pazzi devotee

Cancer.

The word claws its way out of Paige’s throat like something alive—sharp, feral, refusing to be swallowed back down. It scrapes on the way out, raw and burning, and then it’s just… there. 

Hanging in the air between them. 

Paige’s lungs lock up. She can’t breathe. Can’t think. The room tilts violently, maybe from the emotion, maybe the alcohol, and the next thing she knows she’s collapsing forward, crashing into Azzi’s arms as sobs tear out of her chest with no warning and certainly no mercy. Her body betrays her completely, shaking so hard it feels like she might splinter apart from the inside.

Paige doesn’t remember leaving the house. Doesn’t remember grabbing the whiskey bottle, her fingers clenched so tightly around the glass it left crescent-shaped indents in her skin. She doesn’t remember the Uber ride, or the streets, or the decision to come here at all.

She just knows she had nowhere else to go.

Azzi’s arms wrap around her immediately, strong and steady, but nothing feels real. The walls of the apartment seem to inch closer, pressing in from all sides, making the space feel smaller, tighter, like the air itself is running out. 

The scent of floral perfume clings to Azzi’s hoodie, mixing with the sour bite of whiskey on Paige’s breath. The combination turns her stomach. She squeezes her eyes shut, nausea rolling through her in waves, but the room keeps spinning anyway.

This can’t be real.

It has to be a mistake. A misread scan. A fluke. Something she can wake up from if she just closes her eyes hard enough.

But it isn’t.

Emma—her Emma—is five months pregnant and has cancer. And Paige might lose the love of her life before they even get the chance to hold their baby boy. Her stomach lurches violently, a tumultuous mix of alcohol and grief. She curls her fingers into the front of Azzi’s shirt, gripping the soft fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

“I’m so sorry, Paige,” Azzi says, voice rough with sincerity when Paige finishes word vomiting everything that’s happened. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The words are gentle, but they make Paige want to scream. 

Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t change test results or reverse diagnoses or rewrite futures that were already starting to take shape. Sorry doesn’t unring the bell of three syllables that just detonated her entire life.

The room is dim, lit only by the dying glow of the fireplace. The flames that had once crackled brightly earlier in the evening have dwindled down to pulsing embers, orange and tired. The record player sits silent in the corner, the needle long since reaching the end of its song, stuck in that faint, rhythmic hiss that fills the space when music is over.

Outside, the city sleeps. Cars pass occasionally. Somewhere outside, someone laughs. Somewhere else, someone is falling asleep without knowing their world is about to implode. Paige wishes she could disappear into that same oblivion.

Instead, she’s trapped inside a body that won’t stop shaking and a mind that won’t stop replaying the doctor’s face. The way his lips moved when he said it’s malignant. So clinical. So detached. Like he hadn’t just lit a match and walked away while her entire fucking life burned to the ground.

“What do I do, Az?” she chokes out.

The question barely makes it past the tightness in her throat. It’s strangled. Desperate. She doesn’t even know why she’s asking, Azzi isn’t a doctor and she doesn’t have answers. But she’s here, and Paige needs something—anything—to grab onto before she completely drowns.

Maybe that’s why Paige ended up here on autopilot, her feet carrying her somewhere safe while her brain glitched. In her defense, she tried not to ruin Azzi’s night. Stood in the parking lot for half an hour after the Uber dropped her off, nursing the whiskey, telling herself she’d sober up and go home. But the thoughts were relentless, spiraling into places she’ll never admit out loud.

Azzi lifts her sleeve and gently wipes a stray tear from Paige’s cheek. 

“We’ll figure this out,” Azzi promises.

There’s strain under the words, and Paige hears it. Feels it, rather. Azzi is trying to be strong for both of them, trying to hold everything together with sheer willpower. Paige can see the cracks anyway because they’re both painfully aware there’s no fixing this. At least not tonight. 

Still, she clings to the reassurance like a liferaft, because if she lets go, she might drown.

Tears keep coming, hot and unchecked, soaking into the front of Azzi’s sweatshirt. Paige curls into her, fingers gripping tighter, like if she loosens even a fraction she’ll slip under. She can feel the emotion rolling off Azzi in waves, the slight hitch in her breathing, the way her chest rises just a little too fast.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Broken only by ragged breaths and the steady rhythm of Azzi’s hand stroking up and down her back. It’s soothing and gentle, but does nothing to stop the spiral.

