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded almost small.

The grin dropped. The light left his face and something flat and staring replaced it. He spoke like a judge with nothing but years of cruelty to recommend him. “You know things will never go back to the way they were, right? Life’s changed. You’ve changed. Just give up already.”

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. Silence felt like better armor than words.

“Next time we meet, you might not be as lucky,” he said, and then his silhouette receded. He walked away with a predator’s slow, deliberate gait. The yard swallowed him.

You let the breath you hadn’t known you were holding out, a sound that was half curse and half release. “Stupid fucking cunt,” you spat into the quiet as if the house itself had offended you.

When you turned back to the room, Paige was inches from you. She’d moved without sound. For a moment you thought you’d blinked and she’d moved that close, and the suddenness of it made you gasp. Your shoulder hit the door as she stepped forward, and instinct—hot, metallic—rose up like bile.

“Who was that?” Her voice was too casual, low and almost playful. You couldn’t tell if she was asking because she didn’t know, or because she already knew everything he did.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, cutting the question off. You tried to slide past her, to create space, to make the walls between you feel thicker, safer.

Her hand firmly closed around your wrist and rhe pressure stopped you like a clamp. It wasn’t a rough hold. It was a possessive one.

Everything snapped back into survival mode. Your fingers found the gun so fast it felt like muscle memory on autopilot. You pulled it free and, without thinking beyond the immediate need to make her release you, pressed the barrel under her chin. The cold metal kissed sensitive skin. There was a second—nothing but the small mechanized click of your breath—that felt like the last possible moment between deciding and acting.

“If you don’t let go of me right now, I will literally paint this door with your fucking blood and brains,” you said. Your voice was steady. It had to be. You had to sound like any hesitation would be lethal. “Okay?”

She did not blink in fear. She did not crumble. If anything, the expression that slid across her face was amusement edged with something darker. Your brain supplied explanations for weeks of sleep deprivation, hormones, fatigue, and the way grief rewires hunger but you also felt the prick of something else, an edge of arousal or approval in the way she held herself under the threat.

“My bad, ma.” She let go as if releasing a leash, palms lifted, the grin in place like a secret. The grin did not falter when the cold of the barrel rested at her jaw. She seemed to inhale the steel and your skin tightened at that sight.

You pressed the gun until the metal pressed hard enough to numb the skin, watching her reactions like someone monitoring a live experiment. Her pupils didn’t dance, they dilated in a slow, patient way that looked indulgent. She did not flinch from the threat. She seemed to enjoy the proximity as much as she enjoyed watching you try to be cruel.

Your eyes challenged ans hers dared. The room held both of you taut, a wire tuned to snap. It felt like being observed by something both animal and scholar at once. Curious and amused.

For a breath, you wondered whether you wanted to pull the trigger. Not to hurt her. Not yet. The thought was obscene and electric and half terrifying. You could feel the weight of what killing did, how it would stain the walls again, how it would cost something inside you until nothing remained. You also felt that awful, parentless loneliness and the knowledge that this man outside would be back. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps with more. The calculus told you to keep her alive.

She held your gaze and smiled, like a tutor who’d been watching you solve an equation and was curious to see if you’d do it on your own. Then she stepped aside, fluid and calm , leaving the space between you humming with unsaid things.

You lowered the gun slowly, your hands shaking with the effort of restraint. Her imprint on you, both literal and otherwise, burned like a brand you hadn’t agreed to.

Outside, the house settled. The night covered the yard. He disappeared into the ruin and the sound of him walking away carved out a hollow that no noise could fill.

Inside, Paige watched you with the faintest slant of hunger in her eyes. The night had grown heavy with threats and near consequences and you were exhausted from being expected to choose between them. You thought about the headaches, the dream choked nights, the faces of those two people who’d been unmistakably human until the moment you had stupidly decided they weren’t. You thought about mercy and survival and whether the two were even words that belonged in the same language now.

You sat there, palms damp, and felt the house close around you. She had not moved to comfort you. She had not promised protection. She had simply been there, as if closeness were a right she’d always held.

You could not tell if she was protecting you, testing you, or simply hungry in the way that had nothing to do with dinner.

Either way, you were running out of choices.

You felt like you were rotting from the inside out. Not the sudden, cinematic kind of fear, but a slower decay. Doubts eating at you the way soil eats a body left to itself. Paranoia didn’t arrive as a burst. It was a small, persistent worm behind your thoughts, gnawing at instincts until they blurred.

There was something off about her. Then there wasn’t. The longer you stared, the less the pieces fit together. Her presence made your rules look like riddles written in a language you no longer spoke.

Goosebumps prickled across your arms. Your foot tapped a nervous rhythm against the bedroom floorboards as you sat hunched on the vanity chair. The mirror before you caught half your room and all your unraveling: a messy scatter of papers pinned with notes, diagrams, timelines, survival protocols in your handwriting. Everything you thought could keep the world organized. Patterns. Signs. Names. You read them as if they might translate the stranger sitting in your living room. They offered nothing.

You lifted your head and watched your reflection. When had your face stopped belonging to you? Your eyes, once wide and incandescent with stories, stared back smaller, rimmed with red and glassy with exhaustion. Your lips, once soft and full, had cracked and lost color as if the blood itself had thinned and fled. Dark crescents pooled under your eyes like ink spilled overnight. The apocalypse had been an unkind mirror.

You could not stand it any longer. You needed to know. You needed proof you could point to when instinct screamed otherwise.

The chair legs scraped the floor with a sound that felt too loud in the quiet. You grabbed your gun and yanked the bedroom door open, the snap of wood echoing. The hallway swallowed you as you moved fast, boots thudding, breath short. Your hands were steadier than you felt.

“Get up. I wanna test you.” The words left your mouth with a force you barely recognized.

She looked at you the way someone inspects an insect through a glass jar. Paige’s blue eyes lifted slowly. the bloodshot whites framed them like bruises. A small smirk played at one corner of her mouth. She let her arm fall off the back of the couch before sliding up to her feet, coming toward you like a tide.

She was too tall up close. The air contracted around you in her shadow. You should have felt in control. You did not.

“Yeah? What you wanna test?” she said, voice low and amused, as if you’d invited a game.

You gripped the gun with practiced care, forcing your tone to steel. “Show me your hands.” You pointed the barrel lightly, not aiming to kill yet, just to command.

Paige cocked a brow like the request entertained her. She held her hands out without hesitation. They were unnaturally clean and oddly cold to the touch. No dirt trapped under the nails, no scrapes or splinters, no telltale signs visitors often carried. They might have been washed minutes ago, or they might have never touched the ground. You couldn’t tell which made you feel worse.

You probed her palms, fingers mapping planes of skin that didn’t betray work or travel or suffering. The cold seemed to sink through your glove and into bone. For a second you wondered if you were the one who had been outside too long, if your temperature had become unreliable.

“You happy?” she teased when you finally let go, a lazy challenge wrapped in a grin. “Or you want to touch my hands some more? Maybe something else?”

You rolled your eyes, the sound of it hollow even to yourself. People made jokes in the face of dying, it was the most human thing she’d shown so far. You wanted to be angry, to call her out for the ease with which she toyed with the edges of your patience. Instead you barked, “How about you touch some grass.”

She shrugged, casual and unnerved. “I would, but I can’t really go outside, you know?” The shrug was effortless. Her nonchalance irritated and terrified you in equal measure.

You felt the tug of exhaustion hardening into something more like resignation. Sleep had seemed a gift last night—you’d never slept more soundly in weeks —and you wanted that shelter again. You turned away, each step back to your room a small surrender, the gun still heavy at your side.

Maybe you’d sleep like a baby again, you thought absurdly, as if last night were proof you could trust the world for a few hours. As the door clicked shut behind you, the house settled into its usual thin breathing. Outside, the ruined day folded away. Inside, you could still feel the echo of her hands against your skin and the cold press of her gaze through the walls.

You lay down with the gun on the nightstand and tried to will your eyes to close. The mirror in your head replayed her hands, her smirk, the way she had not flinched. Somewhere under the exhaustion, something deeper and quieter had shifted. You could no longer tell if you feared her because she was dangerous, or because she was altering the shape of you, softening edges you had sharpened for survival.

Either way, you were tired. You let darkness take you, and for a moment thought you might sleep.

Sleep had finally dragged you under after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, the heat suffocating, sweat sticking your tank top to your back. The blanket—usually your nightly armor—lay abandoned at your feet. A month ago, you couldn’t even think about sleeping without it tucked up to your chin. Now? A flimsy sheet meant nothing. Your gun was the real comfort.

Or it used to be.

You’d rolled onto your back, another new habit you never liked, but exhaustion didn’t leave room for preferences. What woke you wasn’t noise, or a nightmare, but the air. Warm. Too warm. And breathing against your skin.

You tried to ignore it, tried to sink deeper into sleep. Tried to pretend there wasn’t something in the dark with you.

“Don’t scream.”

The whisper grazed the edge of your ear, a breath hotter than the room, and your eyes snapped open.

Paige hovered over you in the darkness—a silhouette with sharp features and red rimmed eyes glowing faintly like something not meant to see daylight. A strangled scream jumped from your throat but was crushed beneath her palm before it could live. Her other hand pressed into the mattress beside your head, caging you completely.

Your heart slammed painfully, like it wanted to punch free of your ribcage.

When did she get in here? Why didn’t you hear her move? How long had she been watching you sleep?

“Shhhh…” she breathed, voice threaded with a disturbingly tender cadence.

“You’re okay. Just stay quiet for me, mama.”

Your skin burned where her body brushed yours—too close, too intentional. You nodded, because what else could you do with her weight pinning you down?

That’s when the tapping started.

Soft. Sharp. Rhythmic.

Tap… tap… tap…

Against the window and against your sanity.

You flinched, your entire body seizing up, but Paige didn’t so much as blink.

Her lips curled. Amused.

“He said he brought you a present,” she murmured, like sharing a secret.

“Wanna see?”

Your lungs froze mid breath and the bile in your throat tasted metallic. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Paige removed her hand only to slip her arms under you, one beneath your knees, the other behind your back, and lifted you like your fear weighed nothing. Your arms clung around her neck automatically, your body acting purely on survival instinct.

She carried you toward the window.

The curtains loomed like a sealed tomb.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, her breath brushing your cheek. “All you have to do is look. Then it’ll be over.” A lullaby wrapped in a threat.

Your trembling fingers reached for the fabric .A slow drag… a hesitant parting…Eyes squeezed shut because maybe you weren’t ready. Maybe you would never be ready.

Her voice was soft, yet commanding.

“Open them.”

Your eyelids obeyed, but your mind regretted.

Outside stood him—the pale man.

That grotesquely familiar smile stretched wider than human skin should allow.

In his hands, dangling like a grotesque trophy. Your neighbor’s head. Mouth frozen in a silent scream. Blood dripping in slow, syrupy lines.No eyes left to cry for help.

The tap… tap… tap…was the head knocking against the glass as he proudly lifted it higher.

A sound ripped from your chest—not quite a scream—a sharp inhale that punctured your lungs like knives. You buried yourself into Paige’s neck, face pressed to her cold skin, needing to hide from the world, from him, from everything.

“Shhhh…” Her hand slipped into your hair, stroking. “So good. It’s over now.

You’re safe with me. He can’t hurt you.”

You hated that it helped. Hated that her voice made the terror ease. Hated that she was the only thing between you and a nightmare wearing human skin.

“Why are you doing this?”

The words were muffled into her collarbone, small and fragile.

Paige shifted you in her arms, cradling you closer like a child clinging to their monster.

“To show you he can’t touch what’s mine.”

She walked you back to the bed and sat down, keeping you in her lap like you were an extension of her body, like letting you go wasn’t an option she’d ever consider.

Your fingers fisted the back of her shirt.

You weren’t clinging for affection — you were clinging for survival.

“You’re safe,” she whispered, chin resting atop your head. “See? Nothing can get to you while you’re with me, pretty.”

Her arms wrapped around you like protection. Like restraint. Like a promise. And for the first time since the world fell apart, you weren’t sure which one you wanted.

You woke up like someone had just pulled you out of a nightmare by the throat, gasping and sitting up so fast that your vision spun. For a second, you didn’t even realize where you were. The ceiling above you looked warped in the half light seeping through your curtains, your chest heaving, lungs fighting for air that didn’t seem to reach all the way down. Sweat clung to your back and gathered at the base of your neck, slicking the tiny hairs there until they stuck to your skin. The sheets were a tangled mess around your legs. You could feel the faint tremor in your own hands when you pushed yourself upright.

Everything seemed normal. Your eyes darted around the room, frantically scanning every corner, every shadow, every faint outline that could’ve been her. But Paige wasn’t there. The curtains were still drawn. The window still closed. No blood. No sound. Just the low hum of the refrigerator somewhere beyond the walls and your own pulse hammering against your ribs.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it. Maybe last night really had been a nightmare, maybe sleep deprivation and paranoia had finally blurred the line between real and unreal. The thought almost made you laugh—almost.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the floorboards cold beneath your feet as you pushed yourself to stand. Every muscle in your body felt wired, your nerves still buzzing from something you couldn’t see. You hesitated before leaving the room, every step toward the door slower than the last, and when you finally peeked into the living room, the empty couch made your stomach twist. The blanket you’d tossed to her the night she arrived was folded neatly on the armrest. The indentation where she usually sat was gone.

She wasn’t there.

Maybe she’d finally left. Maybe you’d wake up tomorrow and it would be like none of it ever happened.

“Looking for someone?”

You froze. The voice came from behind you, quiet but heavy enough to stop your breath. The air in the room shifted instantly, and you turned, too fast, too clumsy. Paige stood in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe like she’d been there for a while, watching you.

She looked different. Her eyes weren’t as red as before, though the veins around them still lingered faintly. Her skin had a strange glow, not like health but like light bouncing off polished marble—unnatural, too clean. Her hair looked softer, like it had just been brushed, and for one absurd second, you wondered if she’d been standing in front of your mirror this whole time, staring at herself.

You couldn’t speak. Your voice felt caught somewhere between your throat and your chest, so all you did was shake your head, your breath coming out uneven.

Her gaze was steady, patient, unnervingly calm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said softly, her lips twitching into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Relax. You’re safe.”

You didn’t believe her, but the words still had that low hum of comfort that made your brain want to listen. She stepped closer—too close—and your instinct was to move back, but she only brushed past you with the faintest touch at your arm, warm and deliberate, her fingers grazing your skin long enough to make your stomach clench. “C’mon,” she murmured, her tone laced with something almost playful. “You need food. You haven’t eaten.”

Her hand pressed gently against the small of your back, guiding you forward. You told yourself to shrug it off, to resist, to step away, but you didn’t. Somehow, your body didn’t listen. There was something in her touch that rooted you in place, like fighting it would only make it worse.

The smell hit you first. Not strong, but enough to jolt you. Pancakes. Sweet, faintly burnt, mixed with the bitter aroma of coffee. The table was set with a plate, a fork, and a mug. It looked wrong. It looked like a scene from a life that wasn’t yours anymore.

“Sit,” she said, pulling the chair out for you as if this were some casual morning in a world that hadn’t ended. “You need to eat something.”

You sat because you didn’t know what else to do. The chair creaked softly under your weight, and the smell of the food—too normal, too human—made your stomach churn with both hunger and suspicion. Paige sat opposite you, resting her elbows on the table, her posture lazy but her eyes sharp. She didn’t blink much, just watched as you hesitantly picked up your fork and began cutting into the pancakes, the edge of the knife scraping against the plate.

Her attention was suffocating. You could feel her gaze dragging across every small movement. Your hands, your throat, the way you chewed too quickly.

After a moment, she tilted her head slightly. “Anything on your mind?”

You stopped mid-cut, knife hovering over the pancake. The question felt loaded and too casual to be harmless. You swallowed hard before answering, voice low and uncertain. “Last night… why did you do that?”

Her brow furrowed, and the change in her expression was subtle but calculated. The confusion she wore looked almost genuine. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone light. “What did I do?”

Your heartbeat picked up again, the unease crawling back up your spine. “When came into my room,” you said slowly, each word deliberate, like you were testing how real they sounded out loud. “You know what happened, don’t make me retell it.” You continued , the memory flashing sharp and cold.

She blinked at you. Then that faint, amused smirk curved her lips again. “Why would I come into your room at night?” Her voice softened, mocking affection lacing through it. “Were you having a wet dream about me?”

The sound you made wasn’t quite a laugh, but not quite denial either. “What? No. What the fuck.” You meant to sound offended, but it came out shaky. Her smirk deepened slightly, satisfaction flickering behind her eyes. The air between you tightened. She didn’t have to say anything else, you could already feel her winning whatever silent game she was playing.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe the nightmare had just been that—an ugly, feverish dream. You were tired. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t slept properly in days. Maybe this was what losing your mind felt like. “Nevermind,” you muttered, forcing a small laugh as you dropped your gaze back to the plate. “I probably just imagined it.”

Paige hummed, low and pleased, before leaning back in her chair. “That happens sometimes,” she said, almost kindly. “Dreams can feel real when you’re running on empty.”

You stabbed another piece of pancake, this time bringing it to your mouth quickly, pretending the conversation hadn’t scraped open the back of your mind. She kept watching you though, silent and still, eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t hunger for food. It wasn’t even lust, exactly. It was closer to ownership, the way a collector looked at something rare.

After a while, you tried to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you make any for yourself?”

Her grin widened slightly, the faintest glint of teeth showing as her tongue darted across her lower lip. “I already ate,” she murmured, voice velvet soft.

You nodded absently, but the words sat wrong in your head, echoing. Something about the way she said it—slow and casual, but deliberate—made you feel like she wasn’t talking about breakfast at all.

Evening fell like a blackout curtain.

You sat curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like it could hide the shaking in your hands. The gun rested beside your thigh, silent and useless unless your instincts decided to wake up again.

Paige lounged across the room, leaning against the wall as though she were posing for a painter. She flipped lazily through one of your notebooks—the ones filled with warnings and timelines and desperate ideas for survival—smiling faintly like she was reading a romance novel instead of your unraveling sanity.

“Your handwriting is cute when you’re scared,” she mused without looking up.

Before you could snap at her you heard three knocks. Calm and polite. Too normal for this world.

Everything inside you froze.

A male voice followed.

“H-hello? I… I heard someone inside. Please, I’m just looking for somewhere to stay for the night.”

Your breath hitched. He sounded like a real person. Normal and reasonable. You were already halfway to the door when Paige’s voice cut through the air like a wire tightening around your throat:

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t loud, nor was it forceful, but it made you stop nonetheless.

Paige pushed off the wall and approached like she had all the time in the world. Her fingers brushed your elbow as she came to stand behind you.

The voice outside spoke again, tired and hopeful.

“Please. I’m clean. I haven’t seen anyone in days. I won’t be any trouble.”

Your chest constricted. You swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the lock.

“See?” you whispered. “He’s human.”

Paige leaned down, her breath ghosted across the back of your neck, warm and intimate in a way that felt wrong.

Wrong because you leaned into it.

“You’re smart,” she whispered. “Your instincts kept you alive this long.” Her hand slid down your arm, fingers tracing the tendons of your wrist. “So why aren’t you listening to them now?”

You blinked. Confused. “What—?”

“You’re shaking,” she murmured. “Not because of him… but because of the idea of trusting him.”

You looked down, your hand on the lock trembled violently.

She was right. She was right—wasn’t she?

Another knock. Softer this time.

“I’m not dangerous,” the man said, voice cracking. “I just—I’m so tired. You don’t even have to let me stay around you. Just… just a roof.”

Your heart ached. God, you knew that kind of tired.

Paige moved closer—her chest pressed to your back now, one hand gently closing over yours on the lock. Her touch was cold and tender at the same time, like a soft shackle.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered.

“They always say the right things.”

You stared into the peephole.

A man stood there, mid 40s, worn jacket, dirt streaked face. Panting like he’d been running for miles. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a school teacher. A dad. A neighbor.

Your voice was barely audible. “He just needs help.”

Paige’s fingers slowly interlaced with yours on the doorknob.

“And what about you?” Her tone sharpened, a whispered blade. “Who helps you when you let in the wrong person? Who saves you if he decides you’re just another meal?”

Your lungs stuttered and your hand slipped off the lock.

Paige hummed a pleased little sound behind you—almost affectionate—as she slid her arm around your waist and pulled you back against her, guiding you away from the door like you were something fragile made of wet paper.

Outside, the man sighed, the sound heartbreakingly human.

“…Okay,” he murmured. “I understand. I’ll keep moving.”

You listened to his footsteps fade into the dark.

Paige nuzzled her chin into your hair, her voice velvety sweet as she spoke. “You made the right choice. You trusted me.”

Her grip tightened—not painfully, but like she was securing ownership. “See how safe you are, when you listen?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth hit you. You didn’t know if you were safe from the world outside or from the woman holding you so close.

Paige smiled against your skin, feeling that thought run through you like a shiver.

“There we go,” she cooed. “It’s just us now.”

And God help you, a part of you felt relieved.

You sat in front of your vanity, the soft glow of the dim lamp barely reaching the edges of the room. Your fingers closed around the handle of the hairbrush, lifting it to your tangled strands. Slowly, you pulled it through your hair, and with each stroke, more and more strands clung to the bristles like fragile threads slipping away. You watched them fall, limp and lifeless, and a sharp stab of panic fluttered in your chest.

