#wbb fic

The first thing Jada noticed wasn’t your game.

It was your silence.

Not the empty kind, not the awkward kind either, but the kind that looked like it had weight behind it. Like you didn’t speak unless the world earned it.

You had just transferred into LSU, stepping into a gym that already felt loud even when nobody was talking. New shoes squeaking differently on the court, coach calling names too fast, teammates already mid-laugh like you were supposed to fit into something you hadn’t even been shown yet.

You stood near the edge of it all, listening more than looking. Stoic face set in something unreadable, but not cold in the way people assumed. Just careful. Like you were deciding how much of yourself was safe to give away.

Jada saw you from across the court before anyone introduced you. She was mid-warmup, ball in hand, but her dribble slowed for half a second she didn’t notice. She’d tell herself later it was nothing. Just a new transfer. Just another teammate. But in that moment, her brain did something annoyingly simple.

Oh.

You’re pretty.

Then immediately after, as if she caught herself doing something illegal.

Focus.

But she kept looking anyway.

Coach called everyone in not long after, clapping his hands like the season depended on it already. Introductions started, names blending into each other the way they always did at the beginning of something new.

When your name was called, you stepped forward without hesitation, said it clearly, no smile, no performance. Just truth. You were aware of the room without trying to belong to it yet.

Jada clapped like everyone else, but her attention didn’t move away when it should’ve. You didn’t look at her. That was the second thing she noticed. Not arrogance. Not disinterest. Just… restraint. Like you were choosing not to look too long at anything that might look back.

And for some reason, that felt louder than anything else in the gym.

The days started folding into a rhythm after that. Morning practices that made your legs feel heavier than your thoughts, film sessions where everyone pretended to understand more than they did, team meals that always ended with the same chaotic energy no matter how tired everyone was.

You didn’t talk much at first. Not because you couldn’t, but because you were careful with it. People misread your face often, you already knew that. You’d seen the way teammates hesitated before speaking to you, like they were unsure if you were in a mood or just existing normally. You were used to it. Still, you didn’t correct it.

Jada, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate much with anyone. She slid into spaces easily, laughter already familiar to people who had known her longer. But she noticed something else too. Every time she spoke near you, you listened fully. Not half attention, not polite nodding. Full attention. Like what she said mattered in a way you didn’t offer easily to others.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

It did anyway.

The first real interaction wasn’t planned. It happened during a scrimmage when rotations got messy and everything turned into noise and instinct. You cut hard off a screen, read the defense a second faster than it expected, and Jada saw it before anyone else did. She passed without thinking. Clean, sharp, instinctive.

You scored.

You landed, looked up briefly, and for the first time your eyes met hers.

It wasn’t long. Just enough.

But Jada felt it anyway, that small internal shift she couldn’t explain yet.

Good read, she said later in passing, like it meant nothing.

You nodded once. Thanks.

That should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Somewhere in the background of all of this, Grace and Bella started to form their own opinions. They were everywhere at once, as teammates like them tended to be, loud in the right places, observant in the wrong ones. They noticed things quickly, especially things people tried not to say out loud.

Grace was the first to lean toward Bella during film one afternoon, whispering something under her breath while the screen replayed a missed defensive rotation.

Bella didn’t even look away from the court. “She’s staring again.”

Grace hummed. “At who?”

Bella finally glanced over, then smiled like she already knew the answer. “Don’t play dumb.”

It became a pattern after that. You and Jada weren’t obvious in the way people expected romance to be. There were no dramatic gestures, no obvious flirting, nothing that would’ve made it easy to label. It was smaller than that.

Like how Jada always seemed to end up on your side during drills without switching herself. Or how you always seemed to appear in her peripheral vision at exactly the right time during water breaks. Or how conversations that started with teammates would slowly lose everyone else until it was just the two of you standing there like the world had thinned out around you without permission.

One afternoon after practice, the gym was nearly empty, the echo of bouncing balls still hanging in the air like leftover noise. You were sitting on the floor stretching, hair slightly damp, breath still uneven from the last run. Jada was nearby, pretending to scroll on her phone, but not really looking at it.

“You always this quiet after games?” she asked eventually.

You glanced at her, then back down at your hands. “Only when I’m thinking too much.”

“That sounds dangerous,” she said.

You almost smiled, but stopped yourself just before it fully happened. “Depends what I’m thinking about.”

That made her pause for a second longer than it should’ve. Not because it was dramatic, but because you said it like it was normal. Like honesty didn’t scare you, even if everything else did.

“You’re hard to read,” she said, more softly now.

You leaned back slightly, looking up at the ceiling. “People usually decide what they want me to be before they try.”

“And what am I?” she asked before she could stop herself.

That time, you did look at her properly. Not quickly. Not guarded. Just direct.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said.

