#wbb

You had stopped being surprised by Paige Bueckers a long time ago.

Not because she was predictable. Paige was one of the least predictable people you had ever met. She could wake up calm and decide by breakfast that she was going to argue with somebody about a card game from two weeks ago. She could limp into practice after a long lift, sore and quiet, then spend the next hour talking like she had personally invented basketball. She could be sweet for exactly three minutes before saying something so obnoxious that Nika threatened to throw a towel at her head. She could make a room louder by walking into it and softer by looking at you across it.

So no, Paige herself was not predictable.

But the way she loved you was.

That had become one of the steady things in your life. As regular as the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. As familiar as the cold Connecticut mornings that made you pull your sleeves over your hands on the walk to practice. As known as the little rhythm your day had fallen into after almost four years at UConn and almost three years of Paige being yours in every way that mattered.

She texted you at 8:03.

outside.

Not good morning. Not come out. Not hurry up because we’re gonna be late, even though both of you knew she was thinking it.

Just outside.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed with one shoe on and one shoe still somewhere under your desk, hair half-fixed, hoodie bunched around your waist because you had gotten distracted looking for your charger. Your practice bag sat open on the floor, one side sagging with a pair of slides, tape, an extra shirt, and the water bottle you swore you had filled last night but had probably left empty because you were you.

You glanced at the text and smiled before you could help it.

She did this every morning she could.

Sometimes it was before class. Sometimes before breakfast. Sometimes before practice. Sometimes after a lift if your schedules split weird and she had ten minutes to spare. Same building, same athlete housing, same familiar path between your doors, close enough that Paige had turned walking you places into a habit so deeply carved into her routine that neither of you really talked about it anymore.

You found your other shoe under a sweatshirt, shoved your foot into it, and opened your door.

Paige was leaning against the wall outside, hood up, one foot crossed over the other. In one hand, she held her own drink. In the other, she held yours.

Iced matcha. Oat milk. Light ice. The sweetness level you liked. The one you had mentioned, casually, once, freshman year, before either of you had gotten together, before Paige had started looking at you like you were something she was trying not to want too obviously.

She had remembered it anyway.

She looked up when your door opened, and the lazy little grin that slid onto her face was so familiar it made your chest warm in that quiet, annoying way she always managed to pull out of you.

“You look late,” she said. She lifted your drink slightly, but when you reached for it, she pulled it back just enough to make you look at her.

You paused. “Seriously?”

Paige’s grin spread slowly. “Delivery fee.”

You stared at her.

She stared back, completely unbothered.

There were people who thought Paige had no shame, and they were mostly right, but this was different. With everyone else, Paige’s confidence was loud. With you, it was softer, still cocky but warmer, like she had learned exactly how far she could push before you rolled your eyes and gave her what she wanted anyway.

“You’re charging me now?” you asked.

“Inflation.”

“For a drink you chose to buy?”

“Service industry is hard.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet.” She leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping into something sweet enough to make your stomach do that stupid little flip it still did even after all this time. “You want your matcha or not?”

You tried to hold your stare.

You lasted maybe two seconds.

Then you leaned in and kissed her.

It was meant to be quick. A small morning peck, soft and familiar, the kind you had given her a thousand times in hallways and elevators and outside locker rooms when nobody important was looking too closely. But Paige smiled against your mouth like she had won something, and that made you laugh, which made her chase the kiss for one extra second before letting you pull away.

Her eyes were still on your mouth when she handed you the cup.

“Pleasure doing business,” she murmured.

You took the matcha and gave her a look over the lid. “You’re annoying.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling, and Paige saw it. She always saw it. Her whole face shifted for half a second before she hid it by reaching for your bag.

You already had the strap over your shoulder, secure and settled, but Paige’s hand went to it without hesitation. Gentle. Automatic. Her fingers hooked under the strap near your collarbone, careful not to tug your hoodie too hard, and she lifted it slightly like she was asking without asking.

You barely paused. Just tilted your shoulder toward her so she could slide it off.

That was how normal it was.

You turned back toward your room to grab your keys, but Paige was already reaching around the doorframe, plucking them off the small hook beside your closet where you always forgot them. She held them up between two fingers, shaking them once.

“You were gonna forget.”

“I was not.”

“You literally turned around without them.”

“I was testing you.”

“I passed.”

“Barely.”

Paige made an offended sound, like the idea of barely passing anything in relation to you physically pained her. “Do not disrespect my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yeah.” She stepped back so you could lock your door, shifting your bag higher on her shoulder without thinking. “Making sure you don’t walk around this campus helpless.”

“I am not helpless.”

“You’d lose your keys in your own hand.”

“And yet I somehow survived before you.”

Paige looked at you like that was the most insulting thing you had ever said to her. “Barely.”

You laughed, and that was the thing: Paige heard it. She always heard it. Her whole face changed for half a second, pleased and soft before she covered it with attitude again, like she had not just lit up because of one small laugh in a hallway she had walked through a thousand times.

She fell into step beside you as you started down the hall.

You did not ask for your bag.

She did not offer it back.

That was just how it went.

By the time you reached the elevator, she had already pressed the button, already tugged gently at the back of your hoodie because the tag was flipped, already nudged you away from the corner where the floor was still wet from someone’s spilled water bottle.

You barely noticed any of it.

Paige noticed everything.

That was another thing people did not always understand about her. They saw the loudness first. The talking. The smirking. The ridiculous confidence that came out every time someone challenged her to anything, even if the challenge was stupid. Paige Bueckers would compete with a wall if the wall looked at her wrong. She argued calls. She argued card games. She argued rankings, music, cereal, whether or not Nika had traveled during a drill three months ago, and once, for twenty minutes, whether soup counted as a meal or a warm beverage with responsibilities.

She had opinions about everything.

Except when it came to you.

With you, she still had opinions. She just delivered them softer. Or swallowed them entirely if you gave her that look. The one she pretended did not work on her even though everybody with eyes knew it did.

The elevator doors slid open.

KK was inside, backpack hanging off one shoulder, scrolling on her phone. She looked up, eyes flicking from your drink to Paige’s hand on your bag to Paige standing half a step behind you like a bodyguard who had forgotten she was not actually employed.

KK’s mouth twitched.

“Morning,” you said.

“Morning,” KK replied, still looking at Paige. “Dang. She pick you up every day?”

Paige frowned. “Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you got commentary.”

KK lifted both hands. “I’m observing.”

“You’re always observing too much.”

“I’m learning the ecosystem.”

You snorted into your drink.

Paige immediately looked at you, smiling because you smiled, then caught herself and turned back to KK with a scowl that had no heat behind it. “Don’t start.”

KK looked delighted. “Oh, I’m definitely learning.”

“You’re learning how to run today,” Paige said.

“You gonna make me?”

Paige opened her mouth.

You took a sip of your matcha and said casually, “Paige, don’t bully the freshman before breakfast.”

Paige stopped.

Just like that.

Her mouth closed. Her shoulders dropped. She leaned back against the elevator wall, grumbling softly, “Wasn’t bullying.”

KK stared.

You didn’t notice, or maybe you did and chose not to say anything. That was the problem with you. You had gotten so used to Paige folding around you that half the time you treated it like weather. Like of course Paige stopped arguing when you told her to. Of course Paige carried your bag. Of course Paige slowed down if you slowed down. Of course Paige’s attention snapped to you the second you said her name.

KK, however, had not been at UConn long enough to fully absorb the sight without reacting. She looked between you and Paige.

Then she pointed at Paige’s chest.

“You just sat down.”

Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“She said don’t bully me and you just sat down.”

“I was already leaning.”

“No, you got domesticated in real time.”

You choked slightly on your matcha.

Paige stepped forward. “Bro,”

You put one hand lightly on Paige’s forearm. “P.”

Paige stopped again.

KK’s mouth fell open.

The elevator dinged.

You walked out like nothing had happened.

Paige followed immediately.

Behind you, KK whispered loudly, “This is crazy.”

Paige threw a look over her shoulder. “I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

You laughed again, and Paige’s irritation lasted exactly half a second before it softened at the edges.

It was not that Paige did not realize how she was with you. She knew she loved you. She knew she liked being near you. She knew she got this ridiculous, embarrassing pull in her chest when you looked at her like she was your favorite person in the room. She knew she felt calmer when she had your bag on her shoulder, your drink in her hand, your knee pressed against hers under a table, your voice cutting through noise and landing directly in the part of her brain that cared about nothing else once you called for her.

She just did not think of it as unusual.

To Paige, loving you had always been active. It was doing things. Watching things. Remembering things. Carrying what you forgot. Giving you the better seat. Taking the outside of the sidewalk. Handing you your water before you asked because you always forgot to drink when you were locked in. Knowing when you were tired from the set of your mouth. Knowing when you were annoyed by the way you got quiet instead of loud. Knowing when you needed space and when you only said you needed space because you did not want to be a burden.

She had spent almost three years being your girlfriend and nearly four years knowing you, and she still felt like she was learning you.

Still felt lucky every time you let her.

Breakfast was loud, the way breakfast with the team usually was. Nika was already at a table with Azzi and Ice, talking with her hands and accusing somebody of lying about something you had missed. Aaliyah was scrolling through her phone, occasionally looking up to make a comment sharp enough to make everyone laugh. Ashlynn and KK were arguing about music. Someone had stolen someone else’s seat. Someone was definitely going to claim it was their seat even though there were no assigned seats and everyone knew it.

Paige guided you toward the table without touching your back, just hovering close enough that you could feel her. you slid into the seat you usually took, and Paige put your bag down beside your chair before sitting next to you.

Nobody acted like Paige carrying your things was breaking news.

That was just Paige with you.

Still, when Paige pushed the small container of fruit toward you before you reached for it, Nika’s eyes flicked up. When Paige took the napkin dispenser from the middle of the table and set one beside your plate, Azzi’s mouth curved like she was trying not to smile. When you got distracted answering Ice’s question and Paige quietly unwrapped your straw for you because your hands were full, KK looked at Azzi again.

Paige, for her part, seemed completely unaware she was doing anything worth noticing. She was busy talking about the shooting drill from yesterday, arguing lightly with Nika over whether or not Nika had counted one of her own makes after the buzzer.

“I’m just saying,” Paige said, leaning back in her chair with the kind of confidence that made people want to argue with her even when she was right, “if the ball’s still in your hand when the time’s done, that’s not a make.”

Nika stared at her. “It left my hand.”

“After.”

“During.”

“After.”

“You were not even looking.”

“I felt it.”

“You felt it?”

“Yeah. Spiritually.”

Nika blinked. “You are so annoying.”

“You’re mad because I’m right.”

“You are loud because you are wrong.”

Paige grinned. “I’m loud because I got a voice.”

You reached across Paige for the honey packet near her tray, and before your fingers even touched it, Paige picked it up and handed it to you.

Still arguing. Still looking at Nika. Still mid-sentence. But the honey packet was in your hand.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Paige’s voice dropped out for half a beat. She turned toward you, expression easing. “Yeah.”

Nika stopped talking. Only for a second. Then she looked at Azzi with a flat expression.

Azzi pressed her lips together.

“What?” Paige asked, noticing too late.

“Nothing,” Nika said.

“Your face says something.”

“My face says I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired when you’re losing.”

Nika shook her head, but she was smiling now. “Eat your breakfast, Paige.”

Paige looked like she might push back, so you bumped your knee lightly against hers under the table.

Paige sat back.

Picked up her fork.

Started eating.

Nika’s eyes dropped to the movement.

KK saw it too.

The table went silent for half a beat.

Then KK nearly lost it.

“Oh my god,” she said. “No way.”

Paige pointed her fork at her. “You want attention so bad.”

KK shook her head, eyes bright. “Nah, this is educational. I’ve never seen somebody go from talking crazy to trained that fast.”

“I’m not trained.”

Nika made a face. “Mmm.”

You glanced at Paige, amused. “You’re not.”

Paige immediately relaxed, like your words had settled something in her. “Thank you.”

You took another sip of matcha. “You just listen well.”

Nika gagged.

“Actually disgusting,” she said.

Paige smiled down at her plate, trying and failing not to look pleased.

That was the thing that got her teased the most. Not that she listened to you. Not even that she was softer with you. It was that she liked it. Paige, who had a comeback for every person at every table, got visibly happy when you praised her for something as simple as bringing the right drink or remembering your slides or waiting by the door.

You could ruin her with a soft “thank you.”

You never abused it. That was why it worked.

You were not demanding. You were not constantly telling her what to do. If anything, you asked less of Paige than Paige wanted you to. You carried your own weight, on and off the court. You were steady and sharp and calm in ways Paige admired even when she pretended to be too cool to say it out loud. You did not need Paige to take care of you.

That was exactly why she liked doing it.

It felt like being chosen for a job nobody else even knew existed.

By the time practice rolled around, Paige had gone through three different arguments, won two of them by volume alone, and lost the only one that mattered because you had tilted your head and said, “Let it go.”

She let it go.

Nika saw.

Nika suffered.

Practice was the one place where the softness sharpened into something else.

You and Paige had always had chemistry on the court. It was one of the first things people noticed about you as freshmen, before either of you admitted what was happening, before the late-night talks and lingering hallway moments turned into something too obvious to keep pretending around. Back then, it had been basketball first. Timing. Trust. The kind of connection that made passes look cleaner than they were because both of you were already moving before the ball left the other’s hands.

Paige knew where you wanted it.

You knew when Paige was about to cut.

She could throw a pass through traffic without looking and you would be there. You could drift to the corner half a second early and Paige would find you. You screened for her without needing the call. She slipped the ball to you in pockets that made coaches nod and teammates roll their eyes because of course.

Of course it was you two.

Of course Paige could be triple-covered and still somehow locate you.

Of course you could be running full speed and still know exactly where Paige had gone without turning your head.

The team had stopped reacting dramatically because it had been years. But KK still noticed sometimes. The newness had not worn off her yet. She would watch Paige thread a pass to you on the wing, watch you catch in rhythm and knock down the shot, watch Paige point at you with that smug little look like she had personally assisted the sun into rising.

Then KK would look at Azzi like, “Do they always do that?”

And Azzi, who had seen too much, would just nod.

That day, during a half-court drill, Nika was pressing Paige high, talking in her ear the entire time.

“You’re not getting by me.”

Paige dribbled low, grinning. “I’m already by you mentally.”

“You are so annoying.”

“You love guarding me.”

“I love humbling you.”

“You can try.”

Nika bumped her with her chest. Paige laughed, shifted her weight, eyes flicking once to the left.

You saw it.

You cut.

The pass came before Nika could turn her head.

It snapped through a narrow lane, quick and clean, landing in your hands exactly where you liked it. You rose into your shot without thinking. It dropped.

Paige’s grin went wide.

“Talk to me nice,” she told Nika.

Nika turned slowly, expression flat. “You passed.”

“And?”

“To your girlfriend.”

“And?”

“That is not humbling me. That is flirting with cardio.”

You laughed, jogging back on defense.

Paige looked entirely too proud of herself.

A few possessions later, your shoe came untied.

Later, during a pause in drills, you found yourself holding a ball under one arm, your water bottle tucked awkwardly against your side, and a towel hooked over your fingers when you looked down and realized your lace had come loose.

You made a face.

Paige was several feet away, mid-bicker with Nika again.

“I’m telling you, that was a foul.”

“It was not a foul.”

“You grabbed me.”

“I breathed near you.”

“You wish.”

“You complain so much.”

“You foul so much.”

You shifted the ball against your ribs and called, “Paige?”

Paige stopped mid-sentence.

Not gradually.

Immediately.

Nika’s mouth stayed open around whatever she had been about to say.

Paige turned. “Yeah?”

“Can you help me real quick?” you asked, polite and distracted, glancing down at your shoe. “My hands are full.”

Paige was already moving.

You did not even ask. She crossed the space between you, dropped down to one knee, and tied your shoe like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Because to her, it was.

The gym went weirdly quiet for one second.

Not fully quiet. Balls still bounced. Someone’s sneakers still squeaked. Coaches were still talking. But the pocket around you shifted, just enough for the people closest to notice Paige Bueckers, who had been arguing a foul call like she was preparing a court case, suddenly kneeling in front of you with your shoelace in her hands.

You looked down at her.

She double-knotted it.

“You gotta stop leaving them loose,” she muttered.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always do it.”

“You always fix it.”

Paige glanced up.

Bad idea.

Very bad idea.

Because you were looking at her with that small, private smile, the one that made her forget there were other people in the room. Her hands paused at your shoe, and for a second she just stared up at you, eyes soft and stupidly fond, like she could not believe this was her life.

Nika made a sound of genuine distress.

“I hate this,” she said.

KK, from somewhere behind her, whispered loudly, “She got on one knee.”

Paige snapped out of it and stood so fast she almost bumped your shoulder.

“It was untied,” she said defensively.

KK’s mouth twitched like she was physically fighting the urge to say something.

Nika made a face over her water bottle, eyes flicking from Paige to you and back again, unimpressed in the way only Nika could pull off without actually being mad.

By the time practice ended, the story had already become bigger than it was. Not because anyone was shocked, exactly, but because KK had narrated it like a sportscaster in the locker room until even Azzi told her to breathe.

“She said, ‘Paige, can you help me real quick?’” KK insisted, sitting on the bench while pulling off her shoes. “Casual. Normal, right? And Paige stopped like somebody hit pause on her whole body.”

Paige, from two lockers over, threw her towel at KK.

KK caught it and kept going. “Then she said her hands were full, pointed at the shoe, and Paige dropped. Dropped. Like we were watching a proposal video.”

“It was a shoe,” Paige said.

“It was history.”

Nika nodded grimly. “Freshman is right.”

Paige looked betrayed. “You’re encouraging her?”

“I am processing trauma.”