Your eyes, rimmed red and sunken from sleepless nights and endless tears, locked on your reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at you was a stranger—pale, hollow, lips cracked and dry, the faint shadows under your eyes like bruises no one else could see. The skin was dull, sallow, and even your once favourite silky nightgown couldn’t make you feel anything but exposed.

You sighed, shaky and defeated, trying to find a trace of the pretty girl you used to be. The one who loved this ritual, who smiled at her own reflection with hope and light in her eyes, but she wasn’t there anymore. Just a ghost trapped behind glass.

Your hand lifted and smeared cold and heavy foundation onto your skin like armor— uneven and thick, like war paint against a battle no one else could fight for you. Eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, blush… you did everything just like before, forcing the motions out of muscle memory. But the reflection didn’t change. It only highlighted how far you’d fallen from the girl you knew.

Tears pricked at your eyes and stung, but you blinked them back. Your fingers reached for a makeup wipe, hovering over your face as if it might erase the pain beneath. But you hesitated, staring hard at your own reflection, memorizing every cracked line and hollow cheek. You wanted to be you again. You wanted normal and you wanted to stop feeling like you were unraveling thread by thread, slipping into a darkness that you could no longer fight.

The quiet pressure of those emotions swelled inside, rising like a storm threatening to break free. Before you knew what you were doing, you stood abruptly, grabbed the empty glass from the nightstand, and with a scream that came from deep inside your soul—raw and ragged—you hurled it across the room. The glass shattered against the wall near the door, shards scattering across the floor like fragments of your fractured self.

Paige appeared quietly in the doorway, watching you with that unnervingly calm expression of hers. You didn’t notice her at first, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, hands running frantically through your hair, tugging and pulling as if trying to rip the confusion and pain from your mind.

Her voice finally broke through the chaos, soft and measured, as if she were soothing a child instead of the storm that raged within you.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, it’s okay,” she said, stepping fully into the room with deliberate grace.

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes bloodshot and wild. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you nibbled on your nails, searching desperately for something solid to hold onto, some last sliver of sanity.

Paige moved forward, reaching out to rest her hands gently on your shaking shoulders, guiding you towards the bed like you were a fragile thing made of glass. You stumbled slightly and sank down onto the mattress, knees hitting the frame with a hollow thud. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving.

Her hands slid behind your head, fingers threading through your hair, stroking slow and possessive. The touch should have comforted you—maybe it did—but there was something else beneath it. Something like ownership.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice soft but with an edge that demanded honesty. Not curiosity. Not kindness. Just ownership.

You clutched at her arms, desperate to anchor yourself to something real, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this anymore, Paige. I fucking can’t. I can’t.”

Her brows knit together in a show of concern, eyes softening as if she truly felt for you. But you knew better. It was a performance, a calculated tenderness that only made you more vulnerable.

“Can’t do what?” she murmured, voice like honey, coaxing.

You panted through your nose, lips trembling as you finally met her gaze, eyes raw with exhaustion and defeat.

“Living like this. I’m not me. This isn’t me, okay? Do you understand that? I’m not me anymore.” Your voice cracked, the words spilling out like a confession to a lover or a crime to a judge.

“I used to be pretty. Sweet. Kind. I was full of life. And look at me now,” you said, a choked sob wracking your body as your fingers tightened on her arms. “I’m wilting away. I don’t even look human anymore. I don’t feel human.”

Paige’s hands came up to cup your face, cold yet eerily soft, gentle enough to soothe but firm enough to remind you she was in control. Her gaze locked onto yours, her small smile curling at the edges—sympathy and something darker entwined.

“That’s good,” she said, voice low and velvety. “Humans are weak. You’re evolving.”

Her thumbs traced slow paths down your cheeks, wiping away the mascara-streaked tears with deliberate care. “And you’re still pretty, baby. So, so fucking gorgeous.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because somewhere between the exhaustion and the brokenness, between the need to resist and the hunger for comfort, a part of you began to listen. To fall. To lean in.

And Paige was there, always there, ready to catch you.

Paige slid behind you on the bed without a sound, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Her knees came up on either side of your hips, closing you in place like she’d been waiting for this exact position. Her chest pressed against your back, not fully—she was savoring the inches she hadn’t claimed yet.

Her hand wrapped around your jaw, gently but with direction, turning your face toward the mirror as if you didn’t deserve to look away from what you were becoming.

“Look at you,” she whispered into your hair, her breath threading through the strands. “You can’t tell me that’s not beautiful.”

She brushed your hair to the opposite side with slow, deliberate fingers. The gesture was caring to anyone else, but to you, it felt like preparation. Her face hovered over your shoulder, cheek almost touching yours as she inspected the reflection like it was her masterpiece.

“Why would you want to look human?” Her voice dropped, low and darkly proud. “You look so much better like this.”

Your eyes—once warm, once full of sunlight—looked almost glassy under the dim lamp glow. Lighter. Sharper. Foreign. You hadn’t noticed it happening, you’d been too busy falling apart everywhere else.

Her lips ghosted the tender skin beneath your ear.

“This is who you’re meant to be, pretty,” she murmured, each syllable sliding down your spine. Then with a kiss against your cold neck, “Mine.”

A shiver raced through you, not entirely fear.

Her mouth moved up your throat in patient ascension. The soft pressure of each kiss carried a silent threat. She could devour you if she wanted to. And she did want to.

Her hands glided down your arms, her fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake until she reached your wrists. She lifted them, placing your hands gently on your thighs—palms down, fingers spread—as if arranging a porcelain doll she owned.

Her thumbs stroked the inside of your wrists once… A reminder that all she had to do was close her fingers to make escape impossible.

Then she rose gracefully, lifting her weight from the bed only to reposition herself in front of you. The mirror vanished behind her. Only her existed now, her eyes, her breath, and her hunger.

She caught a tear on her thumb, smearing mascara like war paint across your cheek. Her gaze ignited with something triumphant.

“You’re exhausted,” she said, voice velvet and poisonous. Her hands cupped your cheeks, holding you steady, holding you still. “Let me think for you.”

Her eyes dropped to your lips—raw from weeks of chewing on your own panic—then back to your eyes, locking you in.

“Just give in.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your pulse thundered beneath your skin. Every warning instinct in your body screamed at you.

But you nodded.

Because you were too tired to fight.

Because a terrifying part of you wanted this.

Paige’s grin was slow, predatory, and victorious. She leaned in, lips brushing yours, almost nothing, almost everything. “Good girl.” Her mouth finally met yours, soft at first. Testing. Tempting. Your lips moved without hesitation, like your body already belonged to her even if your mind refused to admit it. Her hand slid to the base of your throat, fingers resting lightly as if measuring your pulse. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just reminding you how easily she could.

It made your breath hitch and it made her smirk against your lips.

Her other hand found your bare thigh, fingertips dragging upward, slow enough to make you shake. She nipped at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open and when her tongue slid against yours, you melted, every defense collapsing into heat and want.

You kissed her like she was oxygen.

She kissed you like she was claiming territory.

Your hands—still placed obediently on your thighs—twitched with the urge to grab her, hold her, cling to something. Paige noticed. Paige loved it.

“You’re so adorable,” she breathed, swallowing your quiet, desperate sounds like they were her new favorite melody. Her tongue tasted fear and surrender and a hunger you didn’t know you had.

Then—just when you thought she would pull back—her teeth sank into your lip. Hard. Sharp. Breaking skin. A bloom of pain burst, metallic warmth following.

You gasped, but didn’t pull away.

She exhaled a shaky, delighted laugh against your mouth. Then licked the blood from your lip like it was something earned.

“God,” she whispered, voice raw with restraint she was losing by the second. “You taste like you were made for me.”

Her grip on your throat tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to promise she could.

And you didn’t flinch. You leaned into it.

That was all she needed to break.

Her mouth crashed back to yours, harder and hungrier, every kiss a command, every touch possession.

You were gone and Paige finally let herself enjoy it.

Paige kissed you like she was drinking you, deep and greedy, her tongue claiming space that wasn’t hers but she took anyway. Every needy breath that slipped from your mouth, she swallowed like a reward.

Your self control snapped.

Your hand left your thigh and slid over hers, not pushing her away, but inviting. Encouraging. Begging without words. Your other hand slipped up into her hair, fingers threading through soft blonde strands as you tugged her bun loose. It fell around her shoulders in pale waves, a wild halo that made her look more dangerous. More unreal. More like the creature she was becoming.

And she let you.

A low, practically feral sound rumbled from her chest as she leaned into you, guiding you back until your back hit the mattress and your head sank into the pillow. The room tilted, the world narrowed, but she stayed in focus. Always her.

Her hand never left your throat, thumb resting over your pulse like she was counting how fast she was ruining you.

She broke the kiss only to hover above you—her cocky, devastating smirk curving at the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes, glowing faintly with that same eerie light from the night before, dragged over your face like a caress.

The reminder struck you fast and cold. That wasn’t a nightmare. None of this was a nightmare. It was worse, and better than that.

Her grip eased from your throat, palm trailing down your chest in slow circles, slipping under your nightgown with a confident, possessive slide. Her fingertips traced your hipbone, claiming skin inch by inch.

“Tell me you need me,” she murmured, mouth brushing yours again but not quite kissing. Her voice was velvet and knives, soft enough to melt you, sharp enough to cut into the last of your resistance. “Tell me you want me to take care of you.”

Her hand squeezed your thigh, urging them apart just a little. Not enough to be explicit, but enough to make you shake. Her lips skimmed your cheek, then your jaw, then your throat, teeth grazing where her hand had been moments before.

“You’ve been so strong,” she whispered against your skin, tone dripping with dark sweetness. “So stubborn.” Her tongue flicked the edge of your pulse. “It’s cute.”

Her free hand slid into your hair, pulling just enough to expose more of your neck, her mouth trailing down greedily. “But you’re done fighting, aren’t you?” A kiss. “You want someone to take over.” Another. “You want me to take over.”

Her hand on your hip drifted inward, dangerously close to where you trembled for her. She didn’t touch—she hovered —letting the anticipation ache. Her nose brushed yours as she returned to your lips, eyes locked on yours like she was inside your head, answering thoughts before you could think them.

“That’s why you opened the door.”

Her thumb pressed lightly beneath your chin. “That’s why you almost begged when I kissed you.” Her smirk grew. “That’s why you’re under me right now… so fucking desperate.”

Your back arched as she finally— finally—let her body settle against yours fully, the heat between you snapping like electricity.

“Say it,” she coaxed, voice lower, darker, undeniably aroused. “Say you need me.”

Her fingers toyed with the hem of your nightgown, her mouth ghosting the corner of your lips, close enough to drive you insane and far enough to deny satisfaction.

“I wanna hear it,” she purred. “Wanna hear you give yourself to me.”

You could feel her smile against your cheek.

“Be a good girl…”Her hand slipped just a bit higher, enough to make your breath stop.“and admit you’re mine.”

Your lips parted, but the words that tried to crawl out of you weren’t the ones she wanted. “Paige, I—” you started, voice trembling and thin from everything pressing down on you. But she didn’t let you finish. Her mouth crashed onto yours again, swallowing the syllables before they could take shape. The kiss was hotter this time— hungry, claiming, like she wanted to eat every protest straight from your tongue. Her hand at your thigh pushed upward with intention, fingers flexing into skin she clearly wanted to bruise.

The sound that escaped you was embarrassment disguised as a gasp, and it made her smile into the kiss. She drank you in like you were something sweet she’d earned. When she pulled back, just barely, your heart chased her lips without permission and you moved before you even realized you were doing it.

Paige noticed. Oh, she noticed. Her hand slid higher still, brushing the softest part of you through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You jerked beneath her, breath catching in your throat, but she only tightened her hold around the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to hers.

Those impossibly blue eyes held you in place like a hand around your heart. “Aw, look at you,” she whispered, words curling into your mind like a possession spell, “you’re clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.” Her nose brushed yours as she nudged your legs further apart, taking what she wanted without force—just the certainty she’d be obeyed. “‘Cause I am,” she added, soft but deadly, sealing it like a truth you were never allowed to question.

You opened your mouth again, maybe to fight, maybe to beg—you didn’t even know anymore—but the only thing that came out was her name. “Paige…” It wasn’t a plea or a warning. It was a submission dressed up like fear.

Her fingers finally slipped beneath the hem of your nightgown, skin to skin now, the heat of her palm burning into your hip like a brand. She tilted your chin up with her other hand, forcing you to hold her stare. “There she is,” she murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “My pretty girl. My exhausted girl.” Her thumb pressed beneath your jawline, just shy of your pulse. “You’re tired of being human, aren’t you? Tired of pretending you don’t want this.” She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, breath hot and possessive. “Just say it.”

You swallowed hard, chest rising sharply against hers. It felt like breathing through wire. Your body betrayed you — arching, seeking, desperate. Every inch of you screamed yes while your mind scrambled for something to hold onto and found nothing left. Not even yourself.

Her lips trailed from your ear back to your mouth, a slow drag that sent your stomach dropping like a stone. “Say you need me,” she repeated, voice almost gentle now, like a reward waiting to happen. “Say you want me.” She pressed a soft, unbearably slow kiss to your lips, one that felt like permission to fall apart. “Say you’re mine.”

Your last bit of reason cracked under the weight of desire and exhaustion and loneliness. You exhaled her name again— softer, broken—and nodded against her mouth as tears warmed your cheeks. “ I need you,” you whispered, and it sounded like confession and surrender in the same breath. Paige smiled. Not kind but not cruel, just certain. Because she had you now.

“Good girl,” she breathed, before kissing you again, deeper and harder, like she intended to keep that promise.

Paige’s hands began their descent like she was mapping a territory she intended to conquer. Her palms glided along your throat first—not squeezing, but measuring, feeling the flutter of your pulse, counting each beat that belonged to her. She dragged her thumbs down the line of your collarbones, over the swell of your chest, circling lazily around each hardened peak just to feel the way you gasped and arched up into her touch.

Your nightgown clung to her knuckles as she moved lower. Over your ribs, one by one, like she was checking what was still breakable. She paused briefly beneath your sternum, her hand flattening against the trembling rise and fall of your breathing. Savoring the panic. The want.

Then she reached your stomach—her fingertips dipping into the soft give of skin there—until finally, *finally*, she gripped your hips like she was claiming a meal.

The whole time, her mouth was fused to yours. The kiss was messy and consuming, all tongue and teeth and hunger. She pulled tiny, helpless sounds straight from your lungs and swallowed every one like she was starving for them. By the time she pulled away, your lips felt bitten, used, and bruised.

She pushed your nightgown up, slow and with purpose, until cool air brushed the purple lace panties you’d put on hoping to feel like a normal girl again. But under her stare, you felt anything but normal.

Paige looked down at you through her lashes, lips slick and parted, and the smirk that curled there was pure appetite.

“God…” she breathed, desire dripping from the word, “aren’t you just the cutest thing ever.”

Her thumbs pressed into the dips of your hips before sliding out to squeeze the soft flesh there, greedy and admiring at the same time. She alternated between kneading and stroking, watching the way your stomach jumped with every touch, how your thighs tensed and tried not to move.

Your eyes couldn’t leave her. She looked so painfully human like that—flushed cheeks, tousled hair, parted lips—yet every instinct in your body screamed that she was not. Something in those too bright eyes, that edge of hunger just below her skin… it called to you. It promised that if you gave up humanity for her, she would devour the parts of you that hurt.

Her mouth returned to your skin, lower this time. She kissed the place just under your jaw, slow and soft for a moment before her teeth sank in with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. She sucked a mark there, pulling heat to the surface in a bruise that felt like a brand.

Her hand drifted down, exploring again. Your stomach, the waistband of your lace amd lower.

She cupped you through the fabric.

You gasped, quiet and soft, and Paige’s lips split into a pleased smile against your neck. She pressed more firmly, testing how soaked the lace already was, humming when she found her answer.

“Got you this wet already?” she murmured into your skin, voice vibrating where her mouth pressed. She licked the new bruise slowly, savoring the taste of you like it was a delicacy. “Just for me.”

Then her knee slid between your thighs and nudged—not gentle, not tentative—forcing you open like a door she had every right to walk through. The muscles in your legs melted around her instinctually, granting her the access she wanted. Needed. Her thumb slid along the damp lace again, slow circles that made your hips chase the pressure without thinking. Paige’s breath hitched too, a low, involuntary sound like your need was feeding her.

Her teeth scraped down your neck, each nip more desperate, like she was trying to keep herself from biting deep enough to change everything too fast.

You felt her smile against your throat , sharp and hungry, right before she whispered against your pulse, voice trembling with restraint, “Just let me have you, pretty girl…”

Not a demand. Not even a question. Just a promise she was starving to fulfill.

Her thumb traced slow, taunting circles over the damp fabric covering your core while her mouth devoured your neck. Lips, then tongue, then teeth, as though she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to worship or ruin you.

Eventually the restraint snapped.

She bit down, not enough to break skin, but enough that the sting radiated deep and hot, electric in a way that made your back arch. You knew that mark would be there for days. She wanted it there for days.

All you could do was whimper, breath catching. You didn’t push her away. You didn’t dare. The pain was sharp, intoxicating, and a reminder that she was real and here and touching you exactly how you needed.

“F-fuck…” you breathed, lungs tight like she’d stolen all your air. “Do something.”

Paige lifted her head slowly, almost lazily, like a predator indulging a helpless little thing beneath her. Hovering over you, she looked down with a seriousness you’d never seen in her before, her expression carved from hunger and command.

“Ask nicely.” No smile. No warmth. Just power wrapped in a beautiful face.

Your throat tightened. Tears clung to your lashes from the overwhelming mix of arousal and sensation, but you forced your voice to steady, even if it only came out as a fragile whisper.

“Please…” Your fingers curled in the sheets, voice small and desperate. “Please, Paige. I need you. I need something. Anything. Please.”

Desperation tasted sweet on your tongue and she savored it. Satisfaction curled at the corner of her lips, a private little smirk that said she could do unspeakable things to you if she really wanted to. And she did. Just slowly.

She eased back, sitting on her heels, studying you with a calm intensity, as though she were deciding which part of you to consume first. Her gaze moved down your body like a hand, stripping you layer by layer even before her fingers reached the waistband of your panties.

You expected a slow slide. A tease.

Instead she ripped them.

The lace tore apart between her fists like nothing. The sound alone sent heat rushing through your veins. Your gasp hadn’t even finished leaving your throat before she was on you again, crushed lips against yours, stealing your shock and turning it into a mess of need.

When her fingers slipped lower, brushing your entrance, you could tell how embarrassingly wet you already were.

“You’re soaked, mama,” she murmured against your mouth, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You need it that bad?”

All you could do was nod—quick, eager, shameless. Your lower lip jutted out in a silent plea that only made her chuckle darkly.

She didn’t answer, she simply acted. The nightgown was tugged up and off you entirely, tossed aside like it offended her by existing between you and her hands. Then came her own shirt—over her head in one swift motion—leaving her in a sports bra and the loose shorts you’d given her earlier. They looked better on her than they ever had on you.

You stared. It was impossible not to. The smooth planes of her stomach, the toned lines of her arms, freckles scattered like constellations across shoulders you wanted to memorize with your mouth. She looked so human… frighteningly human. And yet, something deep inside you knew she wasn’t.

She crawled up your body again, and before you could brace for it—

Two long fingers pushed into you.

A stretch that bordered that thin line between pain and pleasure. You sucked in a long breath through your nose, eyes squeezing shut, everything in your body tightening around her.

The reaction only fed her more.

“You’re so gorgeous when you’re in pain,” she whispered, curling her fingers just slightly, enough to make your hips jump toward her. “Like an angel.”

The smirk on her lips said she knew exactly how untrue that word was to you, and how badly you wanted to believe it when she said it.

Her rhythm started slow, deliberate, learning every gasp you gave her. She watched you like a study, eyes tracking every shift, every flutter of your lashes, every breath that stuttered when she changed the angle.

She drank in your pain like it was pleasure. And maybe it was for both of you.

Your nails dug into her back without thought, dragging down her skin, leaving angry red trails. A thin line of blood welled under one. Paige hissrd, not in pain, but in satisfaction. She liked it. She wanted more.

You had never felt anything like this.

And she looked at you like you were the closest thing to divine she’d ever seen. Hair fanned around you like a halo, lips swollen from kisses that bordered on bites, your neck and chest marked by her possessiveness. She wanted to take her time. To savor every inch she claimed. To make sure you never forgot who made you feel like this. She wanted to ruin you, slowly and beautifully, until nothing in the universe could compare.

Her fingers never faltered, slick, sure, and ruthlessly patient as she worked you open. A third joined the others, stretching you further, and the shocked whimper that tore out of you made her pupils blow wide. It was like she needed to witness every twitch of your body, every stutter of your breath. Like she fed on it.

Paige curled her fingers again, deeper this time, angling just right as they hit that spot, and the sound that escaped you wasn’t pretty or controlled. It was raw and iInstinctive. A confession torn right from your chest.

She smiled like she owned that sound. Owned you.

Her thumb found you too, drawing slow, circling patterns over your throbbing clit that mocked the frantic hunger of her fingers. Pleasure and pain clashed and tangled until you couldn’t separate one from the other. She was savoring you—dissecting your reactions, playing with your limits—as though she had all night to dismantle you piece by trembling piece.