Eventually, the shaking eases enough that breathing doesn’t feel like a battle. Paige slumps forward, resting her forehead against Azzi’s shoulder, utterly spent. The alcohol has worn off just enough to leave behind a dull ache behind her eyes, but she barely registers it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Azzi asks.

There’s an unspoken ‘you need to’ woven into the question.

Paige swallows hard. Part of her doesn’t want to say it out loud because saying it makes it real. Makes it permanent. She’s already unraveling, though. Well past the point of pretending she can carry this alone so she nods.

Azzi shifts beside her, giving her enough space to sit up, without pulling away completely. Her arm stays draped over Paige’s shoulders, a silent assurance that she’s not going anywhere. And thank God for that. 

Paige exhales shakily, rubbing her sweaty palms against her thighs. “She knew,” she says.

The words taste bitter.

Azzi frowns. “What do you mean?”

Paige pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes burn with something sharp and aching and betrayed. “Emma knew. Today wasn’t just an appointment. It was results. She found the lump weeks ago, had tests done, and never told me.”

Azzi’s face tightens, jaw clenching as if she’s biting back something sharp. Anger flickers in the depths of her soft brown eyes, but she doesn’t say anything, just nods and lets Paige keep going.

“She sat in that office listening to doctors talk about survival rates and treatment options,” Paige says, her voice cracking. “And she didn’t say a fucking word to me.”

Her hands tremble as she presses them to her temples, like she can physically hold the thoughts back if she tries hard enough. When Paige finally looks up, Azzi is staring at her, eyes dark and unreadable. Anger, maybe. Shock. But she doesn’t say anything. She just lets Paige sit in it, lets her feel it. 

And God, does she fucking feel it.

The betrayal stings worse than the diagnosis itself. Worse than the word cancer lodged in her chest like shrapnel. The fact that Emma—her wife, her person—had carried this alone, had chosen silence over partnership, had decided Paige couldn’t handle the truth. The fact that she had lied, or at the very least kept a secret. 

That’s the part that keeps slicing her open.

Azzi exhales sharply, a sound that cuts through Paige’s spiraling thoughts. She drags a hand through her hair. “Paige, I—”

But Paige can’t stop. She’s already pushing off the couch, pacing the narrow stretch of floor between the coffee table and the fireplace. The movement is frantic, uneven, still clumsy with alcohol and adrenaline and grief. Her skin feels too tight, like she might crawl out of it if she doesn’t keep moving.

“She kept it a secret, Az,” Paige says, her voice rising despite herself. “She acted like everything was fine while I…” Her breath stutters. “While I was planning our baby’s nursery. While I was researching strollers and car seats and lying next to her every night thinking everything was fucking great.”

Azzi stands and steps into her path, careful and deliberate. “She was probably trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Paige lets out a short, hollow laugh, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair and pulling so she feels pain somewhere other than her chest. “How the hell is lying supposed to protect me?”

The words come out sharp, edged with fury, but Azzi doesn’t flinch. Instead, she reaches for Paige’s hands, wrapping them in her own, her grip firm. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But she had to have a reason.” 

Something inside Paige finally gives. She wants to scream. To throw something, to break something and unleash all the anger, fear, and unbearable ache pressing down on her chest. Really anything to make the outside of her world look as shattered as the inside feels. But Azzi is looking at her, really looking at her, and the weight of that look snaps the last thread of resistance holding her upright.

Paige sinks down on the couch again, her body suddenly heavy, like gravity has doubled. She exhales shakily as the room comes back into focus. It’s too small, too warm, too suffocating. She curls her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms, desperate for something sharp enough to distract from the ache splitting her open.

And then the words slip out. 

“She has breast cancer.”

Saying it out loud doesn’t soften it or make it manageable. If anything, it makes it worse. It makes it real in a way that knocks the breath from her lungs all over again. The future she thought she had fractures instantly, splintering into unknowns and worst-case scenarios she’s too afraid to name.