You sat at your locker, laughing quietly while you changed into slides. Paige heard it and turned toward you instantly, her annoyed expression easing before she even realized she was doing it.

KK pointed. “There. Again.”

Paige looked back at her. “What?”

“You heard her laugh and forgot you were mad.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You smiled.”

“People smile.”

“Not like that.”

Paige opened her mouth, then seemed to decide there was no way to win without making it worse. She turned back to her locker, mumbling something under her breath.

You leaned closer as she sat beside you to tie her own shoes.

“You’re getting cooked today,” you said softly.

Paige looked at you from under her lashes. “You enjoying it?”

“A little.”

“That’s messed up.”

“You make it easy.”

“I make a lot of things easy for you.”

Her voice dropped just enough that the words slipped under the noise of the locker room, warm and teasing in a way that made your stomach flip even after all this time.

You gave her a look.

Paige smiled.

There she was. Cocky again, but only because she knew she had gotten to you.

“Careful,” you said.

Her smile grew. “Or what?”

You did not answer right away. You just reached over and tugged gently at the front of her hoodie, barely enough to move her. Paige leaned in without hesitation, like her body had accepted your gravity years ago and never bothered resisting after that.

Her knee touched yours.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then Nika groaned from across the room.

“Not in the locker room.”

Paige did not look away from you. “Nobody told you to watch.”

“You are both in public.”

“You’re just jealous nobody ties your shoes.”

Nika stood up. “I’m transferring.”

Azzi, calm as ever, said, “You said that yesterday.”

“And I meant it yesterday too.”

You laughed again, pushing Paige lightly away before she could get herself in more trouble. She let you, of course. She always let you. But she stayed close enough that her knee remained pressed against yours.

That was how your day was supposed to go.

Practice. Teasing. Food. Maybe film. Maybe homework neither of you wanted to do. Paige pretending she was not going to end up in your room later, sitting on your floor while you studied, claiming she was only there because your Wi-Fi worked better even though you lived in the same building.

You had forgotten, almost completely, that your childhood friend was coming.

Not because you did not care.

Just because Storrs had a way of swallowing everything into its routine. Basketball, classes, lifts, team meals, recovery, sleep, repeat. Outside people became messages you answered late at night and calls you returned walking between buildings. Home existed, but differently. Childhood existed, but in flashes.

Then your phone buzzed while you and Paige were leaving the practice facility.

Eli: just got here Eli: this campus is confusing as hell btw Eli: if i go missing it’s uconn’s fault

You stopped walking.

Paige stopped too, because you stopped.

She did not ask why immediately. She just looked at you, then at your phone, reading your face first.

“Oh,” you said. “Eli’s here.”

Paige’s expression did something small.

Not enough for most people to notice.

You noticed.

“Today?” she asked.

“Yeah. I told you he was visiting this weekend.”

“I know.”

“You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

You raised your eyebrows.

Paige shifted your bag on her shoulder. “I remembered conceptually.”

You smiled. “That means you forgot.”

“It means I remembered there was a concept of him arriving.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yet you keep me.”

She said it lightly, but there was something underneath it. A tiny searching thing she would deny if you called it out.

Eli texted again.

Eli: are you ignoring me already Eli: fame changed you

You shook your head, typing back quickly.

me: stay where you are. i’ll come get you.

Paige watched you text. She was quiet in a way that was not quite quiet. Paige had many versions of silence. There was tired silence. Thinking silence. Annoyed silence. Film-room silence, rare and usually forced. This one was the kind where she was pretending she was not curious.

You put your phone away. “He’s by the student union.”

Paige nodded.

“You coming?”

Her head snapped toward you.

You almost laughed at how fast it happened.

“You want me to?” she asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“I mean, yeah.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Unless you had something else.”

“No.” Too fast. “I’m coming.”

You looked at her.

She looked away.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Maybe you’re cute.”

Paige’s face changed instantly. The attitude vanished so quickly it was almost funny, replaced by that pleased, slightly bashful look she only got when praise came from you. It was not that Paige did not know she was cute. Paige had confidence for days. She knew what she looked like. She knew the effect she had. But compliments from you landed differently. They got under the armor.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay?”

“Trying to be humble.”

“You?”

“It’s new. Support me.”

You laughed again, and she smiled like she had earned something.

The walk to meet Eli took longer than it should have because Paige kept slowing whenever you got a notification, kept shifting closer whenever a group passed too near.

By the time you spotted Eli, he was standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around with the slightly overwhelmed expression of someone who did not spend most of his time on a campus where everyone seemed to be either carrying a backpack, wearing athletic gear, or moving like they were late to something.

He saw you and grinned.

“There she is,” he called. “Miss Big East.”

You groaned before you even reached him. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, too humble now?”

“I was always humble.”

Eli laughed and pulled you into a hug.

It was normal.

It was childhood-normal. Easy. Familiar. The kind of hug that belonged to old photos and family barbecues and summers when you had both been shorter, louder, and convinced adulthood would feel more organized than it did. He smelled faintly like airport air and cold wind, and for a second you remembered being thirteen and racing him down a street near your old house, both of you breathless and dramatic over absolutely nothing.

Paige stood beside you, holding your bag.

She did not move. She did not interrupt. She did not look upset, exactly. But her posture shifted.

When you stepped back, you turned immediately. “Paige, this is Eli. Eli, Paige.”

Eli’s eyes moved to Paige.

Recognition hit him quickly, because of course it did. Even people who did not follow women’s basketball closely tended to know Paige, or at least knew enough to do a small double take when they realized she was standing in front of them with your practice bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Eli said, smiling. “I know who Paige is.”

Paige gave him a polite nod. “What’s up?”

Not rude.

Not warm.

Controlled.

You glanced at her.

She glanced back, and her expression softened for you immediately before she looked at Eli again.

Eli noticed.

You didn’t.

Or if you did, you filed it away with all the other Paige things that had become normal over the years.

“Good to finally meet you,” Eli said. “I’ve heard a lot.”

Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You cut in before Paige could decide whether that was a challenge. “He means from me.”

Paige looked at you. “You talk about me?”

The question came out softer than she probably intended.

You stared at her. “Paige.”

“What?”

“You know I talk about you.”

“I mean, I assumed.”

“You assumed?”

“Was hoping.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“But you do?”

Eli looked between you with the growing expression of someone who had just realized he had walked into a conversation with its own private rules.

You shook your head, but you were smiling. “Yes, P. I talk about you.”

Paige nodded, trying to look cool and failing because the corner of her mouth kept betraying her.

“Cool,” she said.

Eli looked like he was fighting a laugh.

Paige watched the two of you go back and forth, and there it was again. That small, quiet pinch in her chest. Not jealousy in the sharp, ugly way. Not distrust. Nothing that made her doubt you.

Just awareness.

Eli knew a rhythm with you that Paige did not.

He knew how to tease you from before. He knew old versions of your expressions. He knew references she had not been there for. He knew the shape of your life before Storrs, before UConn, before Paige had learned your drink order and your favorite practice socks and the exact way your voice changed when you were trying not to laugh.

Paige did not like not knowing things about you.

She especially did not like when somebody else did.

But she stayed quiet, because it was not her place to make that your problem.

That was the thing about Paige’s jealousy. It could be loud in her head, but she had learned where the boundary was. She could be clingy. She could hover. She could make one too many jokes. She could insert herself into plans with embarrassing speed.

But she would not make you smaller to make herself feel bigger.

Eli was your friend. Your childhood friend. He had come to Storrs to see you. Paige understood that.

She just wished understanding made her less annoyed.

You spent the next hour showing Eli around the parts of campus that mattered to you. Not the formal tour version, though he joked that you were a terrible guide because half your descriptions were things like “this is where Nika yelled at someone once” and “that hallway always smells weird after games” and “Paige almost ate it on that patch of ice sophomore year.”

“I did not almost eat it,” Paige said immediately.

You looked at her. “You grabbed my sleeve and screamed.”

“I slipped.”

“You screamed.”

“It was a strategic noise.”

Eli laughed. “Strategic?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t there.”

“No, but I can picture it.”

“She was very dramatic,” you said.

Paige pointed at you. “You promised not to bring that up.”

“I did not.”

“You did emotionally.”

“That’s not legally binding.”

“It should be.”

Eli grinned. “She always this argumentative?”

You and Paige both answered at the same time.

“Yes,” you said.

“No,” Paige said.

You looked at each other.

Paige sighed.

Eli laughed again.

The thing was, Paige did argue. Constantly. With everybody. With Nika, with KK, with Azzi when Azzi was in the mood to entertain it, with coaches under her breath when she thought they were wrong but knew better than to say too much. She argued because she cared, because she was competitive, because her brain moved fast and her mouth often got there even faster.

But with you, she folded around the edges.

The first time Eli saw it clearly was outside the dining hall.

Nika had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, because Nika had a talent for entering scenes already annoyed.

“There you are,” she said to Paige. “You still owe me.”

Paige frowned. “For what?”

“For lying.”

“I lie about a lot of things. Be specific.”

“For saying you beat me in shooting yesterday.”

“I did beat you.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“You counted one twice.”

“You missed enough that it didn’t matter.”

Nika stepped closer, hands up. “You are so—”

“Paige,” you said, barely looking away from your phone.

Paige stopped arguing.

Again.

Instantly.

She turned toward you. “Yeah?”

You held out your empty matcha cup. “Can you help throw this out?”

Paige took it from your hand before the question fully finished. “Yeah.”

She walked to the trash can.

Eli watched her go.

Nika watched Eli watching her.

Then Nika looked at you, looked at Paige, looked at Eli again, and made a face.

“See?” she said to Eli, despite the fact that nobody had asked her anything. “This is what I deal with.”

Eli blinked. “What?”

Paige returned. “Don’t talk to him.”

Nika ignored her. “All day. She talks crazy to me, then Y/N says one thing and suddenly she’s customer service.”

“I’m helpful,” Paige said.

“You are house-trained.”

Paige’s mouth dropped open. “Bro.”

You coughed around a laugh.

Paige looked at you immediately, then smiled despite herself.

Nika pointed at her own face like she was presenting evidence. “Disgusting.”

Eli was laughing now, eyes bright with the kind of amusement that made Paige want to be annoyed but also weirdly proud. Because yes, fine, maybe she was easy for you. But that was not embarrassing to her in the way everyone seemed to think it should be.

She liked being yours.

She liked when people could tell.

Not too much. Not enough to put words on it that you had not both agreed to share. But enough that people understood there was a line around you, and Paige lived somewhere inside it.

KK joined you near the entrance, looking way too excited for someone who had only caught the tail end of the conversation.

“What happened?”

Nika pointed at Paige. “Same thing that always happens.”

KK’s eyes lit up. “She folded?”

“I did not fold,” Paige said.

You looked at her.

Paige glanced at you and lowered her voice. “I didn’t.”

KK slapped Nika’s arm. “She said that quieter to Y/N.”

Nika nodded. “Different tone.”

“Y’all study me too much,” Paige said.

“You make it easy,” KK replied.

Eli leaned closer to you as Paige got pulled into another bicker with Nika and KK. “Are they always like this?”

“Yes.”

“And Paige is always like…” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward her.

You followed his gaze.

Paige was pointing at Nika, fully animated again. “You literally foul every possession and then act confused.”

Nika fired back instantly. “Because you complain every possession and then act like a victim.”

“I am a victim.”

“You are a problem.”

KK looked thrilled. “This team is so unserious.”

Paige turned toward her. “You’re part of the team.”

“I’m observing as a scholar.”

“You’re observing your way onto the line.”

You smiled, then said, “P, leave the freshman alone.”

Paige stopped. Her hand dropped. “She started it.”

Nika closed her eyes like she was in pain.

KK whispered, “That is insane.”

Eli looked at you.

You looked back at him, confused. “What?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Because to you, that was just Paige.

Your Paige.

The one who would talk back to the entire world and then hand you obedience like it was the easiest thing she had ever given anybody.

Dinner was not supposed to become a thing.

That was how it happened.

Eli, after wandering campus and pretending not to be tired from travel, rubbed a hand over his stomach and said, “I actually haven’t eaten since this morning. You wanna grab something?”

Paige answered too fast.

“We were actually going somewhere.”

You turned your head slowly.

Paige did not look at you immediately.

Eli looked between you. “Oh. My bad. Can I come along?”

There was a pause. Not long enough to be rude. Long enough for Paige’s soul to briefly leave her body.

You could see her processing it. She had inserted herself because she wanted to be included, because you were hers and she was not above being obvious about it, but now Eli had done the reasonable thing and asked to come too. Paige could not say no. It was not her place. He was not her friend, not really, but he was yours. He had come all this way. He was being nice. He had not done anything wrong except exist with childhood memories and apparently no girlfriend, which Paige had already decided was suspicious on principle even though she had not yet confirmed it.

So she swallowed whatever first response had tried to climb out of her mouth.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s fine.”

The words were polite.

Her face was not thrilled.

You smiled at her softly.

Paige caught it and looked away, jaw shifting like she was trying not to smile back because she had a reputation to maintain and was currently losing it in front of everyone.

Eli did not ask what that meant.

He was starting to understand.

You ended up at a casual spot not far from campus, the kind of place athletes drifted toward when the dining hall felt too loud or too repetitive and everyone wanted something that did not taste like it had been planned by a nutritionist with a clipboard. The evening had settled cold around Storrs, the sky dark early in that Connecticut way that always made the day feel shorter than it was. Paige walked on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking, switching places with you so smoothly that Eli noticed before you did.

You were talking about something from childhood, hands moving as you explained a story involving a bike, a hill, and Eli apparently making a terrible decision at age twelve.

Paige listened.

Mostly.

She was trying.

But every old story felt like opening a door into a room she had never been inside. You as a kid. You before UConn. You before the girl Paige met freshman year, sharp and pretty and impossible not to look at across a gym. Paige knew that version. She knew who you became under pressure. She knew how you handled bad shooting nights and sore knees and exam weeks. She knew the way you taped your fingers. She knew how you looked when you were locked in during a close game. She knew your coffee order when you were too tired for matcha. She knew your favorite hoodie, the one you denied was hers even though it had started in her closet. She knew what made you laugh now.

Eli knew what made you laugh then. That should not have bothered her.

It did anyway.

Inside the restaurant, you slid into a booth, Eli across from you. Paige sat beside you before anyone could even pretend there was another arrangement. Her thigh pressed against yours under the table. She spread the menu open with one hand, her other resting near her own knee.

You leaned slightly into her without looking, shoulder brushing hers.

She relaxed instantly.

Eli saw that too.

The conversation stayed easy at first. Food orders. Travel complaints. Eli making fun of how cold Storrs was. You telling him he was dramatic because it was not even winter yet. Paige muttering that he would not survive January, which made you laugh.

Then Eli mentioned an old nickname. It slipped out casually, like he had said it a thousand times before.

Paige’s head turned.

You groaned. “Do not call me that.”

Eli grinned. “What? It’s classic.”

“It is not classic. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s history.”

“It’s banned.”

“You can’t ban history.”

“I can ban you.”

Paige looked at you. “What nickname?”

“No.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m asking.”

“You’re starting by asking.”

“I wanna know.”

Eli smiled like he had just been handed a weapon. “You don’t know?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to him.

There was no heat, not really.

But there was something.

You felt it immediately.

Not jealousy, exactly. Something softer and more sensitive than that. Paige hated being outside of anything involving you. She would never say it that plainly, but you knew. She wanted every version of you she could get. Not to own, not to control, but to understand. To keep safe. To love properly.

You nudged her knee under the table.

She looked at you.

Your hand slipped down, quiet and easy, finding hers under the table.

Paige went still.

Then her fingers wrapped around yours.

Just like that, the sharp thing in her expression eased.

Nobody above the table needed to know.

Eli kept talking, but his gaze dipped once. Maybe he saw the movement. Maybe he only saw how Paige’s shoulders dropped the second your hand touched hers.

Either way, he did not mention it.

Your food came, and Paige immediately pushed the sauce you liked closer to your side before you reached for it. She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and put it beside your plate. When you got distracted answering one of Eli’s questions, she moved your drink away from the edge of the table because you had a habit of gesturing too much and almost knocking things over.

Eli watched all of it.

After a while, he started testing it. Not cruelly. Just curiously.

“You always take care of her like that?” he asked Paige.

You looked up, confused.

Paige did not hesitate. “Yeah.”

Your face warmed.

Eli’s eyebrows lifted, amused by the directness.

Paige shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “She forgets stuff.”

“I do not forget stuff.”

Paige looked at you.

You looked back.

She said nothing.

You frowned. “Okay, I forget some stuff.”

“You forgot your keys this morning.”

“I was testing you.”

“She says that every time,” Paige told Eli.

Eli laughed. “Sounds like her.”

Paige’s smile tightened at the edges.

There it was again.

Sounds like her.

Like he knew. Like he had known longer.

Your thumb moved over Paige’s knuckles under the table.

She inhaled quietly.

You kept talking to Eli, but your hand stayed in hers.

Paige clung to that small contact like it was a lifeline.

The night got warmer after that. Not because Paige stopped feeling strange, but because you kept choosing her in ways that did not interrupt the conversation. Your knee stayed against hers. Your hand returned to hers whenever you could. Once, when Eli was telling a story about some mutual childhood disaster, you leaned sideways and murmured, “You okay?” so softly only Paige heard.

She nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re quiet.”

“Listening.”

“To him?”

“To you.”

You looked at her then, and Paige looked right back, no joke ready, no smirk, just that open fondness she sometimes forgot to hide.

You squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

Eli watched you both from across the table and smiled faintly to himself.

Later, when Paige stepped away to take a call from one of the staff members about something schedule-related, Eli waited until she was out of earshot before leaning back in the booth.

“So,” he said.