There was something almost dangerously simple about the way she smiled after that. Like the answer didn’t scare her. Like it made things worse in the best possible way.

The friend group started interfering without ever calling it interference. Grace would casually suggest post-practice smoothies and somehow always end up sitting you next to Jada. Bella would “forget” to save seats until the only open one was beside her. It never felt forced. That was the worst part. It always felt natural enough to ignore.

Until you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting practice, the locker room was loud in that relieved, collapsing way teams get when the pressure finally leaves their bodies. You were tying your shoes slowly, taking your time the way you always did when you didn’t want to rush back into the world outside the court.

Jada was nearby, talking with Grace and Bella, half-listening, half-laughing at something Grace said. You caught your name in the conversation once, then twice, but didn’t ask. You weren’t sure you wanted to know the context.

Still, you felt it. That subtle awareness of her presence without needing to look.

When you finally stood, she was already looking at you.

“Heading out?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you said.

A pause. Not awkward. Just full.

“You good?” she added, like it was something she actually meant.

You nodded. “Always.”

That made her exhale a small laugh under her breath, like she didn’t fully believe you but respected the answer anyway. “That’s not a real response, you know.”

“It is for me,” you replied.

And for a second, something passed between you that neither of you commented on. Not tension. Not clarity. Something softer and more confusing than both.

Outside the gym, the air felt cooler than it should’ve. You adjusted your bag strap, ready to walk off, when you heard her footsteps catch up slightly behind you.

“You don’t have to always be fine,” she said.

You slowed, not turning fully. “I’m not not fine.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

You finally looked at her again. Really looked. The gym lights behind her made everything softer around the edges. She wasn’t smiling now, not fully. Just watching you like she was trying to understand a language you refused to translate.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I just don’t like giving people reasons to stay too long.”

That landed differently than you expected. You saw it in her expression immediately, the shift that wasn’t pity, wasn’t pressure. Just understanding trying to form itself into words and failing.

“I’m not people,” she said after a moment.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it.

She wasn’t.

And somewhere in the background of it all, Grace and Bella were watching from the gym doors like they’d just seen the beginning of something they absolutely refused to pretend they didn’t notice.

Grace leaned slightly toward Bella. “They’re so in love”

Bella nodded. “Yeah. Just not aware yet.”

Inside, Jada stood there a second longer than necessary before finally stepping back.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked, like it was casual.

You hesitated just enough to be honest. “Yeah.”

And when you walked away, neither of you noticed how long the other watched until you disappeared past the lights.

But everyone else did.

————

The thing people didn’t get about you was that you weren’t always quiet.

You were just selective.

Around strangers, you were composed—careful, contained, unreadable in a way that made people assume you were distant. But around the team, once the walls stopped feeling necessary, something else came out entirely. Something lighter. Sharper. A little unhinged in the way only comfortable people ever got to see.

And LSU figured that out faster than you did.

It started in small moments. A comment in the locker room that made two girls laugh harder than expected. A dry response during stretching that turned into a running joke. The way you’d deadpan something ridiculous and then immediately act like you didn’t just ruin everyone’s composure.

Jada noticed that version of you early too.

Not because you were loud.

But because you weren’t performing.

And when you weren’t performing, you looked… softer. Not in expression. In presence. Like you weren’t bracing against anything.

It made it easier for her to look at you longer than she probably should’ve.

She just didn’t say that part out loud.

Not yet.

Somewhere between early practices and the team settling into its rhythm, something unspoken started happening around you two.

It wasn’t announced. It wasn’t discussed.

It just… formed.

Like gravity.

You’d walk into the training facility and find your water already next to hers without remembering placing it there. You’d reach for cones during drills and realize she’d already adjusted them in your direction without being asked. You’d finish a sprint and glance up to find her watching you—not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that made you hyper aware that she always knew where you were on the court.

That awareness went both ways, even if you pretended it didn’t at first.

Because you caught her staring.

A lot.

Not obvious, not exaggerated. Just these moments where you’d look up between reps or during breaks and she’d already be looking away too late, like she’d been caught mid-thought instead of mid-look.

The first time it happened, you didn’t say anything.

The second time, you raised a brow.

The third time, you just smiled under your breath and went back to what you were doing.

That one made her ears go slightly red, which you absolutely noticed and absolutely stored for later.

Grace and Bella made it their personal mission to ruin both of your emotional stability in the most casual way possible.

It started during lunch one day when the seating arrangement somehow “naturally” ended with you beside Jada again. You didn’t even question it anymore. That was the problem. It had stopped feeling arranged and started feeling normal.

Grace slid into the seat across from you both like she owned the table, immediately glancing between you two with the expression of someone watching a slow-moving disaster she refused to intervene in.

Bella, already halfway through her food, nodded once toward you.

“Y’all are doing it again,” she said.

You didn’t look up. “Doing what.”

