PRINCESS PRESSURE👑
Description: When comparisons between Azzi and Paige become overwhelming during Azzi’s early WNBA adjustment, she breaks down alone in a restroom, until Paige forces her way in and reminds her she never has to be anyone but herself.
It happens at their apartment.
Quiet night.
The kind where everything feels still except your thoughts.
Azzi gets home first.
The game had already been sitting wrong in her chest since it ended.
Not because of anything obvious.
But because of everything she didn’t do.
Her phone is already buzzing before she even takes her hoodie off.
Notifications stacking.
Clips.
Comments.
“Not quite Paige yet.”
“She’s good but not THAT level.”
“She’ll get there… maybe.”
Azzi stares at it for a second too long.
Then turns it face down like she can physically silence it.
She doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t call out for Paige.
Just walks straight to the bathroom.
Locks the door.
And everything falls apart quietly.
The apartment outside is warm.
Soft lamp light still on in the kitchen.
The faint smell of popcorn from earlier still lingering.
Paige’s hoodie is on the couch where she left it.
Everything normal.
Everything safe.
Except Azzi isn’t.
Inside the bathroom, she sits on the cold tile floor with her knees pulled up.
Still in her game sweats.
Hair messy from post-game photos.
Her body still feels like it’s buzzing from adrenaline that never fully left.
But her mind?
Loud.
Too loud.
“I’m not her,” she whispers.
It doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore.
Just fear.
Outside—
“Azzi?”
Paige.
Immediate.
Soft but alert.
Azzi doesn’t answer.
Paige knocks once.
Then again.
“Azzi, open the door.”
Nothing.
A pause.
Then Paige’s voice changes.
Stricter now.
“Az.”
Knock again.
Harder.
Still nothing.
Silence stretches.
Then—
BANG.
The door shakes violently in its frame.
Azzi flinches instantly.
“Paige—” someone faintly calls from the living room, but Paige is already locked in.
BANG.
Another hit.
Then wood gives slightly.
And suddenly—
The lock breaks.
The door swings open fast.
Paige stands there breathing slightly heavier than normal.
Hair in a messy bun, hoodie oversized and slipping off one shoulder, black shorts, socks mismatched because she didn’t care when she left the room.
No glam.
No game face.
Just her.
When she sees Azzi—
she stops completely.
Azzi looks up immediately.
Red eyes.
Trying not to fall apart harder.
“Paige…”
Paige’s whole expression shifts.
Soft immediately.
Gone is everything else.
She steps inside carefully and shuts the door behind her.
The bathroom feels smaller now.
Safer too.
Paige crouches in front of her.
Close.
Not touching yet.
Just there.
“Hey,” she says gently.
Azzi quickly wipes her face.
“I’m fine, I just needed—”
“No,” Paige says softly.
Not harsh.
Just certain.
She reaches out and takes Azzi’s hands anyway.
Warm.
Steady.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Azzi’s breath shakes.
“Everyone keeps comparing me to you.”
Paige stills slightly.
Azzi laughs weakly through tears.
“I can’t even have a bad game without it being about you.”
Paige’s jaw tightens but her grip stays soft.
Azzi continues, voice breaking more.
“It’s like I’m supposed to be you or something. Like I have to match you and I can’t— I can’t do that.”
Paige shakes her head immediately.
“No. Az, no.”
Azzi looks down.
Paige leans in slightly.
“You don’t have to be me.”
Azzi’s lips tremble.
Paige squeezes her hands gently.
“You never have to be me.”
Silence.
Just breathing.
Paige softens more.
“You’re Azzi Fudd.”
Azzi’s eyes close for a second like she’s trying to hold herself together.
Paige continues quietly:
“You can hit three-pointers like it’s nothing. Like if you were just looking at me, I swear you’d make every single one without even thinking about it.”
Azzi lets out a broken laugh.
Paige smiles faintly.
“You’re the princess.”
That’s what breaks her.
Azzi leans forward slightly and Paige immediately pulls her in.
Now fully holding her.
Azzi’s face presses into Paige’s shoulder.
Paige smells like soft fabric, vanilla lotion, and faint gum.
Comfort.
Familiar.
Safe.
Paige holds her tighter.
“Don’t listen to them,” she whispers. “Listen to you. Your gut. Me.”
A pause.
Then softer:
“I love you, Azzi.”
Azzi freezes slightly.
Paige doesn’t stop.
And suddenly—
flashback.
It’s a tournament game.
Bright arena lights.
Loud crowd echoing.
The kind of game where everything feels too big.
Azzi is younger.
Earlier in her career.
Still finding herself.
She remembers the court feeling slippery under her shoes.
The noise was louder than usual.
She drives.
Cuts.
Plants wrong.
And then—
pain.
Instant.
Sharp.
Her knee gives out.
She goes down hard.
The sound of sneakers stopping around her.
The whistle.
Everything slows.
She remembers grabbing her knee immediately.
Breathing uneven.
Confused more than anything at first.
Then fear.
Paige is already running onto the court before anyone even reacts properly.
No hesitation.
She’s wearing the game warmups—black shorts, white tee under a hoodie, hair pulled back messy from sitting on the bench. Her face is already panicked.
She kneels beside Azzi immediately.
“Hey—hey, look at me.”
Azzi remembers trying to breathe but not being able to fully.
“I can’t— I think—”
Paige gently holds her face.
“Don’t move it. Don’t try to stand.”
Her voice shakes but she stays steady for Azzi.
“I’ve got you.”
Azzi remembers the smell of the hardwood floor.
Sweat.
Adrenaline.
Medic spray somewhere in the distance.
And Paige’s hoodie.
That exact moment Paige draped it over her shoulders while she was still on the floor because Azzi was shaking.
Paige whispering:
“I promise you you’re gonna get better.”
Azzi remembers blinking through tears.
Paige holding her hand tightly.
“And I’ll be there every step of the way. Happy days, bad days, all of it. I love you, Azzi. That’s not changing.”
Back to now.
Azzi inhales shakily.
Paige is still holding her.
Still right there.
Azzi pulls back just enough to look at her.
Eyes glassy.
“…I love you too.”
Paige exhales like relief.
“Yeah?”
Azzi nods.
Paige smiles softly.
Then leans in and kisses her.
Slow.
Careful.
Like she’s still afraid Azzi might break.
Azzi melts into it immediately.
When they pull back, Paige rests her forehead against hers.
Still holding her hands.
Still grounding her.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just staying.
Exactly like she promised back then.
And still now.