You looked up from your drink. “What?”

He nodded toward the direction Paige had gone. “That’s Paige.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean…” He smiled. “That’s Paige.”

You looked down, fighting the way your mouth wanted to curve. “Yeah.”

“She’s intense.”

“She’s Paige.”

“She looks at you like you hung the moon.”

You went quiet.

That was not the kind of teasing you could swat away easily.

Eli softened a little, elbows resting on the table. “You happy?”

The question settled between you.

You looked toward the hallway where Paige had disappeared, then back at him.

“Yeah,” you said. “I am.”

He nodded. “Good.”

You stirred your straw through the ice in your cup.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The noise of the restaurant filled the silence: silverware, voices, the low hum of music, someone laughing too loudly near the front. It was strange, having someone from before sit across from you in the life you had built after. Strange, but not bad.

Then Eli asked, quieter, “Who is she to you?”

You did not answer right away.

Not because you did not know.

You knew exactly who Paige was to you.

She was the girl outside your door with matcha. The hand under the table. The pass before you cut. The hoodie on your chair. The person who had learned you in details so small other people would have missed them. She was cocky, impossible, soft where it counted, annoying when she wanted attention, loyal in a way that made your chest ache. She was the person who could make you roll your eyes and feel safe in the same breath.

But the relationship was not only yours to hand out.

Even after almost three years, even when the team knew, even when people close to you could figure it out, you were careful with it. Not ashamed. Never ashamed. Just protective. Paige was not a headline to you. She was not gossip. She was not something you tossed casually onto a table just because someone asked.

You looked toward the hallway again.

Paige was still gone.

Then you smiled faintly.

“She’s important,” you said.

Eli studied you for a second.

Then he nodded, like he understood exactly what you were not saying.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

You did not deny it.

You did not confirm it either.

You only took a sip of your drink, still smiling down at the table like you could not quite help yourself.

Eli leaned back, satisfied. “For what it’s worth, she seems good for you.”

“She is.”

“She’s also wildly obvious.”

You laughed.

“She is not subtle,” he said.

“No,” you admitted softly. “She’s not.”

“And you don’t notice?”

You frowned. “Notice what?”

Eli stared at you.

Then he started laughing.

“What?”

“You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“She follows you around like you’ve got her on a leash.”

You rolled your eyes, but your face felt warm. “She does not.”

“She absolutely does.”

“That’s just Paige.”

“With you,” Eli said. “I’m getting the sense that is just Paige with you.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Because the easy answer was to deny it. To say Paige was like that with everyone. Helpful. Touchy. Loyal. Big-hearted beneath all the attitude.

But that was not fully true.

Paige cared about her people. She would do anything for her team. She would show up, protect, support, fight, love hard. But with you, there was a softness that had its own shape. A quiet automatic obedience that did not appear anywhere else. Paige could argue with a coach, a teammate, a ref, a wall, and herself.

But you said her name, and she stopped.

You had never really thought about how that looked from the outside.

Before you could answer, Paige came back.

Her eyes moved between you and Eli immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said.

She did not believe you. “Why you smiling like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you were talking about me.”

Eli lifted his drink. “We were.”

Paige slid into the booth beside you, suspicious. “What about me?”

You leaned toward her, shoulder brushing hers. “Good things.”

Her suspicion wavered.

“Good things?” she repeated.

You nodded.

Paige tried to hold onto the attitude, but your knee pressed into hers under the table and your fingers found her wrist. Her entire expression softened again, helplessly.

Eli watched it happen.

Then he laughed under his breath.

Paige looked at him. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying nothing.”

“Because it’s nothing.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re annoying.”

Eli pointed at you. “She used to say that to me all the time.”

Paige’s attention snapped toward you. “Did you?”

You blinked. “Probably.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You had other annoying people before me?”

You smiled. “P, nobody is annoying like you.”

She looked pleased before she could stop herself.

Eli covered his mouth with his hand.

“You’re laughing again,” Paige said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just seeing the vision.”

“What vision?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Paige looked at you. “I don’t trust him.”

You patted her hand under the table. “Be nice.”

Paige immediately muttered, “I’m being nice.”

Eli whispered, “Leash.”

You kicked him under the table.

He laughed so hard he almost choked on his drink.

Paige looked between you again. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, but you were laughing now too.

Paige huffed, but she was smiling because you were smiling, and that was usually all it took.

By the time dinner ended, Paige had relaxed more. Not fully. She still watched Eli with that quiet competitive focus whenever he mentioned something from your childhood. She still asked too many casual questions that were not casual at all. She wanted to know how long you had known each other, when you stopped living near each other, whether he visited often, whether you two still talked a lot, whether he had a girlfriend.

That last one came out too smooth.

Too smooth meant dangerous.

“So,” Paige said, pushing fries around her plate like she did not care. “You got a girlfriend or something?”

You turned your head slowly.

Eli blinked, then smiled. “Subtle.”

Paige shrugged. “Just asking.”

“Uh, no. We broke up a few months ago.”

Paige’s hand paused.

You felt it because you were still holding it under the table.

There it was.

The clocking.

The immediate mental file opening in Paige’s head.

Single childhood friend. Knows your old nickname. Makes you laugh. Came to Storrs. Hazard level: annoying.

You squeezed her hand before she could spiral too visibly.

Paige looked at you.

You gave her the smallest smile.

She exhaled through her nose and nodded once, like fine, okay, she would behave.

“Sorry,” you told Eli. “That sucks.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It was mutual. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Okay, maybe not fully mutual.”

You gave him a sympathetic look.

Paige, to her credit, said nothing mean.

You were proud of her.

So proud, actually, that under the table, you brushed your thumb over the inside of her wrist.

Paige’s posture changed.

A tiny shift. Barely visible.

But you felt it. The way she melted in increments, like you had found the exact place to touch to make the jealousy drain out of her. Her shoulder pressed more firmly into yours, and when you did not move away, she stayed there.

Eli saw that too.

He smiled to himself again, less teasing this time.

Something gentler.

After dinner, the three of you walked back toward campus under streetlights, the air cold enough that your breath showed faintly when you laughed. Eli told more stories. Paige listened more than she spoke, but she was not withdrawn anymore. She made comments. Teased you. Asked questions. Got offended when Eli claimed you used to be faster than you were now.

“She is faster now,” Paige said immediately.

Eli lifted his hands. “I’m just saying, at twelve—”

“At twelve she was racing you on a street. Now she’s training every day.”

You glanced at her, amused. “You sound personally offended.”

“I am.”

“On my behalf?”

“Always.”

The word came out too easy.

You looked at her.

Paige looked back, realizing after the fact what she had said. Her cheeks pinked slightly, though she would blame the cold if anyone asked.

Eli looked away politely.

You let your hand brush hers as you walked.

Paige caught it.

Just for a second, your fingers linked.

Then you let go before it became too obvious to anyone passing by.

Paige did not complain.

She just smiled at the ground.

Eventually, Eli had to head back to where he was staying. He hugged you goodbye, promised he would text in the morning, and told Paige it was good to meet her.

Paige nodded. “You too.”

Then, after a beat, she added, “For real.”

Eli seemed to understand the effort in that.

He smiled. “Take care of her.”

Paige’s expression shifted.

Not defensive.

Certain.

“I do,” she said.

Your heart did something stupid.

Eli glanced at you, then back at Paige. “Yeah. I can tell.”

When he left, the quiet that followed felt bigger than it should have.

You and Paige walked back toward the dorms side by side. For the first minute, neither of you spoke. The cold pressed in around you. Somewhere in the distance, people were laughing. A car passed, headlights sliding over the sidewalk before disappearing around the curve.

Paige had her hands in her hoodie pocket.

You had your arms crossed against the chill.

Normally, she would have said something by now. A joke. A complaint. A dramatic comment about the cold. A question she pretended was casual.

Instead, she stayed quiet.

You glanced at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“P.”

She looked at you.

You stopped walking.

Because that still worked too.

Paige stopped immediately, turning to face you.

The streetlight caught the side of her face, softening the sharpness of her features. She looked younger like this, hood up, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes searching yours with the kind of openness she rarely gave anyone else.

“You were hovering,” you said.

Paige’s mouth twitched. “Was not.”

You gave her a look.

She held out for maybe two seconds.

Then she folded.

“A little.”

You smiled. “A little?”

“Medium.”

“P.”

She sighed. “Fine. A lot.”

Your smile widened.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it. “Don’t look all happy.”

“I’m not happy.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I think it’s cute.”

Paige looked away quickly.

There it was again. That pleased, shy little crack in her confidence.

“You think everything I do is cute,” she muttered.

“Not everything.”

“Name one thing.”

“When you leave your socks on my floor.”

“You love that.”

“I do not.”

“You love that I’m comfortable.”

“I love you. That is different.”

Paige went quiet.

It still got her sometimes.

Even after almost three years.

Especially after almost three years.

Her eyes came back to yours, softer now. “Yeah?”

You stepped closer. “Yeah.”

The tension in her shoulders dropped.

For all her confidence, for all the attitude and cockiness and noise, Paige still looked at you sometimes like she could not believe she had gotten this. Like there was a part of her still standing in freshman year, watching you across a gym, wondering how someone could be that pretty and that good and that calm under pressure. Like some part of her was still amazed that you had chosen her back.

You reached for her sleeve, tugging her closer.

She came immediately.

Of course she did.

“You know you don’t have to compete with him, right?” you said.

Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “I wasn’t.”

“P.”

She looked down.

You waited.

The thing about Paige was she could argue with everyone else forever, but with you, silence usually worked better. You did not have to push. You just had to stay.

Finally, she said, “He knows a lot about you.”

“He knew me when we were kids.”

“Yeah.” Paige swallowed. “That’s the part.”

Your chest softened.

There it was.

Not jealousy, not really.

Want.

Paige wanted every version of you. The teammate. The girlfriend. The girl who forgot her keys. The girl who hit corner threes. The girl who got quiet when she was tired. The girl who used to race bikes down hills and apparently had an embarrassing childhood nickname she refused to share.

She wanted all of it.

Not because she felt entitled to it.

Because she loved you so much she hated the idea of missing anything.

You slid your hand down her sleeve until your fingers found hers.

“You can ask me anything, you know.”

Paige looked up. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What was the nickname?”

You groaned immediately. “No.”

“You said anything.”

“I said anything, not that.”

“That is included in anything.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately.”

Paige smiled, bright and victorious. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

You looked at her.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The nickname landed soft and low, wrapped in that pleading tone she only used when she wanted something from you and knew she had a decent chance of getting it. Paige could be shameless when she wanted attention. Worse, she knew you liked it.

“Don’t baby me,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Is it working?”

You stared at her.

She smiled.

You sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“But it’s working?”

“Maybe.”

She stepped closer, fingers tightening around yours. “Then tell me.”

You looked around, even though nobody was close enough to hear. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh.”

Paige’s face turned serious immediately. Too serious. Fake serious. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Not at you.”

“At the nickname.”

“That’s different.”

“Paige.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t laugh.”

You hesitated.

She leaned in slightly, eyes fixed on yours like this mattered more than anything else in her entire night.

So you told her.

Quietly.

Paige stared at you.

Her lips pressed together.

“Don’t,” you warned.

Her shoulders shook once.

“Paige.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are literally laughing.”

“I’m holding it in.”

“P.”

She stopped.

Mostly.

Then she cleared her throat, face red from the effort. “It’s cute.”

“It is not cute.”

“It’s very cute.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“You’re done.”

“No, wait—”

You started walking again.

Paige followed instantly, still holding your hand.

“Baby, wait.”

“No.”

“I’m serious. It’s cute.”

“You’re never allowed to say it.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You glanced at her.

She looked sincere for about half a second.

Then she said it under her breath.

You stopped.

Paige immediately tried to run.

You grabbed her sleeve, laughing despite yourself. “Paige!”

She was laughing now too, stumbling backward as you pulled her close. “I had to.”

“You promised!”

“I said it quiet.”

“That does not count.”

“It counts emotionally.”

“You are so annoying.”

“But you love me.”

“Barely.”

Paige gasped. “Barely?”

You tried to pull away, but she caught your waist gently, tugging you back in like it was instinct. Not rough. Never rough. Just enough to make you step into her space, your hands landing against the front of her hoodie.

Her face was close now.

Too close for a public sidewalk, maybe.

But not close enough for either of you to move away.

“You love me barely?” she asked, voice softer.

You looked up at her. “Maybe medium.”

“Medium?”

“Fine. A lot.”

“How much?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re needy.”

“For you? Yeah.”

That shut you up.

Paige smiled, but it was not cocky this time. It was honest. Warm. A little vulnerable around the edges.

“I am,” she said, like she had decided there was no point pretending otherwise. “I’m real needy for you.”

Your fingers curled in her hoodie.

“Everyone noticed,” you said softly.

“I don’t care.”

“You cared earlier.”

“I cared that he knew stuff I didn’t.” Paige’s thumb moved lightly at your waist. “Not that he noticed I’m obsessed with you.”

Your face warmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am.” She leaned closer, nose brushing yours for half a second. “Still got you though.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Still don’t know how.”

Your expression softened.

Paige said it like a joke, but her eyes gave her away.

You lifted one hand to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She went still under the touch. Completely still. Paige Bueckers, who could not stop moving most days, who bounced and shifted and talked with her whole body, froze like your hand on her face had turned the world quiet.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said. “You just have to stay.”

Her eyes searched yours.

Then she nodded once.

“I can do that.”

“I know.”

“I’m good at that.”

“You are.”

“Best thing I do, probably.”

“You play basketball pretty well too.”

Paige smiled. “Pretty well?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

You laughed, and Paige kissed you before the sound could fully leave your mouth.

It was quick, soft, familiar. A kiss that belonged to quiet sidewalks and cold nights and the kind of love that had been built over years of mornings, practices, passes, arguments, teasing, and Paige waiting outside your door with your drink in hand.

When she pulled back, she was smiling.

You tapped her chest. “Come on. It’s cold.”

Paige immediately stepped beside you.

Then, after two steps, she gently took your hand again.

You looked at her. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“I’m clingy every night.”

“True.”

“You like it.”

You did not answer.

Paige bumped your shoulder. “You like it.”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

“P.”

She grinned. “Okay.”

And just like that, she stopped pushing.

The walk back was quiet after that, but not empty. Paige kept your hand in hers until you reached the building. She opened the door for you. Followed you inside. Pressed the elevator button before you could. Stood close enough that your shoulders touched as you waited.

When the doors opened, KK was inside again. Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor. She looked at your joined hands.

Then at Paige.

Then at you.

A slow grin spread across her face.

“Damn,” KK said. “Still on the leash?”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You got one more time.”

You squeezed Paige’s hand.

Paige shut her mouth.

KK’s grin got huge. “Oh, this is sick.”

You stepped into the elevator, laughing.

Paige followed, muttering, “I hate everybody.”

KK looked at you. “She don’t hate you.”

“No,” you said, leaning slightly into Paige’s side.

Paige looked down at you, all soft again, all helpless again, all hers and yours and gone in that way everyone could see except maybe the two of you.

“No,” Paige said quietly. “I don’t.”

KK made a gagging noise.

Paige ignored her.

You smiled.

And when the elevator doors closed, Paige was still holding your hand, still carrying your bag, still standing close enough to follow wherever you went next.

Like always.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like she had never once wanted to be anywhere else.

sarasota was symptomatic of the typical florida feeling: flat palms, white roads, a sky too blue to be trusted backed by the wide rise of dimpled dunes in the distance. this was a state that promised a dream that always threatened to linger for far too long, that began to feel heavy around the mouth and eyes until you were blinking tiredly with the hope you’d wake up somewhere else. everything here felt half-remembered, had the lingering quality of a grip around the wrist that refused to break.

paige glanced down at where azzi was tucked into her body, coiled slightly as if moments from bursting into motion. she always began the night in fetal position, her limbs drawn into her like a secret, the entirety of her body sheltered by someone who loved her. then, like a flower, she opened and opened until she was pressed fully out, nearly knocking the other girl loose from the bed entirely.

but paige always adjusted, always found a way to resettle in a way that allowed them to touch and prioritized azzi’s comfort. this was a language they could utter in the dark, syntax built from years of sleeping in the same bed, an endless communication of need and accommodation.

eventually, summer took the remains of the evening by the teeth and wrung out every bit of darkness, biting and biting until its gold painted itself onto the plump of azzi’s cheek. with a groan, azzi curled into a tighter spiral before stretching out into a full line, her ribs layered for a moment onto paige’s own.

paige smiled softly, lips splitting with slight discomfort provided by the dehydration of sleep. she bent down, nosing at the dark crown of azzi’s head before thumbing back a patch of curls to press a kiss to the temple.

“up, princess. we have a date to keep.”

azzi groaned again, but paige felt her toes curling against her calf underneath the linen duvet as she began to stretch.

the bathroom held them in its small white throat, made smaller by their bodies moving around each other in the steam. paige stood at the sink, toothbrush working mechanically, while through the fogged glass of the shower she could see the ghost of azzi—head tilted back, throat exposed to the water's violence.

she looked away. looked back. looked away again.

she could hear her mother like a choir’s call in her head: girls, there are six bathrooms in this house alone. you don’t have to share one.

but why would she go somewhere where azzi wasn’t?

when paige took her turn under the spray, the water still seemed to hold azzi's warmth, and the air was thick with the scent of her shampoo: coconut and vanilla orchid, a sweetness that landed neatly at the back of paige’s tongue, enough to make her mouth water. she stood there longer than necessary, letting the heat work at the knots in her shoulders, trying to wash away the feeling that had been strengthening since dawn.

by the time she emerged, azzi was at the mirror, bent close as her fingers moved in careful circles as she worked sunscreen into her skin. the cream disappeared in small increments, absorbed into the brown warmth of her face. paige watched the ritual of it, transfixed by the deliberate slowness, by the way azzi's lips parted slightly as she concentrated on the vulnerable skin beneath her eyes.