Grace leaned forward. “Existing like that.”

You finally glanced at her. “Like what.”

Bella smiled like she was tired of pretending. “Like you’re already a married couple”

Jada choked slightly on her drink.

You paused.

Then, completely calm, you said, “That’s a crazy thing to say over chicken.”

Grace snorted. “She didn’t deny it though.”

Jada pointed at her immediately. “Don’t start.”

But she wasn’t actually annoyed.

That was the problem.

She never was when it came to you being involved in the conversation.

————

The softness didn’t come in big moments.

It came in habits.

Jada started doing things that didn’t need explanation, and somehow never asked for one either.

Like the way she’d slide you an extra granola bar after practice without looking at you. Or how she’d remember you mentioned offhand that you liked a specific drink from campus and suddenly it kept appearing near your bag like it had always belonged there.

You noticed.

Of course you did.

You just didn’t comment at first.

Until one afternoon after a particularly long practice, when your energy had dropped just enough that you were quieter than usual, she tossed you a bottle of something cold and familiar.

You looked at it.

Then at her.

“This is the third time this week,” you said.

She shrugged, tying her hoodie around her waist. “So?”

“You’re tracking my hydration now?”

She gave you a look. “You say that like it’s weird.”

“It is weird.”

“It’s not.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Why do you know what I like.”

That made her pause just long enough for it to matter.

Then she said, way too casually, “You mentioned it once.”

You blinked.

“That was like two weeks ago.”

“I know.”

“…and you remembered it.”

Now she looked at you properly. Like the question wasn’t difficult, just unnecessary.

“Yeah,” she said simply.

And that was it.

No big confession. No moment of realization.

Just fact.

Like you were something worth remembering.

The bus rides became their own kind of language.

Not romantic in the obvious way people expected romance to look like.

Just… consistent.

You’d sit beside each other, sometimes talking, sometimes not. You’d lean your head back against the seat and close your eyes while she scrolled through her phone. She’d nudge your arm when the bus hit bumps too hard, not because you needed it, but because she knew you’d pretend you didn’t react otherwise.

Once, you fell asleep without meaning to.

When you woke up, your hoodie was pulled slightly over your shoulder.

You hadn’t even noticed her doing it.

When you looked at her, she was already looking out the window like nothing had happened.

But her hand was resting a little too close to yours to be accidental.

You didn’t move it.

Neither did she.

By the time people stopped pretending they weren’t watching you both, it wasn’t even subtle anymore.

Teammates would start conversations and somehow end them directed at you two instead. Coaches would assign pair drills and not even try to hide the pattern anymore. Even film sessions started feeling like everyone was just waiting for you to sit near each other without making it obvious.

Which you always did anyway.

At some point, it stopped being something people joked about and started being something they expected.

And on the court, Jada caught you during a drill, passing you the ball a second earlier than necessary just to see if you were paying attention.

You were.

Of course you were.

And when you scored, you looked back at her without thinking.

She didn’t smile big.

Just that small one again.

The one she tried to hide.

The one you were starting to recognize too well.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away immediately after.

————

The team has settled. The chaos has softened into routine. Wins and losses blur into practices, bus rides, shared meals, inside jokes that no one remembers starting.

And somewhere inside all of that, you’ve started changing without announcing it.

It wasn’t sudden.

It was gradual in the way mornings become familiar without you noticing.

At first, it was just small things. You laughing a little longer at something Bella said instead of just exhaling through your nose like usual. Grace calling you “less intimidating now” like it was an observation and not an accusation. Teammates reacting like your smile was still rare enough to be news when it wasn’t anymore.

Because it wasn’t rare anymore.

Not around her.

Jada was the reason you stopped treating silence like armor all the time.

She didn’t force it. She didn’t try to pry anything open. She just… stayed close enough that you stopped feeling like you had to keep everything locked down.

It showed up in the smallest ways first.

Like how you started leaning into conversations instead of ending them early. How your responses got quicker when she was the one talking. How you started looking for her on the court without realizing you were doing it.

And how, once you found her, your expression softened before you could stop it.

She noticed everything.

Of course she did.

She always did.

There was one practice where it became obvious even to you.

You had just finished a fast break drill, slightly out of breath, hair messy in that effortless way athletes never plan for. You caught Jada already looking at you again from near the baseline.

This time, instead of ignoring it, you tilted your head slightly.

Caught her.

A small pause.

Then you smiled.

Not big. Not performative. Just there.

Like it belonged.

Jada blinked like she forgot what she was doing for half a second.

And you, instead of looking away like you used to, just walked past her and bumped her shoulder lightly as you went.

Barely anything.

But it made her stop talking mid-sentence to someone else.

Grace saw it immediately.

Bella saw it too.

They didn’t even need to speak. They just looked at each other like they were witnessing a slow disaster finally turn into confirmation.