Your head tipped back into the pillow, neck bared like prey offering itself up. Paige’s mouth descended immediately, claiming the vulnerable column of your throat. Her tongue soothed over bruised skin for a fleeting second before her teeth sank in again, staking another claim. You cried out, legs jerking, thighs instinctively trying to clamp around her wrist, but her free hand was already there, spreading you wider, keeping you open for her.

A low purr of satisfaction vibrated against your skin.

“You’re perfect,” she murmured into the heat of your neck, reverent and dangerous all at once.

Then she lifted her head, slow and predatory, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes locked on yours with a hunger that felt like drowning. Like she was pulling the soul right out of you with nothing but eye contact.

“So fucking good for me,” she breathed, her voice softening the way a storm calms just before lightning hits. “Taking it so well, mama…”

You couldn’t speak—couldn’t think —just clung to her, nails dragging furrows down her back. Every thrust of her hand pulled the tightening cord in your abdomen closer to breaking, heat building fast and blinding.

She moved faster.

Something wild snapped loose in you. You needed to anchor yourself, needed to stop floating away , so you buried your teeth into her shoulder, biting down hard. A claim. A marking. Pure instinct.

Paige gasped, but the sound was ecstasy, not pain. Her smile spread slow and sharp, like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Her hand fisted in your hair, pulling your lips from her skin just enough so she could speak against your mouth, jer voice low and possessive.

“Mine.” Her kisses trailed up your cheek, her breath hot at your ear as she delivered the final blow. “Only mine.”

That did it.

The rope snapped violently, pleasure crashing over you so fast your body couldn’t keep up. Your vision blurred white, muscles locking as you came apart underneath her, a trembling mess of heat and relief and desperate, broken sounds you couldn’t swallow back. You tried to muffle them by hiding your face against her shoulder, burying yourself in her scent, but your whimpers still escapedd. Every one of them claimed by her ears, her hands, her teeth.

Paige held you through the fall, fingers still deep, still guiding, still owning, like she wanted to make sure your pleasure didn’t just crest, but destroyed you.

Like she wanted this moment carved into you forever.

You were still shaking.

Not the pretty kind of trembling—no, this was the full body, bone deep shiver that came after being pulled apart too fast and too perfectly. Paige didn’t withdraw immediately. Her fingers stayed buried inside you for a lingering moment, like she wanted to feel every final pulse of your orgasm against her skin. Like letting go meant giving up control, and she wasn’t ready for that.

Only when your whimpers softened into heavy breaths did she finally slip her hand away, slow and possessive. She lifted her fingers between you both, slick and shining, and looked at them like they were something sacred. Something hers.

The sight alone made your breath catch.

Paige’s expression softened, though hunger still licked behind her gaze, and she brushed her knuckles along your hipbone, grounding you. “There you are…” she murmured, voice low and strangely gentle, like she was soothing something wild inside you. “Back with me?”

You tried to speak, but your throat felt too tight to form words. All you managed was a nod, small and shaky, but it pleased her anyway. She leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a slow kiss, not claiming this time but consuming in a different way. Addiction. Devotion with sharp teeth.

Her free hand slid up your ribcage, fingers splayed wide, as if she needed to feel every breath you dragged in. “You did so well for me,” she whispered against your lips. “So beautiful when you fall apart.”

You should’ve been exhausted, done, and spent. But the way she looked at you… it reignited something molten under your skin. Like one climax had only teased awake a hunger you hadn’t felt in years.

Paige noticed.

Of course she did.

She always noticed the things you didn’t want to admit.

Her palm drifted lower again, fingers ghosting over the bruises she’d given, the marks she’d left. “Look at you,” she said softly, almost in awe. “All of this… and you’re still letting me touch you.”

She traced the inside of your thigh, light amd almost teasing, spreading warmth through your trembling muscles. Your breath hitched, and Paige smiled against your cheek, lips brushing the damp track of your tears.

“That’s my girl.”

The praise landed like another claim, right over your heartbeat.

She shifted downward, her body moving with a certainty that made your pulse stutter. Her kisses trailed after her, down your jaw, down your neck, down your collarbone like she was mapping where she would bite next.

You felt her settle between your thighs, not touching yet, just breathing there. The anticipation alone had your hips lifting off the bed, chasing more.

Paige’s hands held your hips down, gentle but immovable. “Easy,” she whispered, voice roughened by want. “I’m not done with you.”

Your stomach dropped.

She said it like she meant it..

Her lips pressed to the inside of your knee, slow and reverent, before she began her path upward, a pilgrimage toward the heat she’d already ruined once tonight. When she looked up at you from between your thighs, she didn’t look human at all.

And god—you wanted her anyway.

“God, it’s so pretty,” Paige murmured against your pussy, voice a wrecked whisper. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen… other than your face.”

Her teeth grazed sensitive skin, leaving new marks to match the constellation she’d already mapped across your chest and throat. Every slow drag of her breath over you sent another shiver spiraling down your spine. Your hands twisted into the sheets, searching for anything to ground you before she unmade you all over again.

And she was absolutely savoring the power of that.

You forced your eyes open, looking down through the haze, and the sight nearly stole the air from your lungs. Red and purple bruises blooming over your thighs, each one shaped by her mouth, her possession. Paige looked up briefly, tongue wet against her lips, looking devastating with her lashes low and her hair falling like silk around her sharp cheekbones and sculpted shoulders.

So unfairly beautiful, like temptation built a body just to test you.

She hooked her arms beneath your thighs and dragged you closer until you were exactly where she wanted you—your legs thrown over her shoulders, body at her mercy, pussy close to her face. Then her gaze lifted, pinning you there. Her head didn’t move, but her mouth did, until she was finally right where you needed her most.

Her tongue traced a long, deliberate stripe up your folds, and Paige swore she could taste something holy in the pleasure she pulled from you. The soft whine that slipped out of you was all the confirmation she’d ever need.

She hadn’t even truly begun, and your thighs were already trembling.

She lingered close, nose brushing your inner thigh as she looked at you with that look—the one that always robbed you of breath and reason and dignity.

The heat between you thickened the air, a slow burn that felt like it could swallow you whole.

“Damn,” she teased, voice low and pleased. “Shaking already? You love this, huh?”

Her grip tightened just enough to remind you who was in control before she dove back in, tongue finding the exact rhythm that made your pulse stutter. From where she knelt, she looked like both worship and sin, lips and devotion and wicked intention.

“Use your words,” she demanded, breath hot against your cunt. “Tell me what you want.”

Your whisper cracked, but it was enough.

“You.”

Her grin curled, hunger licking at the edges of her self control. “Yeah?” she breathed, lips grazing you as she spoke. She shook her head with almost affectionate disbelief. “You’re so easy to corrupt.”

Then she truly devoured you.

Her mouth sealed around your clit, tongue teasing through your folds, savoring, and tasting like she’d finally found her favorite sin. She held you firmly in place, as if she didn’t trust your body not to flee from the pleasure she was determined to drown you in.

Your hips chased her on instinct, needy and thoughtless, your hand sliding into her hair just to ensure she stayed exactly where you both needed her.

“Just breathe,” Paige mumbled against you, voice somehow steady despite the chaos she was causing. “I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t about control anymore. It was about ownership. Mind. Body. Soul. Maybe even the heart you tried so hard to guard.

Your vision warped at the edges as she worked you with expert precision—your world collapsing into heat and mouth and Paige. Your head tipped back, a choked curse breaking free.

“Fuck—feels so good. You’re so good, oh my God—”

Every breathless praise only stoked the fire in her, drove her deeper, hungrier. Her face was buried in you, like she had been starved for too long. Like the taste of you wasn’t just pleasure. It was life.

When you actually thought about it…

this was Paige’s first meal since you met her.

And she was ravenous.

It didn’t take long for your orgasm to rise up and ambush you, it was sharp and overwhelming, ripping right through your core before you even had the chance to brace for it. Your thighs clamped and shook around Paige’s head, your mouth falling open on a cry that sounded dangerously close to a scream as pleasure tore through you like a live wire.

But Paige? She didn’t stop.

Her tongue kept working you, relentless and precise, like she’d never learned the concept of mercy. Like the taste of you was her lifeline. If she were mortal in this moment, her jaw would ache, her neck would burn, her lungs would beg for air. But she was possessed by something stronger than pain could ever challenge.

She worked you through that climax like she was dragging it out by hand, not for your sake. For hers.

The overstimulation slammed into you and panic fluttered in your stomach. Your body tried to retreat, hips twitching away from her mouth. You reached for her head, fingers trembling, trying to pry her off just long enough to breathe again.

But Paige wasn’t having it.

Her hand shot up with lightning speed, wrapping around your wrist and slamming it into the mattress, next to her head. The grip was unforgiving, bruising, a stark reminder of who owned this moment.

“Take your fucking hands off,” she growled against your soaked pussy.

The vibration of her voice against your clit dragged a broken sound out of you, something primal and pleading and barely human.

She didn’t even look up. Didn’t need to.

Her mouth sealed back over you while her free arm locked you still, her forearm pressing into your hip, holding you open while she devoured you. Every lick, every suck was fueled by hunger so deep it bordered on obsession.

“I’m not done.”

Her voice was low and vicious, like the warning of a predator that delighted in the chase. She treated your second orgasm like a challenge, like she wanted to break the part of you that still thought you could resist her. She feasted on every stutter in your breath, every twitch of retreat you tried to make. She chased you ruthlessly, greedy for every drop of pleasure that spilled out of you—her tongue moving with expert, almost feral rhythm.

“I could keep you like this all night.”

She meant it. You could feel the truth of it—felt her teeth scrape lightly against you like a threat.

Your body was a live current under her, too sensitive to survive the intensity, too addicted to run from it. You tried to speak, to beg or curse or warn her,

but the words died in your throat as pleasure detonated again.

Harder. Deeper. Like your nerves were snapping under her mouth.

Stars burst behind your eyes, white hot and merciless. The sound that ripped out of you was high and panicked and raw, your back arching almost painfully as you came for her a second time, louder, messier, with no control left to pretend dignity.

Paige didn’t just push you over the edge.

She dragged you there and and threw you over.

And she only tightened her grip on your wrist like she was just getting started.

Your lungs were still catching up as Paige climbed over you, breaths sharp and uneven, but even in your haze of aftershocks you refused to let her have every ounce of control forever. Your hand came up to her jaw, not rough, not gentle, just decisive. The kind of touch that demanded her attention.

Paige stilled instantly.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, pupils blown wide, lips still glossy with your cum. God, she looked like she was starving and finding restraint was physically hurting her.

You leaned in, teeth catching her lower lip and the taste of yourself before you whispered into her mouth.

“Wanna feel you.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a promise.

Your tongue brushed hers, bold and claiming, shocking a low sound out of Paige’s throat that she tried—and failed—to swallow down. She kissed you harder, like she thought maybe she could distract you out of taking control.

But your hands had already moved, gliding down her throat, over the curve of her chest, sliding lower until your fingers caught the waistband of her bra. You tugged slowly, deliberately, letting the friction speak for you.

Paige pulled back just enough to breathe out a small, breathless laugh, more air than

Her smirk twisted into something darker, impressed and hungry as she raised her arms without a second thought.

You peeled the fabric up and over her head, tossing it aside carelessly. Paige didn’t break eye contact once. She just watched you watching her, like your attention alone was enough to unravel her. Then your hands were at her waistband, and this time, she helped. Lifting her hips just enough for you to drag the shorts and boxers down her legs and toss them aside with the rest of your clothes.

Now both of you were bare. Skin on skin.

In one smooth shift, you pushed her back into the mattress and straddled her hips. Paige’s hands immediately found your thighs, fingers digging in like she needed the reminder that you were real and here and hers.

Her voice dropped to something low and possessive. “Look at you…” Her thumbs stroked slow up the sides of your legs.

You leaned down, your nose brushing hers as you stole another kiss, messy, deep, and a little dizzying. Her hands slid up your back, urging you closer like she wanted to feel every breath you took.

Paige’s forehead pressed to yours, her lips barely brushing yours when she spoke again. “I want you everywhere,” she murmured. “Take whatever you want.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking this time.

It was reverent and ruined and ready to be undone a second time. Her nails traced up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake as her voice dropped just for you:

“Put that pretty pussy on mine,” she whispered, eyes blazing with something dangerously close to devotion. “Let me feel you lose yourself again.”

And you could feel it—the shift. The hunger was still there, sharp and feral, but now it was wrapped in something intimate. Something that felt like the beginning of worship.

Your breathing was still uneven when you caught Paige’s face in your hands, steady enough to make her focus, and unsteady enough to show how much she affected you. Not soft. Not rough. Just a command.

“Wanna feel you,” you murmured against her mouth, lips brushing, tongues barely touching like you were daring her to take it further.

Paige didn’t bother with words. She just kissed you deeper, like she was answering with her mouth instead of her voice.

When you broke the kiss, your gaze dropped, and it was hungry and unapologetic. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth without meaning to as the heat began rising beneath your skin.

One of her eyebrows lifted, amused and turned on. Her hands slid to your hips, fingers digging just enough to hold you in place.

“C’mere” she murmured, low and warm and smug, like she already knew you would.

You didn’t even pretend to hesitate. You kissed her again, slower but deeper, until you could taste the air leaving her lungs. Then your lips wandered her jaw, the edge of her throat, each kiss a little more open, a little more claiming.

Her grip on your hips tightened, guiding you against her thigh in a slow, steady drag you hardly registered because you were too focused on the way her skin felt beneath your mouth. You finally lowered yourself to her chest, kissing wherever you wanted, lips wrapping around her hardened nipples, and hands moving with the kind of certainty that came from wanting, not asking. It wasn’t for her reaction. It was because you needed it.

Paige’s fingers threaded through your hair, gentle but possessive, and when you dared to glance up, her eyes were fixed on you like you were something she planned to devour later.

She whispered, voice almost ruined. “So pretty when you want me.” Your hands were everywhere. So were your lips. And Paige looked like she’d let you take anything you wanted.

You eventually dragged yourself up her body, slow and debauched, stealing one more kiss from her lips before leaning back, chest rising and falling, breath still uneven from the last time she ruined you. Your thigh pressed between hers as you shifted until your hips aligned—wet heat sliding against wet heat—and Paige didn’t breathe a word. She just watched. Eyes dark. Lips parted. Like she’d been waiting her whole life for you to take exactly what you wanted.

A shaky sigh escaped you. Relief, hunger, and anticipation all tangled into one sound.

Paige’s hands stayed at your hips, not guiding, just holding. Letting you steer. Letting you feel powerful—the tiniest illusion she’d allow before she’d drag it all back and own every piece of you again.

You rolled your hips forward, slow and testing at first, a glide of slick friction that made your entire body tighten when your clit brushed hers. Your palms braced against her abs and her thigh, grounding yourself as pleasure licked up your spine. And then instinct took over, need took over and your hips moved faster, smoother. You were soaked and unable to think, every rational thought burned away the second Paige’s skin pressed against yours.

“Yeah… that’s my good girl,” she rasped, grip tightening in a way that felt like possession. “Show me how bad you need it.” Her voice dropped lower, unbearably confident. “Make me cum.”

That single sentence hit like electricity.

Your fingers dug into her thigh harder as you shoved her legs apart wider, grinding down with purpose, deeper angle, more pressure, and more access. Everything. The air thickened, humid with sex and heat and competition. Your sounds, soft whimpers and choked moans, tangled with Paige’s heavy breathing. Her pupils had blown so wide they swallowed the blue. She looked at you like she wanted to break you open and worship whatever spilled out. Like she needed you in a way that bordered on dangerous. Something primal and animalistic.

Her nails carved into your hips deep enough to sting and deep enough to claim, helping you drag yourself against her harder. Every drag of your pussies together felt filthy and perfect at once.

“God—please don’t stop,” you breathed, a noise caught between a whine and prayer.

Paige didn’t even pretend to hide her smirk.

“I’m not doin’ anything,” she murmured, voice rough and hungry. “This is all you.”

Your hand left her thigh and slid up her torso, finding her chest — squeezing and touching one of her breasts, taking every inch she offered like it belonged to you. Everything was slick and wet. Skin on skin, sweat and arousal making every movement glide.

“You sound so pretty, mama…” Paige’s words slurred a little with want. She bit her bottom lip, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Don’t look away—”

Her hand shot up to your jaw, fingers firm, forcing your gaze back to hers.

“Look at me.”

You did and the intensity in her eyes nearly knocked your orgasm loose right then.

“I’m— fuck— I’m so close,” you managed, voice cracked open and honest.

Paige nodded once — slow, sure — like she already felt you shaking around the edges. Like she needed you to know that she was close too.

“Good. Cum with me,” you breathed, pleading, dizzy. “Please—want you to cum with me.”

Her nails dug deeper, sharp enough to draw thin trails of blood she didn’t even notice because you were too far gone.

“That’s it,” she growled, hips finally meeting yours, chasing the rhythm you’d started. “Go ahead, mama. Cum for me—I’m right behind you.”

Your climax hit hard—a sharp, overwhelming snap that ripped a broken, high moan straight from your throat before sound itself disappeared. Every nerve lit up, every muscle locked tight as the pleasure poured through you, violent and consuming.

Paige followed instantly, like the sight of you falling apart dragged her right over the edge with you, and a low, breathless sound ripping from her chest as she came underneath you.

You barely registered anything beyond the dizzying rush, not even the way her grip had broken your skin, and blood curling down your hips like another mark she’d given you. All you knew was her.Her body. Her breath. Her nails still in your skin. Her eyes still pinned to yours.

And the stunning realization that neither of you was anywhere close to done.

You barely remembered falling asleep—the world had blurred into heat and lips and the tight press of Paige’s body wrapped around yours. At some point the frantic breathing slowed, the urgency dulled, and you melted into her like she was the only thing tethering you to what was left of reality. Her quiet whispers had been the last thing you heard. Soft, possessive praises brushed against your shoulder, promises murmured like spells meant to sink beneath your skin. You didn’t have the strength to fight it, or the will.

Morning—or what used to be morning—arrived too quickly. When you opened your eyes, the light wasn’t sunlight. It was a violent, searing white, crawling across the ceiling like a warning. You blinked against it, and your chest tightened with disappointment, the sky was still wrong. No stars. No moon. Just that blinding, endless sun, hanging above a world that should’ve burned.

You wondered how long it had been since you’d last seen night.

Paige’s arms were still around you in an iron lock disguised as an embrace. You turned in the cage of her warmth and found her asleep. Really asleep. Her chest rose and fell peacefully, her features softened into something deceptively harmless. For a moment you almost convinced yourself she could be human too. Almost.

Then you noticed the marks you’d left on her, proof of last night, proof of hunger and want, fading like they had never been there at all. Skin turning perfect again. Untouched.

Your stomach dropped. It wasn’t fair, you wanted them to last. You wanted reminders. You wanted ownership, the same way she claimed you.

You slipped from her grasp carefully, your body reluctant to leave but your mind buzzing with a quiet alarm. You grabbed the thin nightdress from the floor and slipped it on, breath uneven as the room felt too small, too warm, and too alive. Something pulsed under your skin. Something not yours.

The house was silent as you made your way to the front door. You told yourself you just wanted fresh air—any air—even if it burned. Your fingers hesitated only a second before unlocking the door.

The second it cracked open, everything inside you froze.

Bodies. Dozens. Mangled beyond recognition. Your lawn soaked in a deep, slick red that glistened beneath the sun like fresh varnish. Limbs discarded like toys. Faces crushed, torn, twisted, and all of them laid out neatly and deliberately at your doorstep.

Not any other house.

Just yours.

Your breath shook as you stepped outside. Not because of the carnage, but because you felt nothing. No scorching heat clawing at your skin. No prickling burn as the light touched you.

Instead a breeze kissed your cheek.

A breeze. A kindness this world hadn’t shown you in weeks. And that’s when you realized that world wasn’t getting better.

You were getting worse.

Panic surged up your spine as you stumbled back inside, slamming the door shut and locking it like that would keep the truth out. Your feet carried you straight to the bathroom, muscle memory from when you still trusted mirrors.

The moment the lights flickered on, you stared. Waiting. Hoping.

At first, everything looked familiar.

Then you leaned closer.

The bruises on your neck were already fading. The split in your lip was gone. The exhaustion that used to cling beneath your eyes was replaced with veins dark and sharp, your irises washed out to an eerie pale shade that didn’t feel like yours at all.

You opened your mouth. Teeth too white. Too perfect. Too sharp at the edges.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded so violently you thought your ribs might shatter around it. You didn’t look like someone surviving this nightmare.

You looked like something made to live in it.

“Look at youuu…”

Paige’s voice slid into the room like smoke, curling around your spine. You flinched, because you hadn’t heard her approach. You hadn’t even seen her reflection behind yours until she moved, stepping into view with that calm, patient smile.

She looked flawless again. Hair smooth, posture regal, skin unmarked. A monster dressed in perfection.

Her arms slipped around your waist, holding you firm, not a hug, but a claim. Her lips brushed your shoulder in a slow kiss that made your knees weaken even as fear twisted deep in your stomach.

“You’re changing,” she murmured, eyes locked with yours in the mirror. “Just like you’re meant to.”

You tried to speak, tried to find one word that made sense, but your voice wouldn’t come out. Paige’s fingers pressed harder into your waist, reminding you she could break you in half without effort and maybe you wouldn’t even feel pain anymore.

Her smile spread, sweet and wicked and undeniably triumphant.

“You’re almost mine, baby,” she whispered against your skin, the warmth of her breath making your reflection blur for a second. “You were made for this.”