She barely registers Azzi pulling her back in, arms tightening, murmuring something she can’t make out over the sound of her own breaking. The world narrows down to the press of Azzi’s body and the way the floor seems to tilt beneath her.

But the grief doesn’t settle. It mutates. Rage coils tight in her chest, hot and volatile, fueled by the same thought on repeat. 

Emma knew. 

For over a week. She sat with it alone, and Paige really can’t bring herself to make sense of it. 

“She fucking kept it a secret from me!” Paige bursts out, shoving herself upright again as the anger surges to the surface.

Azzi flinches this time, but still doesn’t interrupt. She watches, eyes steady, tracking Paige’s pacing like a hunter waiting for a buck to drop.

Paige is pacing again, running a shaky hand through her hair, breath coming too fast. Her skin feels too tight, her breath too shallow, her heartbeat hammering in her ears like a war drum. The room presses in. She needs air, space, an exit. But there isn’t one and regardless, there’s no outrunning this.

Azzi moves toward her slowly. When she reaches her, she doesn’t pull her into a hug or tell her to calm down. She simply takes Paige’s clenched fists and gently pries them open, one finger at a time.

Her hands are warm and steady as she threads their fingers together and squeezes. 

“I know you’re mad,” Azzi says, her voice low and unwavering. “But imagine how Emma is feeling right now.”

Paige’s breath shudders out of her. 

“You need to put your anger aside,” Azzi continues. “There’s no place for it here. Emma and the baby are going to need you every step of the way.” She squeezes Paige’s hands. “I need you to do that for them. Can you?”

The fight drains out of Paige all at once, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion that sinks into her bones. She doesn’t have an answer. Doesn’t know if she can be that strong. Doesn’t know how she’s supposed to hold herself together when everything inside her is screaming that she’s about to lose everything.

Her shoulders sag as Azzi guides her back down onto the couch.

“I don’t know if I can,” Paige admits quietly. “How am I supposed to keep it together?” Her voice cracks. “I could lose them, Az. What if I can’t be strong all the time?”

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She cups Paige’s face and tilts it up until their eyes meet. There’s no doubt in her expression. Just certainty, solid and unflinching.

“Hey,” she says gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Paige searches her face, willing herself to believe that. She’s just not sure if she can.

“Let’s make a deal,” Azzi continues. “You be strong for them, and whenever you feel like it’s too much, you call me. No matter where you are, no matter where I am, no matter what time it is, I’ll be there.”

Paige’s throat tightens, but Azzi isn’t done.

“I’ll show up for you,” Azzi says, voice thick now. “And you can cry and scream and break shit if you need to. We’ll get through this.” A sad smile flickers across her lips.“Be strong for them, and I’ll be strong for you.”

Paige looks down at their joined hands, at the way Azzi’s fingers tighten around hers like she’s willing strength into her. She still doesn’t know how she’s going to survive this or what tomorrow looks like. But as she looks into Azzi’s eyes and finds the quiet, unwavering promise housed in them, some of the suffocating weight on her chest lifts. Just slightly. Just enough to finally breathe.

“Okay,” she whispers. 

Azzi exhales and pulls her close again, one hand firm against the back of Paige’s head as she buries her face into Azzi’s shoulder. The tears come back, quieter now, exhaustion finally overtaking everything else.

“I’ve got you, Paige,” Azzi murmurs.

And for tonight, Paige lets herself believe it.

***** *** *****

Azzi pads into the living room before the sun has even bothered to rise, the low, uneven sound of snoring the only thing breaking the stillness. Her usual grogginess evaporates the second she sees Paige.

The blonde is sprawled across the couch, long limbs tangled in the knitted blanket Azzi had draped over her sometime in the early hours of the morning. Golden hair spills messily across the pillow, her face slack with sleep that only comes from emotional and physical exhaustion.

And then it hits her. The weight of it all crashes back into Azzi’s chest, pressing against her ribs like an iron bar. She exhales slowly through her nose, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

Six o’clock.

The ungodly hour she’d set her alarm for, even on her day off. Not that days off mean much right now. Not when life has decided to throw everything at her all at once.

Azzi stares out the window for a beat, watching the city hover in half-light, and wonders how the hell she ended up here. How Paige had shown up on her doorstep the night before drunk, shattered, and barely holding herself together. How everything had unraveled so quickly.