"you're staring," azzi murmured, the words tempered with affection, never once looking away from her reflection.

"making sure you don't miss anywhere," paige said, moving into the narrow space beside her. their elbows knocked. "your ears. you always forget."

azzi tilted her head in offering, and paige dabbed the cream behind her ear, along the hinge of her jaw. the touch stretched longer than it needed to, her thumb following the curve where azzi's pulse beat visibly beneath the skin. in the mirror, their eyes met, something passing between them as quick as lightning, gone before it could scar.

“thank you, paigey,” azzi teased, eyes crinkling as she smiled. paige knew she was baiting her, and so she rose to it dramatically, rolling her eyes ‘til the blue of them was at the sky and then back to her again.

“what would you do without me?” paige sighed, crossing her arms before breaking into the wide stretch of her smile, the pink tip of her tongue peeking from between her teeth.

azzi shoved her lightly as she ducked back into the room to grab her swimsuit, laughing as paige pretended to stumble from the non-existent intensity.

they drove from the rental house with the windows down, hair already sticking to their necks after ten minutes spent sitting in the driveway as they argued over aux, salt freckling on their skin as the breeze burned itself out in the same loop.

azzi was twisted away from paige, face always turned to the water, but she smiled when she heard the beginning riff of “right here” by lil peep spill from the speakers. paige felt the motion rather than saw it, and she dropped one hand from the creamy leather of the land rover’s steering wheel to the console, where she turned it upward so that azzi could slide her palm on top. their fingers entwined, and azzi settled further into the seat, looking forward now, sunglasses taking the brunt of the day’s radiation.

paige knew that her eyes were most likely closed beneath the lenses, those dark lashes lush and eternally romantic against the high bones of her cheeks. she wanted to reach over and lift them, just to check, just to see if she was right, but she kept her hand where it was, thumb stroking absently across azzi's knuckles. the rhythm matched nothing but her own heartbeat.

they drove in silence, their shared playlist doing the work of holding conversation, only breaking when paige squeezed azzi’s hands so that she could see the wild horses disappearing into the vast horizon—coats brindled, feet wild, eyes dark as her own.

the parking lot was half-empty and composed of crushed shell and white dust, gulls wheeling overhead in patterns that could’ve been symbolic to someone more spiritual. paige pulled into a spot near the weathered walkway, and they unloaded the boards from the roof rack. paige did most of the lifting while azzi steadied them, her fingers trailing tentatively on the waxed surfaces.

the boards themselves were perfect illustrations of how well they worked: paige's a cream white with a thin navy stripe running down its center, the fiberglass worn smooth from years of use, scarred in places where rocks had kissed it recklessly; azzi's a pale pink scattered with hand-painted hibiscus, delicate and almost too precious for the water, chosen because she'd gasped delightedly when she saw it leaning against the rental shop wall.

they walked the wooden planks toward the water, past sea oats genuflecting in the wind, past the scattered abandonments of towels and umbrellas. the gulf stretched before them, turquoise bleeding into navy where the sandbar dropped away into nothing.

"ready?" paige asked, board under her arm, eyes always ahead.

azzi looked at the water, then at paige, then back at the water.

"ready," she echoed, but her voice snagged halfway. paige reached to the side, squeezing the side of her stomach before beginning to walk. she waded in first, the cold a bright shock against her sun-spoiled skin, and turned to watch azzi follow more slowly, testing each step as if the bottom might give way. as if the whole world might.

paige bit her bottom lip, that familiar feeling tugging at her belly, that desire to protect azzi from everything, even her own fears.

now they drifted, the boards swaying where the gulf turned from light to dark. azzi sat stiff-backed, a different picture than the version of her in the car and even the holiday house. she was overly cautious, eyes darting between the horizon and the glossy water that hid whatever lived below. paige watched her shoulder blades shift, like an angel searching for the reassurance of their wings, stomach contracting as she tried to keep her rising anxiety at a shallow level.

here it felt strange and wide, for her; far from safe. paige couldn’t help the uptick of the corners of her mouth, her eyes falling to the way azzi’s fingers were clenched along the round edge of her board.

“you okay, princess?”

“i can’t see the bottom,” azzi said, voice thin and high.

it reminded paige of their middle school days, when she would coax azzi into watching a horror film—slasher or creature horror, never “elevated”, whatever that meant—only to relish in the feeling of her best friend practically climbing into her lap, eyes screwed shut tightly, hands over her ears.

“that’s okay. don’t need to.” paige paddled closer, knees brushing azzi’s thigh as the boards bumped. “you got me.”

the world narrowed to this: the hum of cicadas from somewhere offshore, the slide of water against fiberglass, the sun leaning in as if to commit them to memory. paige reached to steady her, fingers at azzi's waist, skin damp and sun-warmed. she slid them down, always keeping contact, fingertips playing with the docile bows of azzi's bikini bottom.

this swimsuit was one of paige’s favorites, a bright cobalt that made azzi's skin look like something poured bronze straight from a tap. the top was a simple triangle cut that tied behind her neck, the bottoms sitting low on her hips with bows at each side like two small promises waiting to be broken. the color reminded paige of the deep end of pools, those spaces where light couldn't reach, of drowning as a choice rather than an accident.

she’d texted azzi a week before, reminding her to bring it.

around her neck, azzi had tied a beaded choker—white and blue ascending wth each breath, glittering proudly in the sunlight—and paige found herself watching every shift, every single thing about how azzi moved, like she was down to seven more minutes living and was trying to never forget.

azzi breathed shallowly, chest rising under the spaghetti straps, eyes blinking warily.

paige tilted her head, touching her chin.

“princess, look at me.”

azzi obeyed, that cervine gaze peering up from underneath her lashes, her cheek momentarily dimpled as she chewed the inside of her cheek to pieces. for a moment, paige didn’t think and leaned forward, loose strands of blonde tumbling from her bun with the movement. she thumbed at the bottom of azzi’s lip with her index finger, slipping it slightly inside when azzi’s teeth parted, and tugged the tissue from between her molars.

“stop it. you know it’s gonna hurt you later.”

“yeah,” azzi said quietly, “thanks.” her breath ghosted warm against paige's finger. neither moved to sever the contact, the moment pulled taut as wire, singing with the tension.

paige looked at her then, and it was as if the sea had vanished. there was only the shimmer of light across azzi’s eyes, the dark bloom of her curls—the volume slightly dampened with saltwater—, and the faint tremor that ran through her body as she tried to keep steady on the waves. paige felt the shake of her own pulse move up through her arms, a tide she couldn’t turn back.

“you’re okay,” paige murmured. “just breathe. just look at me.”

paige knew, even then, that something in her had begun to tip. a shift too subtle to name, but irreversible. the sluice of her blood to a single point of gravity. she felt it in the hush that followed, in the fever snaking beneath her skin and working at her neck. in the way, azzi’s gaze never left its fixed point on her face, muscles relaxing as she gazed deeply at the one thing she had always known how to love.

there was a knowing then that they both were teetering at the edge of a cliff with rocks at the bottom, black and jagged, aching for a fall. whatever it was had already started to pull paige over, and her only thought was to twist so that it was her against the stone, and azzi against only her.

always this. always her body as the barrier between azzi and the breaking.

I. MINNESOTA / STELLATE / SAMIA.

when azzi arrived like the following july, like summer itself—immediate and without warning—paige had been half expecting her in the way you learn to expect a storm by the air’s sudden weight and the ache in the injury that’s spent half your life wounding you. all that dragging and the sudden onslaught.

paige could always feel it when azzi was near, even her entrance past state lines. she’d dubbed it their “twin thing” affectionately in high school, mostly because it was true, but also because every time she said azzi would correct her, so automatic.

paige, she’d protest. we can’t have that. we’re best friends.

can’t we? paige would always murmur, fingers stretching out to thumb at some part of azzi that was within reach. we could be the first.

and azzi would always fold, her smile fleeting but so tender. it felt good to be on that podium, even when azzi was only letting her win.

so, at the tail end of july, when azzi came sailing easily through paige’s front door, words tumbling over themselves in their excitement, landing on the forest green cotton hill of her beloved weekend duffle before sliding to the floor, sentences breaking apart before they could finish forming—paige was not as shocked as someone else might have been.

and by the time paige had fully registered her presence, the familiar cut of that gentle dove-like voice cutting through the once-impenetrable minnesota heat, settling into every inch of the negative space coalescing around her body as she stood frozen in time on her carpeted stairs, azzi had already climbed past her and begun the pilgrimage to her bed.

she turned at the last moment, mouth soft and pink as she beamed, pleased with herself, and said,

“grab me something, will you? or like, make your snack plate twice as big.”

paige usually would balk at sharing her well-earned snacks, but this time she did nothing but grin back, hands bunching at the hem of her oversized sweatshirt bought from the state fair, the same confectionery pink as the cotton candy they always got sick on.

when paige returned to her bedroom, azzi only allowed her a few minutes to set the plate (packed to the brim) on her nightstand before she tugged the other girl down so that she could climb eagerly on top of paige's stomach, straddling her with the unfaltering confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times over.

"i did it," azzi said, breathless, her hands braced on paige's shoulders like she was trying to hold the world—her world in place. "i fucking did it. i committed to uconn."

the pajamas she wore were almost indecent in their brevity, a matching set in striped grey and white, the shorts so short they barely qualified as clothing, riding high enough that the white band at the waistband cut into the soft give of her hips. the tank top was thin enough to be translucent where paige’s lamp light hit it, so flimsy and forgiving, spaghetti-strapped and pulled taut across her chest in a way that made it impossible not to notice the shape of her, the rise of her breasts and how they had always sat so nicely; the way her body had continued its relentless work of becoming hers.

paige felt something lurch in her chest, a fish hooked and thrashing.

"you're fucking with me," paige managed, but she was already grinning, her hands coming up instinctively to rest on azzi's hips, thumbs sliding beneath the hem of the tank top to press against skin that was exertion-warm, damp from the heat. she felt the joy grow, the spiral dizzying and setting a buzzing off in both rows of teeth. "you actually did it?"

"i actually did it." azzi was bouncing slightly, unable to contain the energy thrumming wildly through her body like an electrical current, and each movement sent a matching voltage through paige's stomach, made her fingers tighten their grip until she could feel the bones of azzi's hips pressing back against her palms. "we're going to play together. can you believe it? we're going to—"

"—be everyone’s worst fucking nightmare," paige finished, and she sat up slightly, engaging her core to bring herself closer, enough to wrap her arms fully around azzi's waist and pull her in. the shift in position brought them chest to chest, azzi's knees bracketing paige's ribs, thighs pressed warm and solid against her sides, and for a moment they just stayed there, pressed together in the pale wash of moonlight that filtered through the window and painted everything the color of pearl, of something delicate enough to perish with a single touch.

paige nearly wept at the feel of it, this closeness.

always this, she thought desperately. always this.

paige could feel azzi's heartbeat slowing to replicate the path of her own, could feel it hammering away like a flock of birds attempting jailbreak from the skin, could smell the faint scent of her lotion, something bright and wane that made paige think of tiare flower and wedding arrangements and white dresses and white suits, mixed with the clean smell of recently washed skin and underneath it all—something earthier, more animal.

azzi’s hair was still damp at the ends, as if she’d climbed into the car drenched and frantic to get to the woman she had beneath her now, curling slightly as it dried, so dark, so beloved. paige found herself staring at the way it stuck to her neck, at the way droplets of water had gathered in the glistening hollow of her throat—brown column gleaming—and sat there glittering like gems cut to the smallest carat.

she wanted to press her mouth there. apply pressure.

she wanted to taste the freshwater, the sweat, the salt.

the thought came unbidden and left her breathless, a hummingbird state of mind. it left her feeling like she'd been running sprints in the heat until her lungs burned and her vision went white at the edges. she forced herself to look away, counting to twenty seconds and cutting five short as she did her best to focus on something else, anything else, but there was nowhere safe to look. everywhere was just more of azzi: pictures of her, chicly faded from many a photobooth, the curve of her shoulder, the demanding jut of her collarbone, the way her stomach flexed with each intake of air, the small gold pandora heart at her throat catching light.

"can’t believe you drove in matching pajamas to come and tell me this," paige said finally, her voice rougher than she intended, scraped raw. her hands had started traveling of their own accord, fingers tracing idle patterns on azzi's sides, feeling the give of her waist, the way her body was all softness layered deceptively over something stronger, the tension of ambitious muscle beneath the yielding.

azzi pulled back enough to look at her, eyebrows raised, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. the movement made her shift in paige's lap, made everything worse.

"do you have an issue with my pajamas, bueckers?"

"mmm, no. promise. not much of anything to have an issue with anyway." paige's eyes dropped again, helpless, tracking the way the shorts had ridden up even higher, the way they revealed the dark expanse of azzi's thighs, smooth and endless. azzi struck her shoulder playfully at the comment. "they're just very, um, coordinated. like always. always matching."

"so?" azzi's cheeks were flushed, though whether from excitement or their mixed body heat or something else entirely, paige couldn't tell. didn't want to guess. "i like to match. it's cute."

"it is cute," paige agreed, and then, because she couldn't help herself, because the proximity to her favorite girl on earth always made her reckless and azzi was sitting on top of her looking like every slick, sweet dream paige had ever tried to forget and failed, she added: "i bet your underwear matches too. let me guess—" she tilted her head, made a show of thinking about it, even as her thumbs pressed more firmly into azzi's hips, even as she felt the hitch in azzi's breathing. "grey? no, wait. white. has to be white to match the waistband."

azzi went very still. the flush on her cheeks deepened, spreading down her neck to disappear beneath the neckline of her tank top, and paige watched it go, watched the way azzi's skin betrayed her, the way her body could never keep a secret, always spilling its guts if paige showed a hint that she wanted to know. "no. shut up."

paige cracked out a victorious laugh, a flash of pride searing through her.

"i'm right, though, aren't i?" paige was grinning now, wolfish, enjoying the way azzi's composure had cracked, the way she was suddenly the one who didn't know where to look. "lace, too, huh? so predictable, princess. everything matches. your entire life is color-coordinated."

"that's not—" azzi started, then stopped, bit her lip. her hands had moved from paige's shoulders to her own thighs, fingers splayed wide like she was trying her best to hold herself together. "you're being annoying."

“i’m just someone who knows you," paige murmured, voice just shy of revealing, and she couldn't stop staring at where azzi's teeth sank into her bottom lip, at the way the tissue went bloodless under the pressure before flooding that warm, dark rose again. she wanted to reach up and tug it free the way she had in the water in sarasota, wanted to tell her to stop before she hurt herself, but she was afraid that if she moved her hands from azzi's hips, she'd do something stupid instead.

something devastatingly irreversible.

"come on, princess,” she egged, pupils almost fully blown. “just admit it. then i’ll let it go.”

"i am not telling you what color my underwear is, paige,” azzi said, but she was laughing too now, aerial and solar in power, and the sound of it made something shudder open in paige's chest, a pressure point that could send her catatonic if she didn’t ignore it as much as she worked to. "you're such a pervert. should be ashamed of yourself."

"mmm, i'm just observant." paige's fingers had found the hem of the tank top again, had begun playing with it absently, brushing against the skin dipping across azzi’s belly. she could feel the muscles jump underneath the touch, could feel the way her hands were forced up then down as azzi’s breathing went shallow and quick. "it's called paying attention. i notice things about you. it’s what all good best friends do."

"yeah?" azzi's voice had gone low, velveteen and uncertain, and when paige peered up at her face, she found her already looking back at her with an expression that made paige's throat seal shut. "what else do you notice about me, p?"

everything, paige wanted to say. i notice everything about you. you make me notice more about myself. you’re like a tattoo, an eternal mark. i notice it all, i keep staring at it, tracing where you sit inside of me, pretty in script along the soft inner seam of my hip. you are the moment the artist goes over the bone, and i feel every vibration, like a car speeding down the vast highway. i like it, no matter how odd. i try to keep every part of you, because you remind me how much i enjoy being alive.you call me back to myself. with you, even just the thought of you, my veins spark, my blood pumps, my bones buzz and buzz and buzz.

there is a name for this feeling, but it escapes me. you cannot escape me. i dream about you, i let you settle into me like an occupier. i take what i can get.

but she couldn't say any of that. couldn't say anything that indecipherable with its honest desire, that throb for further allowance; adoration in nudity. so instead she shrugged, forced her face into something casual, something safe.

"i dunno. just stuff."

azzi's expression gathered itself, underwent a million transformations in only a minute, before falling into something like disappointment. it flickered across her features before she schooled them back into a smile. paige wanted to scream, loud and unrelenting, at how badly they performed their pretending. but she tucked the sound behind her teeth.

"just stuff. wow. so specific."

paige scrambled, anxious to rescue the moment.

“if you wear studs instead of hoops, you’ll forget to take them off before bed," paige said, reaching up to adjust the small gold chain around azzi's neck, settling the clasp at the proper spot behind the neck. "i know that if you love a book enough, you’ll buy multiple copies so you can have different covers. and i know that you're gonna sleep in my bed tonight because you always do when you're here, even though the guest room’s made up. and that tomorrow morning you're gonna steal my clothes and act like you didn't."

"i do not steal them," azzi protested. "i borrow them."

"you never give them back."

"that's still borrowing just...with an extended return policy."

paige giggled despite herself, and azzi smiled down at her, and for a moment, it was like looking into the heart of the sun. everything felt normal again, felt like it always had: the two of them existing in their own private world, speaking their own private language, burrowing in a space equivalent to the blank territory behind the glass frame held fragile inside a heart-shaped locket.

but then azzi shifted again, altering her weight, and paige's hands tightened on back on her hips reflexively. the air between them went thick and strange. azzi's eyes dropped to paige's mouth, then back up, and paige felt her heart kick up in her throat, felt her whole body burst into flame as her pulse thrummed.