Because now it wasn’t just Jada orbiting you.

It was both of you circling something neither of you had named yet.

It started getting worse in the best way after that.

You began sitting closer without thinking about it. Not because anyone arranged it. Just because it felt normal now. Your presence near her didn’t feel like something to question anymore.

And she started doing the same.

You’d find her leaning slightly into your space during team talks, shoulder almost brushing yours, like distance had become optional. During film sessions, you’d catch her quietly reacting to your comments under her breath, like she was sharing a conversation with you even when she wasn’t speaking directly.

You started responding back the same way.

A glance instead of words. A small expression. A look that said you understood what she meant before she finished saying it.

And sometimes, a wink.

The first time it happened, it wasn’t planned.

You had just made a sarcastic comment in the locker room that made Bella laugh too hard and Grace shake her head like she was exhausted by your existence. When you looked over, Jada was already looking at you.

You didn’t even think.

Just gave her a quick wink.

It was instant chaos.

Not outwardly.

Internally.

Jada went still for half a second like her brain stopped processing language. Then she looked away too fast, pretending to adjust her hoodie like it suddenly became extremely important.

You didn’t even realize what you did until later.

But you noticed something important.

Jada didn’t stop looking at you after that.

She just started doing it more carefully.

Like she was trying not to get caught.

Failing completely.

The team dynamic shifted fully into something softer too.

You weren’t just teammates anymore.

You were a unit.

Meals were louder. Bus rides were less structured, more alive. People stopped separating into cliques without noticing. Even the coaching staff started using words like “chemistry” more often when talking about the team, like something had naturally clicked into place.

And somehow, without effort, you and Jada became part of the center of it.

Not because you tried.

Because you didn’t have to.

There was a moment after a close win that sealed it for everyone but neither of you.

The gym was loud, buzzing, full of relief and adrenaline. Teammates were celebrating everywhere, shouting, laughing, collapsing into each other in exhaustion and joy.

You were standing near the bench, catching your breath, when Jada came up beside you.

Neither of you said anything at first.

Just stood there in the noise.

Then she bumped your shoulder lightly.

You looked at her.

She looked back.

And without thinking, you smiled again.

This time it stayed.

Longer.

Easier.

Like it had always been there waiting for permission.

Jada’s expression softened in a way she didn’t even try to hide this time.

“Good game,” she said.

You nodded. “Yeah. We were solid.”

A pause.

Then you added, quieter, “You were really good.”

Her eyes flicked to yours.

Just for a second too long.

“Yeah?” she asked.

You shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah.”

And instead of turning away like you would’ve weeks ago, you stayed right there.

Close enough that neither of you had to raise your voice.

Close enough that it didn’t feel accidental anymore.

Just inevitable.

————

It didn’t happen all at once.

That was the thing that made it dangerous.

It started with you noticing her differently before you even admitted it to yourself. Not in a dramatic way. Just moments that lingered longer than they should have.

Like when she’d finish practice with her hoodie half off her shoulders, hair slightly messy, breathing still uneven from drills, and you’d look up at the wrong time and think—too casually, too honestly—that she looked really good like that.

Or when she’d laugh at something Grace said, head tilted slightly back, completely unguarded for half a second, and your brain would do that annoying thing where it paused just long enough for the thought to slip through.

Hot.

Then you’d immediately try to act normal about it.

And the worst part was, you were getting worse at hiding it.

Jada noticed.

Of course she did.

She always noticed.

It started showing in how she reacted to you now. Not louder, not obvious, but closer. Like she was testing how far she could exist in your space before you moved away.

And you weren’t moving away anymore.

You were staying.

That was new for both of you.

The first time it turned into something that felt like possession, it was so casual you almost missed it.

You were sitting on the bench after practice, leaning forward slightly, talking to Bella and Grace while Jada stood nearby, half-listening, towel over her shoulder. Someone from another group wandered over mid-conversation and sat down right next to you like it was nothing.

Too close.

Not inappropriate. Just… unaware.

You didn’t even react.

But Jada did.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the space between you and the girl for a second too long. Then she walked over, slow, calm, like she was just joining the conversation.

And she stood directly behind you.

Not beside.

Behind.

Her hand brushed the back of your chair as she leaned slightly forward, cutting the space without announcing it.

“Didn’t know we were moving seats,” she said lightly.

It wasn’t directed at you.

It was directed at the space.

The girl shifted away almost immediately.

Grace’s head turned so fast you’d think she heard a whistle.

Bella looked like she was trying not to laugh.

You just tilted your head slightly, glancing up at Jada.

“Everything good?” you asked.

Jada looked down at you.

For a second too long.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just didn’t like that.”

You blinked. “Didn’t like what?”

But she was already moving like it didn’t matter anymore.