After Paige had finally cried herself into exhaustion, Azzi had tried to get her up, tried to coax her toward the car with the intention of driving her home. But Paige had been too far gone, her body dead weight, her mind already checked out. Dragging her across the apartment, stuffing her into the car, and delivering her back to her house had felt reckless. Cruel, even.

And if Azzi is honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to see Emma either.

Not like that. Not when everything was so raw and exposed. Not when she’d be walking in carrying the broken pieces of a woman who didn’t know how to put herself back together.

So instead, she’d texted Emma from Paige’s phone to tell her Paige was safe. Then she’d tucked Paige into the couch like she used to do with teammates after rough nights and retreated to her bedroom to sleep.

Except she hadn’t slept at all. 

Now, standing over Paige’s sleeping form, Azzi releases another slow breath and forces herself to shake off the ache settling into her bones. Paige is curled tightly on her side, the blanket wrapped around her like armor. She looks peaceful, calm even.

For just a moment longer, Azzi lets her stay that way. Because once Paige wakes up, the harsh reality comes rushing back in. The diagnosis. The betrayal. The fear. And the hangover that’s going to make everything ten times worse.

The calm can’t last forever, though. Azzi moves closer and lowers herself onto the edge of the couch. She runs her hand slowly over Paige’s back, her touch gentle yet coaxing.

“Paige, you need to get up.”

A muffled groan answers her. “I don’t wanna.”

Azzi sighs, shaking her head as Paige buries her face deeper into the pillow, curling inward like the world might leave her alone if she hides well enough.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, firmer this time, tugging the blanket down just enough to get her attention. “You have to go home.”

Another groan, but finally a shift. A flash of blonde hair peeks out from beneath the pillow.

“You promised,” Azzi adds quietly. “You have to be there for Emma.”

That does it.

The words slice through the haze of sleep and alcohol. Paige’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and heavy, as she tries to orient herself. A second later, she winces and clutches her head like it’s splitting open.

Azzi is already moving, grabbing the Gatorade and aspirin she’d set out the night before. She watches Paige fumble with the cap, hands shaking, before she takes it from her with an exasperated eye roll and twists it open.

“Thanks,” Paige mutters, her voice rough. “I feel like shit.”

“That’s what happens when you down half a bottle of Jack in half an hour.”

Paige dry-swallows the pills then chases them with a long drink, grimacing as the liquid hits her stomach. Her nose wrinkles when her bleary gaze lands on the whiskey bottle still sitting on the coffee table.

“Did I—”

“Yeah,” Azzi cuts in, scooping it up with a smirk. “That was all you, Champ.”

She carries it to the kitchen, and tucks it out of sight. The last thing either of them needs is another whiskey-induced spiral. Or vomit.

A heavy sigh drags Azzi’s attention back to the couch. Paige has pushed herself upright, moving slowly, carefully, like every motion costs her something. With the amount of alcohol she drank last night, it probably does. Azzi can see it all over her. She can’t imagine what her friend is truly going through. 

If Paige had her way, she’d curl back up and disappear into the couch cushions. If she never leaves, she never has to face it.

Azzi understands that instinct all too well.

Three days. That’s how long she’d stayed locked in her bedroom after Lucina left. Three days of not eating, not answering texts, not facing the world. The only difference is that Azzi hadn’t had anyone counting on her the way Paige does now.

So she gives her the look. The one that says this isn’t optional and with another tired sigh, Paige forces herself to her feet. 

“I’ll be a few minutes,” she says before shuffling down the hall. 

Not even thirty seconds later, the sound of retching echoes through the apartment.

Azzi winces but stays where she is. Paige doesn’t need her hovering right now. She needs those few stolen moments of privacy before reality fully sinks its teeth in.

Paige emerges a few minutes later looking… better. Although, better is a relative term, Azzi supposes. 

Still pale, exhausted, and wearing the same clothes from last night, but better. The tear tracks are gone, washed away with cold water, and her hair is pulled back into a tight bun. She’s upright at least. 

Paige won’t meet her eyes, though. There’s hesitation in the way she steps closer, her gaze flicking downward.

Azzi hands her a fresh bottle of cold water and waits.

“How you holding up?”