"paige," azzi said quietly, and the way she said it made it sound more like a question than a name belonging to this body begging for more like a prayer.

paige didn't know how to answer.

"hm?"

"are you—" azzi stopped, shook her head slightly, began to power down. "never mind."

"hey, no, what?" paige's thumbs circled again, now drawing those same small shapes along the base of azzi's spine, and she watched the way azzi's breath left her, the way her pupils dilated. "what were you gonna say?"

"nothing. it's stupid."

"you’re never stupid, az. tell me anyway?”

azzi was quiet for a long moment, and paige could see her working through something, weighing options, making calculations. finally, she said, so tentatively that paige almost didn't hear it:

"are you happy? that i'm coming?"

"am i—" paige sat up straighter, bringing them even closer, until there was barely any space between them at all. "azzi, are you serious right now? i'm fucking ecstatic. this is—you have no idea what this means to me. getting to play with you. getting to—" she stopped, swallowed hard. "yeah. fuck, yeah, princess. ‘m happy."

azzi's answering smile was blazing, luminous enough to hint at harm, and she threw her arms around paige's neck and hugged her fiercely, face buried in the curve where paige's shoulder smoothed into her neck. paige wrapped her arms around azzi's waist and held on and on, as if she was trying to memorize the feeling, the pressure, and warmth of her, the way her curls kissed at the skin of paige’s chest.

the way her lips brushed there, too.

they stayed like that for an indeterminate amount of time, tangled together until they felt like an undiscovered country, and paige thought about how this was enough. how it had to be enough. how she would make it enough.

but even as thought drifted through her mind, she couldn’t find the strength to pledge allegiance to it. instead, her hands slid further up azzi's back, fingers splaying wide, and azzi made a sound so small and wet against her neck that masqueraded as contentment but most likely was something more, and paige—

paige knew—knew with the same certainty she knew her own name—that it would never be enough. that she would always want more. that wanting azzi was like dragging the tongue along the bladed edge of a slab of ice because you could remember so clearly what the goodness of water tasted like, how it once was that, too.

when azzi finally pulled back, her eyes were shining, two large wet stars.

"we're gonna be so good together," she said, and paige nodded, even though she wasn't sure anymore which game they were talking about.

and paige believed her, because azzi would always be true. she could see it now, without being there. the two of them, a duet of bright young women, at home on a shared court, paige could see it, how she would turn to accept the pass from azzi, would see the sweat beaded on her best friend’s skin, its catch in the wetness of her mouth.

everything azzi gave her, paige let rule over her.

we’re gonna live forever, paige wanted to promise.

paige could feel that nameless emotion rising, the rush dawning like the sky opening in apocalypse, a sun coming out like blood at the tip of the tongue. she could feel it slicing at her mouth, the parts of it, enraged at being repressed.

she could hear it begging for reprieve, for the solace of azzi’s lips crushed against it.

but she had to save it.

so, she said,

“we’re gonna be the best.”

II. CONNECTICUT / DUST BOWL ( DEMO ) / ETHEL CAIN.

azzi usually steered clear of thick florals, especially roses. but in the fall, she forgave herself for her fallacies, including indulging in the smell of it. she only liked it in the end months of the year, and specifically as it came across when dusted over paige. her best friend often leaned vanilla in cologne, but sometimes she’d spritz a bit of a fragrance so old that the label had been worn off the bottle by the repeated love of her fingers against it.

it was so rarely used, and so it aged and aged until it bled out a blend of oud and deep rose—damask, if azzi recalled correctly. it never smelled as good as her memory had saved it, but she loved falling asleep with her nose pressed to paige’s neck, the flower softening nearly to rot but still beautiful. she’d drift, then, mind slurring into a peace she associated with autumnal woods with a path nearly gone, hidden inside, trodden hand-in-hand when paige came to see her in virginia four years ago.

now she could smell it again as she sat on the quad, eyes flickering over the kaleidoscope of the season’s leaves and the dark, brittle skin of the trees in the last throes of life. despite the annual decay, the campus was alive in the way only october at uconn could make it. students were undeterred by the wet earth—a souvenir from a flash pour that occurred just before azzi’s contemporary media activism lecture—and sprawled across both the grass and one another, offerings to the expiring warmth.

the air was sharp with the smell of coffee orders, either overly elaborate or ridiculously minimal, and someone's cigarette smoke drifting from the direction of the library. that had to be a fire hazard in some way. azzi sat, cross-legged on the stone wall near the student center, her body angled toward the watery kiss of the last-minute sun so that her back was settled snugly against the strong line of paige’s shoulder.

she’d chosen comfort today: flared yoga pants in deep grey that hugged her hips, paired with a color-matched ribbed tank top that grew thin at the straps. it was all grounded by an open cardigan in the deepest black that kept slipping off one shoulder, revealing the smooth brown skin there, the ridge of her collarbone. her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, curls cascading to the middle of her back, and she had her phone balanced on her knee as she tuned back in just in time to laugh at something kk was saying, her whole face transforming with it, luminous and unguarded.

paige couldn't stop looking at her. she could feel it, like god’s eyes. she’d been looking at her all morning—all week, all month, really—to the point where she’d asked if she looked bad. paige had stammered out a negative, flustered, and azzi had squeezed her hand before walking off to her lecture hall.

ever since azzi had arrived on campus, it had been different. she was almost always in paige's dorm room, determined to make it feel less like the cell it appeared to be and more like a home. here, their habits continued, azzi falling asleep in paige's bed more nights than not, her body curved into paige's like they were two parts of the same equation.

it was making paige insane. the proximity of it all. the way azzi touched her so casually—fingers at her wrist, hand at the small of her back, head on her shoulder—like it meant nothing, like it didn't make paige's blood sing and her hands shake and her mouth press together so hard that she could feel every bit like a death pact come collect.

"yo, p, you listening?" kk was waving a hand in front of her face, dark brows raised in amusement.

"what? yeah. sorry." paige dragged her attention away from where azzi was now scrolling through her ipad with its matching white stylus, her onenote open to painstakingly precise notes, that small line appearing just above the ridge of her nose—that fixed symbol that meant she was concentrating so hard on the task at hand that she’d get a headache later.

paige made a note to give her ibuprofen before they hit the court later.

"we were saying that apparently you've been busy." this time it was ice speaking, grin wicked and knowing. paige felt dread begin to build, latent and hot in her throat. "heard you had alyssa from the soccer team in your room last week. and before that, that girl from your bio class. what's her name—"

"bro, can we not?" paige interrupted, but she could feel her face heating, could feel the way azzi had gone very still beside her, eyes trained militantly on the screen in front of her, laughter gone dead in her throat upon arrival.

"i'm just saying," ice continued, oblivious or maybe just uncaring, "you're like a campus legend at this point. paige bueckers, heartbreaker extraordinaire. there's probably a running list somewhere."

someone—paige thought it might have been aubrey—pulled out her phone and started scrolling through instagram, tilting the screen toward the group. "oh shit, yeah. this other girl—kat, i think?—she posted about you like two days ago. i took a screenshot. 'best night everrrr.’”

aubrey’s voice sang high with the tease, and the table erupted in laughter and shrill catcalls. paige wanted to sink into the ground, wanted to disappear entirely, because she could feel azzi looking at the phone now, could feel the way her body had gone rigid, immovable. could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she blankly studied the girl in the photo.

brunette, hair thick and glossy, and spilling into a question mark of a ponytail. tall and toned in a way that spoke to running, pretty in an effortless way that was perfect under the influence of mango-infused tequila, but currently made paige's stomach hurt.

paige turned fully to look at her best friend, trying and failing to catch her eye, trying and failing to communicate an understanding, but azzi wouldn't look at her. azzi always looked at her, was always ready. but she wasn’t ready anymore.

instead, her jaw was set, teeth gripped as tightly as her fingers were around the sides of her phone. the knuckles had gone pale, and paige could see her doing it—that thing she did where she catalogued all the ways she didn't measure up, where she made an inventory of her own inadequacies and displayed them like evidence of some crime she'd committed just by existing. she watched as azzi subconsciously reached toward the dark ends of her own pulled-back curls, and the action was so small but carried enough pain to fell paige like a demolition site.

"az," paige said quietly, reaching out to touch azzi's knee, but azzi flinched away. paige felt as though she was burning down, bones gone to ash and blood all in her mouth.

azzi blinked at her, face unreadable, and then stretched a smile from ear to ear. it was so unnatural that it nearly appeared to hurt, and paige scrambled inside.

"hey, so i forgot that i have a study session for a group project for my mass communications class," azzi said, standing up so abruptly that she nearly knocked ice’s water bottle from its spot on the wall. her voice was bright, fragile, wrong, the words all stilted. "i gotta go, but i’ll catch you later, okay?"

and then she turned, already walking away before paige could begin to respond, cardigan fluttering around her like a bird’s frantic flapping when pushed from the nest. paige sat there, frozen, watching the shape of her disappear into the sudden surge of students crossing the quad, feeling like she'd just failed some test she hadn't known she was taking.

"is she good?" kk asked.

paige didn't answer. she was already pulling out her phone, dragging open the google calendar they shared, the one they'd set up freshman year of high school, color-coded in pink and purple, every game and study session and family holiday and doctor's appointment meticulously logged because they liked knowing where the other one was, liked being able to look at their phone and see proof that their existence within each other's lives.

she scrolled through azzi's schedule for today until she was dizzy and the white space blurred. nothing. no study session, no group project, nothing except practice later that afternoon.

she took a screenshot, fingers slipping on the first attempt, and sent it to azzi.

me: ????????? i know im not tripping

the three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared, then appeared again.

a 💗💗: forgot to add it in me: yeah bc it’s a lie me: bro nika is in ur class, she said there’s no group project me: azzi what the fuck me: talk to me

but azzi had stopped responding, had probably turned her phone face-down on whatever surface she was near, and paige felt something crack open in her chest, something that had been building pressure for months, maybe years.

she felt like the emoji she’d chosen for azzi’s contact name, pulsing and pulsing, radiating as it searched for signs of life. only to come up short, revealed to be all alone.

she didn't see azzi for the rest of the day. she wasn't at practice, which paige only found out through an irritated geno, who told her azzi claimed she was sick, which paige knew to be another lie but backed up anyway.

it was another fracture in the foundation of everything they were. paige went through the motions, ran the drills, took the shots, but her mind was elsewhere, caught on the image of azzi's face when she'd seen that instagram story, the way her whole body had contracted like she'd taken a hit.

by the time practice ended, paige was vibrating with anxiety, with the need to see azzi and fix whatever she'd transgressed without intention. she showered so quickly that she was teased about it on the way out of the locker room, and headed straight for azzi's dorm, letting herself in with the key azzi had given her during move-in week.

the room was dark and quiet, and for a moment paige thought maybe azzi wasn't there. but then she heard it. a small sound from the bathroom, something between a gasp and a whimper.

"azzi?"

paige crossed the room and pushed open the door. she found her there, standing in front of the mirror, tank top pushed up to just below her breasts, and there was blood—not a lot, but enough—trickling down from her navel where a silver barbell now gleamed, the skin around it flushed and angry.

"jesus, az," paige said, and her voice came out strangled. "what did you do?"

azzi's eyes met hers in the mirror, and they were wet, defiant. "what does it look like, bueckers? let’s use our brains."

paige closed her eyes and prayed momentarily for patience before returning her gaze to the golden plane of azzi’s belly.

"i mean, obviously, it’s a fucking piercing. but i guess ‘m confused because we were supposed to go to your appointment together." paige could hear how childish it sounded even as she said it, but she couldn't help it. they'd talked about this, had planned it as a special moment for just the two of them, had researched shops and argued about gold over silver and silver over gold; paige had promised to hold hands with azzi all the way through it. "we had a plan."

"yeah, well." azzi turned to face her properly, and the movement made her wince, one hand coming up to hover over the metal without quite touching it. "things change. you of all people should know that."

the words landed like a slap, and it felt so unfair that paige took a step back, feeling all air abandon her.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"you know exactly what it means." azzi's voice was trembling now, anger and hurt tangled together until they were indistinguishable. "apparently, you've been having all sorts of adventures that you haven't told me about. so i figured, why not have my own?"

"azzi—"

"were you ever going to tell me?" azzi's eyes were nearly on fire with her pain, tears spilling over, tracking down her cheeks, and breaking off at her chin. "or was i just supposed to find out from our fucking teammates that my best friend—" she stopped, bit her lip so hard paige was afraid she'd draw blood. "that you've been sleeping with half the campus?"

"first off, it’s not—it wasn't like that." paige felt helpless, like she was drowning despite being in shallow waters. "it didn't mean anything. none of them meant anything."

"then why keep it from me?" azzi's voice stuttered halfway through the question, cleaving in two.

because you’d look down on me just like right now, paige wanted to say. because i feel you like a hole in my head, and i needed to staunch the bleed. because i want to be loved and touched and needed without making you suffer me. because i thought maybe if i fucked enough other people, i'd stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you.

but she couldn't say any of that. couldn't confess to any of it.

"i don't know," she said instead, and because she never knew when to leave well enough alone, she continued. “why do you even care?”

azzi jerked backward, face crumpling like sand under the weight of water. “my whole life is about caring about you. you’ve never kept something from me before. we tell each other everything.”

the truth of it left paige defenseless and therefore silent, so they stood there in the fluorescent bathroom light, the space between them feeling more like a chasm than something simple to close. paige thought about how easy it would be to just reach across it, to pull azzi into her arms and apologize until her voice gave out. but the rigor in azzi's posture, the relentless stand of her spine, told her that the touch wouldn't be welcome right now, that azzi needed distance the way paige needed her, and the asymmetry of it made her want to cup her throat and squeeze until she conquered the scream.

"it's getting infected," paige said finally, gesturing to azzi’s stomach with its little red beads of blood. her voice came out flat, clinical. "you need to clean it."

"i know how to clean it," azzi said, but she made no effort to move. only stood there with her arms wrapped around herself like she was desperately trying to hold her body together.

paige wondered what would fall out if she let go.

"c’mon. let me help you." paige was already walking to the sink, wetting a clean washcloth with warm water. "please. az. just let me help."

let me fix it. fix it. please. please, god, please. i can fix it.

azzi was quiet for a long moment, and then she nodded, just barely, and lowered her arms to her sides. the tank top was still pushed up, exposing the soft give of her stomach and the gentle beginning curve of her hips, and paige tried not to look as she came to her, tried to focus on the task at hand—but it was impossible.

her best friend’s skin was warm beneath her fingers as paige steadied her with one hand on her hip, using the other to gently dab at the blood and clear fluid leaking from around the piercing. azzi hissed at the contact, muscles jumping with the sensitivity, and paige murmured an apology, blowing cool air across the inflamed skin.

"you have to be more careful," she said quietly, blue eyes latched steadfastly on the inner pucker of azzi’s belly button. "you can't just—you can't do something like this and not take care of it properly."

"i didn't think it would hurt this much," azzi admitted, and her voice was small, younger than paige had heard it in years. “everyone said it wouldn’t.”

"everything hurts more than you think it will." paige squeezed antibacterial solution onto a cotton swab and pressed it gently around the piercing site. "but that's kind of the point, right? of getting one?"

azzi didn't answer, but the way she watched paige work with those dark eyes spoke to what she was thinking. she had always had such a heavy gaze, those wide cervine eyes that had always seen too much, that had always been the one to know how to handle it if they were both looking. paige could feel the weight of them like a physical thing, could feel azzi reading her the way she read defenses, finding all the weak spots and cataloguing them for later use.

she would know them in sleep, her dreams colored after them, her every action validated by the presence.

when the piercing was clean and paige had applied a thin layer of healing ointment, she should have stepped back. should have put space between them again and let the moment end. but she didn’t, couldn’t. she needed azzi to know she was sorry, needed permission to call her her princess again.

her hand stayed in place, still on azzi's hip, thumb stroking in absent sweeps, and before she could think better of it, she was slipping to her knees. she leaned in, pressing her lips to the unblemished skin just to the left of the wound.

she had never felt azzi’s body be this halcyon. for a moment, there was nothing, but then her hand came up to tangle in paige's hair as if receiving sacrament, fingers tightening almost painfully at the roots.

paige kissed her again, just below the navel this time, feeling the way the muscles contracted under the pressure of her mouth. and again, to the right, and again, mapping the territory around the metal with her lips, taking liberties to kiss away the pain she'd caused, lips falling open and more open again.

"paige," azzi breathed, and the way she said it made paige's whole body go liquid.

paige looked up at her from where she kneeled, blood stellate, eyes endless from this angle, and found azzi gazing down at her with an expression that made paige's heart practically stop.

there was so much she was swollen with.

wanting.

confusion.

terror, which always arose in the face of something beautiful.

for a moment, they just stayed like that—paige on her knees like a supplicant, azzi trembling above her—and paige thought this is it, this is when everything changes, this is when i finally tell her and she will finally understand.

but then paige messed it up because she looked away, back in front of her, and pressed a kiss to the slip of azzi’s hipbone, her tongue tracing the bone—hot and slick and soft. and it was this that sent azzi stepping back, pulling her tank top down, the wall going up behind her eyes so fast paige could practically hear it slam into place.

“thank you," azzi said, her voice carefully neutral. switzerland. "for helping me."