For her.

And as terrifying as that truth was, the part that scared you most, was how deeply you wanted to believe it.

You leaned forward, staring deeper into the mirror. Your face looked normal for a second—flushed and shaken—but then your reflection shifted. Its lips stretched into the faint curve of a smile. A cruel one. A hungry one. But you weren’t smiling. You felt your own mouth, slack and horrified, but the mirror insisted on showing a version of you who wanted this. Who was already gone.

“Paigeeee…” You drag out your girlfriends name as you prop yourself up on her bed. She’s been engrossed in a game of Fortnight at her desk for the past hour but she still gives you the entirety of her attention, hitting the pause button and turning to face you. “Yes baby? What’s up?” She asks, removing the headphones she’s wearing and placing them around her neck. “There’s this trend on TikTok, I don’t know if you’ve seen it but… I kinda want to do it, with you.” You shyly admit.

You and Paige were no strangers to TikTok, both participating in trends often but you had never done one together. Fair enough, you’d never asked but neither had she so you assumed she was against the idea. “What trend? ‘Cause if it’s tripping out, I’m done. I’ve already been clowned-” You cut Paige off with a giggle, “It’s not that P and for the record, I think you trip out just fine.” You reassured your girlfriend before pulling up the trend you actually wanted Paige to do.

She watched your phone screen intently, eyes focused and brows slightly furrowed as she concentrated. In turn, you watched her, looking for any signs of contempt but when the edges of her mouth curved upwards as the video came to an end, you knew Paige was game.

“Sure, let’s do it.” She nodded at you and you couldn’t help but grin, “Really?” You ask, giving her the opportunity to back out. “Do anything for you, you know that.” Paige assures you and you raise your brows mischievously, “Anything?” You get a scoff in response, “Almost anything.”

“You never wear red lipstick.” Paige notes as you carefully line your lips and fill them in with a deep cherry shade. “Doesn’t suit me.” You reply, popping your lips exaggeratedly before turning to face her with with a full pout. “T’does, makes your lips look fuckin’ great to be honest.” You know Paige isn’t lying because her crystal blue eyes are focused on your mouth and she hasn’t blinked once. Mental note: start wearing red lipstick.

Paige tucks her t-shirt sleeve up into the strap of her sports bra, exposing her toned bicep. You swallow hard, not even bothering to try and remain composed. Your girlfriend was hot, she turned you on bad and you loved letting her know just that. “Shit P, might accidentally bite your arm instead of kiss it.” You joked, squeezing her toned muscles. She laughed her usual goofy laugh, nose scrunching up and eyes closing, “Damn, fine by me ma. That’s not going on TikTok though.”

Kissing up the length of Paiges arm, her soft skin under your lips was more difficult than you anticipated. It was a challenge stopping yourself from actually biting and sucking her at her skin. You reached her collarbone and heard her breathing hitch and with each kiss pressed on her, you could feel her heart rate increase.

“Babe, you gon have me actin’ up in sec.” Paige husked, her large hand coming up to rest on your hip as you leaned over her, your lipstick covered lips now reaching her sharp jaw. “There! All done.” You say proudly, leaning back to get a look at your handiwork. Paiges right arm, from her hand all the way up her forearm, over her bicep, across her collarbone and along her jaw was littered with the print of your lips.

You reached for your phone, opening TikTok and as Get You by Daniel Caesar and Kali Uchis played, you slowly focused your camera on Paiges arm and followed the trail of kisses. Paige had her face turned from you but that didn’t hide her signature smirk. You uploaded the video straight away, putting a simple kiss emoji as the caption and while Paige went to clean her arm, you watched as the comments and likes flooded in.

People knew you and Paige were together but neither of you had ever posted something so blatant, this was definitely new territory.

‘living my dream fr’

‘i know paige bueckers bicep when i see it’

‘my fave couple!’

‘MOMS’

‘this called me single in 3 different languages’

‘😳😳😳’

You giggled to yourself and liked a few comments before going to find Paige. You could hear her exaggerated huffs coming from the bathroom and find her with her arm under the running tap, a pile of red stained paper towels next to her. “This shit ain’t coming off.” She groaned, lifting her arm to show you the faded kiss marks, “And I have a match tomorrow.” She continued to scrub at her skin, “I’ll sort it babe, chill.” You tell her opening the cupboard beneath the sink. You had your own supply of products at Paiges for when you stayed over and you reached for the micellar water and cotton rounds.

You gently wiped over Paiges arm until there wasn’t a trace of red to be seen, “Like it never happened.” You say, throwing the used rounds into the trash and Paige pulls you into her by your waist, “You wanna do it again?” She hums into your ear, “What happened to I have a game tomorrow?” You mock her previous moody statement, “This time without the lipstick baby.” She clarifies and who would you be to decline that kind of offer?

Paige approaches you slowly, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Holy shit, mama. You look good," Paige sighs out, eyebrows raised as she rubs her chin with her hand. You look up at her with a smile. "Just good?" You tease, taking a step closer to her.

"Good. Great. Gorgeous. Immaculate. Whatever you want to hear, baby," Paige responds. Paige steps to you, grabbing your hand before holding it above your head. "Spin for me," she instructs. You do so, giving her a small 360 twirl as she bites her lip.

You have on a pink and orange printed sundress that went to your mid thigh. It was sheer in all the right places that made Paige heavily debate cancelling tonights dinner reservations. Your skin looks shiny and silky smooth under the bathroom lights and Paige can feel her mouth water just by the sight of you.

You match with Paige as she has one white jorts and a pink and orange shirt. She has her hair down; the waves falling just on her shoulders. She has it pushed back slightly, with sunglasses atop her head. Her skin was tanner than normal due to being out in the sun all day and you loved it.

She looks so hot.

"You look good too," you compliment shyly, looking Paige up and down.

"Thank you, baby," she says lowly. Paige's staring doesn't stop and she can't get enough of you. You chuckle before walking past her, sitting on the edge of the bathtub to slip on your shoes for the night.

"We're going to be late," you point out, snatching Paige from her daze. She pulls out her phone from her pocket, looking. She furrows her eyebrows before looking back at you.

“What do you mean? We still got some time,” Paige replies and you shake your head. “It’s good to leave early,” you comment and Paige nods in agreement.

It is better safe than sorry but the way you were looking right now was insane. Paige needs a fix until you both get back to the Airbnb after dinner.

Paige steps towards you slowly, looking down at you with cloudy eyes. Her crystal blue orbs held something deeper lying underneath, something you knew all too well.

“Paige,” you whisper out, halting your movements to stare up at her above you. Her name acted as a warning; a caution to stop before things went too far.

It was too late for Paige though. Her mind was already in the deep end as she imagined you falling apart before her.

Paige towers above you, her tall height amplified by you sitting in the tub. Paige grabs the sunglasses on her head, pulling them off before setting them down next to you on the edge of the bath.

“Or…” Paige breathes out. She kneels down in front of you, her knees cushioned against the rug by the tub. She puts both hands on your knees, making you freeze. You only had one shoe half-on, as Paige now stares up at you with a small smirk.

You stare down at her as she looks up at you with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Your hands felt heavy on your knees as she caresses them softly, trying to soothe you.

“We can kill a little bit of time here,” Paige suggests, her hand traveling higher up your thigh. Your breath hitches as Paige’s large hands cover your thighs, rubbing them up and down. Her fingertips left goosebumps in their wake and you close your eyes slowly.

“Paige,” you say again, attempting to put your foot down. You mutter her name through tight lips before swallowing harshly. It was so hard to resist her because part of you wanted this to.

All of you wanted this.

Paige’s eyebrows pull into one another as her hands part your legs by the knees. “Hm?” She hums out, continuing to run her hands all over you. The feeling of Paige’s hand feeling you up had your core tingling. The genesis of what was about to come.

“We have to g—go,” you stammer out, opening your eyes to watch her bring her hands to the hem on your dress. She pushes it up, wanting to gain more access to where she wanted to be. Paige smirks, a small chuckle leaving her lips.

“Tell me to stop then,” Paige demands, hand sliding up to toy with the waistband on your lace thong. You bite your lip, trying to stop it from trembling. You let out a deep breath, the air in the room getting heavier.

Paige hooks two fingers under the waistband of the underwear, slowly sliding it down your thighs. “Please tell me to stop, baby,” Paige pleads and you whimper. Paige pulls your underwear further down your legs and it’s too late.

You put a shaky hand on Paige’s shoulder, trying to grab onto anything to help ground yourself.

The cool air of the bathroom hits your core, causing more wetness to pool in between your legs. Paige brings your underwear all the way down your legs before slipping them from around your ankles. She tosses them beside her before scrunching your dress further up your hips to reveal yourself to her.

Paige grabs the bottom of your thighs, placing each of your legs on either side of her shoulders. She becomes eye level with your core and she licks her lips hungrily. Paige sighs loudly at the sight of your wet cunt, something she could never grow tired of.

You are absolutely soaking wet. Your folds glisten under the lights of the bathroom, practically calling to Paige. Paige lets out a groan, eyeing the way your pussy clenches around nothing at the sound.

“Oh, baby,” Paige mumbles, automatically bringing a thumb to your wet clit. You moan out loudly as Paige circles it smoothly, preparing the sensitive bundle of nerves. You throw your head back, moans and whines leaking from your lips as Paige toys with you. Your hands grip the edge of the bathtub as your toes curly slightly inward.

You feel you’re melting as Paige makes figures eights with her thumb. Paige watches you twitch and moan, already so sensitive.

“You’re always so sensitive, baby. Only for me though, right ma?” Paige questions lowly, talking over your mewls. You nod your head before running a hand through Paige’s hair. Paige sighs at the feeling of your fingers raking through her scalp.

“Words, baby,” Paige says. You open your mouth, “Yes, only for you,” you moan out.

Paige now takes it a step further, taking her index and middle finger to spread your folds. The sounds of your wetness fill the bathroom as Paige uses her middle finger to circle your hole slowly. Her fingers move slowly, making you frown impatiently.

You let out a loud whine, shaking your head. “Paige— please,” you cry out, starting to tear up from the teasing. Paige smiles, “Don’t worry, baby. I got you,” she responds smoothly, laying a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh.

Paige keeps her promise as right after, she dives in completely. She lays her tongue flat against your cunt, licking a wide stripe from your hole to your clit. You let out a loud groan as Paige laps at your core sweetly.

Paige moans at the taste; like nectar from a flower, you taste like heaven.

Tears crowd at the corner of your eyes as Paige flicks your clit with the tip of her tongue. You gasp loudly, extremely sensitive. You can feel wetness gush from your hole as Paige works the sensitive bead with mastery.

She knew you too well.

Paige takes it in her mouth, sucking the hypersensitive bead with suction. You shut your eyes, biting your lip as a deep groan rumbles in your chest. Your chest heaves up and down as Paige looks up at you while sucking. Her eyes almost sent you crashing down into the empty tub as she seemingly taunts you with her dark gaze.

Paige puts another harsh lick on your clit before pulling away.

“You taste so good, baby,” Paige compliments, pulling back to play with your pussy. Her fingers toy with you as she lets out a catch your breath shortly. “Feels s—so good, P,” you stutter out, voice airy from trying to gain control of your breathing.

“Yeah? I’m doing a good job?” Paige asks, looking towards you curiously. You nod your head quickly, gripping the edge of the tub tightly. “Hm-mh!” You squeak out, her fingers making it hard for you to speak.

Paige chuckles before nodding her head, “You’re doing amazing, baby,” she says back.

Paige then goes back in, sloppy and wet. She eats it like she’s starving. She licks and sucks until it’s dripping down her lips and onto her chin. She dips her tongue into your hole while rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure, just how you liked it.

She knew your body so well. She knew exactly how you wanted it.

The wet sounds of Paige eating you out fills the bathroom but your ears go silent as you approach the edge.

Paige pulls back, a string of spit and slick connecting her lips to your folds. Paige purses her lips, letting a glob of spit fall onto your clit. You moan loudly as Paige watches it slide down your core, watching it mix with your pool of wetness.

Paige licks a long stripe up your pussy, collecting everything there was to get. “So perfect, mama,” Paige mumbles out, letting out a deep sigh.

Paige puts her tongue flat against you before shaking her head against you rapidly. You cry out at this maneuver as you feel that knot in your stomach grow tighter.

“Paige— I’m gonna—,” you say, words barely making it out your lips. Paige nods her head against you, bringing her thumb back to your clit.

“I know, baby. Just give it to me,” Paige urges you on, watching as you fall apart before her. Your thighs shake as Paige continues to eat you to the end of the earth. Your breaths become more and more labored as you get closer to the edge.

You moan loudly, a tear falling down your cheek from the pleasure.

“This pussy is crazy, baby. So perfect and all mine, right baby?” Paige talks you through it, making you nod your head up and down. “Yes, all yours!” You exclaim, gripping Paige’s hair tightly.

Paige puts more pressure on you with her tongue and you almost fall off the edge of the tub. She swirls her tongue around your clit twice before sucking it with her lips again. This time with extra strength to push you over the limit.

“Paige!” You yelp out as the band in your stomach finally snaps.

Wetness seeps onto Paige’s tongue as you come. Your legs shake from next to Paige’s head as she licks you through your orgasm. You moan out as Paige slows down, waiting for you to come down from your high.

“Yeah, ma. Come all over my face,” Paige mumbles out, giving you more soft licks.

After your legs stop shaking, and breath slows down, Paige pulls back. She looks up at you with a smirk and you roll your eyes at her. Paige gives you one last soft kiss on your clit and you let out a soft moan, pushing her back with a hand.

“I hate you,” you pant out, shaking your head. Paige laughs, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “I know, baby,” she replies sweetly.

"I missed you so much." Paige murmured, her lips against your neck. She started to press sloppy kisses against the sensitive skin.

"We were together, like, a few hours ago." You remind her.

"Don't care. Still missed you." Paige tells you.

"Me too." You softly say.

"I'm so drunk." She mumbles against you before pulling away and looking down at your face.

"I know." You giggle a little at her stating the obvious.

She leans down and kisses you, her hands going to your waist. You kiss her back, the taste of alcohol heavy on her lips and tongue.

You pull away, "You taste like vodka."

"I know." Paige tells you.

"Go get water." You tell her.

"No." She whines.

"Come on. I'll come." You say.

Paige groans before getting off you and up from the bed. You follow after her and put your arm around her waist, stabilizing her a little, but she was taller than you, so it was difficult.

When you both get to the kitchen, you leave her leaning against the counter as you go grab a cup and start to fill it with water. Suddenly, she's behind you. She puts her arm around you, resting it on your chest. Paige leans down and starts to kiss your shoulder.

"Paige." You whine, her kisses affecting you more than you want to admit.

She just lets out a "Mm?" in response as she continues to kiss your shoulder. She was drunk but she knew how it affected you when she did that.

"Drink this.." You tell her, turning around and facing her, holding out the glass of water for her to take. She sighs before taking it and chugging it down before putting the glass back on the counter and pulling your arm along with her to go back to her room.

When you get to her room, you ask, "Don't you want to change?"

"No." Paige responds.

"Is it not uncomfortable?" You ask.

"I don't know. I'm too lazy." Paige tells you.

You sigh before going to the dresser and pulling out some pajamas. She takes her clothes off and you help her get into the pajamas. Paige leans down and kisses your lips afterwards.

"Thank you, ma." She tells you.

"You're welcome." You say. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

You both get in her bed and she practically lays on top of you. You both lay with your arms wrapped around one another.

"Love you." You say.

"I love you more. Way more. More than anything." Paige rambles.

"Go to sleep." You giggle and she does shortly after, then you follow.

You click your tongue again. “I might just beat your ass, Lyss. But I’ll spare it for Nai,” you tell her, looking at her girlfriend with a grin.

DiJonai blows you a kiss. “Sit down, now, boo. Y/n just missed us, for sure.”

You roll your eyes again, but don’t hide the small smile that had formed. 

It’s always a great time whenever you’re with your two friends, even if it means third-wheeling often. You’re one lucky person for getting that general math subject that had you sharing a long table with them. The three of you had been inseparable since your second year in college, even if they did break up at one point. Man, did you play the role of such a great mediator. Or was it just that one foul?

Things are great now, except for the fact that you’re getting a little tired of watching them get lovey-dovey every other minute. You seriously need to up your flirting game in the bars because this situation has not been giving for years now, even if you love the two to death.

“You guys are paying. I paid last time,” you quickly point out, giving the menus to them.

“Wrong,” NaLyssa narrows her eyes towards you. “You paid like five bucks and we shouldered the rest. Besides, GIS has been paying you well. Why are you so stingy?” She sticks out her tongue at you childishly before turning towards DiJonai and urging her to side with her.

“Whatever. Let’s talk about this later,” you say, cutting your banter short. “We have got to talk about what’s new. I haven’t seen you guys for six months!”

You thoughtlessly dig into the croissant that arrived pretty quickly (props to this cafe’s service!). Lyss throws a look at Nai, who tries (and fails) to suppress a knowing smirk. That’s when you feel it: there’s some scheme brewing between the two of them. You put down your utensils, opening your mouth to say your piece but Lyss beats you to it.

“What we actually need to talk about,” she begins, leaning back like you three are in a courtroom, “is your poor lovely. Or, you know, the lack thereof.”

You let out an audible groan, making a few heads turn your way. “Oh my god, can we not-”

“No, we have to,” Lyss insists, holding up a finger. “Because based on your latest dump in our groupchat, the last guy didn’t exactly pan out.”

Nai giggles behind her cup. Traitor. 

“That was just a silly little dump. It’s not a big deal.”

“You called him a walking beige flag, y/n,” Nai deadpans.

“He was!” you argue, trying to keep your noise at the minimum even if you’re clearly frustrated after having to remember walking beige flag Nick. “He likes spoilers! He wouldn’t get into the movies with me unless I told him spoilers that would fuel his interest.”

The two of them laugh, but NaLyssa doesn’t forget and keeps pressing. “Okay, but still. Why is it always like this with you? You’re funny, you’re nice most of the time–” she dodges the napkin you throw at her, “– you’re hot and got your life together.”

You slump in your seat, frowning at your coffee. “I don’t know either.”

They grow quiet, letting you talk this time.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, guys,” you say, sadness evident. “I really do try. I go out, I swipe, I show up on dates even when I’d rather stay home with a glass of wine and binge watch new series. But every time, it’s just feels like… like…” You fiddle with the straw, trying not to sound ungrateful or as broken as you feel. “I don’t know. They’re either weirdly intense and emotionally unavailable. Even when they’re nice, I still don’t feel like I can form the kind of connection I want with them. I can’t find anything that feels like it’s for me and for the both of us…”

You look up slowly, scared of their reactions. You know they’re not the type to pity, but their sympathy sure looks like it. 

You raise your head a little and see them watching you quietly. They don’t look like they’re judging– they never did judge you– just… like they know something but can’t tell you. Somehow, that’s worse.

“What?” you ask warily, avoiding eye contact again.

Lyssa taps the edge of her plate. “We’ve been thinking about this. We have an idea.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet!”

“They usually get me in trouble!”

DiJonai grins at you. “This one’s good, promise.”

“I’m actually scared,” you mutter.

NaLyssa sits up straighter. “I’m setting you up.”

You narrow your eyes at the couple. “With who?”

“With P.”

You squint even harder. “‘P?’ That’s not even a good-sounding codename. Don’t mess with me, Lyss.”

“I’m not messing!” she says innocently, even raising her hands up in surrender, hoping to convince you.

You study her expression for a while, then look at Nai, who simply gives you a warm smile. They look serious and genuine. Maybe this is for real. Besides, they’ve never messed with you during times that counted. You don’t think they’re about to start now when you just opened up your heart to them in public.

“But all this is suspicious. Who the hell is P anyway?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Okay, I’m out.”

“Look,” NaLyssa starts, “I wouldn’t mess with you on this.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe a little because I like the drama, but mostly because I’m dead serious! C’mon, you trust us, right?”

You stare at her, unmoving, contemplating hard.

“P’s cool! I swear. Just gotta talk ‘P’ into it too, then we have a date set, yeah?” NaLyssa leans forward with a small, reassuring smile on her face this time. “Tell you what. Why don’t you pay for our meal today, and I’ll pay for that date with P? That’s how much I’m serious about this. I think it’ll actually work out, n/n.”

You’re scared. You’re confused. You know you can always trust your two closest friends, but going on a blind date is something new and is definitely not your thing. It can go wrong in so many ways and yet… you’re also curious. 

“...Fine,” you agree at last, exhaling heavily. “But I swear, Lyss, Nai, if this turns out bad, I’m never going to go on whatever you set me up in again.”

Lyss throws her head back, laughing, while Nai beams at you. 

NaLyssa corners Paige after practice that day like a woman on a mission. They may not be in the middle of a high-stakes game, there may be no coach calling a timeout with the score tied, but somehow, her stare is just as intense as during those moments.

“Don’t make plans this Friday night,” she tells– mostly commands– Paige, stepping in line beside her as they head to the locker room.

Paige raises an eyebrow at her as she pulls back the hair tie that kept her hair in a low messy bun. She then puts a hand on her hip sassily, “You say that as if I don’t have an actual life, Lyss.”

“You don’t,” NaLyssa fires back, smirking. “You watch Netflix in bed on your precious iPad or rewatch old Huskies games when you’re bored. I’m your teammate. I know this much.”