Paige takes the water, fingers curling around it. “I feel like an idiot.” Her voice is barely audible, though Azzi isn’t sure if it’s the guilt or murderous hangover. “I embarrassed myself last night. I’m really sorry.”

Azzi frowns. She knows this tone. Recognizes that Paige is retreating inward, trying to minimize what happened, shrinking herself down so she won’t be a burden.

She reaches out and curls her fingers around Paige’s arm. “It’s okay to need people.”

Paige tries to look away again, but Azzi tightens her grip just enough to keep her there, forcing blue eyes to meet hers.

“I meant what I said last night,” Azzi says firmly. “You be strong for them, and I’ll be strong for you. Okay?”

After a moment, Paige nods. It’s slow and uncertain, but Azzi sees the way some of the tension bleeds out of her, how her breathing evens just a fraction. Progress, even if it’s fragile.

Then Paige’s gaze drifts over Azzi’s shoulder.

It lands on the half-empty whiskey bottle first, and her face twists immediately, a visible shudder rolling through her lithe frame. But it doesn’t stop there. Her eyes keep moving, catching on the empty wine bottle, the two glasses sitting side by side. A fresh wave of guilt flickers across her features.

“I’m sorry I ruined your date last night…”

Azzi lets out a laugh. The first genuine one she’s managed since Nora walked out the door less than twelve hours ago.

Of course Paige would apologize for that. Even now. Even when her entire life has been set ablaze. 

Yes, Azzi had been seconds away from finally getting lucky for the first time in over a year. Seconds away from letting herself forget, from feeling wanted in a way that didn’t come with history attached. But the moment she’d opened the door and seen Paige standing there, drunk and barely holding herself together, there hadn’t been a decision to make.

She only wishes someone had chosen her that easily when she was falling apart in Germany.

“Don’t even go there,” Azzi murmurs. “She understood. And even if she didn’t, you’re more important anyway.”

Paige shifts, uncomfortable, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with that kind of loyalty. “Well, thanks again…” She hesitates, then adds, quieter, “You think you can drive me home now?”

Azzi doesn’t hesitate, reaching for her keys on the kitchen table.

“Why else do you think I’m up at six in the morning?”

She places a firm hand at the small of Paige’s back, guiding her toward the door. Before they step outside, she sends Emma a quick text letting her know they’re on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, Azzi pulls up in front of the Bueckers residence, but neither of them move.

The car idles softly, the silence thick and heavy between them. Paige exhales sharply, fingers fidgeting in her lap like she’s trying to anchor herself. Outside, Emma sits on the front porch steps, arms folded loosely across her chest, head tipped back toward the early morning sun. 

The sight makes something in Azzi’s chest cinch.

“Go to her, Paige.”

Paige doesn’t move right away. Instead, she turns to Azzi, ocean-blue eyes shining with raw, unfiltered emotion. And in that moment, Azzi knows. She knows exactly what she represents to Paige. How much this friendship means. How much it matters in a city where Paige feels painfully alone.

“Go,” Azzi whispers again, softer this time, nudging her gently.

But Paige still doesn’t leave.

She leans in first, wrapping Azzi in a tight, bone-crushing hug. Azzi stiffens for half a second, surprised, then melts into it, returning the embrace just as fiercely. She feels the silent plea for strength, the desperate need for reassurance, the last stolen moment of safety before everything changes.

Azzi pours every ounce of strength she has into that hug.

When Paige finally pulls back, something in her eyes is different. There’s resolve there now. Not confidence or peace, but at least some semblance of determination.

“Thank you,” Paige whispers. “You have no idea what you mean to me, Az.”

Azzi swallows hard, forcing a small smile even as her throat tightens. “I think I do.”

Paige gives her one last look before stepping out of the car and shutting the door softly behind her. Emma lifts her head at the sound and their eyes meet across the front yard. For a beat, neither of them moves. Then Emma stands, and she runs. Paige meets her halfway.

They collide with the kind of force only desperation can create, arms wrapping around each other like they’re afraid the world will rip them apart if they let go. Azzi grips the steering wheel tighter as she watches Paige bury her face into Emma’s shoulder, watches Emma hold tight like she’s trying to keep Paige in one piece.