"yeah," paige said, pushing herself up on legs that felt unsteady. "course."

she knew they wouldn’t talk about it, that she wouldn’t be able to without bursting into tears. she wanted to burst into tears now, bawl like the child she would always feel inside of her. the same one that had watched her parents split.

and maybe azzi could tell—paige knew she could—because she reached out and cupped paige’s cheek, eyes softening until they were as tender as meat. they stood there, face to palm in a bathroom not worth the tuition, overhead light flickering and turning paige’s hair further blonde with every other shine.

they stood there, looking at each other across a distance that felt insurmountable, and pretended that everything was fine. that everything was still the same as it had always been.

that paige’s hands weren’t trembling by her sides, that azzi’s thumb wasn’t near paige’s bottom lip.

this was mutualism.

III. VIRGINIA / SMOTHER / DAUGHTER.

virginia in december burned with a special nature of winter, and in the mountains, it only felt further alien.

in the peaks, the cold felt personal, always on the verge of acting as a threat, an endless searching for the warmest parts of you just to press its thumb there until something gave way. the cabin geno had rented for them sat perched on the side of a hill just moments from erosion, comprised of exposed beams of light wood and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto nothing but white, the snow so thick it erased the distinction between earth and sky. it was a task to tell what was solid and what was simply the absence of something else.

while their coaches had helped arrange the holiday, they had begged off on joining, something every girl able to attend was grateful for. the intended bonding would’ve fallen short, flickering threads of connection failing to touch and strengthen the weave of their relationship.

azzi had been in the hot tub for the better part of an hour, body submerged up to the collarbone in water that scalded and soothed in turns; it made her skin feel like it was moments from slipping off and belonging to someone else.

she wore a black bikini, simple and minimal, that made her hyperaware of the suggestion of her own silhouette. it gave the feeling of wearing almost nothing—but in a welcome way—with its triangles of fabric barely containing the swell of her breasts, and ties at her hips that pledged a loose vow of security. a shell necklace sat against her throat, the white and cream ovals slick with steam, and she kept touching it absently, a nervous habit she'd developed somewhere between childhood and now.

the air bit mercilessly at her face and shoulders, creating a strange dichotomy of being both sweltering and freezing all at once. her body always so unable to decide what it wanted, what it could tolerate. she'd slipped further into the water to escape the contradiction, letting the heat work at the knots in her shoulders that had been building since they'd arrived two days ago.

since paige had receded, a radio tower gone silent, too devastated to properly pretend she was fine.

azzi looked away from where caroline drifted before her to where paige sat in one of the lounge chairs just outside the hot tub's perimeter, hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, swimming in an oversized grey hoodie that made her look smaller than she was, frailer than she’d ever let on. basketball shorts despite the cold, because she was stubborn like that, always had been, her body a testament to refusal.

her knee was wrapped, the black brace visible beneath the hem of her shorts like cain’s mark. she'd been sitting there for what must’ve been forty minutes now, phone in hand, scrolling through nothing, contributing nothing to the conversation happening around her. azzi’s chest squeezed tightly, and she clenched her fingers around her thigh beneath the bubbling water.

she kept glancing over at her. couldn't help it. kept waiting for her best friend to meet her eyes, to give her something—that smile like heaven, that smirk, the lifting of the veil—but paige's gaze stayed fixed on the middle distance, jaw tight, mouth pressed into a line that meant she was barely holding something back, that the dam was one more word away from breaking.

azzi wanted to go to her, to crawl to her, to place her hands along her spine and beg her to spell it out.

"earth to azzi," caroline called, pulling azzi's attention back to the group with the violence of interruption, at odds with the kindness of her tone. "you ready for the bahamas? three weeks, right? i’m so excited. jesus, to play in actual heat for once instead of this frozen hell."

“yeah,” azzi said, smiling half-heartedly.

the conversation around the hot tub shifted like the weather, everyone eager to talk about the tournament: the hotels they'd be staying in, the restaurants they wanted to try, the practices on the beach that would feel more like vacation than work.

“we’ll fucking kill it,” morgan chimed in, face bright with the hope. “we’re gonna bring it home.”

azzi felt her stomach drop, felt the way the air suddenly went thin, identical to the onset of altitude sickness. she had the sudden, horrible feeling that she was watching something tragic happen in slow motion and couldn't move fast enough to stop the loss.

morgan's face changed as soon as she realized what she'd said, crumpling sweetly, eyes going wide with the particular horror of accidental cruelty. "oh my god. paige, i didn't—"

"it's fine," paige said, voice empty and mechanical, the possession of someone who was trying to will a lie into the quality of truth. she didn't look up once from her phone. "y'all have fun. bring me back a seashell or whatever."

"p—" ice started, but paige was already standing, moving with a careful deliberation that communicated that her knee was aching worse than she'd admit. azzi hated this, this voyuerism of a girl carrying pain like a teenage secret, hoodie pulled up over her head as she limped toward the sliding glass door that led back into the cabin's throat.

azzi watched her go, watched the way paige's shoulders were drawn up to her ears like she was trying to shrink in real time, watched the way she was trying so hard to appear as though she didn't care, like this wasn't killing her slowly, and felt something crack open in her chest in a jagged line.

"fuck," morgan said quietly. "i'm such an idiot."

"she knows you didn't mean it," azzi said, but she was already halfway out of the hot tub, water streaming off her body, steam rising from her skin as the winter chill crawled eagerly over her exposed limbs.

she nearly slipped as she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself, didn't bother with anything else. not her clothes or her shoes or her usual performance of normalcy. azzi stumbled with a lack of humiliation, anxious to get to paige, dripping water across the deck and then through the cabin, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood like evidence of passage. she took the stairs two at a time, her body still burning with phantom warmth from the hot tub, her skin slightly prickled with glaciation.

the bedroom paige had claimed was at the end of the hall, door closed, no light visible beneath it, a darkness so complete that azzi knew it to be intentional.

her room was next door.

she didn't knock, only turned the handle and slipped inside, closing the door behind her with the soft click of the latch.

the room was devoid of all light, curtains drawn tightly against the world, forcing it back with a hard hand. the only light came from the digital clock on the nightstand that read 9:47 pm in numbers that glowed an accusatory red. paige was in bed already, or at least in the bed, no longer wearing her hoodie and shorts, curled on her side facing away from the door like she was trying to disappear into the wall, trying to merge with something more solid than herself.

"i need a minute, az," paige said, voice muffled by the pillow, by the refusal to be seen.

azzi was unable to help the small smile that brushed across her face, pleasure rising at being known so thoroughly.

"no." azzi dropped her towel, toeing it open before undoing the delicate ties of her bikini, the fabric hitting the wood with a muffled slap—gravity enforced by the water content. she crossed to the bed, droplets still lingering along her skin, and climbed onto the mattress without asking permission.

she knew if she waited, the invitation might never come, and so she pressed herself against paige's back with abandon. one arm slid around paige’s waist, the other tucking beneath the pillow they'd been sharing since arrival, her body an answer to the question paige never had to ask.

paige went rigid, every muscle locking. "bro, you’re getting the bed wet."

"don't care. i’ll just change the sheets when you shower.”

"azzi."

"i'm not leaving." azzi pressed her face against the back of paige's neck, right where her hair was pulled into a messy bun, loose strands escaping to brush against azzi's mouth, and breathed in the familiar scent of her. vanilla lightened with a lavender touch, spiced with vetiver and something that was just paige. something azzi would recognize blindfolded, in a crowd, in another life. "so you can stop trying to get rid of me."

paige was silent for a long moment, and then azzi felt it: the tentative shake of her body that gained quickly in intensity, slight tremors that traveled through her like fault lines and then burst into their full earthquake, the uneven, ragged pull of her breath.

"it's just a little over a month," paige said, the words small and wet enough to clog azzi's own throat. she wanted nothing more than to gather paige up, hide her somewhere safe until it was all over. "six fucking weeks. it's nothing. i don't know why i'm being such a fucking baby about it."

"because it's not nothing, p," azzi corrected quietly, lips shifting tenderly against paige's neck, the words transferring directly into skin. "because basketball is—it's everything to us. to you. it's how you know yourself. it's the language you speak. and someone took it away, changed the build. you can’t even translate.”

"okay, miss communications major,” paige puffed out, and azzi squeezed her stomach softly. then,

“but i took it away, az,” and there was something juvenile in her voice, something savagely self-lacerating. "it was my fault. i went for a steal i shouldn't have, and i landed wrong, and now i'm—" paige stopped, swallowed hard enough that azzi could feel it. "now i'm fucking useless."

"don't." azzi's arm tightened around paige's waist, hand tucking under the hem of her shirt to splay wide across her stomach, feeling the rise and fall, the proof of life. "don't you ever say that."

"it's true, though. who am i when i’m not on court? what am i if i'm not—" paige's voice cracked like ice, and the lake rose. "i don't know how to be anything else. i feel buried alive."

azzi's heart was hammering so viciously she was sure paige could feel the vibrations against each ridge of her spine, a frenetic drumming that was trying to say something her mouth couldn't. she closed her eyes, pressed her lips to the nape of paige's neck over and over, arranging and then re-arranging in the shape something that wasn't quite a kiss but felt like one anyway, and felt the words rising in her throat.

words she'd been holding back for months, maybe years. sentences that felt too big and terrifying for the hold of a diary, too exposing to reveal in daylight, but somehow felt more possible here, in this black, dead air, where neither of them could see each other's faces.

in the dark, it was always easier to be brave. it was never confession, only relief.

"you're more than that," azzi said, and her voice came out rougher than she intended, scraped raw. "you're so much more than this sport. then any team contract or brand deal, or highlight reel. you're—"

she faltered, tried to gather these thoughts that came too quickly, tumbling over one another and onto her feet like water over rock. and she let them, abandoning pretense.

then, almost casually, she said,

“you know, when we were younger, the thing i used to look forward to most was the away games. because of the bus ride after. you always came to the back with me, where no light reached. and we’d end up—god, i don’t even know—half-asleep on each other, limbs everywhere. you and me in that dark corner on one side, sinking into each other like it was the most natural thing. it was, i think. it felt like we were the same person for a while, feeling all the same things without thinking twice.”

paige had gone very still beneath her touch, so still azzi might have thought she'd stopped breathing if not for the steady rise and fall of her back against azzi’s chest.

“sometimes you’d fall asleep on top of me, and i’d stay wide awake, and i wouldn’t move. i couldn’t risk waking you, and i—i liked the weight. your warmth solidified me, especially after a loss. i’d get home smelling like you more than anything else. like i’d been dipped right inside of you. i’d lie on my floor in the dark, curled up like a kid, trying to hold onto it; the sense of you still on my skin. letting it pool around me for as long as i could before i had to wash it off and return to being my own separate body.”

azzi’s voice broke, splintered. she pushed through.

"you make me feel seen. you make me feel safe. like i matter in ways that have nothing to do with what i can do, what i can produce, what i'm worth. and i don't—i don't know how to separate loving you from needing you, and that scares me, because what if something happens and you're not there anymore? what if i lose you? what if this—"

she curled in closer, crushing what little space had been between them, holding on to the memory of their bodies pressed together in the dark.

"what if this ruins everything and i lose the only person who's ever made me feel like i could just be?"

"azzi. baby," paige had rolled over while she was talking, was now facing her in the dark, close enough that azzi could see the tears tracking down her cheeks even in the minimal light, silver trails catching what little illumination bled stubbornly through the curtains. "what are you saying?"

"i'm saying that you're everything," azzi said, and she was crying now too, couldn't help it, the tears coming hot and fast and unstoppable. "i'm saying that watching you hurt—physically, emotionally, any of it—it destroys me, paige. it unmakes me. i'm saying that i don't care if you never touch a basketball again, you'd still be the most important person in my life. you'd still be the person i think about first thing in the morning and last thing at night. you'd still be the person i—"

she stopped, screwed her eyes shut tightly because she couldn't bear to look at paige when she said it, couldn't bear to see whatever expression would cross her face.

"i'm saying that i love you. best friends, yes, but more, too. i love you so deeply, in a way that keeps me awake at night, half-insane and staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out when it happened, trying to remember a time when i didn't feel this way, and coming up empty. you’ve been the constant weather of my life. so when you say you’re just a player, just someone for people to watch—no. you’ve been the person i revolved around since we were little kids, paige. i’ve been in love with you so long it feels like part of my body. i don’t know how to separate it from anything else.

“i want to crawl inside your body and live there, be responsible for your skin and bones and blood. i want to know what it feels like to be you, to see the world the way you see it, to always know what you’re thinking. i love you in a way that probably isn't healthy and definitely isn't normal, and i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, but i can't—i don’t know what to do with it. i just—i just want to give it to you. and then some.”

and then some.

the silence that followed felt eternal, stretched lean as a vein waiting for the needle. azzi kept her eyes pressed closed, the pressure so great that bursts of color were flickering in the dark. she couldn't handle whatever horror was surely paige's face, couldn't stand to watch her pull away or shut down or worse—look at her with pity, with the particular cruelty of kindness offered to the pathetic.

but then she felt it. paige's hand came up to cup her cheek, warm and careful, thumb brushing away her tears with a level of affection that nearly wrenched another sob from beneath azzi’s ribs.

“princess, hey. look at me," paige whispered. “baby, can you please look at me?”

azzi forced her eyes open because she’d do anything paige asked, and blinked through the blur of tears. found paige staring at her with an expression so intense it stole her breath, something callow and unguarded that paige would never let just anyone see.

but for the entirety of their lives, one of them had always been something to the other. someone.

"do you know how long i’ve been waiting to hear you say that?" paige said, and her voice was wrecked, destroyed. "or at least some version of it? i—azzi, i don’t know why you didn’t tell me earlier. we tell each other everything.”

azzi thought of that bathroom, the cleaning of her piercing.

“because i didn’t want you to send me away.”

paige scoffed, a brief laugh loosed out, high with disbelief. “there isn’t any version of the world where i don’t want you with me. azzi—i've been losing my fucking mind, dying time and time again, wanting you so fucking badly i could barely breathe around you. i felt like a fucking asthmatic. i used to lie awake at night thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, to touch you, to have you be mine in all the ways that mattered. i do everything to show you that i’ll cater to you. and you thought, you actually thought, that i wouldn’t feel the same way?"

"you—" azzi couldn't find the strength to finish the sentence. she couldn’t process what paige was saying, couldn't make it fit into the reality she'd been living in.

"i sleep with other people because i can't have you," paige said, and her voice was raw, scraped clean of any pretense, any performance. "i’d go out and find girls who looked nothing like you, and i’d pretend it helped. i’d pretend if i just fucked enough of them, i'd stop wanting you, but it didn’t work. nothing works. nothing makes me stop needing you. nothing makes me stop dreaming about having you. you're in my head all the time, you're my first in every instance, and it's killing me, azzi. it was killing me to love you this much and not be able to—"

"roll over," paige said suddenly, cutting herself off.

"what?"

"roll onto your back, baby. please."

azzi obeyed, bewildered, her body moving on instinct, powered by trust, and then paige was moving too, was shifting her weight carefully. she sat up first, tugging her shirt up and over by the neck and then shimmying off her boxers, mindful of her knee. then she shifted until she was on top of azzi, settling her body against the naked line of the other girl’s with a low groan that sounded like coming home, like respite, like the end of something long and painful.

her head came to rest on azzi's chest, right over her heart where it beat wildly, and her arms wrapped around azzi's waist, holding on as though she was the only thing keeping paige tethered to earth, like without this anchor she'd drift away into nothing.

azzi's hands came up automatically, one tangling in paige's hair, the other tracing patterns on her back—circles and figure eights and shapes that had no name. she dipped lower, to the small of her back where the fullness of her hips began to flow. she could feel paige's breath evening out, could feel the way her body was finally, finally relaxing, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders, her spine, her jaw.

"is this okay?" paige mumbled against her chest, lips moving against the line of azzi’s collarbones.

azzi wanted to laugh. wanted to cry. wanted to scream at how much time they'd wasted, how many nights they could have had this.

"yeah," she managed, her voice thick. "this is okay."

it’s so much better now, she wanted to tell her.

they lay there in the dark, breathing together, heartbeats finding their shared rhythm; two organs bestowed by god, meant to synchronize all along. azzi kept running her fingers through paige's hair, kept tracing those idle patterns on her back, and thought about how many times they'd been in this position before: holding each other, seeking comfort, pretending it was just what friends did, just what teammates did, just what people who loved each other platonically did.

but it had never been just that. it had just felt less dangerous to ignore it.

"we should probably talk about this more when we get back," paige said eventually, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"okay," azzi said, "but later. right now, just rest, p. let me hold you."

"yeah," paige whispered against her chest, the vibration pushing through azzi's chestplate like a drill looking for oil. "okay."

and so, that was what azzi did. she held paige through the night, mapping every point of touch like a star chart. hip to thigh to breast to leg. paige shifted to the right slightly, and it made her leg fall between azzi’s, the length of her thigh firm against the heat of azzi’s cunt. it felt good there, felt grounding. it was less about the placement and more about the act of it.

her best friend was past the line, venturing into this private space, and unfraid to stay there.

azzi held paige the way she'd wanted to for years, and paige held her back.

she looked to the floor, where a small bit of moonlight had crept to the edge, and thought of the brightness of morning. how the sunlight would fracture against the snow and blind them, everything so white, everything so blank.

cold and bright and beautiful and blinding. like an afterlife.

this always, she thought. our bodies, bridged together like a banister.