“I also cook,” Paige counters while she gets her things out for a quick shower. “Do know that I did make a scrumptious salmon last night.”

NaLyssa claps with an expression that says she’s the opposite of amused. She’s not playing games for her homegirl. “Okay, congrats. Now cancel whatever Pinterest-looking dinner you had in mind. I’m setting you up, and it’s on Friday.”

Paige pauses mid-zip. “You’re what?”

“Blind date.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Paige lets out an exasperated sigh. “Because, the last time you set someone up, it ended with you chasing them both down a parking lot while Nai screamed at you for playing matchmaker badly.”

“Okay, yes, that wasn’t my best work,” NaLyssa grumbles. “But this one’s different! She’s solid, I swear. She’s Nai and I’s best girl.”

Paige shoots a skeptical but half-curious look as they hit the shower room. “Who’s that best girl?”

“You’ll meet her Friday,” Lyss says, biting down a grin.

“I’m not going on a date with someone I don’t know. What if she’s weird?”

NaLyssa slaps her arm lightly, taking offense for you. “She’s not! She’s smart, funny, and put together but also manages to be chaotic. Type A by day, the personification of crazy existential crisis by night. Definitely your type.”

Paige huffs, still not buying it. “Now you suddenly know what my type is?”

She scoffs, “Please, you’re easy to read from your crushes. This girl checks all your boxes.”

Paige’s lips tug into a thoughtful line. There’s a moment of silence as they fix their things to get into the shower cubicles. “...she know it’s me?”

Lyss hesitates. “Not… exactly.”

The younger girl gives her a pointed look.

“She knows it’s someone I know. Someone pretty cool. I codenamed you ‘P’ but I didn’t say your name.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re intimidating when not met in person!” NaLyssa chuckles nervously. “You’re like, Paige Bueckers. Golden girl. No.1 pick. She’ll freeze up if she knows she’s talking to that teammate of mine. I want her to get to know you without the whole pedestal thing.”

Paige groans. “That’s not fair to her. You’re taking away her choice. What if she doesn’t wanna deal with all the complicated things that come with me?”

She pats Paige on the back. “She has the choice. She said yes after I told her enough. That it’s someone I trust, someone cool and easy to talk to. And she knows it’s a date. That’s all she needs.”

Paige chews on the inside of her cheek, mind already spinning with different scenarios. She’s not the type to date much during the season, given that she barely has time. But she’d always told herself that if something felt genuine, she can always make space for it. Even now, the idea of a blind date with a girl Lyss trusts doesn’t totally scare her. She just doesn’t want it to be some game, especially if Lyss and Nai cared about her deeply.

“Who is she to you again?” Paige asks carefully. “A friend? Cousin?”

“Friend from college. Been with us through our wildest years.” NaLyssa smiles at the memory. “She’s someone who certainly deserves to meet a partner who’s not going to make her settle.” She shrugs nonchalantly at Paige. “I don’t know, man. Gut’s telling me that’s you.”

That makes Paige blink. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been trying hard,” NaLyssa explains. “You know the type who goes on dates with guys who say all the right things but still feels everything’s wrong– like something’s really wrong. I don’t think she’s ever had a shot at something that could actually fit. I think this will, though.”

Paige sighs, rubbing her temple. “You’re really trying to sell this, aren’t ya?”

“That, and the fact that I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t think you’d actually get along.”

There’s another pause. Paige tries to picture things on her mind: meeting a stranger in some cozy cafe or casual bar, trying not to come off like an awkward WNBA player with regressed rizz. But then again… maybe she doesn’t need to perform if this girl is who Lyss says she is.

“I’m not making small talk for two hours,” she warns her teammate. 

“You won’t have to,” NaLyssa says, “that’s how great I think she is for you. Worst case scenario, you’ll get a free dinner and a story to tell during breaks in practice or your next date.”

Paige stares at her. “I’m hoping for a better case.”

NaLyssa grins. “Trust me. You’ll forget about texting me about the night because you’ll be too busy texting her, asking her if she had fun or telling her to sleep well.”

Paige rolls her eyes, finally disappearing into the shower cubicle. “If she’s weird, I’m calling you mid-date.”

“Fair. But you won’t be.”

“You’re paying if it goes south.”

NaLyssa lets out a laugh. “I’m paying for the dinner, Paige. I’m giving her the money beforehand. That’s how serious I am about this. ‘Sides, that’s the only way she’ll agree to go– and also pay for our bill last time…”

Paige chuckles, imagining the conversation they must have had for all this to come together.

“She sounds smart.”

“She is,” NaLyssa agrees softly.

“Fine,” Paige finally concedes. “Text me the time and place. But if you ruin my Friday night, I am so making you do laps at practice.”

Her friend shows a thumbs up with a flashy grin. “I’ll run them with pride. But I won’t have to because you won’t regret it. I promise.”

For once, Paige kind of believes her.

It’s a few minutes past the supposed meet-up time, but you don’t mind. You’re crazy nervous to care about how your date might be a bit late, or worse, how they may stand you up. 

You almost told NaLyssa you were going to back out because blind dates really aren’t your thing. But somehow, you power through the anxiety and wait patiently at the table your friends reserved for you. 

There’s honestly no knowing what you can expect for tonight. The guy could be weird, for all you know. They could secretly be a creep and just haven't shown that side to Lyss and Nai yet. There are a hundred different scenarios running through your head about how this night could go about. 

Still, you hold on to  how genuine NaLyssa was when you endorsed this date to you. For sure, she might be scheming about something on the side, but you trust her and know her enough to understand that she was really serious about this. She’s your friend after all. You just hope to god she has good taste, or knows your type modestly.

Your fingers tap on the table restlessly, just wanting this night to be over with. 

“Hey, you’re y/n?”

You look up, a little startled by the semi-deep voice. You’re even more stunned when you see a blonde, too tall for your own good, smiling down at you. Her hands are shoved into the pocket of her dark pants. She’s familiar, somehow.

“Table No. 6… right?” she follows up.

You finally come to your senses and answer, “Yeah… Are you… P?”

She nods, rocking a little on the balls of her feet. “Yeah. Paige.”

Paige.

It rings in your head until everything finally clicks. She’s that Paige. Paige Bueckers. Your eyes flicker towards her, and you confirm it again with those blue eyes that have always captivated social media. You suck in a breath, not really expecting Lyss and Nai to set you up with their basketball superstar teammate. It’s certainly not on your bingo card to have a date with someone who looks like she just walked out of a Nike campaign right now.

You study her for more time, letting her shift uncomfortably on her feet under your scrutinous gaze. You don’t understand why a girl like her is here because… you aren’t into girls, as far as you know. And NaLyssa knows that too. Why would she set you up with someone of the same gender– even more incredulous, someone who’s so well-known?

“You’re a girl…” The words fall out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and she takes a second to register what you just said.

“I– sorry, but what do you mean?” she asks, looking like her brain is short-circuiting.

“I mean…” you start, trying not to let it show in your face how confused you are. “NaLyssa told me she was setting me up, and I expected it to be a guy because she knows I’m straight.”

Paige blinks. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you repeat, pursing your lips.

The silence that follows is brief but dense. Your heart is pounding in your ears. This is truly a shocker, and you have no idea how to handle situations like this. Truthfully, what was NaLyssa Smith even thinking?

“I’m sorry,” Paige suddenly says. “I thought this was gonna be like… already cleared up.”

You chuckle softly, still trying to catch up on what’s happening. “Yeah, same. I mean, I only agreed because Nai said the guy was cool and not a creep so…” you trail off, half-embarrassed. This is honestly so mortifying. “Mix-up, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Paige repeats as well, murmuring it. There’s something unreadable on her face as she looks at you. It’s like she’s debating whether to sit or just turn around and save you both the trouble. You’re hoping she decides for the both of you because you really don’t have a clue on how to deal with all this.

You keep in a sigh, slightly annoyed at your friends. Of course Lyss and Nai would do something like this, and to be fair, they did own up to plotting something on the side. You just didn’t expect it to be this kind of… messy? 

The waiter appears like some kind of divine intervention. “Good evening, ladies. Is there any problem before I hand out the menu for the night?”

You look at the girl, silently giving her an out. She could easily back out now– say sorry, thanks, and good night. 

But instead, she lets out a small breath and slides into the seat across from you. She sends the waiter a smile and says, “We’ll take the menu.”

You blink a couple of times. “You sure?”

Paige shrugs with a smile. “Already here. Might as well see what kind of company I got stuck with.”

You scoff, but get her humor, so you can’t help the small smile on your lips. “Lyss really has the cockiest friends.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was bad company!”

“Good,” you stick out your tongue, “because I’m great company.”

There’s a brief pause, like the two of you are mutually settling in for the date night– though you’re not very sure if it’s still that kind of date. You watch as she pulls the menu closer and scans it casually, like there’s nothing weird about this at all. It works for you anyway, because it makes you feel a little less weird too.

The both of you place in your orders not a moment too long. It takes a short while to come, and in that pocket of waiting, you actually talk.

Paige tells you about her team, how she spends half of her year traveling, and how Lyss once made her do karaoke at a birthday party and she’s still not over how good she sounded. You also find out many other things about her like her usual hangouts with her UConn team at Ted’s, and how it’s a miracle she hasn’t been banned from it after making the Dirty Shirley stock run out many times.

Of course, you share as much as she does, partly because Paige is actually a good listener. You tell her about how you met the two girlfriends you’re mutually friends with. You tell her about how the two of them forced you to go to parties because they thought you were too focused on academics, and you admit that you did have fun in the end and learned to not be too uptight. You smile as you recall your memories and describe them to Paige, and you’re having fun telling her all the stories because of her side comments.

It’s only when the food comes that you realize how natural the conversation has become. You almost forgot how it started in the first place.

“So,” Paige says, taking a bite and looking at you, the sides of her lips upturned, “this a friendly date then?”

You snort softly. “What else could it be? Last time I checked, I’m not into girls.”

She hums while chewing her food. “Maybe you’re just in denial. What if you get to know me and fall for me?”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “I should call Lyss. Her friends are dangerously cocky.”

“Kidding! I swear.” She laughs, full and bright, and you can’t help but marvel at the sound. “Tell me why you said yes to this blind date though, if that’s okay,”

You go quiet for a second– not the awkward kind, just thoughtful. Then you reply, “I don’t usually do stuff like this. But I don’t know… like I told Lyss and Nai, I keep on showing up for the people I meet, and sometimes, they’re good. But in the end, I always feel like nothing’s clicking with them. I can’t form the kind of connection I want with those men.” You shrug slightly. “I don’t know. Something new might be nice for me, so I just said yes.”

There’s something knowing behind Paige’s eyes as she takes in your confession. You don’t pry though, since it looks like a very deep thought, with all the gears churning in her head. 

“That’s pretty deep,” she finally says after a minute. “I get you though. It can be pretty exhausting trying to find something and failing to do so every time you try.”

You nod, fiddling with your fork as you let her words sink in. 

“Yeah, exactly,” you murmur. “Sometimes it feels like I’m on autopilot with these people. Like I’m going through the motions hoping something finally clicks.

Paige smiles at you– not the cocky kind from earlier, but a softer one. It shows how she’s really empathizing with you and understanding where you’re coming from. It throws you off a little.

“Guess I’m glad Lyss pushed me into this then,” she says, half-joking but somehow sincere as well.

You chuckle. “Guess I am too. Don’t tell her I said that though.”

Paige leans back in her chair and puts a hand over her heart. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Right then, the waiter comes back to clear your plates, and you’re both pleasantly startled by how much time seems to have passed. The conversation had swept you both far enough that you didn’t even realize how packed the restaurant had gotten. 

“Aren’t you glad I stayed?” Paige asks jokingly, nudging your shoulder as the two of you walk out of the building. 

You roll your eyes again. “Okay, Ms. Cocky. But yes, I’m genuinely glad. That was the most fun I’ve had in months. Just don’t tell Nai and Lyss.”

She zips her lips. “Gotcha.” She pauses, then continues, “Can I accompany you home?”

You hesitate. “I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me.”

“Too bad. I’ve decided I’m accompanying you,” Paige replies anyway, a playful grin on her lips.

You don’t argue.

The walk back home is quiet in the nicest way, like something you’d want to bottle up and keep. Paige talks about the streetlights back in Minnesota, and you tell her about how your dog once ate your Economics notes. It’s silly, but warm. It leaves you at peace and wanting for more moments like that, that’s why you’re slightly disappointed when you reach your place.

“Well… this is me.”

She looks up at the building. “Sick place.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah. My parents helped me get it though.” 

A pause.

“Thanks, Paige. I really did have fun.”

She gives you a warm smile. “Me too.”

The two of you don’t move for a while, just lingering there. There’s something you don’t say– something she doesn’t push for now.

“Be safe okay?” you finally say.

“Okay,” she replies, stepping backwards. 

When you disappear into your building, your mind is running a thousand miles. Literally, what the hell just happened and why do you want it to happen again?

The bar is loud that Saturday night. Music is bouncing off the walls, glasses are clinking noisily, and teammates are cackling over shared stories and their drink of choice. It’s a post-practice unwind kind of night, especially with an annoying ass coach who can’t seem to figure the team out. The Wings need this, a night of not thinking too hard and everyone’s just trying to forget their sore legs and the fact that they have to do it all again weeks and weeks more.

But Paige… Well, she can’t stop thinking.

She sits in their booth, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand, and a hundred thoughts crowding every space in her mind. She’s barely listening to the conversation around her.

NaLyssa slides next to her, noticing the faraway look in her eyes. Far too serious for a rookie, she’s probably thinking, along with a couple of jokes to play on her.

“You good?” she asks, nudging Paige with her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Paige nods, then looks at her with a faint smirk. “So… you set me up with a straight girl?”

Lyss winces, but she doesn’t deny. “Okayy. I deserve that.”

Paige only raises an eyebrow, waiting for an apology and explanation.

“I’m sorry,” her teammate offers, but adds, “You don’t seem mad about it though.”

That’s the thing that makes Paige sigh in front of her. She’s not. She really isn’t. Not when the person she got set up with had a great personality. Not when NaLyssa was right when she said you’re going to tick all of her boxes.

Paige swirls her drink absentmindedly. “‘Cos I’m not,” she admits. “Honestly? I had a good time with her. I didn’t expect to, but… she’s cool, gets my humor, smart and endearing as hell. Way too much of a nerd for her own good, but like, in a cute way, y’know?”

“Ooooohhh,” Lyss leans in like she’s about to pry open a juicy secret. “Are you falling in loooove?”

“She’s straight, dude,” Paige deadpans, pulling away from the implication even though something inside her stings a little bit.

Lyss shrugs. “Between you, me, and Nai… we don’t think she’s actually straight.”

Paige’s eyes narrow at her. “What do you mean?”

Her friend shrugs again. “The way she talks about her love life? It’s like there’s always something off about it. Like she’s looking for a certain type of connection but never finds it with dudes. She dates these guys, and she describes it as just… ‘meh.’ Never really clicked with any of them, never lit up over anyone.”

Paige processes this quietly.

“Is that why you set me up with her?”

NaLyssa looks a little sheepish, now that she’s figured her out. “Yeah. honestly? We were hoping you’d be some kind of gay awakening for her… or something.”

Paige laughs, but it’s not the full one, the kind she let out when you two had a date. It dies a little too quickly on her lips.

“She deserves more than a wake-up call,” she tells Lyss, softer now. “If she really is figuring it out… she shouldn’t have to do it under pressure.”

“Then why’d you still sit and go on?”

It’s Paige’s turn to shrug, leaning back against the booth. “I didn’t expect anything, really. Just thought I should be polite.” She then looks down at her beer. “But when she smiled at me– even when she was confused– when she talked about herself, about how tired she was of the failed connections… it just felt… familiar. Nice, at most times too.”

Her friend watches her carefully, and slowly says, “You really liked her.”

Paige doesn’t say anything for a second. 

“Yeah. I think I did.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Because I am.” Paige exhales heavily, half-surprised at her own honesty. “She’s kind of everything I like in a person. Chill, funny, thoughtful, really kind, and doesn’t take herself too seriously in a bad way. We got along so well it actually scared me a little.”

“Scared you?”

“Like… what if she is figuring things out and I’m just in the way? What if she gets there eventually, but not with me?” She slumps in her seat. “That’s fine,” she says, but she’s not convincing anyone. “That’s her journey. But there’s a part of me that hopes, y’know? Now that you said all this.”

Lyss nods. “I get that.”

Paige sighs again. She can’t remember how many times she did that at the thought of you and the relationship she likes to think is blooming. “But it’s not about me, Lyss. She doesn’t need someone to confuse her more. She needs the space to figure things out on her own.”

“She also needs to know that she’s not the problem,” Lyss supplies gently. “That’s why I set this up. She’s been beating herself up for not being able to connect with these guys, but it’s not her fault. Sometimes your heart just… knows. And sometimes, it’s telling you something you’ve been trying not to hear. I think that’s what's going on with y/n, so I’m just trying to nudge it in the best direction I can. I wouldn’t have if I know you two aren’t good for each other.”

Paige goes quiet again. She thinks about your laugh, your eyes when you’re trying not to be amused by her humor. She remembers the way you spoke with such longing about trying to feel something real. Lyss means well, and she realizes she also could be more right than she’s willing to admit.

“She’s hardly the problem,” Paige murmurs. “She’s kind of great.”

Lyss nudges her again. “Okay, dude. Now you definitely sound in love. Stop.”

She glares at her playfully. “Didn’t you want that for us?”

“I… ugh, whatever.”

They both laugh, and the night goes on.

But Paige can’t shake the weight of everything she just learned. Even as the music blares around her, even as her teammates coax her into one drink too many, she finds herself stuck at the memory of your blind date.

Later that night, alone in her apartment, the world is quiet and dim. The city outside her window is muffled by the silent hum of her air conditioning unit. The buzz of alcohol now dulled into a sleepy haze, but she still doesn’t feel tired. If anything, she feels more awake, more alive than ever. That’s why she lies in her bed thinking about you.

She thinks about the way your eyes sparkled a little more by the end of your date. She can’t shake off the soft, pleasant disbelief in your voice when you told her that was the most fun you’ve had in months. Most of all, she’s stuck at the way you slightly leaned toward her without even realizing it.

Lyss’s words echo in her head: “She’s never really clicked with any of them.”

She wonders if maybe– just maybe– you felt a click that night with her. The thought makes her chest ache in a way that’s not entirely nice.

She reaches for her phone, staring at your name in her messages. She debates if it’s too late, if she’ll seem clingy. Should she wait another day?

She types anyway.

Paige: hey u up?

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

Y/n: yea whyy Paige: can’t sleep Y/n: not my fault hehe Paige: actually it is!! Y/n: oh. whyy?

Paige: jus been thinking about u, and how lyss and i talked abt u

She hesitates before hitting send. But it’s true.

Y/n: she talkin shit or what Y/n: ill dropkick her ass

Paige: no HAHAHA jus thinking how i meant what i said. ure cool as hell. that date wasnt what i expected, but it was definitely better. i dont say that lightly Paige: anw, i genuinely hope u find the one, y/n. ure a great person n u deserve only the best

You take a few minutes to reply this time.

Y/n: youre making me sappy Stop :””) but thanks paige. i hope we both find the one for us. im also kinda tired thirdwheeling nai n lyss lol Paige: ill keep u company next time. then we’ll thirdwheel together, yea? Y/n: i would soo love that

Paige stares at the last message and thinks about what she wants to say next. There’s a lot, to be honest. Too much, maybe. But not for tonight.

Paige: goodnight, sleep well, y/n Y/n: goodnight paigee

She sets her phone down beside her, smiling to herself in the dark.

No matter what this is, or where it goes, she knows one thing for sure: that night with you was something. And sometimes, something is enough to hold on to. For now, at least.

Work has never moved slower the week following your blind date. The seconds tick by like condensed milk dripping off the edge of your spoon whenever you attempt to make a Spanish latte. You’re pretty sure you’ve been going through the same layers in the current area you’re mapping, not really adding anything substantial. Your to-do list is still half-checked, but it feels like it’s multiplying out of spite. The only real highlight during your days is the occasional ping from your phone, indicating that Paige has sent you yet another reel or is complaining about their coach.

This Saturday, thankfully, her name lights up your screen before noon.

Paige: 10 am and nothing to do. this is so weird. whats up w u

You snort, half-proud that you’re doing something more slightly productive than Paige, even if it’s just watering your plants. You type something back about being bored as well, at the same time thankful that you’re currently off work, not buried alive in your work. She replies with two pictures: one, a selfie with a stoic face and thumbs up; two, another selfie next to her toaster with googly eyes taped on it. 

Paige: this is my emotional support appliance now

You nearly choke on the juice you’re sipping on. You sit down, suddenly more immersed in this conversation. It’s ridiculous how fast she can make you smile. You don’t even remember when texting Paige became part of the day you look forward to the most– it just happened. 

Maybe because there’s no pressure with her? Like you’re really actually friends who get each other, or you’re ex-dates whose relationship steered in the best direction. There’s no pressure in the way that you’re not being sized up, or you’re not caught in that strange limbo where every word could be a test. With her, it’s just so much easier. True, your heart skips a beat a lot lately, but you attribute it to the fact that you’re genuinely surprised it could be this easy with someone.

You stare at the blinking cursor in the text box and type something spontaneous: “wanna do something today?”

It takes her less than ten seconds to respond.