Like she hadn’t just erased someone’s entire presence from the conversation.

And the weirdest part?

You didn’t hate it.

After that, things started becoming too casual.

Her hand would rest on your shoulder for a second longer than necessary when passing behind you. You’d adjust her sleeve without thinking when it was twisted during warmups. She’d hand you your water bottle already opened, and you’d take it without questioning why that felt normal now.

Touch stopped being an event.

It started becoming language.

And with that came the awareness neither of you were fully admitting yet.

That it felt good.

Too good.

The shift in you was the one she reacted to first.

Because you started smiling at her more. Not polite smiles. Not small ones.

Real ones.

Especially when she said something ridiculous in practice and you caught her mid-serious face trying not to laugh at her own joke.

You started leaning into her space when talking instead of standing apart.

You started touching her back briefly when passing by.

Nothing dramatic.

But it changed the way she looked at you.

Like she was recalibrating something internally.

And then came the moment you didn’t plan.

After a long drill, you were standing with Grace and Bella, still catching your breath, hair slightly damp, shirt sticking just enough from sweat, laughing at something Bella said.

You didn’t see Jada watching you at first.

But she was.

And when she finally walked over, she didn’t interrupt the conversation.

She just stood beside you and said your name.

You turned slightly.

And she looked at you like she was deciding something.

Then, very casually, she reached out and fixed a strand of your hair that had fallen out of place from your ponytail.

Just that.

Simple.

Normal.

Except she didn’t pull her hand away immediately.

And you didn’t step back.

The air changed.

Not loudly.

Just enough that Bella stopped talking mid-sentence.

Grace slowly looked between you two like she was watching something cross a line without permission.

You swallowed once, quietly.

“You good?” you asked, softer than before.

Jada’s eyes flicked to yours.

And there it was again—that pause she always took when she was about to say something honest but didn’t want witnesses for it.

“Yeah,” she said.

But her hand was still there.

Then, lower: “You just looked… good.”

It wasn’t flirting

It was said like a fact she forgot to filter.

You froze for half a second.

Then your mouth curved slightly before you could stop it.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say out loud,” you murmured.

Her expression shifted just a little.

Like she caught the meaning behind it faster than you expected.

“Why?” she asked.

You tilted your head slightly, still not stepping away.

“Because I heard you.”

That landed.

Not dramatically.

Just clean.

That was the first time it didn’t feel like slow buildup anymore.

It felt like something tightening.

Like neither of you were accidentally close now.

You were choosing it.

And Jada, for the first time, didn’t hide how she looked at you after that moment.

She just let it sit there.

Let you see it.

Let you feel it.

And you very quietly, very dangerously started letting yourself look back the same way.

————

After that day, something in the dynamic stopped pretending to be innocent.

Not in a loud way.

In a way that made everything slightly heavier when she walked into a room.

Jada didn’t get shy about it. That was the difference.

If anything, she got worse—in the best possible way.

She started using it.

Not carelessly. Not recklessly.

Smugly.

Like she had discovered she could look at you a certain way and make you pause mid-sentence if you weren’t careful.

And she absolutely did it on purpose sometimes.

It would happen during practice first. You’d be talking to Bella or Grace, mid-laugh, relaxed in a way you didn’t usually allow yourself around strangers, and you’d feel it before you saw it—that shift in attention.

When you turned, Jada would already be looking.

Not quick. Not accidental.

Just settled on you like she had nowhere else she needed to look.

And when you caught her, she wouldn’t look away immediately anymore.

She’d just smile.

Small. Knowing.

Like she was letting you see it now.

Like she was testing how long you could hold it.

You started holding it longer.

That was your mistake.

Or maybe hers.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked her one afternoon after practice, voice calm but eyes narrowed slightly.

She was sitting on the bench, tying her shoes slower than necessary, hoodie half zipped, like she wasn’t in a rush to pretend innocence anymore.

Jada didn’t look up right away.

“Like what?” she said.

You tilted your head. “Like you’re about to say something stupid.”

That made her finally glance up.

And she smiled.

There it was again.

That confident little thing she started doing now.

“I’m not saying anything,” she said.

A pause.

Then, casually: “You’re just easy to look at.”

You blinked once.

“…you can’t just say that.”

“I just did.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble one day.”

She stood up then, slow, closing the distance between you like she wasn’t even thinking about it.

“Depends,” she said, quieter now. “Do you want me to stop?”

That landed differently.

Not loud.

Just direct.

You held her gaze.

“No,” you said before you could overthink it.

Her expression shifted just slightly at that.

Like she liked the answer more than she expected to.

It escalated from there.

Not in big dramatic steps.

In proximity.

Always proximity.

Jada started standing closer when talking to you, like she forgot personal space had a limit. She’d brush past you and let her hand linger at your wrist just a second too long.