IV. FLORIDA KEYS / SUNSET ( SLOWED ) / LUCKI.

the keys were the best in the shoulder season. from late april to early june, the islands had a distinct quality compared to the rest of the state. they seemed to shudder with a different kind of life, as if they’d decided to let their guard down for a brief, private interval. the light carried a submerged quality, as though it had traveled a great distance underwater before reaching them, arriving pale and shimmering, a little distorted.

this return to florida was different. they kept touching one another in these small, accidental ways, as if to confirm that they were really here, really doing this. not just two girls pretending that every duet of friends needs to sleep with each other to make it through at least half a night.

they had driven in—again, a rover; always a symbol to them—and the water along the road was a flat blue-green, too still, as if watching. birds wheeled overhead in loose, indifferent arcs. and beneath it all, there was an inescapable electric thrum. the land seemed to receive them almost reverently, as if recognizing a returning species.

their rental sat at the end of a private road, where the asphalt gave way to crushed shell, rising like a sleeping creature. white walls glowed faintly in the heat, the stucco a little bleached. the shutters were soft blue, like the underside of a shell. through tall windows, the courtyard appeared like the heart of a drowned palace: palms arching protectively overhead, the pool lit from below with a strange, luminous blue. beyond it, a deck extended in a narrow path toward their private beach, the sand pale as bone as it bled out into nothing but the slow exhale of the gulf.

azzi liked that you had to park and then continue to walk to get to it. it made her feel that they were properly private, instead of barely secured. the ocean seemed to be reaching for her, needy for her, its pulse a magnet to the foundations every time she turned toward it.

she lay on her back on the living room floor, legs stretched long, bare feet flexed toward the ceiling fan that turned its lazy rotations overhead. she wore an old tee she’d stolen from paige: navy with yellow stripes bleeding down the sleeves, ‘montauk’ screaming in capitals across the middle, so oversized it grazed her mid-thigh.

it made her look smaller than she was, younger.

nothing underneath except white cotton panties that rose high in the front and fell entirely into lace at her hips and ass. her hair was still damp from her earlier shower, dark curls spreading easily across the pale pine hardwood like an oil spill. the only thing providing her comfort was the careful placement of a lilac and jejune persian rug, the print softened with age.

wired headphones—white, tangled at her collarbone—snaked from her ears to her phone resting on her stomach, and she had her eyes closed, lips parted silently to reveal the ridges of her two front teeth, mind swayed by a rhythm only she could hear. it was slow, instrumental, a melody that matched the afternoon light pouring through the windows in bars so thick they looked solid enough to hold.

one hand rested on her stomach, fingers drumming absently against her ribs in time with whatever she was listening to. the other lay palm-up beside her hip, open, receptive. she rolled her ankles clockwise, then anti. lifted her hips until only her shoulders pressed into the ground, then settled back down.

paige stood in the doorway, watching. couldn't help it. would never be able to help it, she was learning.

she'd been with the wings for nearly a year now, and the distance had been harder than either of them had anticipated. they'd known it would be difficult. paige in dallas, azzi still at uconn finishing her fifth year, one she'd chosen to buy more stocks of time before the inevitable separation of professional careers pulled them in different directions.

but knowing something would be hard and living through the reality of it were two different diseases entirely.

the bouts of distance had taught her this: to memorize azzi in every variation of light, to catalog every instance of her existence. but this version—peaceful, unguarded, the little line between her eyebrows finally smoothed—this one she wanted to keep.

two weeks until azzi graduated with her master’s. and then there would be the difficult geometry of trying to exist always within the same place, the same timezone, the same bed. but at least, for now, they had this.

five days with no outsiders, no schedules, no pretending they were anything other than what they'd always been and what they had evolved to. five days to exist as nothing but paige and azzi, girlfriend and girlfriend, two people who considered their highest obligation to be to one another.

paige crossed the room without another thought. lowered herself until she was on her knees, then forward onto her hands, then stretching out along the length of azzi's body, settling her weight the way you'd handle something sacred.

azzi's eyes slid open. she pulled one earbud out, let it dangle.

"hey, baby," paige said, the words coming around a bright smile.

“hey yourself, pretty girl,” azzi murmured, and her voice was warm, honeyed with contentment. she laughed lowly, sound lingering in her throat as paige flushed pink at the endearment.

she looked away and lowered her face to azzi's neck, pressing her mouth there just below her jaw where her pulse beat steady. azzi's breath stalled, then changed pattern completely. her hand came up to tangle in paige's hair, fingers finding blonde, then darker roots. they curled, holding her there.

"what are you doing?"

"kissing you," paige said against her skin, and she did it again, slower this time, with teeth. "that okay?"

"mmhm. yeah." azzi's voice had gone high and thin, breathless. "yeah, that's—that's good."

paige grinned against her neck, suddenly aching and restless, and felt the way azzi's pulse jumped under the glide of her tongue. she kissed her way along the middle of her throat, taking her time, tasting salt and sunscreen and something a little earthier—a touch sweet. her hands bracketed azzi's ribs, thumbs pressing into the spaces between bones.

this was the relief of it—being allowed. being able to want her without the practically biblical weight of repression, without having to build a wall and then a moat between touch and meaning. they had a name for it now.

several names.

best friend, girlfriend, soulmate. other half, wife—eventually.

the naming in itself was its own form of liberation. they could just call it what it was.

"paige," azzi said, and there was a hitch in her voice that made paige lift her head, look at her properly.

azzi was gazing up at her with an expression almost painful in its intensity, eyes dark and wet at the corners. her hand trembled slightly where it had latched onto paige's hair.

"i love you," azzi said, tone uncharacteristically fierce. "i love you so much.”

“i know, princess.” paige felt her throat close. "i know. i love you too."

"no, like—" azzi's free hand came up to cup paige's face, tilted it until her own throat was bared, pale and vulnerable. she idly dragged her thumb across paige’s cheekbone, felt the ridge. "i've loved you since we were kids, and i didn't know how to tell you, and now i get to, and it still doesn't feel real."

"it's real," paige said, turning her head to press a kiss to azzi's palm. she shifted and tumbled, curtaining them both in a slew of gold. "we’re here, mama. we're together, and that’s never gonna change."

"promise?"

"pinky swear."

azzi pulled her down into a kiss then, and it was different than any of the others before. less playful and more urgent. her mouth opened with a hungry request for tongue that made everything inside of paige go molten and liquid. her other earbud fell out, forgotten, the tinny sound of music still playing from where her phone had slipped off her stomach onto the tile.

paige kissed her back with everything she had, one hand sliding up under azzi’s shirt to find bare skin, ribs and the soft underside of her breast. she claimed it, groped at the fullness, and it made azzi send a sound through her mouth, something between a gasp and a moan, and her hips lifted, pressing up into paige's.

"deck," azzi breathed when they broke apart, a string of spit glistening from between their lips before delicately breaking. “let’s—deck.”

"yeah," paige agreed, already moving, already pulling azzi up with her. "yeah, okay."

the deck was empty and sun-drenched, wooden planks still warm from hours of exposure, the ocean stretching out before them, draining turquoise to teal to midnight blue at the far horizon.

light was fading but still present. the beach was private, theirs, no one around for miles, and the knowledge of that privacy made paige feel reckless, made her feel young and invincible in a way she hadn't since before basketball became a career instead of a game.

there was a lounge chair, positioned to face the water. wide enough for two. paige sat first, bringing azzi with her, guiding her to straddle her lap. azzi came willingly, eagerly, her thighs bracketing paige's hips, shirt riding up to reveal the thin white of her underwear, the smooth brown expanse of her legs.

"hi, baby," azzi said again, smiling down at her with eyes crinkled at the corner, and there was something so tender in it, so fond, that paige felt her chest crack right open.

"hey, princess," paige said back, hands settling on azzi's waist, squeezing the sides of her stomach.

she tugged her in by her belly piercing, the bar new and gold with a pink diamond dangling from the end, and they kissed again, slower this time, but no less intense. paige let her hands wander: up azzi's sides, along her spine, down to cup her ass through her panties. azzi whimpered against her mouth, bleating like a little lamb, lithe fingers working at the buttons of paige's cover-up, pushing it off her shoulders.

and then her hands were on paige's skin, warm and sure, mapping territories they'd explored before but never like this, never in daylight, never without the fear of fucking it up.

the sun beat down on them, the ocean providing its lull, and paige thought about that first morning in sarasota, how she'd watched azzi flex her shoulder blades on the paddleboard and felt that first dangerous pull of want, that recognition of falling.

she'd been right to be scared.

loving azzi was terrifying—the magnitude of it, the way it had rewritten every part of her life—but that just meant that it was what she truly wanted.

but she'd also been wrong. because this—azzi's mouth on hers, azzi's body against hers, azzi's hands in her hair—this wasn't falling. this was a landing instead. this was an arrival home.

"i want more," azzi whispered against her lips, and her hips rolled forward, pressing down, and paige felt the heat of her even through the bottom of her own bikini.

"you can have it, mama," paige said, and she meant it in every possible way. "just take it. you can have whatever you want, always.”

azzi pulled back just far enough to look at her, eyes searching. whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because she smiled—bright and unguarded and so beautiful it made paige's teeth ache at the root—and then she was pulling the montauk tee up and over her head, tossing it somewhere behind them onto the deck.

and paige—

paige had seen azzi's body a thousand times before. in locker rooms and hotel rooms, and that every summer morning spent in a heat so deep she felt dizzy, when countless bikinis and mini dresses had revealed nearly everything. but this was different. this was azzi offering herself, bare and unashamed, with the full knowledge of what it meant and what would follow.

"you sure?" paige asked, because she had to.

azzi’s eyes darkened, went low and ravenous.

"i've never been more sure of anything."

paige kissed her again, dragged her closer until distance was no longer an option. her hands found azzi's tits again, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened, until azzi was gasping and grinding down against her, clit throbbing as she climbed sky high.

they moved together like they played together: instinctive, synchronous, each knowing what the other needed without having to ask. paige's mouth traced the path her hands had taken, lips and tongue and teeth working across azzi's collarbones, down to her tits, and azzi's fingers tightened in her hair, taking her captive, encouraging.

"fuck, paige," azzi breathed, and it sounded like the only thing paige wanted her name to ever mean.

the sun moved across the sky, falling and falling, the world flooding red with the last of it as theirs went white.

later, when the sun had fully fled and the moon reigned unclouded, they lay tangled together on the deck floor, a blanket barely enough for both of them draped across their cooling, sticky bodies.

azzi's head was resting mindlessly on paige's chest, their legs intertwined.

"we should probably go inside," azzi said, but she made no move to get up.

"probably," paige agreed, fingers tracing idle patterns on azzi's bare shoulder. “or we could just stay here forever."

“mmm,” azzi hummed. "i'd be okay with that."

paige smiled against the crown of her head. “i have such great ideas.”

azzi lifted her head to look at her then, chin propped on paige's sternum. "yeah, but. you'd get bored."

“with you? never."

“you’re such a fucking liar." but azzi was smiling, soft and private. "you'd miss basketball, your family. dallas, probably."

"maybe," paige admitted. "but when you’re gone, i miss you more than all of that combined."

azzi's expression shifted, turned vulnerable, so utterly revealing as a mix of emotion crossed her face. "i know, p. just two more weeks."

"two more weeks," paige repeated, as if to affirm the truth of it. "then you're done. then you're mine."

"i've always been yours," azzi said quietly.

paige pulled her up into a lazy kiss, slow and deep and thorough. when they broke apart, she pressed her forehead to azzi's, breathing her in.

"yeah," she whispered. "i know, princess. me too."

eventually, azzi untangled herself, stood on legs that looked unsteady. she paused at the top of the stairs that led down to the beach, turning to look over her shoulder at paige still sprawled on the floor, and smiled. the moonlight caught her just right—porcelain and pearlescent, haloing her dark hair like an angel’s kiss, her skin luminous—and for a moment, time stopped entirely.

paige tried to commit it to memory: the divine curve of azzi's neck, the perfect slope of her bare shoulders, the deep pink of her kiss-swollen lips, her hips in the light and the shadows that striped across her legs and stomach, paige’s bite marks left littered along her thighs, ruby and iris.

the world often proved her too unearthly to be real, but she was real nonetheless.

and paige could never believe it.

"let's go swim," azzi said, and her voice carried on the air, taken up with the salt mist of the water just off to the edge.

with the request, the world rushed back in: the mellow surge of the waves, the cry of the birds still loitering along the water, the feel of smoothed wood beneath paige's palms as she pushed herself up.

"let's race," paige called out, scrambling to the stairs eagerly, bare feet hitting every other step.

azzi laughed as she shouted after her—that is so not fair! you got a head start!—and took off running, hair streaming behind her like a meteor’s streak. when she passed paige, the other woman continued to follow, but not too closely, purposefully slowing down.

she held back just enough, let azzi sail ahead like a shooting star across the sand, her body a blur of unbridled joy.

paige could have caught her—probably. but she didn't.

she let azzi win, an inverse of the way azzi always did when it mattered for paige, when the winning meant getting to watch her celebrate. she let her crash into the waves first with a whoop of victory, watched her turn back with that triumphant grin, arms raised to the sky like she'd conquered something more than a footrace.

paige stood still, raised her hands until she fixed them into the shape of a faux camera frame, pretending to take the shot.

azzi posed, mouth pouty, eyes bright because she always got the joke.

here, paige thought. my heaven is here.

then paige dropped her hands and ran, gaining momentum to take azzi down around the waist into the salt and the blue. the moon was bright enough to pierce the water, and paige saw azzi in all its glow.

angel on fire.

eudaemonia.

you’d seen her argue passionately with a vending machine for four full minutes after it gave her extra chips, not complaining, celebrating, giving it a genuine speech about integrity and reward.

you’d seen her walk into a film session fifteen minutes late with a breakfast sandwich and no apology and somehow make geno laugh anyway you had known, intellectually, what you were getting into but this, this is something new.

“you’re mic’d up,” you remind her during the first timeout of the second half you’re down four it’s a home game, gampel loud and close around you, and geno is at the whiteboard drawing out adjustments with the focused energy of a man who does not have time for anything that isn’t basketball.

paige is standing next to you with her elbow propped on your shoulder like you are a piece of furniture she has personally claimed like this is just where her elbow lives now. “i know,” she says pleasantly.

“paige. the whole country can hear you.”

“i know,” she says again, same tone, zero concern, and then she turns slightly toward her own collar and says, louder, with the deliberate energy of someone making an announcement: “my girlfriend is the prettiest player on this team and i will not be taking questions at this time.”

the timeout explodes nika loses it first full body, hand over her mouth, turning away like she can hide it. aubrey makes a noise that is not a basketball player noise.

ice throws her head back completely, done, gone, not coming back kk pulls her jersey up over her face. azzi, who is famously the most composed person on this roster, makes a sound in the back of her throat that is, without question, a wheeze.

even aaliyah, still operating under the impression that she should probably be professional, covers her face with both hands geno does not look up from the whiteboard.

“bueckers.”

“coach.”

“are you done.”

“yes sir.”

he keeps drawing, sets it up, taps the board twice a full five seconds of blessed silence while he walks through the adjustment and everyone pretends to be paying attention then, quieter so quiet it’s almost just for you, just breath and words and the weight of her elbow still on your shoulder: “she really is though.” and the mic catches every single syllable of it.

it airs on the espn feature two weeks later, tucked between a segment on the team’s defensive rating and a profile on geno’s coaching philosophy.

they give it a title card they use it as the closer the producer, you will later find out, fought for thirty seconds to include it and won unanimously as your phone doesn’t stop buzzing for four days.

your mom calls, your mom never calls during the season she calls to say, and these are her exact words she seems very nice, honey. paige, who is sitting next to you when you take the call, hears this and looks extremely smug about it for the rest of the evening.

the second incident and yes, there is a second incident, there is always a second incident with paige, this is what you have come to understand about your life during warmups before the villanova game.

it’s a road trip, a night game, the gym still mostly empty when you’re running shooting lines forty minutes before tip.

it’s routine catch, shot, rotate, the lights are up, the music is going, kk is talking too loud about something that happened at dinner and aubrey is responding with equal volume and it’s just it’s normal.

it feels like every other pregame warmup you’ve had for three years and then paige, who is supposed to be on the other end of the court working pull-ups with the assistant coach, cups both hands around her mouth and shouts across half court: “that’s my girlfriend.”

you do not look at her. “number —” a pause, like she’s checking, which she is absolutely not doing, she knows your number, “— that one. right there. she’s mine.”

there are maybe fifty people in the building, students filtering in early, a few parents, the opposing team still in their locker room, every single one of them looks at you.

“paige.” you catch the pass you do not look at her. “i’m just saying.”

“you’re always just saying.”

“because it’s always true.” a beat. “also she just made that shot which, statistically, proves my point.” nika, rotating behind you, makes a sound that she converts very quickly into a cough.

you make the next shot you rotate you are a composed and serious basketball player who is completely unbothered by her girlfriend’s complete lack of social self-regulation you are not smiling you are the picture of calm.

you are absolutely smiling, it is a losing battle and you know it aubrey catches it on your way back through the line and bumps your shoulder without a word.

nika raises both eyebrows so high they nearly leave her face entirely, a gesture that communicates i see you and i will never let you live this down without a single syllable.

you point at her in warning she holds both hands up innocent, uninvolved, completely blameless and she is also smiling, everyone within fifteen feet is smiling, this is what paige does, she walks into a space and somehow makes the whole room.

“still mine, by the way,” paige calls out from half court, just to make sure you haven’t forgotten.

“oh my god,” you say, to the basket.

“i love you,” she adds, bright and easy, and she’s already turned back to her pull-up, already mid-motion, like she didn’t just say that into the open air of a villanova gymnasium with witnesses present.

the ball comes to you, you hold it for a half second longer than you need to. “i love you too,” you say quietly, almost just for yourself.

almost.

azzi appears at your shoulder on the next rotation; she doesn’t say anything for a full beat, just exists there in that steady azzi way, and then. “you are so down bad.” delivered with great tenderness like a eulogy like she is sorry for your loss.

“i know,” you say. “it’s kind of sweet,” she allows, after a moment. “don’t tell her that.”