Paige: you inviting me out now? Y/n: why not? we’re both bored. universe is telling us to hang

There’s a pause, a longer one this time. You stare at the screen, starting to overthink whether you’ve overstepped. Maybe she’s busy or not interested. But then, her reply comes through.

Paige: you’ll be seen with me. that okay w u?

There’s that skip in your heartbeat again. You know what she means by that. Not just seen like friends at a museum or dinner. Seen like, seen as a girl out with a girl who everyone suspects is… ya know… gay. You could be on Tiktok at the end of this day, with people speculating about your relationship. You try to ignore the way the question sits heavy in your chest.

Y/n: it’s not like we’re dating and im not gay. dont worry too much abt me

It’s deflection, and you both know it. Thankfully, she doesn’t press.

Paige: ok see u soon!

You find yourself smiling like an idiot.

You meet her in front of a museum just after lunch. It’s one of those massive places you can find when you search, “Where to go to in Dallas.” It’s surprisingly a place you’ve always liked: quiet, marble floors, huge banners announcing exhibits you can’t pronounce. 

Paige is already waiting for you when you get there, standing with her hands in her pockets, looking half-out-of-place, half like she owns the sidewalk with that stylish getup. Her hair’s tied up today, and she’s dressed in dark jeans and a plain shirt that’s boring on you but isn’t on her. She catches your eyes, gives you a grin and waves.

“Hey,” she says, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice. With that, she leads you inside and you both buy tickets for a day tour.

Inside, the museum’s hushed and cold, with soft lighting and high ceilings that make everything feel sacred. You wander through the first exhibit, just the two of you, surrounded by ancient artifacts and people who take art way too seriously. You start pointing at random pieces, narrating fake histories or misreading plaques– sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. Paige laughs nevertheless, not just politely, but genuinely, with the sound echoing softly off the walls.

She doesn’t interrupt when you really talk about something that catches the interest in your brain, either. When a piece really intrigues and you start explaining what you think it means, how the shades may be symbolizing certain tones and emotions, she doesn’t try to one-up you or change the subject. She just listens fully, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room.

It’s only when you glance over mid-ramble that you realize she’s watching you closely. Not the way people usually do, but… softer, focused. It’s like she sees you, not just hears the words. All of a sudden, your voice falters.

“What?” you ask, slightly breathless.

She blinks, caught. “Nothing. Just… keep talking. I’m here listening.”

You blink some more, trying to understand if that means anything, then you keep talking anyway, with a bigger smile on your face. You don’t let yourself think too hard about the warmth crawling up your neck, or the tiny smile she gives when you move on to something else that catches your eye. You try not to notice the way she shifts her body just slightly every time you move too close to a display, gently guiding you away from barriers without saying a word. It’s unconscious, probably, or maybe not. Maybe she’s just thoughtful like that. You don’t say anything, but it sure lingers.

The two of you stop in front of a fairly strange sculpture– the abstract ones you just can’t put a pin on. You tilt your head, trying to make sense of it, squinting like the angles themselves may reveal to you some great meaning for their placement.

Paige suddenly leans in, her mouth just inches from your ear. “I think this one’s a pretty sad croissant with legs.”

You let out a choked out laugh that's loud, way too loud for a place like this. You slap a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late– your shoulders are already shaking from laughing at her side comment. Paige is cracking up beside you, trying to keep quiet but failing just as badly as you. Somewhere from behind, a person shushes you both with the fury of a thousand librarians, and that only makes it worse. You have to hold onto her arm to steady yourself as she drags the two of you out of the hall.

At the lobby, still giggling, you glance over at her and catch the grin on her face. Then, it hits you again: that dizzying kind of joy that feels unearned and overwhelming. With Paige, it’s like you stumbled into something that wasn’t meant for you, but it fits anyway.

“God,” you seethe jokingly, “you’re such a bad influence.”

“I’m a great influence,” she tells you, smug-looking. “It’s you who can’t see a good croissant at first glance.”

“You’re the worst,” you say with a laugh.

Paige shrugs, smile unwavering. “Still got you to laugh though.”

You want to say something back, but she’s right. It did get you to laugh again. You’ve only ever had fun like this with Nai and Lyss, but there’s something new about this. You can’t put a word to it– or you’re scared to– so instead, you just follow her as she leads you outside the museum, down the street, not really telling you where you’re going.

Apparently, her plan was to go to this small restaurant tucked between two boutiques. There’s a string of fairy lights dancing in the breeze above its entrance. The windows are foggy with warmth, and you can already smell something savory from the sidewalk. You look at Paige, impressed she knows a place like this. She gets the message and winks at you in silent thanks.

Inside, it’s quiet and cozy. She picks a table near the back and doesn’t even have to ask before ordering you something she “thinks you’ll like.” You don’t argue because somehow, you have a feeling that she’ll be right about the food.

Dinner is just as easy. Your conversation drifts from art to food to dumb high school memories. At some point, you find yourself leaning closer because you just can’t get enough of listening to Paige. She tells you about a prank she and Lyss pulled on her teammates, and how it almost got them banned from a convenience store. You laugh out loud without a care because it seemed like the restaurant was made for hangouts exactly like this.

Somewhere in-between the laughed and shared fries, you look at her again. Her eyes are on her plate now, and she’s twirling the fork to get as much pasta noodles as she can. There’s something soft about her face when she’s not Paige Bueckers, basketball superstar– when she’s not performing for anyone. You didn’t think she had this kind of softness left to show, but she just keeps surprising you.

You smile before you can stop yourself. It just comes out, quiet and full, and maybe a little too honest. Paige, unfortunately for you, catches that.

“What?” she asks, a smile still dancing on her lips.

“Nothing,” you say a little bit too quickly. “I’m just… glad we hung out today.” 

Paige looks at you, astonished. Then, she relaxes, leaning back a little and eyes searching deeply into yours. “Me too,” she tells you. “This might’ve been the best day I’ve had in a long while.”

For once, you don’t overthink it. You just nod, your heart warm and full.

Sunday comes pretty fast after hanging out with Paige at the museum. You’re currently thinking about whether or not you should get a headstart on your project after procrastinating the past week, but when the familiar chime comes, you drop everything to read it.

It’s Paige, asking if you could go on a grocery run with her. She adds that she hates going alone (how has she done groceries all this time???) with that pleading, teary-eyed emoji. You roll your eyes, knowing that she means it playfully. A small smile is instantly on your face.

Y/n: definitely!! Paige: you sure u got nothing else to do? Paige: i recall u saying u have lots of incoming work  Y/n: the keyword is incoming Paige: youre so silly. meet u there then. will send u the pin

You toss your phone aside after confirming, a little too eager, though you don’t make a big deal out of that eagerness. There’s something about her texts and getting invited on impulsive grocery runs that make your chest feel lighter. You were planning to stay in and rot in productivity guilt, but that was before Paige offered you something better: a mundane errand wrapped in her presence.

You meet her near the entrance of the grocery store where she’s leaning against a cart, busy scrolling through her phone. She’s in some joggers and a hoodie that looks far too soft for its own good, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Paige visibly brightens when she sees you, immediately pocketing her phone and gesturing for you to come to her. You hate how you respond like a moth to light, how your heart answers almost at once to her brightness.

“There she is,” she announces as if to everyone, grinning widely, “my grocery date.”

You arch your eyebrow but try to hide how much that affected you. “So I’m a date now?”

“You said yes. You consented. Too late to back out now.”

You fight the smile curling at your lips as you both head in. The fluorescent lights of the store greet you with the familiar sterile brightness, and for a moment, it’s just like any other errand. But then, Paige’s is suddenly walking beside you. The next second, it’s now like a scene in a movie. You know those domestic, fills-your-heart-in-a-good-way kinds?

Paige grabs an item off the shelf, and you immediately wrinkle your nose. “You’re not seriously picking that one, are you?”

She glances at the jar of nuts in her hand. “What’s wrong with it?” she asks innocently.

“That sogs easily.”

“‘Sogs easily???’” Paige repeats, offended. “Excuse you, missy, but this is a premium dried nuts mix.”

You scrunch your nose. “AKA overpriced trail mix advertising itself as premium and healthy.”

Paige squints at the box of cereal in your own hand. “I’m judging you for liking literal sugar rocks in a bowl,” she shoots back. “That’s hardly breakfast. It’s just candy!”

You drop it into her cart anyway with a defiant flair. “At least my cereal knows it’s dessert. Your food is lying to everyone, including itself.”

The bickering continues down the aisle normally, like some part of you recognizes the rhythm of this already. At one point, you even sneak a random item— something matcha that she obviously hates— into the cart. She sees it not too long after, glancing down at it.

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s essential,” you say with a snicker. “You have to experience culinary evolution.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t remove it. Instead, she grabs something equally ridiculous— a glittery purple toothbrush with a unicorn handle— and places it squarely in your shared cart.

You press your lips into a thin line. “Are you five?”

“Dental hygiene is for all ages,” she says smugly.

It becomes a thing for the rest of your errand. Every few aisles, something new ends up in the cart. You pick gourmet olives she gags at, then she retaliates with instant ramen so spicy even if she knows you have low tolerance for it. By the time you’re halfway through the store, the cart is half-necessity and half-chaos.

But somewhere in the midst of it all, the mood shifts subtly. You’re reaching for a bottle of olive oil while she gently rests her hand on the small of your back like what your dreams are made of. Her fingers graze yours as she moves to take it for you, and you feel it linger longer than it should— just a microsecond too long.

Your breath catches, and your eyes flick to her face, but she’s looking at the bottle like nothing happened. You let her carry it to the cart without saying anything, but your hand feels faintly electrified from the contact. It remembers it too well even after how fleeting it was.

You don’t talk about it.

The two of you move on to produce and argue over which apples are actually worth buying. You end up with two packs of different brands of apples. She tells you her teammates have been obsessed with avocado toasts, and you counter they’re just bland green butter. She clutches her heart like you’ve personally wounded her even if she doesn’t like anything green either.

Then, you run into one of the said teammates, and the air shifts again, this time more externally. The girl is tall, athletic, and her energy radiates curiosity the moment her gaze lands on you.

“Yo, Paige,” the teammate greets, and your friend turns with a grin, nudging you forward as she fistbumps her.

“Hey, this is y/n,” she says casually, but there’s something about the way she says your name that makes your breath hitch.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, trying not to overthink about how your stomach flips at being introduced just like that. Paige doesn’t elaborate, call you a friend, nor does she say you two were just hanging out. She leaves it open like that, undefined, and somehow that feels more intimate than any label could.

Her teammate smirks. “Cool. See you later then,” she says, gaze lingering a bit on you before finally walking off. When she’s out of earshot, you glance at Paige.

“Is she always that nosy?”

“She's actually on a gossip ban. Too many leaked crushes and stuff like that.”

You laugh, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle. You can’t help it. You can only keep replaying the moment over in your head like it’s now your new favorite scene from a movie. You endlessly rewind to the softness in Paige’s tone when she introduced you, the ease with which she said your name, just like that.

After checking out everything and Paige insisting you don’t pay for the things you included in the receipt, you carry the bags into your car. It’s automatic, like you’ve done all this before. She opens the trunk, and you help load the bags in, hands brushing again once— briefly, unintentionally, yet unfailingly stays with you.

You’re about to make some joke about the matcha sauce being a parting gift once you drop her groceries off alongside her when she leans against your car lightly, watching you with thoughtful eyes and a small smile.

“I could get used to this,” she tells you softly.

It catches you off-guard. “What? Going on errands impulsively?”

She smiles even wider. “Yeah. All of it.”

You laugh because you don’t know what else to say or do. It’s easier to pretend you’re going along with some joke than to sit with the way your heart reacts. But later, when you’re home and putting your own groceries away and the toothbrush falls out of the bag, you replay her words in your head.

You try not to read into it, but of course, you fail.

Paige knows she should be focusing right now. They’re in the middle of a home game, with a quarter and a half left to catch up to their opponents’ score. She has to put her all into this game or else they’re going to get another useless sermon from the coach. He’s going to push them beyond their limits again even when they’re calling for a break because his pride can’t handle it. Most of all, they have to do it for themselves and for their fans who dedicate much time and effort to support them.

But she can’t.

Not when you haven’t texted back and answered her calls the whole day. 

You don’t usually ghost her like this. Sure, there are times when you’re too on a roll with your work or doomscrolling on Tiktok, but you always check in. You’d even texted her mid-meeting once just to tell her you saw something that reminded you of one of your moments together. 

Today? It’s radio silence.

Paige tries to play as she usually does, just hoping to get things over with so she could beeline to your apartment. She hustles hard, cuts through screens, plays defense as hard as she could, but her head isn’t fully in it. She misses two layups that she could normally make with her eyes closed. She doesn’t even yell when one of her teammates is given a wrong call. She has no thoughts either when they lose by five points. 

All that’s in her head as she sits in the locker room, as she scrambles to fix her things to leave, is what could have happened to you. Her chest feels so heavy with something she doesn’t quite know how to name.

The moment she’s out the venue though, she unlocks her phone and finally sees a notification she’s been waiting for.

Y/n: u busy?

Two words. That’s all.

But Paige exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire game. 

She moves on instinct, speeding up. She doesn’t even bother with the usual post-game recovery routine. She doesn’t mind (and hopes you don’t either) that she hasn’t taken a shower out of sheer desire to just be by your side and make sure you’re okay. 

Paige makes a detour since leaving, and ensures that that won’t cost her any more time than. she intends to. She enters a 24/7 convenience store and goes straight to the section that displays your favorite snack. She grabs your favorite instant noodles— three kinds, just in case— and a pack of candies you admitted to her once that you craved whenever you’re overwhelmed. She throws in a bar of dark chocolate too while she’s at it.

The city feels oddly quiet as she rushes towards your place. There’s still sweat sticking to the back of her neck, and she smells faintly of gym socks, but she doesn’t care. She just hopes you would think that the effort and the thought matters more than how she smelled and felt right now.

You open the door before she can even knock. You must have looked at Life360 to see if she was coming to you. Paige thinks you should’ve had the idea that she would come no matter what.

When you come into view, she notes that you don’t look too awful— thank goodness— but you do look exhausted. It looks like the familiar kind of tired that’s not about rest, but is about everything else: life, expectations, pressure, whatever hit you today that’s too much to carry alone.

She holds up the bag filled with goodies in greeting.

“Didn’t want to waste time texting back,” Paige tells you, wiping a stray tear on your cheek with a finger. “Thought you needed real company.”

You let her in without saying anything, and the door clicks shut behind her. The silence that follows feels thicker than it should. 

She watches as you curl up on the couch like you’ve done it a hundred times with her already, and she joins you without needing an invitation. 

The second she sits beside you and gathers you in her arms, everything spills out. You tell her every waking thought that has cursed you to stay awake and wallow in regret and self-sabotage. You were holding everything in about your shitty day— everything about pressure piling up at word, the way something a coworker said that made you crash out, and about how you suddenly felt like nothing you were doing was making a difference. You talk about how you didn’t want to be dramatic, but you really couldn’t help but need someone at this moment— just this once, if it was too much to ask.

Paige doesn’t interrupt. She listens, quietly handing you tissues when you start crying halfway through your rant. You laugh and apologize, but she just shakes her head and urges you to continue.

Once your voice runs dry and you’ve cried everything out, Paige reaches over again and wipes the remaining tears with her sleeve. Then, she pulls you in gently, mumbling, “I’m here.” She feels you lean against her chest, forehead pressed to her shoulder. Paige holds you, afraid to let go because of how fragile and precious you are right now.

“You don’t always have to be okay with me, y/n,” she says softly into your hair, “just so you’re aware.”

“What are friends for, right?” she adds, chuckling nervously afterwards.

You pull away slightly to look at her and make eye contact. There’s a look on your face that she can’t fully comprehend. It looks like there’s a secret sitting on the tip of your tongue, heavy and half-formed.

Paige doesn’t ask now… because she thinks she has an idea what it is. And she knows you’re nowhere ready to admit it to anyone, not even to yourself. She knows better than anyone to not rush it, you, either.

Instead, she cuddles you in silence, matching your breath and watching the night sky through your balcony.

The instant noodles remain untouched on your kitchen counter, and neither of you reaches for it. Right now, you both have what you need in your arms.

If there’s one thing you’ll never pass up on, it’s your bestfriends inviting you over to one of their apartments for a casual hang out. That’s why when Lyss texts you, “Brunch,” you already know you’re going in comfy clothes, with extra snacks in case one of them attempts to cook something and fails.

You have a good smile as you approach their door– one that has stayed ever since you finished processing that Paige went straight to you when you barely texted anything about your breakdown. When Lyss opens the door, she’s wearing an apron that you remember you gifted when they celebrated– was that a monthsary or anniversary? You thought it was fitting, given that it says, “Chef by Force.”

“You’re two minutes late,” Lyss tells you with a pretend serious expression.

“Oh no. Did you remove my plate then?”

Nai appears from behind, a mug in her hand. “Stop messing with her. Girl probably hasn’t eaten anything for this brunch.”

“Nai always gets me,” you say appreciatively, letting yourself in. 

Their apartment is exactly as you remember it, with all the bright natural light, music playing from a speaker, and their shared energy that radiates much warmth and coziness. They really did their best making a home for themselves.

“Sit,” Nai says, gesturing toward the couch as she heads back into the kitchen. “We’re almost done here.”

You sink into the cushions, tucking your legs under yourself as Lyss drops beside you. “So… how’s life?”

You narrow your eyes at her playfully. “That’s so sus.”

She throws her arms up like she’s exasperated. “See, babe, this is what I get for trying to be nice! I get branded as sus.”

“Not when you sound like you’re about to pop open a presentation for a life crisis intervention. I’m doing fine, if you’re so curious.”

“She just wants to be nosy,” Nai adds haughtily.

It’s a comfortable atmosphere, all this banter and brunch dates with your friends. You playfully argue some more, trade work complaints that you may or may not have heard some from Paige, then compliment them on the food once everything was plated. You’re halfway through your second waffle when Lyss strikes again, this time, at a spot that’s more… sensitive to you.

“So… how’s P?”

You tilt your head to the side slightly. “P?”

“Paige,” she says with a knowing smirk. “Blonde, wears hoodies most of the time, makes you laugh through your nose in strictly professional museums.”

You scoff. “Oh my god, that’s not-”

“She called you ‘sunshine’ in that text you screenshotted us,” Nai interjects, and that got you to shut up for a second.

You feel your cheeks warm, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how your voice sounds to them “It’s not like that… We’re friends, ‘s all.”

Both women raise their eyebrows nearly at the same time when they hear that. Lyss leans forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her palm. “Sure. But do you still feel like it’s just friends? Do friends do the things you guys do?”

That makes you hesitate.

Nai tilts her head and immediately follows up, “No judgment, y/n. We’re just genuinely asking. Because the way you talk about her… you, like, really light up. You’re glowing. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you like that. That’s all for us too.”

You look down at your plate, suddenly unsure of what to do with your fork. You know what they’re leading on with this, but you aren’t sure you’re quite ready to acknowledge it. Until now, at least.

“I just…” you start, then sigh, shoulders slumping. “We started from a weird blind date that turned into this amazing friendship that I have no words for. I don’t really wanna overthink it or ruin anything.” You let a tear fall, and when you feel it, you hurriedly wipe it off. They notice at once though.

Lyss’s voice is gentle when she asks, “But you’re overthinking it anyway, huh?”

You let out a small laugh, but there’s hardly any humor behind it. “Yeah. She’s funny, and warm, and listens… She makes me feel good things, makes me feel like I can just be myself.”

Nai smiles softly, nudging your foot with hers under the table. “That sounds like someone worth paying attention to, n/n.”

You nod, the truth of it finally unraveling inside your chest.

“But then,” you frown a little, “what if I’m misreading everything? What if I say something about it and ruin the one good relationship I’ve had in a while? Besides you guys, of course.”

“And you’re also worried because she’s a woman, right?” Lyss shoots, and you feel all the color drain from your face. She didn’t mean it accusingly– she’s just honestly plucking off a thought from the inside of your  messy head. And you sit with it for a while before nodding your head slowly.

There’s a stillness that follows, and thankfully, because it’s with them, it’s the kind that you don’t feel the need to fill right away.

“It’s not that I’ve never thought about it,” you start talking. “I just never thought it would happen. I’ve always dated guys, told myself that that’s what made sense for me. But with Paige…” You trail off, but you know it’s enough for them. 

They don’t push. Instead, Nai rests a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay not to have everything figured out,” she reminds you. “You don’t have to label anything right now.”

“Just don’t lie to yourself,” Lyss adds cautiously, like she’s afraid you might break upon hearing those words. “If there’s something there, it deserves to be real. And if she’s really your friend, you won’t lose her just by being honest. I’m sure as hell she’ll be with you through the journey too.”

Their words land soothingly, but they still settle deeply. You didn’t realize how much you needed to have this kind of talk with your most trusted friends until now. There’s a kind of permission in the way they speak, in the way they’re not trying to define your experience for you. You’re thankful that they’re actually giving you space to claim it yourself.

You finish the rest of your food in a more comforting silence, feeling tears pool in your eyes because of how grateful you are to have people like them in your life.

Later, when you hug them goodbye and step back into the soft afternoon air, you feel different. Definitely lighter. ‘If that’s not it, then it’s surely: more burdened but meaningfully,’ you think to yourself with a small smile.