You’d catch her adjusting your jersey collar after drills like it was nothing, like it wasn’t making your brain short-circuit every time.

And you started responding.

Not verbally.

Physically.

You’d fix her hair when it fell into her face after practice without asking.

You’d grab her wrist to pull her somewhere instead of calling her name.

You’d lean into her when laughing instead of stepping back.

And she noticed every single one.

Of course she did.

That was the problem.

Neither of you were pretending anymore.

You were just waiting.

————

The turning point didn’t happen on campus.

It happened at a team gathering.

Something casual. Dinner, music, older atmosphere than usual, everyone dressed differently, relaxed in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal.

And Jada looked unfairly good.

That was the first thought you had when you saw her.

Not complicated.

Just immediate.

Black outfit, clean lines, hair slightly styled differently than practice, confidence sitting on her like it belonged there.

She saw you looking.

Of course she did.

She walked up immediately.

“You’re staring,” she said.

You didn’t even deny it. “You’re dressed like that on purpose.”

Jada tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like you know people are going to look at you.”

A pause.

Then she smiled slightly.

“I only care if you do.”

That should’ve stopped you.

It didn’t.

everything softened into noise.

Music louder. Lights dimmer. Conversations blending. Teammates scattered in groups, laughter spilling across tables.

You ended up near the bar area at some point without meaning to.

Jada was already there.

Leaning casually against the counter, one hand on the surface, the other holding her drink loosely like she wasn’t thinking about it at all.

She turned when she felt you approach.

“You disappeared,” she said.

“I didn’t disappear,” you replied. “I moved.”

“Same thing.”

You scoffed lightly. “You’re dramatic.”

She stepped closer immediately.

Not crowding.

Just… choosing distance deliberately.

“Am I?” she asked.

And her tone wasn’t joking anymore.

It had shifted.

You felt it.

You always did with her now.

“I think you like it,” she added, quieter.

You looked at her properly then.

Really properly.

And there it was.

The thing you’d been circling without naming.

Not confusion anymore.

Just awareness.

“You’re really confident about this,” you said.

Jada’s eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes.

“About what,” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because you both already knew.

The space between you had changed.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

She lifted her hand then, slowly.

No rush.

Just certainty.

And wrapped her fingers lightly around your waist, her thumb moving softly.

Not pulling.

Just holding.

Like she’d been doing it in pieces for weeks and finally decided to make it whole.

“You’re not moving away,” she said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled softly.

“No,” you admitted.

That was it.

The switch.

Something in her expression broke open at that.

Not softness.

Intensity.

Controlled, but real.

She stepped in closer.

Now there wasn’t really space left to pretend.

“Good,” she said.

And then—

No hesitation anymore.

She kissed you.

Not rushed.

Not unsure.

But not soft either.

It was grounded.

Intentional.

Like she had been waiting for permission that you’d been giving her without words for weeks.

Her hand stayed on your waist the entire time.

And when you didn’t pull away—

her grip tightened slightly.

Not possessive in a showy way.

In a finally way.

you wrapped your arm around her head instinctively, leaning into her. one hand under her chin while both of her hands now circled your waist, your body’s becoming flush against each other feeling every part of each other that was off limits before.

When she pulled back, it wasn’t far.

Just enough to look at you.

The noise around you didn’t matter anymore.

She exhaled once, small, like she was resetting something in her head.

Then, almost annoyingly calm again:

“…yeah.”

You let out a quiet laugh, breath uneven.

“Yeah?”

Jada nodded slightly, still looking at you like she hadn’t finished processing how real you were now.

“Yeah,” she repeated.

A pause.

Then, softer:

“I’ve been trying not to do that for a while.”

That should’ve been the confession. it made you smile.

“just shut up and kiss me”

and she did exactly that. and the best thing?

it didn’t feel like the end.

It felt like the beginning of something neither of you were going to be normal about after this.

—————

Game nights feel louder.

Not just noise. Everything feels sharper, like it matters more than practice ever did. The music is too loud, people are talking over each other, shoes squeak harder against the floor. It settles somewhere in Kayleigh’s chest and doesn’t leave.

She adjusts her uniform again even though it’s already fine.

“you’re good,” someone says next to her.

Kayleigh nods. “I know.”

She does.

She just can’t stand still.

They line up near the sideline, waiting. Kayleigh keeps her eyes forward at first, focused on where she’s supposed to be, what she’s supposed to do.

Then she looks up.

Just to look.

Just to breathe.

Her eyes land front row without thinking.

Left side.

Same spot.

KK.

Kayleigh’s stomach drops a little.

She looks away immediately, like that fixes it.

It doesn’t.

“positions,” the captain calls.

Kayleigh steps into place, shoulders back, eyes forward.

Focus.

The first cheer hits clean. She falls into it easier than yesterday, counts lining up, movements sharper. Her body knows what to do now.