Something sharp lodges itself in Azzi’s chest. An ache she doesn’t know how to name, let alone fix.

She swallows, shifts the car into drive, and pulls away. She doesn’t turn around, not fully, but in the rearview mirror, she sees them still clinging to each other, unmoving.

The tears come before she realizes she’s crying.

she sat with her knees drawn up, chin resting on them, and let herself go back, the way the bath always seemed to invite her to go back, water being the one place her body had never quite had to follow the rules.

she lay back fully after a moment, flaxen hair like sea moss against her back, pale neck glinting as she rolled it to the side; bare sign of submission. outside the bathroom, mar and niki’s date night playlist was droning on and on. a heavily reverbed voice of the forties crooned to her, nearly cajoling her into allowing entrance to the wave of sleep she’d felt lapping at her chest since lunch. she brought a hand up to her collarbones, pushing down, the bones so prominent it felt as though—with a little more applied pressure—she could’ve fissured the skin, dug her fingers in, and pulled it out; white necklace.

once paige had had a best friend she liked so much it made her mean, her mouth chalky with the rage. the rage was exceptional when the girl rolled her skirt up at the waist the way the rest of the others did, showing off for boys who didn't deserve the effort. she was supposed to be better than that, different than the rest. so, paige would yank it back down by the hem, a hard yank, sending the girl reeling. she'd pull it down, and the girl’d pull it back, a game of tug-of-war: up, down, up, down, smack!

paige would be struck away, her friend finally having shoved her off, furious. then, it would be rolled up again. and so it went. and every time, paige would just stand there, strangely satisfied, as though she'd won something even though she'd clearly lost. she didn't understand it then, what it meant to want a girl so badly you wanted to snuff her right out. she'd thought it was just the wanting-to-win kind of feeling, the kind you got over a board game or a race down the hall, some clean, uncomplicated hunger for a thing to go her way.

she was thirteen. she didn’t have the vocabulary yet for the specific, awful tenderness of wanting another’s attention so completely that the wanting curdled, at its furthest edge; curdled into something that looked, if you squinted, a lot like wanting to hurt them a little. not kill them, of course, just…dent them, leave a thumbprint—criminal trace—in a hiding place that only they’d notice later, in the shower, throat choked in horror as they wondered - paige, in on the secret.

she knew the words now. she just knew better than to say it out loud, in the open, even if she was the only animal in the field. despite what her mother thought, paige did have a base level of self-preservation, and she knew speaking it aloud would make it sound worse than it was, and they’d send her somewhere. she happened to think it really wasn’t all that bad, actually.

it was just attention. everybody wanted attention.

she just wanted it a bit more than other people, and possibly with slightly more follow-through.

and now that her mouth had covered azzi’s, now that her hand had felt azzi’s stomach jump like a rabbit startled awake, some old ache of azzi’s own finally getting out from wherever she kept it locked, “m-word” rising up-up-up—and paige hadn't wanted to hurt her, not really; that part's important, she'd tell you if you asked, though you'd be forgiven for not entirely believing her. no, paige didn’t want to quell her at all.

that was never it, had never once been it.

she just wanted to bring azzi to her knees. just wanted to show her the effort she’d made, wanted her to see the work. nobody had handed paige a shovel for any of this. she’d dug the whole thing herself, on her hands and knees, and she wanted azzi to see the hole before she fell into it face-first, wanted her to know exactly whose hands had made it.

you didn't get to keep something by wanting it once, hard. you kept it by coming back and back and back until the desire had worn a groove into the bone that only you, as the socket, would fit; nobody else’s hands would ever quite fit it again.

the vision had been strong since early september, and azzi just hadn’t seen it. paige liked that part best, if she was honest. the blind spot, the places where azzi couldn’t see it, dim-sighted and scrabbling. because that’s where paige fit.

paige like a revelator; paige with her mouth on the thin, biteable skin of azzi’s inner thigh, tactile learner, learning her way through; paige, unbearable; paige with her mouth at the back of azzi’s neck, soft and unprotected, keeping it safe under the delve of her teeth, scruffing her.