You may be still confused and scared, but there’s also something more certain within you. Something has shifted, and it’s no longer content sitting in the background, being ignored like you usually treated it all these years. It’s pushing you to catch up and let it be known once you’re ready.

And when your phone buzzes with a new message from Paige, you realize you’re already looking forward to seeing her again. Not just as a friend. You don’t know, but you’ll find out soon enough. 

Paige is already sprawled out on your couch when you emerge from your room, just after putting some finishing touches on your makeup before heading out. She’s got one arm flung lazily over the backrest, phone in hand, leg bouncing to a rhythm enveloping the unit when she made use of your speaker. There’s a bag of chips open beside her she for sure didn’t ask permission to open. But then again, she never really has to. Not lately. Not anymore.

You pause in the hallway, watching her for a bit and taking in the view. There’s a soft yellow of the overhead lamp that catches her in profile, casting the faintest glow on her cheek. She looks comfortable, like this is a home to her.

You clear your throat and walk in, brushing past her on your way to grab some shoes. “I could’ve just met up with you guys there.”

“You weren’t replying for 6 minutes when I asked you about it,” she reasons, pocketing her phone, “so I just went ahead to make sure you know where you’re going.”

You scoff, but feel your chest tighten at that. It’s only  been six minutes of not replying and yet she makes decisions like that so easily. You wonder if it’s because of you.

She scoots over so there’s a space beside her, patting the cushion like it’s a command. You rolls your eyes but sit anyway. Too close, you realized a second late, but neither of you adjusts.

You two were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago, but time has a strange way of pausing when you’re around her. It slows down nicely, like the universe is giving you extra seconds just for you to memorize the moment.

The music she’d left playing earlier hums softly in the background. It’s mellow, vocals smooth and serenading. Your legs are brushing against each other, but neither of you moves again.

Paige leans a little closer, refusing to break eye contact. “I like this.”

You don’t look away, no matter how intense her gaze is on you. “What? Sitting around doing nothing?”

“This,” she gestures vaguely between you  with a smile. “Us. The nothing, and the everything. Does that make sense?”

It makes all kinds of sense to you. It makes your stomach flutter in a way that’s starting to become far too familiar.

You consciously drop your gaze to your hands. Your fingers are twisting over one another like they need something to hold. 

The words slip out before you realize they’re leaving your mouth: “I feel like myself when I’m with you.”

You don’t look at her after that, too afraid of what you might see in her reaction. But then, you see her shift slightly in her place using your peripheral vision, and something lands softly on your cheek. Her hand tilts your head a bit so that you could now see her steady eyes and a smile on her lips. 

“That makes me really happy to hear,” she admits. “You’re the easiest person to be around. I didn’t really expect that.”

“I think I’d be kind of wrecked if I ever stopped feeling like this,” you mutter, shifting your gaze away from her. That was probably the most honest thing you’ve said in a long time.

Paige doesn’t say anything right away. She simply takes her hand to yours, and gives you a little squeeze.

“Then maybe let’s not let it stop.”

You swallow the lump forming at the back of your throat. It wasn’t from sadness, no, but from everything else that’s rising inside that you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. Even if neither of you speaks again, you know there’s a lot that’s been established from what had just happened between the two of you.

The hangout with Nai and Lyss is casual, warm and chaotic that it always is with them. The four of you let your eyes order so that in the end, you had to request to takeout at least four bags. All of you laugh easily at the stories exchanged, especially when they fill you in on their team shenanigans. 

It’s heart-fluttering, hearing Paige laugh easily like this too. She’s leaned back on the booth seat, next to where you’re sitting, with one arm propped on her knee. The other is currently tossing finger foods into her mouth with questionable aim.

At some point, you catch her watching you with a smile. It’s not obvious– just a flicker she doesn’t mean to linger but stays a second too long anyway. She looks at you like you’re something she’s trying not to reach for too quickly, and you understand why.

Later, as everyone says goodbye, Nai pulls you into a long, tight hug. Her arms are strong and grounding as she murmurs into your ear, “It’s okay to let it happen.”

You pull back, eyebrows knitting in confusion before catching on right when the two girlfriends left you and Paige alone.

The ride back to your apartment in Paige’s car is quiet. The sky’s already a deep navy, with barely-seen clouds dragging slowly across a portioned moon. You’re looking out the window, uncertain of what to talk about with Paige for the very first time. 

When Paige walks you to your unit and you two reach your door, you pause, not encoding your passcode. You both just stand there, waiting.

The girl rocks on her heels. Her gaze drifts over your face, searching. 

“I’ve been trying not to mess this up,” she suddenly speaks, softly. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but I do know that it’s not just as friends anymore.”

You look at her and realize she’s not as guarded as she sometimes is. She’s open in that vulnerable, terrifying way, confronting you right now. She’s been waiting, likely just as afraid as you have been.

Your heart is racing so fast you can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear.

“I think I’ve been falling for you this whole time.” You say it like it’s the truth that’s slipping past the last wall you haven’t been aware you’ve been holding.

Silence passes for a minute, then another. Then, Paige steps forward, cupping your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing just beneath your eye like she’s always wanted to do that.

Paige kisses you.

It’s not dramatic, and there’s no music,  unlike earlier. It’s just the hush of the hallway, the soft press of her lips, and the way you instantly melted into her like it was always meant to happen. You kiss her like you’re finally able to breathe.

When she pulls back, she doesn’t say anything. She just rests her forehead against yours, breathing you in.

And it’s more enough than any other declaration.

images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/4AkZ5EWif; https://pin.it/7M2phlzEX; https://pin.it/2w8zDdd3O.

the girl approaches your counter, tall and blonde. she’s wearing an unbuttoned white top over a black sports bra and blue swim trunks, the brim of a baseball cap shading her face, holding a water bottle in one hand and a wad of cash in another.

“hey,” she says, voice easy as she sets a few twenties down on the countertop. “just need a board for a couple hours.”

you blink, suddenly more alert. not because of the request— you rent out boards to half the town— but because something about this girl is… familiar. the voice? or her face? you can’t quite place it. you take in her physique again, as subtly as you can— she’s jacked. you wonder if maybe she’s a pro surfer from somewhere, because geez.

“name?” you ask, already reaching for the rental log. “and soft board or hard top?”

“paige,” the girl says. “soft’s fine. i’m still figuring this break out.”

“first time in sarasota?”

she nods. “way nicer than miami, i heard.”

“you heard right,” you say, just making conversation as you sort out the cash. “where you from?”

“minnesota, but i live in texas.” paige replies.

“minnesota?” you raise your eyebrows, voice lilting. “oh, that’s horrible.”

that earns you a laugh, amusement glinting in her blue eyes— or maybe that’s just the sunlight. “yeah, it’s nothing like this— but hey, that’s home.”

you write down paige without a second thought, then hand her the change. “you’re good. racks are out back. the ones with orange tags are beginner–friendly.”

paige smiles, then glances down at the name stitched into your tank top. “thanks, y/n,”

“be careful not to burn out there, minnesota,” you call out, as paige turns toward the sand.

“i’ll try!” paige tosses over her shoulder, smiling with a glance back at you.

and just like that, she’s gone, walking toward the surf, longboard balanced under one arm. you watch her disappear into the glittering edge of the ocean, brow furrowed.

that name. that face.

you definitely know her from somewhere.

paige is back at about the same time the next day, looking to rent another board.

you don’t know why you’re so surprised. plenty of tourists come by and rent multiple days out of the week. you guess you just weren’t expecting to see her so soon.

she’s wearing the same cap and trunks again today, but no shirt. just a sports bra. pays in cash again, but tells you not to worry about the change this time. makes conversation.

there’s that itch of recognition, too, at the back of your head as you chat. it won’t settle, even as you tell yourself that maybe she just looks like someone you know.

you turn the rental log to her and pass her the pen, letting her sign it this time, and she jots her name down— just paige, again— before thanking you with the flash of a smile, grabbing a board, and heading out to the water.

hm.

by time paige returns, two hours or so later, the sun is overhead and the beach pulses with heat.

the wood of the surf shack has grown warm under your bare feet, and the back of your neck is slick with sweat, the mini standing fan on the counter doing little to help. you’ve peeled off your uniform tank top, leaving you in cut–off denim shorts and an orange triangle bikini top, body glistening with sweat and sunscreen.

you’re perched on your stool behind the counter, lazily sketching flowers and waves onto the corner of the rental log in pen, when a voice comes, “i got something for you,”

you look up, and there paige is again. the hat’s gone now, blonde hair clinging in wet strands to the side of her face, beads of salt water still dripping from her shoulders. she has the board tucked under her arm and a lazy smirk tugging at her mouth.

“longboard survived,” paige says. “can’t say the same for me.”

you grin. “you wiped out?”

“bad. it wasn’t my fault, though— thought i saw a shark, but it was just a stingray.”

“oh my god,” you chortle, shaking your head.

she leans the surfboard gently against the side of the shack and steps forward, arms crossed loosely, the corner of her mouth still curved upward. her gaze flicks briefly to the side of your neck, where your hair is sticking to your skin.

then, down to your chest, lingering just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.

“hot?” paige asks casually. you almost can’t tell if she’s talking about you or the weather.

“practically melting,” you reply, droll, lifting the straw to your smoothie to your mouth as if the mere mention of the heat triggers your thirst. “how’re you holding up, minnesota?”

“not bad,” paige says, leaning up against the counter, arms resting along the edge. “might not’ve used enough sunscreen on my back, though.”

“what is that, anyway?” she asks, pointing at your drink, dry throat evident in her voice. “looks good.”

“this,” you say, tapping the cup for emphasis. “is how you survive seven hours on the beach every day. there’s a shop that sells them just up the road with a plastic flamingo out front. can’t miss it. pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut milk is my go–to.”

paige hums. “pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut? sounds weird. guess i’ll have to try it.”

“you can thank me later,” you smile, smug.

she pushes off the counter, standing upright. “we’ll see about that. have a good one, y/n.”

for some reason, you don’t want her to go yet.

“you, too.”

the morning’s already heating up by the time you clock in for work, but there’s a breeze today— light and salty, lifting a few strands of your hair out of place ever so often. you got to the shack early, opened up before the sun really crested, and on the way in, you plucked a bright pink hibiscus bloom from a bush near the parking lot and tucked it behind your ear, just because. it matches your pale pink bikini top, tied behind your neck in a quick, practiced knot.

you’ve got a bit of pep in your step today, despite the heat. there’s a rhythm to the way you move throughout the shack, humming along to the song playing from your makeshift phone–cup–speaker thing.

you’re restocking wax behind the counter when the thud of something hitting the countertop makes your head turn.

it’s a clear plastic cup, its contents a familiar shade of reddish–purple, already sweating condensation. on the other side of the counter, paige is grinning, her own half–drunk cup in hand.

“pineapple, pomegranate, coconut,” she says, proudly. “the lady at the smoothie place says hi, by the way.”

“you brought me a smoothie?” you say, both surprised and flattered.

“figured it’s only fair, since you put me on,” paige replies, leaning on the counter. “and you looked like you were about to die of heatstroke out here yesterday.”

a smile creeps onto your face. you stop what you’re doing and turn fully to the counter, taking a sip— cold, tangy, sweet. perfect.

“okay,” you say. “you win. that’s actually really sweet of you. thank you.”

paige shrugs. “no problem.”

you hum around your straw, looking up at her— really looking, now. she’s not wearing the cap today, her hair tied into a low–effort bun at the back of her head, and you immediately decide you like this look on her much better. you can see the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline more clearly, pink lips fixed in that stupid smirk. skin sun–kissed and eyes so blue, they rival the turquoise waters behind her.

you can’t help it anymore. you have to ask. “are you sure i don’t know you from somewhere?”

paige hesitates— only for a moment, but still, you notice.

“i don’t think so,” she laughs, almost convincing. “i’ve only ever been to miami a few times. this is my first time up the coast.”

you playfully narrow your eyes at her, but you decide to let it go. for now. “mm. you must have one of those faces, then.”

“trust. i’d remember you.” she adds, letting her voice drop lower and, for once, you’re grateful for the heat; you can blame it for the way you flush a shade of deep pink.

“i think you’re just buttering me up for a free board,” you say, setting your smoothie down. “you’re lucky you’re cute, paige from minnesota.”

paige smiles, dopey, and takes a sip from her smoothie. her eyes flick casually from your face to the flower tucked behind your ear. “i like the fit.”

“hm?” you glance up at her.

“the flower, and all the pink,” she says, motioning toward you. “it’s giving… mermaid barbie princess. but the hot, evil kind.” she decides, after her eyes sweep over you.

you snort. “evil? you mean like sirens?”

“yeah, that,” paige smirks. “something tells me you could successfully lure a person into the water.”

you laugh at how forward she is. “in your dreams,” you reply, turning back to the box of surf wax.

paige isn’t in any rush to get out to the water today. she doesn’t ask for a board or hand you any cash. just stands there, drinking her smoothie, making conversation about the music playing from your phone like she has nowhere better to be.

you think you really should remind her to get her board, at least for business purposes, but you look back at her as you work— her eyes trained on you, sun casting her in a dreamy glow— and decide not to say anything just yet.

let her stay a little longer.

the shack closes early on wednesday, as it has every week for the past thirty years.

you’ve spent the past hour sweeping up sand to the best of your ability and straightening the board racks, glancing back at the beach every so often, hoping for a familiar head of blonde hair to appear.

paige doesn’t show.

it’s fine, of course. you just thought maybe she’d stop by, maybe pick up the conversation from yesterday where you’d left off. she’d ended up on an extra stool behind the counter with you, dogging on your music taste and playing the new drake album for you, “so you’d have something to listen to other than that hippie music.”

oh well, you think, as you lock up the shack. tote bag slung on your shoulder and flip flops in hand, you make your way to the wooden stairs the lead from the beach to the parking lot, warm sand sticking to the soles of your feet. you’re only halfway up when you hear someone call out, “hey! y/n!”

you look back to see paige at the bottom of the steps, following after you. “wait up!” she shouts, and you stop in your tracks, feet on different steps.

“i was just about to stop by,” paige says, slightly breathless, leaving three steps between you when she stops. “i didn’t know y’all closed early.”

your stomach does a little somersault, unexpectedly. “yeah. wednesdays are always slow.”

she nods like she’s making mental notes, then gestures over her shoulder, at the beach. “i was planning on renting again.”

you smile. “you and that longboard are becoming a thing.”

“what can i say? i’m loyal.” she grins back. “hey, you surf, right?” she asks, suddenly.

“do i surf?” you blink, then chuckle a little. “yeah, i’m alright.”

“would you be down to surf with me?”

she almost sounds tentative as she asks the question— so un–paigelike that you’re almost taken aback.

you look past her, scanning the beach. it’s not too crowded today, but it’s siesta key in the middle of the summer, so of course there’s still a lot of people. kids running and playing in the sand, a group of teens playing volleyball, couples sprawled out on their towels. the current’s not bad at all, from what you can see— the waves aren’t huge or anything, but you could still catch a pretty good surf.

“yeah, sure,” you reply, shrugging, though a smile plays at your lips.

paige smiles, wide and triumphant. “cool. let’s grab some boards?”

you hesitate. “shit, mine’s at my apartment across town.”

“well, lucky for you, i know the girl that works here.” paige says, starting back toward the shack.

you laugh, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of how close she’s walking next to you as her sandals slap against the steps. you unlock the shack from the back door, switching on the lights, paige following you inside.

you grab one of the better–waxed boards, a tri fin shortboard with a hard top, leaning it against the counter as paige gets the one she’s been renting all week.

without thinking about it, you strip out of your oversized t–shirt and linen shorts, revealing the lavender bikini you were wearing beneath your clothes— the triangle–cut top and cheeky bottoms aren’t ideal for surfing, but your rash guard and surf shorts are also at your apartment, so this will have to do. you reach into your tote that’s lying on the counter, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen, knowing well that it needs to be re–applied every few hours.

you don’t realize that paige has been intently watching you until you struggle to get full coverage of your back, and she steps forward, “here— i got you,” reaching out for the bottle.

you nod, handing her the bottle and turning around, heart thudding as you move your hair over your shoulder.

her hands are firm as she spreads the sunscreen across your shoulder blades, smoothing it along the curve of your upper back, fingers dragging along the base of your neck. you shudder despite the heat as her hands move slow and deliberate down your back, before lingering up at your waist.

“all good,” she clears her throat, letting go finally, but your skin tingles where she touched.

“thanks,” you breathe. “do you need any?”

paige shakes her head. “nah, i’m good. put some on right before i pulled up.”

then, swiftly, she grabs both boards with ease, one under each arm, and flashes you a grin. “let’s go.”

you paddle out together, arms slicing through the water, boards bobbing gently beneath you. paige is strong, powerful shoulders making quick work of the surf, like it’s nothing. still, she’s a beat behind you, watching as you glide ahead.

reading the water is easy, like a cherished book you’ve returned to over and over again. you pop up and catch your first wave with clean, practiced form, and paige lets out an impressed whistle, before she even gets the chance to paddle for one of her own. that familiar sense of fearlessness swells within you, coursing through your veins, exhilarating.

you see the opportunity for an air, so you take it, confident. you crouch low, building speed as you approach the lip of the wave. just as it starts to pitch, you shift your weight and launch off the top, board and body lifting into the air. for a moment, you’re floating— then, you guide the nose back down, landing on the face of the wave and riding it out.

the landing isn’t as perfect and clean as you’d like, but still, you feel fucking cool as the spray of whitewater disperses below you.

you look back mainly to make sure that she hasn’t tombstoned while you were distracted, and paige is watching you, jaw ajar. she makes her way to you, floating just past the break. “show–off,” she accuses, breathless and smiling. “‘alright’, my ass.”

you smirk, shrugging casually. “i’d say that was pretty alright.”

“you just tony hawk’d that shit. stop playing.”

you laugh, pushing a piece of wet hair out of your face. “wanna learn? i can’t teach you how to do that in a day, but i can show you some other pretty cool stuff.”

“uh, fuck yeah?” paige replies, eager.

what ensues for the next forty minutes is you teaching paige how to cutback— which, really, is just you trying to be constructive and not laugh every time she topples off of her board and into the water. but eventually, she gets it, executing the move like a stiff chicken on a longboard, but executing it nonetheless.

she’s very proud of herself, going on about how she wishes she could’ve gotten it on camera as she drifts lazily beside you. you’re both taking a break, sitting upright on your boards, knees brushing beneath the water. there’s a salty breeze, and the sun feels less punishing out here.

she turns to you and asks, “so, how’d you learn?”

“my dad taught me,” you start, motioning back toward the shore. “marty. he owns the shack. his dad— my grandpa, the og marty— opened it in the seventies and my dad took it over before i was born. expanded it through florida, plus myrtle beach and tybee island. i’ve worked at this one every summer since i was fifteen.”

paige smiles like she’s connecting the dots in her head. “ah, marty’s surf & sand. makes sense now.”

“yep. family business.” you nod, legs swaying in the water. “what about you? i’m sure they don’t just provide surfing lessons in minnesota.”

“got into it while i was on vacation in fiji last year. they were doing lessons on the beach and i decided to try it, just ‘cause, but it was cool as hell. i mean, this is nice, but the ocean over there? it’s gorgeous, man.” paige explains, gesturing over the water with her arms stretched wide. her boards bobs unsteadily beneath her and she yelps, grabbing onto it again. you laugh and she shoots you a glare.

“fiji, huh? i’ve never been, but i spent the last couple of years of school studying abroad in trinidad, and then in italy. it was unreal. any time i wasn’t working, i was out in the water.”

paige listens diligently, nodding along. “what’d you study?”

“marine bio at good ole’ umiami. i just graduated back in may.”

“oh, shit? okay, einstein, i see you,” paige says, genuinely impressed, and you giggle, feeling a little shy.

“yeah, totally slumming it out here in florida, einstein–style.” you joke dryly.

“you call this slumming it?” paige says. “you got it good out here. city’s nice, great food, amazing views.”

she has a point. you just get a little insecure about the fact that you didn’t have some shiny lab job lined up directly after college, like most other people in your program. everyone moves at their own pace, you’re aware, and comparison is the thief of joy— it’s just something you get in your own head about sometimes.

when you think about it from paige’s perspective, though, you realize you do have it pretty nice. and you’re having more fun out here, floating on the ocean next to a pretty girl, than you probably would being in a sterile lab all summer long.

“croatia and thailand are nice, too,” paige notes. “i went before i learned, but the surf would be perfect.”

“you travel a lot?” you ask.

paige nods. “for work, mostly.” she slips.

“what do you do?” you question, genuinely curious.

“uh— i work in athletics.”

“like, coaching? or management?” you press.

“yes, coaching. i coach. kids, on a team— high school kids.”

you suppose that makes sense. just looking at her, it’s obvious that she works out a lot, practically all defined muscle and hard lines. your eyes zero in on her abs, tanned, beads of saltwater rolling down them. you lick your lips subconsciously, mouth suddenly dry.

“hey, my eyes are up here,” she teases, having noticed your eyes roaming.

“i know that.” you reply, trying to play it off, failing miserably.

“you sure?” she raises an eyebrow, voice low. tempting you.

you flick a little water at her, and she gasps like you’ve betrayed her gravely. “oh, okay. it’s like that?”