She doesn’t look.

Not at first.

But in between counts, in those half seconds where she doesn’t have to think—

She does.

Same spot.

Still there.

KK hasn’t moved much. Leaning forward, watching the court, reacting to the game—

But her attention keeps snapping back.

Kayleigh feels it.

That same thing from practice.

Stronger now.

She hits the next sequence perfectly.

Then she looks again.

KK is already looking at her.

Kayleigh’s timing slips just a little. Barely noticeable. She fixes it immediately.

Still—

She knows.

And somehow, KK does too.

KK leans forward slightly, like she caught it.

Kayleigh exhales through her nose, resetting.

Don’t look again.

She looks again.

Of course she does.

The game keeps moving, faster now, louder, but Kayleigh finds herself stuck in the same rhythm.

Move.

Count.

Look.

Same spot.

Every time.

She starts expecting it.

That’s what gets her.

Not that KK is there.

But that she knows she will be.

At one point, Kayleigh lands wrong off a jump. Not enough to fall, just enough to feel it in her ankle.

She keeps going. Doesn’t break anything. Doesn’t show it.

But when she glances up—

KK is already leaning forward.

Focused.

Like she saw it.

Kayleigh straightens immediately, pushing through the rest like nothing happened.

By the time halftime hits, she’s breathing harder than she should be.

She grabs her water, stepping off to the side.

“You good?” someone asks.

“yeah,” she says automatically.

She is.

She just—

Her eyes flick up again.

Same spot.

Still there.

KK’s talking to someone now, leaning back, but not fully paying attention.

Because her attention keeps coming back.

Kayleigh looks away first.

The second half goes by faster. Or maybe she just stops paying attention to anything except the routine.

She doesn’t mess up again.

But she still looks.

Every time.

And every time—

KK is there.

When the game ends, everything gets loud again. People moving, talking, cheering. Kayleigh steps off the floor, grabbing her bottle, trying to settle her breathing.

She tells herself she’s not going to look again.

She doesn’t need to.

She looks anyway.

The seat is empty.

Kayleigh blinks, frowning slightly.

“…okay,” she mutters to herself.

Of course she left.

“Kayleigh.”

She turns.

KK is right there.

Closer than before.

Kayleigh pauses. “…what?”

KK looks at her for a second, not smiling this time.

“You okay?”

Kayleigh blinks. “…yeah.”

KK doesn’t move. “you slipped.”

Kayleigh shifts her weight. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“It was nothing.”

KK watches her for a second longer, then nods. “okay.”

But she doesn’t leave.

There’s a pause.

Kayleigh glances at her. “…why do you care?”

KK shrugs, like it’s simple.

“because I noticed.”

Kayleigh looks away, jaw tightening slightly.

“…you watch too much.”

KK smiles just a little.

“you keep giving me something to watch.”

Kayleigh exhales, shaking her head.

“…you’re annoying.”

KK steps back now.

“you like it.”

Kayleigh doesn’t answer this time.

She just stands there, watching her for a second—

Before KK turns and walks off.

Kayleigh looks down at her hands, still holding her water bottle.

Her chest feels… different.

Not nervous.

Not tight.

Just—

Something.

Later, when she thinks about the game, she doesn’t think about the score.

Or the routines.

Or even the crowd.

She thinks about one thing.

One spot.

Front row.

Left side.

And before she can stop herself—

The thought is already there.

She’s going to be there again.

Kayleigh’s hands won’t stay still.

She’s already fixed the same part of her dress three times. Smoothed the fabric, adjusted the sleeves, checked the small details no one else would notice.

It still feels like something is out of place.

It’s not.

She just needs something to do.

The dress falls soft around her, simple but not plain, the fabric light enough to move when she breathes. The neckline sits just right, nothing too much, nothing too little, just enough to make her feel like herself instead of someone playing dress up.

It’s her.

Just… a little more.

Her fingers brush over it again before she forces them to stop.

“you’re gonna wrinkle it,” someone says quietly behind her.

“I’m not,” she says, even though she probably is.

She exhales slowly.

“ready?”

Kayleigh nods.

She doesn’t trust her voice right now.

They guide her outside, somewhere quieter, tucked away from everything else. The air feels different out here, cooler, calmer, like the world slowed down just for this moment.

She stands where they tell her to, back turned.

Waiting.

Her heart is loud.

Too loud.

Then—

Footsteps.

Slow.

Familiar.

Kayleigh doesn’t need to turn to know it’s her.

“…you’re taking too long,” she mutters, trying to steady her voice.

There’s a quiet laugh behind her.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Kayleigh rolls her eyes, even though KK can’t see it.

“just come here.”

“impatient.”

“KK.”

“okay, okay.”

The footsteps get closer.

Kayleigh feels it before anything else.