her grandfather trapped a fox once, out past the tree line at the main estate, and it screamed. and that scream—high and human, more furious than hurt, outrage borne of the misguided belief that it couldn’t have ever been caught. paige thought about that sound sometimes, at inconvenient moments, and wondered, with the same colorless curiosity she brought to most of her worst thoughts, whether azzi would sound anything like it, someday, once paige finally got her cornered all the way.

if azzi would sound anything like that when she was cumming, hips held down by the staying power of paige’s hand, bunny-eye-pink squeeze.

paige didn't chase the thought any further than that. and it wasn’t because it scared her, but more because she liked having somewhere left to go. most things lost the magic when overly interrogated.

the water had gone properly cold now. she stayed soaked in it anyway, same thing: knees drawn up, chin resting on them, watching the strands of her hair, strawberry-blonde, fan out around her like something spilled; sat with the bad feeling.

sat with the bad feeling and letting it keep her company, the way she always had, the way she suspected she always would. she thought that wanting someone this much was supposed to frighten her. she thought, then—without much alarm—that if this was supposed to be the part where she felt the terror and guilt, nobody had alerted her body yet.

it was strange that it mostly just felt like coming home to a house she’d built herself, brick by brick, with her own two hands. and nobody, not one single person in her whole life—if they even knew of it—had ever once thought to take the keys away from her.

she supposed they knew better. she figured that was probably part of the problem, and that problem was really part of a set.

but once, before all those rocks came tumbling down on him, her father had told her: when you really love someone, when you feel that click? that’s them loving you back. and when they love you back, nothing else tends to really matter.

and, so, maybe she did have a problem, a set or two, but birthright, really. she figured she’d deal with it some other day.

there was a click of the grammophone out in the hall - niki had a real one, how droll - and a fresh choir of voices bloomed, wedging underneath the door, the warble rattling at the window panes. paige closed her eyes, one hand coming up to her left to grip the tub's slick rim.

and when they love you back, nothing else tends to really matter.

everything else was just window dressing.

she lazed down straight to the bottom, the soap and cold swallowing her with an eager mouth.

she’d never been any good at floating.

her mother had long been terrorized by the fear that she’d drown.

azzi asks paige out. paige teasingly asks her "name for the order?" about a month in, and azzi says, "date". paige repeats back, confused, "date?" and azzi says yeah sure when and where

said first date is at a fair. they taste test all the food

they align their next semester schedules to take a useless elective together just to be able to see each other during the day

azzi has not paid for a drink since the first time she was there. paige gets yelled at by her boss for this but doesn't care and they eventually just accept it.

they do gym sessions together, but have to go early in the morning to avoid people because they've ended up on the campus chat apps for flirting too much at least three times

everyone gets really worried if they see one of them without the other because they become so attached at the hip. nika almost drunk dials the cops one night because paige shows up to a party and azzi isn't with her (azzi walked in before paige and nika didn't notice)

mmih!paige:

is better on food than drinks, but insists on being scheduled on bar because it's more "auraful"

desperately needs something to do with her hands and likes the job bc there's always something to do. coworkers love her bosses fear her. she WILL play rock paper scissors with the customers if the espresso machine is taking too long

purposely wears the tightest black shirt she owns to work to show off her muscles. wears cologne even though she knows she'll smell like coffee grounds by the end of the day.

azzi makes her start drinking coffee but she orders one shot of espresso with 3 packs of sugar. she likes to bite the sugar crystals that accumulate at the bottom

runs the coed intramural basketball league like the navy. turned down her d1 offers because she wanted to pursue kinesiology. almost became a firefighter

mmih!azzi:

known homosexual terrorist. frequents dyke parties on campus. thinks she sucks at flirting but half the women on campus are in love with her

goes to this café because last week she dropped her chai in the middle of the dunkin' on campus and she's too mortified to go back

goes home immediately after the events of the story and starts referring to paige as her "messy buff girlfriend". someone accidentally calls paige this nickname in a group hangout before they're official and paige is offended

plays intramural softball and is secretly really fucking good at it. unfortunately she prefers to be on the bench so she can heckle her friends

finds a perfume with vague earthy coffee undertones to try to get paige to associate her with making money and hence the feeling of happiness. never utters a word about this to anyone

for their six month anniversary, she buys paige a box of matcha powder and wraps it so that it explodes on her face when she opens it