“what’re you gonna do, minnesota?” you taunt, grinning.

she answers swiftly: splashes you with both hands, sending water right into your face.

you shriek, laugh, and retaliate, and then suddenly you’re both in it— one moment splashing and tossing water at each other like little kids, screaming and grinning and soaking each other entirely, and then underwater the next, both your boards tipping with the force of your movements and lack of balance.

water rushes up around you both, sinking down, eyes wide. you open your eyes, salt stinging a little, and the sight of paige has laughter literally bubbling out of you.

you kick up first, breaking the surface with a gasp, laughing and sputtering as you push hair out of your face. paige follows soon after, shaking the water out of her hair, flinging it in your direction.

she’s got a look on her face, and you’re half–expecting her to splash you again, but she swims to you instead. your heart races as one of her arms loops around your waist in the water, pulling you close, legs tangling together as you keep yourselves afloat. your faces are only inches apart now.

her eyes drop to your lips. smirks.

then, she leans in and kisses you, finally. you sigh contently, arms wrapping around her neck, letting yourself just melt into her. she tastes like mint and seasalt, lips soft and moving insistently against yours.

and even though you’re surrounded by miles and miles of cold, perfect blue, something glows inside your chest, warm and pink.

“you know what i just realized?”

“hm?”

“you tricked me into a date today.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “did i?” she asks, feigning innocence.

you nod, licking mango crema sauce from your thumb. “impromptu surf session, tacos, beer. sounds pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

a lazy grin spreads across her face. “so, what i’m hearing is… you had a good time.”

you smile. “maybe.”

and then she kisses you again, cradling your chin in her hand to guide your mouth to hers. you’re seated directly next to each other on a bench table outside the old salty dog, your favorite place for lobster tacos and homestyle tortilla chips. you insisted paige try them when she offered to take you out for food, after you’d toweled off and hung up your boards for the day. your legs are stretched over her lap, the side of your body braced against the tabletop.

you nearly didn’t make it out of the shack earlier— paige had lifted you up onto the countertop, positioning herself between your legs as she licked into your mouth and her hands roamed your body, and if not for the knowledge that your father is the only person allowed access to the security camera system, you just might’ve let her have you right then and there.

this kiss, now, it much calmer. paige’s lips are warm and sure, like she’s been waiting all week to do this and finally can. you feel all woozy when you break away, pupils dilated.

paige hums, “i’mma ask you out properly next time. sound good?”

you nod, still dazed, and she pecks your lips again. fondness unfurls in your chest, tinges your cheeks. it’s insane how much you like her, and you don’t even know her full name.

the two of you continue to talk and finish your food, sipping the last of your beer when it dawns on you that you’ve been out all day, most of which was spent with paige. it’s pretty late now, the sky a deep indigo and the temperature’s dropped significantly. you shiver as a cool breeze blows, shaking the remaining deli paper on your trays.

paige notices, caressing the goosebumps your arm gently. “you ‘bout ready to call it a night? i can take you home.”

you hesitate. the idea of saying goodbye— of this day ending— sits weird in your chest. but it is dark and the restaurant won’t be open for much longer. “okay,” you agree.

you walk hand–in–hand to paige’s rental car, a black jeep suv still parked in the beach parking lot. when you reach it, paige opens the trunk, digging around for something. “here,” she passes you a soft grey hoodie.

“uconn?” you wonder aloud, reading the bold navy–blue lettering plastered on the front of the hoodie, along with the logo of a dog, before pulling it over your head. it’s plush on the inside and smells just like her. you slide your long–dead phone into the front pocket.

“as in university of connecticut,” paige replies, closing the trunk. “graduated from there a year ago.”

“damn. that’s almost worse than minnesota.”

paige chuckles, shaking her head. “girl, get in the car.”

you walk over to the passenger side while paige climbs in behind the wheel. she starts the car after you enter your address into the gps, one hand on the steering wheel and the other settled on your thigh, palm warm. her thumb rubs slow circles into your skin.

the sensation sends you right back to the moment in shack earlier, feeling a familiar pressure appear between your legs.

she’d had to wrench herself off of you after you brought up the unfortunate camera situation, but not before huskily promising to, in her words, “fuck you stupid later.” you were grateful for the extremely cold beach shower water as you rinsed off, maybe a little more than salt and sand, afterwards.

now, in the comfortable silence of this car ride, it’s all you can think about, her voice echoing inside your head. you watch her drive, side profile glowing in the passing streetlights. she gives your thigh a firm squeeze, mouth pulled into that half–smile that tells you she’s thinking the exact same thing you are.

you decide, right then, that— at least for now— you don’t care who she is, as long as she keeps touching you.

you can care later.

it’s a short drive. “this it?” paige asks, pulling into your apartment complex parking lot.

“mm–hm,” you nod, as she pulls into a spot. you hesitate for a second, toying with the hem of her hoodie. then you look at her, expression neutral but voice soft. “you’re coming up, right?”

paige raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “so eager,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush her thumb along your jaw. “can’t even wait ‘til a second date?”

you scoff, turning your face slightly to hide the heat crawling up on your neck, unbuckling your seatbelt. “shut up and come on.”

paige smirks as she kills the engine and follows you out. “after you, baby.”

you’re barely even in the door before paige is on you again, lips catching yours in a feverish kiss.

you allow yourself to be pushed up against the wall in your foyer, moaning into her mouth unabashedly. you slide your palms up under paige’s shirt, feeling her muscles, skin warm against skin. one of hers cup your jaw, angling your mouth so that she can kiss you as deeply as possible, the other running down your side before settling on your ass. when you part her eyes are all dark, blue almost completely swallowed by black. 

“bedroom?” she asks, glancing around your living room and dining area.

“down the hall, on the right,” you answer, breathless. you let out a little squeak as she lifts you into her arms, legs hooking around her waist. she kisses you the whole way to your room, your hand cupping her face.

you bounce a little when she drops you onto the mattress, barely having time to catch your breath before paige is climbing onto the bed, crawling over you. your legs part so that she can crawl between them, forearms framing your head.

she hovers over you, a small smile playing at her lips. “hi,” she whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

her hair’s falling into her face, all beachy, and her lips are kiss–swollen. in the moonlight coming from your window, you think she might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re so pretty,” you blurt.

“thank you,” paige chuckles. “you’re still okay with this?”

you blink up at her, heart still hammering. “yes,” you say. “duh.”

“good,” she mutters before leaning in and kissing you again. 

she sits back on her heels, pulling her shirt and bra over her head and dropping them to the floor carelessly, and you do the same, sitting up to pull off her hoodie, both of you panting. her eyes are trained on your torso as reach up your back to untie your bikini top, letting it slip down your arms before flinging it across the room, and breathes, “fuck,”

she’s back on you in an instant, kissing and sucking at your neck, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as her teeth graze the skin. then, she’s trailing kisses down over your collarbones, to your chest. her hands come up to knead your breasts just as she sucks one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth.

you moan softly, the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach spurred on by the feeling and sight of her suckling your tits. your hips roll upwards, seeking any kind of contact, arousal pooling between your legs.

paige comes off your nipple with a soft pop. one of her hand moves down to your shorts and you raise your hips, letting her push them down your legs, along with your bikini bottoms. she stares at your face, watching for your reaction as her fingers dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on the tips of her fingers.

she’s satisfied with how desperate the noise you make is and the way your jaw goes slack. “so wet, shit,” she breathes, circling your clit lightly. “all for me?”

“yes,” you breathe, pussy clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled. “want you so bad, paige.”

“what do you want? tell me, baby, and it’s yours.” she croons, fingers moving frustratingly slow.

“a–anything. please.”

“oh, yeah? gonna let me do anything want?” she smirks. “just take it?”

you bite down on your lip and nod, and she finally sinks her fingers into you, fingers angled just right, moving at the perfect space. you moan in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. “so good,” you babble, grabbing onto the arm she has braced on your mattress, nails digging into her bicep. “mmh, yes— right there. oh, my god.”

it’s ridiculous how good at this she is, how quickly she finds that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling slightly. your mind wanders— wondering how often she does this, how many girls does she take out and drive home and then fuck in their beds— but is reeled back in when paige adds her thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit hard, sending sparks through you. you cry out, feeling that pressure between your legs begin to mount.

“you close, baby?” she asks, feeling you tighten around her digits. she grins, lowers her voice. “come on, cum for me. just let go.”

your brain short circuits. “i— i’m cu—”

before you can finish the sentence, you’re cumming. you throw your head back and moan out her name as it washes over you, whole body shaking. paige works you through it, thumb rubbing diligently at your clit.

“fuck,” you pant, coming to your senses. “holy shit.”

paige is staring at your pussy. “made a mess, baby.” she says lowly, and your face burns with embarrassment. you can feel it dripping out of you still.

she moves down your body so that her head is positioned between your legs now, kisses your trembling thighs before licking a stripe up your cunt, cleaning you up. you wince, sensitive. “paige…” her name is broken by the mewl you let out, body instinctively attempting to move away from her mouth. “shit, that hurts.”

she just groans against you and tightens her hold on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, knowingly sending vibrations throughout your core. “tastes so good.” she licks up all your cum before moving up to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.

you cry out, tears springing to your eyes as your back arches above the mattress, hands twisting into your bedsheets. “said i can do whatever i want and you’d take it. i wanna make you cum again,” paige declares, voice gruff. “you tappin’ out?”

you whimper in protest. “n–no, i—” you can’t think. it hurts and it’s deliriating and you can’t take it and you don’t want her to stop. “fuck!”

she sucks at your clit and slides her fingers back into you, thrusting with abandon. it’s not long before the discomfort subsides and your whines turn into moans again, pain melting into molten pleasure. your hips rock onto her fingers, desperate for your release.

“look at that,” she murmurs, slurping loudly. “pussy so fuckin’ good. such a good girl. wanna cum again for me? know you can do it, come on, give it to me.”

you orgasm hits you hard, eyes rolling back as your cunt pulses around paige’s fingers, thighs tremoring. paige eases her fingers out of you and laps it all up, drunk off your taste, babbling about how good you are in between licks. little gasps escape you in the aftermath. when you open your eyes, paige is looking up you, amused and adoring.

“you’re evil,” you chide, voice hoarse, and she kisses your inner thigh, breath hitting your skin as she laughs a little.

“had to get you good, sorry. been waiting too long to do that,” she replies, crawling back over to you.

you snort. “three days?”

“felt more like three years,” she grins stupidly.

you lean over to connect your lips, climbing on top of her so that you’re straddling her waist. you sit upright, paige biting her lip as her eyes follow you, and hook your fingers under the waistband of her shorts, fully intending to show hard that the wait was worth it.

the night is far from over.

you nuzzle into paige under the comforter afterwards, cheek smooshed against her bare chest, your head tucked under her chin.

paige stares up into the darkness at the ceiling, mind swimming. she can’t shake the feeling of a weight pressing down on her— not just due to you being on top of her. it’s her heart, aching with both fondness and guilt.

she wants to tell you— who she is, what she does, why she’s hiding. she looks down, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, mouth poised to finally explain herself.

you’re asleep.

paige exhales a quiet laugh and continues stroking your back. okay, later then. she’ll tell you later.

for now, she allows herself to doze off, giving away to the feeling of your soft skin bare against hers.

you’re still reeling from the night before when you clock in the next morning, the sky streaked orange and blue, waves crashing gently.

it’s a nice, cool morning, but you know it’s just going to heat up later. in the meantime, you’re wearing paige’s hoodie, relishing the way her scent lingers— sandalwood, iris, and cardamom. under it, you have on a cropped rash guard and surf shorts, as you and paige agreed to meet to surf together again right after your shift. you’re going to drive to venice this time, a nearby beach with better, bigger waves.

“so, a bunch of us are headed to new smyrna tonight. waves are supposed to be sick,” skip tells you. “you in?”

“can’t. i already have plans.” you say casually, tone even, though a smile plays at your lips at the mere thought of hanging out with paige again.

skip snorts. “what, got yourself a hot date, or something?” he asks, mostly joking, until he catches the look on your face. “with who?”

“nunya.” you reply.

he shrugs, “your loss, then.”

skip browses around while chatting with you about the most recent developments in pro surfer news, before grabbing a couple containers of wax, a pack of earplugs, and the latest issue of surfer magazine, and placing them in front of you on the counter.

“nice jacket,” skip says, eyes skimming the text on your— well, paige’s— hoodie. “hey, you hear that basketball chick is in town?”

you haven’t heard. you don’t really know anything about basketball, except that the miami heat currently sucks, according to everyone in your town. “which one?”

“paige bueckers. apparently, someone saw her at salty dog last night. i’m trying to get a picture.”

you freeze mid–scan, blinking rapidly as your brain tries to grasp what you’ve just heard. “wait, paige who?”

“you’re kidding. paige bueckers! got uconn their first ring in years? plays for dallas now?” skip digs into the pocket of his shorts, fishing out his phone and typing into a search engine. he turns the screen to you, showing you the google results, and surely enough, it’s paige. your paige, except she’s mid–jumpshot in a basketball jersey. your jaw drops. “usually i don’t even watch the women’s stuff, but she’s tough.”

dallas. basketball. uconn.

it’s all starting to make sense, now— every half–truth, every moment she steered the conversation away from herself. how you recognized her, but just couldn’t figure out where from.

“kinda hot, too, right?” skip asks, clicking on another picture— paige posed on the cover some magazine, mainspreading in a suit. you nearly choke on your own spit.

“um— yeah. she’s alright, for a basketball player.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you can’t get mad at someone for calling the girl you’re into hot, one, they don’t even know you’re into her and, two, she’s been lying to you about who she is for the past week.

“yo, if you see bueckers around, text me. i gotta get that picture.” skip says, taking the bag from your hand after you finish his transaction.

“i’ll try,” you won’t, but still— hospitality. “see you, skip!”

he leaves with a wave, and that’s when you can finally stop and process.

you wonder how many times you’d skipped past her face while flipping through a copy of sports illustrated, trying to get to the surfing section, or caught the last few moments of one of her games while waiting for a surf competition to start on espn. your classmates had made a huge deal about getting tickets to the women’s basketball championship game in tampa just a few months ago, but you’d stayed back on campus in miami— you had no interest in basketball.

you should be mad, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

paige doesn’t come by until about two hours later, which gives you enough time to do a full internet deepdive.

a seemingly endless list of both professional and collegiate records and awards. highlight reels and tons of tiktok edits. an army of adoring fans begging her to come back online, wondering where she’s been all week.

it’s ironic, because she walks in just as you’re scrolling down her instagram page. you look up at her, back to the selfie displayed on your phone screen, then back up at her just to confirm that, yes— the girl you just might have fallen for is also a famous and formidable basketball player, and for some reason she kept that from you.

you turn your phone screen off, placing it face–down on the counter, and stand up straighter, trying to seem normal. it’s gotten hot, so you’ve taken off her hoodie, leaving you in your surf garments.

paige approaches the counter, two smoothies in hand, a gummy smile on her face. “hey, beautiful.” she slides your smoothie to you.

“hey,” you eye her suspiciously. “how are you?”

her eyebrows furrow a little. “good? great, actually. i had a really good night,” she smirks, looking you up and down. “how ‘bout you?”

“i’m good,” you reply.

paige falters, sensing that something’s off, just by your tone and the fact that you don’t immediately go for the smoothie. still, she leans against the counter casually. “so, what if i wanted to buy a board off y’all? how would that work?”

“well, you’d fill out the form, pay for it, and then i’d give it to you,” you explain. “just a heads up, the one you like is gonna be around six hundred.”

paige nods, sipping on her smoothie. “no best–head–ever discount?” she asks playfully.

“nope, unfortunately,” you say, opening a drawer and grabbing the the purchase forms. “there’s an atm nearby but we do take card, you know.” you give her the opportunity to choose to explain herself.

paige forces an awkward half–laugh. “ha, yeah,” she brushes the idea off. “i’ll just do cash.”

you huff, grabbing the form. you’re about to give it to her, but then you stop, reaching for the pen yourself.

you write the name down on the form. then, you slide it to her.

paige bueckers.

paige bueckers.

her jaw drops. she looks up at you with wide, guilty eyes. “how’d you…?”

“a guy came into the shack earlier, saw your hoodie, and asked if i’d heard some hot–shot basketball player was in town. said her name was paige bueckers,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, naturally, i looked her up, and— what do you know! she was literally just in my bed.”

“y/n, i can explain—”

“that you’ve just been lying to me all week long?”

“okay, technically, i never lied to you. everything i told you about myself was true. i just left out some… major details.” paige reasons.

you narrow your eyes at her. “you’re not a coach.”

“i coached a team for an overtime event twice,” she says, holding up a finger. “won both times, mind you.”

“you could’ve just told me, paige.” your voice is softer now.

“i know. i know. i swear i was going to, it’s just—” she sighs, coming around the counter. you begrudgingly allow her to take both your hands into hers, intertwining your fingers. “i booked this trip to get away from all that. i was trying to lay low, y’know? just chill and surf. and then i met you— and it was nice, for once, for someone to like me for who i am, not what i do. i guess i just wanted to hold on to that feeling. onto you.”

that is… sweet. you soften immediately at the admission. “i’m sorry. are you mad at me?” she asks, and by the look in her big, blue puppy dog eyes you can tell she’s sincere.

you shake your head. “no. not mad, just extremely confused. and, like, stunned. you are really good at basketball.”

paige laughs a little at that.

“you’re not just gonna run off on me when your trip’s over?” you ask quietly, not meaning to sound as supplicating and vulnerable as you do. you’d really hate it if she was just like any other tourist, gorgeous and golden and here for a week, only to never be seen again, because this, you realize, has gotten real.

“what? no. absolutely not,” paige squeezes your hands. “i do have to be back in dallas in a few days, but i’m not letting you go. you can come to my games, i’ll come visit, we can surf.”

“good. because i really like you, paige.” you sigh, heart swelling.

“i like you, too, y/n. seriously.” paige smiles.

she leans down then, pulls you into a hug, hands pressingly lightly against your back like she’s memorizing the shape of you. your arms wrap around her waist, breathing her in. she pulls back, just enough to look at you.

you kiss her. soft, at first, but then her hand is sliding up to your cheek, and yours fist gently into her shirt. you can feel it— the time, slipping away— but neither of you pay it any mind. the ocean whispers in the background. sunlight filters through the windows.

2022

-

yourusername

liked by paigebueckers, kamoreaarnold, and more…

tagged: uconnwbb, kamoreaarnold

yourusername new team new me??

user you and paige on the same team??? we are NOT ready maam 😭😭

❤️ you liked this comment

→ user omg she liked this

→ user yeah they def hate each other

user ok muscle mommy

nikamuhl10 ❤️❤️

→ yourusername muahh

kamoreaarnold yea we cute or whateva

❤️ you liked this comment

→ yourusername hell yeah we are

user i give it a week till they kill eachother

→ user wait potential enemies to lovers

→ user girl in what universe…

junetheprodigy Girl we miss you

→ yourusername I miss you most

user can’t believe im saying this but she fits this team soooooo much better

user the it girl!

user they only been teammates for a month and I feel the tension through the screen…

paigebueckers

❤️ you liked this post

liked by kamoreaarnold, therealashlynn12, and more…

tagged kamoreaarnold, nikamuhl10

paigebueckers Let the games begin.

yourusername cropping me out is crazy work

→ paigebueckers cry

→ yourusername die

→ user settle this in the ring

→ yourusername hell nah im not touching that…

→ user OMG HI I LOVE YOU

aaliyahedwards_24 Slide 4 WILDD

❤️ paigebueckers liked this comment

→ user that’s what I’m saying

→ user aaliyah are they in love tell us

user the way she cropped y/n out bro

user Holy fine shyt

user how long do we think until y/n transfers again

→ user id say another month

→ user nah 2 weeks max

→ user this is a ploy guys I bet they tgt

→ user Girl they been like this since hs 😭

→ user ain’t that y/n’s room slide 7….???

yourusername

liked by paigebueckers, aubrey.griffin44, and more…

tagged paigebueckers, aubrey.griffin44

yourusername lil dump

user what in the enemies to lovers

user IS EVERYONE BREATHING

aubrey.griffin44 Fav new study buddy

paigebueckers 🔥

→ user what is happening

❤️ you liked this comment

user SLIDE 4?????

user Y/N AND PAIGE GETTING ALONG WAHT

user soft launch of the year??

❤️ you liked this comment

paigebueckers replied to this comment

→ paigebueckers We friends… chill guys.

🩶 you unliked this comment.

-

-

🔔 kaykay 🤯🤯 sent you a message

-

🔔 kaykay 🤯🤯 sent you a message

kay talk to her about it!! Rn!!

-

-

🔔 paigebueckers deleted a comment

-

1 week later…

paigebueckers

♡ 682k

❤️ you liked this post

liked by wnba, dijonai, kaitlin.chen, and more…

paigebueckers it’s about time I spilled this lil secret

user Oh my fucking god

nikamuhl10 We all knew

→ user can confirm we did NOT all know

→ kamoreaarnold Can confirm I KNEW FIRST 🤪

yourusername bruh im not lil

❤️ paigebueckers liked your comment

→ paigebueckers yeah you are baby

→ user THIS IS THE RIVARLY WE WANT

trufru deep breaths everybody

user I TOLD YOU GUYS

user The only enemies to lovers that ever mattered

-

🔔 kamoreaarnold mentioned you in a story

❤️ you liked this story

you reposted this story

❤️ paigebueckers liked this story

paigebueckers reposted this story

-

This was so fun to make wow…. Hope it’s enjoyed by others as much as it was by me LMAOO

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.