That pull.

That presence.

“you ready?” KK asks softly.

Kayleigh swallows.

“…yeah.”

She turns.

And everything else disappears.

KK is standing there in a dark tux, clean, sharp lines, the kind that fits like it was made for her. The jacket sits perfectly on her shoulders, sleeves just right, everything structured—but she still looks like herself inside it.

Still KK.

Still the same girl who leaned against lockers and annoyed her on purpose.

Just… grown into something heavier.

Something real.

Kayleigh forgets how to breathe for a second.

Because it’s not just how she looks.

It’s how she’s looking at her.

Like she’s been waiting for this.

Like she’s already there.

“…say something,” KK says quietly.

Kayleigh shakes her head slightly.

“…you look—”

She stops.

Nothing feels enough.

KK steps closer, just a little.

“…yeah?”

Kayleigh lets out a small breath.

“…I don’t have a word for it.”

KK smiles softly.

“good. me neither.”

Kayleigh steps forward without thinking, closing the space between them.

Her hands come up, adjusting the edge of KK’s sleeve even though it’s already perfect.

“…you’re shaking,” KK murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Kayleigh exhales, then presses her forehead lightly against KK’s for a second.

“…don’t look at me like that.”

“like what.”

“like I’m about to cry.”

KK huffs out a quiet laugh.

“you are.”

“I’m not.”

“you are.”

Kayleigh pulls back just enough to look at her again.

“…you’re annoying.”

“you like it.”

Kayleigh doesn’t argue.

She just leans in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to KK’s lips before pulling back.

“…we’re not supposed to do that yet.”

“too late.”

KK smiles.

And for a second—

It’s just them.

The ceremony feels quieter than it should.

Like everything softened just enough to let the important things through.

Kayleigh doesn’t look at the crowd.

She doesn’t need to.

She’s looking at KK.

Only KK.

Their son walks down first, holding the rings carefully like they might break if he grips them too tight. His steps are careful, serious in a way that makes Kayleigh’s chest ache.

Their daughter follows, tossing petals everywhere but where she’s supposed to, smiling too big, too proud of herself.

Kayleigh almost laughs.

KK squeezes her hand.

They stand there together.

And then—

The vows.

Kayleigh goes first.

She didn’t think she’d be able to.

She thought her voice would shake too much, that she’d lose it halfway through.

But when she looks at KK—

It steadies.

“…I don’t think there was ever a moment where I didn’t end up here,” Kayleigh says softly.

Her fingers tighten slightly around KK’s.

“…even when we didn’t know what this was, even when we weren’t saying it out loud… I think I was already choosing you.”

Her voice wavers just a little.

She doesn’t stop.

“…you’ve seen me at my worst. You’ve seen me when I shut down, when I get quiet, when I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling… and you never left.”

KK’s expression shifts.

Softer.

“…you stayed anyway. You stayed when it was hard, when it was messy, when it would’ve been easier not to.”

Kayleigh swallows.

“…and I don’t think I ever thanked you for that the way you deserved.”

A small breath.

“…but I will. Every day. For the rest of my life.”

KK’s grip tightens.

Kayleigh’s voice drops softer.

“…you’re my home. Not a place. Not a moment. You. It’s always been you.”

Silence settles.

Not empty.

Full.

“…so yeah,” Kayleigh breathes, a small, almost shaky smile breaking through.

“…I choose you. I think I always did.”

KK exhales like she’s been holding it in.

Then it’s her turn.

She doesn’t look away.

Not once.

“…I didn’t plan this,” KK says quietly.

A soft laugh from somewhere in the crowd.

She barely reacts.

“…I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. I didn’t plan for you to become the person I think about first in the morning… or the one I look for in every room.”

Her voice is steady.

But softer than usual.

“…but it happened anyway. And I’m really glad it did.”

Kayleigh’s eyes sting.

KK shifts her grip slightly, thumb brushing over her hand.

“…you make everything make sense. Even the parts that don’t. Even the days where nothing feels right, you’re still there… and somehow that’s enough.”

A pause.

“…you don’t even realize how much you do. You just exist, and everything gets better.”

Kayleigh lets out a small, shaky breath.

“…you gave me a life I didn’t even know I wanted. You gave me a family. You gave me something real.”

KK’s voice drops just slightly.

“…and I’m never letting that go.”

Her thumb presses lightly into Kayleigh’s hand.

“…I’m choosing you. Every day. Even when it’s hard. Even when we’re tired. Even when we don’t say it out loud.”

A small smile.

“…but I’ll still say it anyway.”

Kayleigh laughs softly through the tears she didn’t want to fall.

“…I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Silence again.

But this time—

It breaks.

Kayleigh leans forward first.

The kiss is soft.

Not rushed.

Not for anyone else.

Just for them.

And for a second—

Nothing else exists.