“she already knows.”

you look over without meaning to paige is on her pull-up again, mid-motion, and she’s not looking at you, but she’s smiling.

that specific smile, the one that means she’s aware of exactly what she just did and she’d do it again in a heartbeat you make the shot you make the next five shots you win by twelve.

the third incident is the one that ends up on twitter and you want this on the record, stated clearly, with full acknowledgement from all parties it was not your fault. not entirely.

you were running on adrenaline and forty minutes of game time and the specific kind of exhaustion that only comes when something matters, when the stakes are real and your body has been spending itself against them for the better part of an hour.

you had just hit the go-ahead layup forty seconds left, three-point game, you had taken the feed from paige on the baseline and gone up and kissed the glass and the crowd had come completely apart around you and then paige had come flying in from the perimeter like she’d been launched, full speed, arms already open, and you had caught her on pure reflex, no thought just hands, just instinct, both arms around her before your brain had even processed what was happening and she had said, right into your ear, warm and immediate. that’s my girl.

like it was the most natural thing like it was just a fact she was confirming and you had turned your head, and she was right there, and you had kissed her temple.

on the court with eleven thousand people watching and three cameras in the building and forty seconds still on the clock.

it lasted maybe one second, maybe less paige pulled back, and the expression on her face was something you’d never seen before not the grin, not the smug look, not the performed unbothered cool.

something quieter something that sat behind her eyes and didn’t have a name yet, something that made your chest do a thing you weren’t prepared for in the middle of a basketball game with forty seconds left and then nika was there, and aubrey, and the crowd was still going, and paige tapped your hip once and said let’s close this out in her captain voice, and the moment folded itself back into the noise.

you closed it out after, in the handshake line, two opposing players told you that was the cutest thing they’d ever seen on a basketball court but one of them said it twice as you didn’t know what to do with that information so you just said thank you and kept moving.

the clip is eleven seconds long whereas someone caught it from the student section, slightly shaky, the sound of eleven thousand people underneath it.

it opens on you going up for the layup and ends three seconds after the kiss just long enough to catch paige’s expression, that unnamed thing, before she pulls back and taps your hip and the camera loses you both in the crowd.

four hundred thousand likes by morning six hundred thousand by noon the caption is just a string of emojis a star, a flame, a broken heart, repeated and the quote tweets are a disaster, a beautiful unhinged disaster, and you watch the whole thing spiral from the hotel bed with your phone held above your face while paige showers.

she comes out in a t-shirt and sweats, hair damp, and looks at you, looks at your phone and reads the expression on your face. “how bad,” she says.

“it’s not bad,” you say. “it’s — there’s a compilation. someone made a compilation of every time you’ve done something like this on camera. it’s four minutes long.”

paige is quiet for a moment. then. “is it a good four minutes?”

“paige.”

“i’m asking.”

“it has eight hundred thousand views.”

she takes this in with the equanimity of someone who has long since made peace with being perceived then she crosses the room, takes your phone gently out of your hand, sets it face-down on the nightstand, and gets into bed with the decisive energy of someone who has made a decision and is not revisiting it. “go to sleep,” she says.

“my mentions are —”

“they’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“paige, there’s a thread. someone made a whole thread. they went back through like two years of footage and found every —”

“babe.” she turns toward you and there’s that thing again, that unnamed quiet, closer now and easier to see without eleven thousand people around it. “let them. okay? let them find every single one.” a pause. “i’d do all of it again.”

you look at her, the room is dim, just the glow from the parking lot through the curtain gap somewhere down the hall you can hear nika laughing at something, full and easy, the way she laughs when she’s really gone.

“you are the most embarrassing person i have ever met in my life,” you tell her.

the corner of her mouth lifts. “yeah,” she says, like this is not new information, like she has heard this before and filed it correctly. “but i’m yours.”

the city hums outside nika laughs again, further away now you look at her for another second two three. “yeah,” you say.

“you are.”

she reaches over and turns off the lamp in the dark, she finds your hand under the blanket and holds it with the easy certainty of someone who has decided and doesn’t need to keep deciding.

you fall asleep like that your phone buzzes twice on the nightstand you don’t check it until morning.

the twitter thread has a title now: someone with a uconn fan account with forty thousand followers and apparently a lot of free time has been updating it in real time since the villanova clip went viral.

it is called paige bueckers cinematic universe: a love story (documented) it has seventeen entries and is pinned to their profile; they update it within hours of any new incident.

you know this because kk told you kk told you while showing you her phone at breakfast with the expression of someone delivering genuinely important news, which, to be fair, she seemed to believe it was.

“seventeen,” she said. “and they’re not even counting the vending machine speech because you weren’t there for that one.”

“i was there for the vending machine speech.”

“then they should count it.” she scrolled. “look, they have timestamps.”

you had looked you had immediately regretted looking entry number fourteen was the temple kiss, and whoever ran the account had captioned it simply case closed. the court adjourned. we can all go home.

you showed it to paige paige read it, nodded once like it was a reasonable conclusion, and went back to her eggs this is your life now geno finds out about the thread on a tuesday.

you are not there when it happens you hear about it secondhand from kk, who was there, who describes it with the reverence of someone recounting a historical event.

apparently one of the assistant coaches mentioned it during a film session, offhand, the way you mention something you assume everyone already knows.

geno had stopped the film and asked, in the specific voice he uses when he is gathering information before forming an opinion, what exactly a twitter thread was and why it had seventeen entries about his point guard’s romantic life.

the assistant coach explained that geno had been quiet for a long moment then he looked at paige and said. “are you done.”

paige, who had not been the one to bring it up, who had been sitting there completely innocent for once in her life, said. “coach, i didn’t —”

“are you done,” geno said again.

“…yes sir.”

he had restarted the film kk tells you this in practice, in a whisper, while you’re waiting for the drill to reset, and you have to press your mouth together very hard to keep it from becoming something audible.

“he wasn’t even mad,” kk says. “that’s the thing. he just looked at her. and then he moved on.”

“that’s worse,” you say.

“so much worse,” kk agrees.

across the court, paige is running a ball-handling drill with complete focus and zero apparent awareness that she is being discussed.

she looks like an athlete, she looks like a professional, she looks, in this specific moment, like someone who has never in her life caused a four-hundred-thousand-like moment on twitter.

she catches you looking winks you look away. “entry eighteen,” kk says quietly, and you say “kk, i will actually end you,” and she smiles like she’s been waiting for that.

the road trip to providence is a six-hour bus ride and paige sleeps for approximately forty-five minutes of it before waking up restless and deciding that your shoulder is a better pillow than the window.

this is not unusual; this is, in fact, so usual that you don’t even clock it anymore, just shift slightly to give her a better angle and keep your headphones in and go back to whatever you were watching.

azzi, across the aisle, glances over and makes a face that communicates that you two are genuinely unbearable with great efficiency. “don’t,” you tell her. “i didn’t say anything,” azzi says.

“you had a whole sentence on your face.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about.” she looks back at her phone. a beat. “she’s literally asleep on you.”

“she’s tired.”

“she slept the whole flight to the last road trip.”

“azzi.”

“i’m just noting,” azzi says, with the precise innocence of someone who is noting on purpose. “for the record. for the thread.”

“do not put this in the thread.”

“i don’t run the thread.”

“you know who runs the thread.” azzi’s expression does something complicated and she goes back to her phone very quickly and you narrow your eyes at her and she does not look up and you make a mental note to investigate this later.

paige shifts against your shoulder, resettles her hand, finds your arm without waking up, just pulls it slightly closer on instinct, and something in your chest does the thing it always does, the thing you’ve stopped trying to name.

azzi, from behind her phone screen, says nothing but she’s smiling you can tell.

the providence game is not close, you go up by eighteen in the second quarter and never really let it back, and by the fourth it’s the kind of game where geno is rotating deep into the bench and the starters are on the sideline in their warm-ups watching the younger players get minutes.

you’re sitting next to paige this is normal you’re always near paige on the bench when you’re both out, it’s just where you end up, gravitational, the way water finds level her knee is against yours this is also normal.

what is not normal is that kk, two seats down, is watching you both with the focused attention of a naturalist observing something in the wild. “kk,” paige says, without looking at her. “hm?”

“stop.”

“i’m watching the game.”

“you’re watching us.”

kk considers this. “i’m watching the game,” she says again, with no additional information, and goes back to looking exactly where she was looking.

paige looks at you, you look at paige some wordless agreement passes between you and you both look back at the court.

two minutes later, your team’s freshman point guard makes a ridiculous no-look pass that results in a layup and the bench erupts and in the chaos of everyone standing and reacting, paige leans in and says into your ear. “you played really well tonight.”

it’s quiet it’s just for you no broadcast, no audience, no mic it still gets you the same way it always does more, maybe, because it’s not a performance, it’s not for the thread or the clip or the eleven thousand people.

it’s just her voice close to your ear and her knee against yours and the noise of your teammates around you. “yeah?” you say.

“yeah.” a pause. “that drive in the third. that was you.”

“that was the play call.”

“the play call doesn’t hit the shot.” she pulls back enough to look at you properly and there it is again that thing behind her eyes, the unnamed one, the one you saw in the villanova gymnasium and again in the dark of the hotel room easier to see now that you know to look for it. “you hit the shot.” you hold her gaze for a second.

“you’re being normal,” you say.

“i can be normal.”

“you literally have a twitter thread.”

“that’s not my fault.”

“paige —”

“seventeen entries,” she says, like this is a reasonable defense, “is a reflection of the documentation, not the behavior.”

you stare at her she looks back at you with complete sincerity kk, two seats away, makes a noise that she converts into a cough so badly it doesn’t even almost work. “i hate you,” you tell paige.

“no you don’t,” she says easily she’s right she’s completely right and she knows it and that’s the worst part, that she has always known it, that from the very beginning she somehow knew exactly where this was going before you did, and she had just waited.

let you figure it out given you all the time you needed and not a single second of pressure. “no,” you say. “i don’t.”

she smiles not the grin, not the performed one the real one, the smaller one, the one that only comes out in the quiet moments that belong just to you the buzzer sounds uconn wins by twenty-two.

the locker room after is loud the way locker rooms are always loud after wins music up, everyone talking at once, the particular chaos of twenty people in a confined space all feeling good at the same time.

geno comes in, does his thing, says what he needs to say, and then pauses at the door on his way out he looks at you then at paige then back at the room in general.

“seventeen,” he says, and nothing else then he leaves the locker room and goes completely silent for approximately two full seconds then nika absolutely loses it.

ice is right behind her aubrey is gone kk is sitting on the bench with her face in her hands making no sound but shaking azzi is the only one who looks unsurprised, which you are filing away for later.

paige, for the first time in recent memory, looks genuinely caught there is something happening on her face that is almost, almost embarrassment she looks at you and you look back at her. “geno knows about the thread,” you say.

“geno knows about the thread,” she confirms.

“are you done,” you say, in your best geno voice, which is not very good something breaks open on her face she laughs, real and full, head back, and it’s the laugh you like best, the one that doesn’t have any performance in it, and you think distantly that you would do a lot of things to keep hearing that laugh, that you have been thinking this for a long time without saying it, that maybe you don’t need to say it because she already knows she already knows she has always known.

“come on,” she says, when she’s done, still grinning. she holds her hand out. “bus leaves in twenty.”

you take her hand kk, from the bench, says. “entry eighteen,” at a volume she clearly thinks is under her breath.

it is not under her breath. “kk,” you say. “congratulations on the win,” kk says.

you leave the locker room hand in hand and the music follows you all the way down the hall.

the thing about the final four is that nothing prepares you for it, not the practices, not the film sessions, not geno standing at the whiteboard drawing it out like a map you can follow if you just pay close enough attention.

not the two years you spent getting here, not the recruiting rankings or the expectations or the weight of what this program means to people who were wearing uconn blue before you were born.

none of it prepares you for the specific feeling of walking into an arena that size with something real on the line and understanding, in your body, that this is it this is the one you’ll remember.

you’ve been in big games you’ve been in games that mattered but this is different in a way that lives in your sternum, a low persistent hum that’s been there since the bus pulled into the parking lot and hasn’t left.

paige, walking beside you through the tunnel, bumps her shoulder against yours. “you’re in your head,” she says. “i’m focused.”

“you’re making the face.”

“i don’t have a face.”

“you have a face,” she says, easy and certain, the way she says everything. “you’ve had it since warmups, your jaw does the thing.” you consciously unclench your jaw.

she watches you do it and doesn’t say anything, which is somehow worse than if she had said something you walk another twenty feet in silence, the noise of the arena building around you, and then she says. “hey.” you look at her.

“we’re here,” she says just that we’re here like it’s the whole point, like it contains everything the two years and the practices and the film sessions and the vending machine speech and the seventeen entries and the hotel room in providence and all of it, every single piece of it, compressed into two words.

something in your sternum settles. “yeah,” you say. “so let’s go play,” she says, and she’s already moving, already ahead of you, already in it the way she’s always in it completely, without reservation, like she was made for exactly this floor.

you follow her you always follow her the game is everything it’s everything in the way that the best games are not clean, not easy, nothing handed.

you go up by six in the first half and lose it in the third and claw it back point by point in the fourth, and it’s the kind of basketball that takes something from you even when you’re winning, that spends you down to the last reserve of yourself and then asks for a little more.

paige is everywhere this is not unusual paige is always everywhere but tonight it’s different, tonight it’s the version of her that you’ve only seen a handful of times, the version where she’s fully unlocked, where every decision she makes is half a second faster than it should be possible for a human person to think.

she finds you twice in the fourth quarter in ways that shouldn’t work, passes that require her to know where you’re going before you’ve decided to go there, and both times you make the shot and both times you look at each other for exactly one second before the game pulls you back with forty-three seconds left you’re up two.

with eighteen seconds left you’re up two with four seconds left, after a stop and two made free throws, you’re up four.

the buzzer sounds and for a moment just a moment, maybe two seconds, maybe less the arena is so loud it becomes a kind of silence a wall of sound so complete it cancels itself out and leaves you standing in the middle of it feeling like the only still thing in the world then paige finds you.

she doesn’t come flying this time, no running start, no full-speed collision she just crosses the court and gets to you, and when she does she puts both hands on either side of your face and looks at you for a long moment without saying anything and her eyes are bright and she’s breathing hard and you are too and the confetti is starting somewhere above you and neither of you are looking at it.

she doesn’t say that’s my girl she doesn’t say anything for the record, nothing for the broadcast, nothing that will end up in the thread.

she just looks at you like you are the thing she wanted to see most at the end of all of this you put your hands over hers.

“we’re here,” you say, because it’s her words and they’re the right ones and there’s nothing else that fits.

something moves through her face that thing, the unnamed one, the one from villanova and the hotel room and the bench in providence except now it has more room, now it isn’t compressed into a single second between plays, now it can just be there, open and unhidden, and you can look at it as long as you need to.

you think maybe you know what to call it now. “yeah,” she says, low and certain. “we are.”

later much later, after the celebration and the trophy and the interviews and the photos and geno’s speech, after nika has cried twice and tried to pretend she didn’t, after kk has documented everything extensively, after azzi has said entry twenty-six with great satisfaction into what she thought was an empty hallway but wasn’t.

later, you find each other in the quiet it’s a hallway off the main locker room, not glamorous fluorescent light, the distant sound of music from wherever the team has migrated.

paige is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her legs stretched out and her medal around her neck and her eyes closed she looks like something poured out and left to rest you sit down next to her, your shoulder against hers. she doesn’t open her eyes. “hey.”

“hey.”

a long beat the music somewhere the hum of the building. “kk’s going to make a whole post,” she says.

“i know.”

“with pictures.”

“i know.”

“the thread is going to be unhinged tomorrow.”

“i know.” a pause. “azzi runs it, by the way. i figured it out.”

paige is quiet for a moment then, slowly, a smile. “i know,” she says you stare at her. “you knew?”

“since entry four.”

“paige —”

“she asked me before she started it,” she says, still with her eyes closed, still smiling. “she wanted to make sure i was okay with it.”

you sit with this for a moment, the specific image of azzi pulling paige aside, probably in the dining hall, probably with her phone already open, asking permission to document your entire relationship for forty thousand followers. “and you said yes,” you say.

“i said yes.”

“why?”

she opens her eyes then turns her head to look at you, unhurried, the way she does everything when there’s no game to get back to, no clock running.

the medal sits heavy and gold next her chest, the fluorescent light is unflattering and she looks like the best thing you’ve ever seen.

“because it’s true,” she says simply. “everything in it. every single entry. it’s all just — true. and i didn’t want to hide any of it.” a beat. “i never wanted to hide any of it.”

you look at her for a long moment the music is muffled the light hums somewhere nika laughs again, her real laugh, the full one.

“i know,” you say, finally and you do.

you have always known, maybe from before you had the language for it, that paige was never going to be someone who hid things.

that choosing her meant being seen, consistently, in front of everyone, with no take-backs and no footnotes.

that the thread and the mic and the warmup announcement and all of it were never really about showing off they were just her.

all the way through. no performance, no edit just paige, pointing at you in a half-empty gymnasium and saying she’s mine like it was the most natural thing in the world because to her, it was. “i love you,” you tell her.

not quiet this time, not almost, just for you just said, clear and easy, in a fluorescent hallway off a championship locker room.

she smiles, the real one, the small one and the one that has always been yours. “i love you too,” she says she leans her head on your shoulder.

you stay there for a while, the two of you, while the celebration goes on without you somewhere down the hall.

the medal is cold when it brushes your arm her breathing evens out slowly, the way it does when she’s finally letting herself come down.

you don’t need to say anything else you don’t need to entry twenty-seven, posted at 2:47am by a fan account with forty thousand followers, is just a blurry photo taken through a doorway. two figures sitting on a hallway floor, shoulder to shoulder, one of them with a gold medal catching the light.