#wbb lsu

that’s when you know you’re not getting her tonight.

the walk to the parking lot is silent. the kind that presses against your ears until you want to scream just to break it. cicadas buzz. someone laughs across the lot. the world keeps functioning like nothing is wrong.

you unlock the car and toss your bag in harder than necessary.

grace slides into the driver’s seat, shuts the door, stares straight ahead. hands on the wheel. breathing measured. controlled.

you wait a beat.

“are you gonna talk to me,” you say, finally.

she exhales through her nose. “can we not do this right now?” your chest tightens. “we’re already doing it.” she starts the engine. “i had a long practice.”

“so did i,” you snap. then softer, because you hate how sharp you sound. “i was there. the whole time.”

that’s when she looks at you. really looks. eyes dark. tired. guarded.

“that’s the problem,” she says. “you’re always there.”

you blink. “what does that even mean?”

“it means i don’t have space,” she says, voice rising despite herself. “i don’t get to mess up without it becoming a thing. i don’t get to be quiet without you asking what’s wrong.”

“because something is always wrong,” you say. “you shut me out like i’m—”

“like you’re what?” she cuts in. you laugh once, sharp and broken. “like i’m optional.”

that does it.

she slams her hand against the steering wheel. “that’s not fair.”

“then tell me why it feels like this,” you say, tears already burning. “tell me why i feel like i’m begging for scraps of you between film sessions and lifts and interviews.”

she shakes her head. “you know what i’m carrying right now.”

“and where am i supposed to fit in?” your voice cracks. “am i just something you come back to when basketball lets you breathe?”

silence. thick. deadly. that’s when you lose it.

you push the door open and get out, the night air hitting you like a wall. you slam the door, spin around, tears spilling freely now.

“say something,” you yell, hands shaking. “say you don’t want me to walk away.” grace gets out too, slower. controlled. like she’s still on the court.

“don’t make this dramatic,” she says.

that hurts worse than anything.

“dramatic?” you laugh through tears. “i’m crying in a parking lot because the person i love won’t fight for me.”

“i am fighting,” she says, voice tight. “just not like this.”

“then how?” you demand. “because from where i’m standing, you’re choosing silence. again.” she doesn’t answer.

you stare at her, waiting. hoping. your heart practically begging her to close the distance, grab your wrist, say don’t go. she doesn’t. her jaw tightens. “i can’t chase you every time things get hard.”

something in you breaks clean.

“i didn’t ask you to chase me,” you whisper. “i asked you to choose me.” she gets back in the car. the door closes softly. final. the engine turns over.

you stand there, frozen, watching her pull away. watching the taillights disappear. watching her not look back.

your legs give out a little once she’s gone.

you start walking. fast at first. like maybe distance will make it hurt less. tears stream freely now, unchecked, your chest aching with every breath.

“i hate this,” you whisper to yourself. “i hate that i love you like this.”

your phone buzzes. one of her teammates. then another. people who know you. who like you. who saw everything.

hey. you okay?

we’re still here.

don’t go home alone.

you stop under a streetlight, shoulders shaking, hands covering your face.

you wish it was grace texting. you wish it was her footsteps behind you. you wish she’d followed you anyway—even just to say goodbye better. but the sidewalk stays empty.

and you keep walking, carrying all the things she didn’t say with you. it doesn’t explode the next day. that’s the strangest part.

nothing dramatic happens. no confrontation. no announcement. just a subtle, unsettling shift—like the air pressure dropped and everyone feels it but no one knows why. you’re still around. that’s what they notice first.

you show up to practice like always, sitting on the same bench near the baseline, coffee gone cold in your hands. you still talk to the girls. still laugh at the right moments. still listen when flau’jae complains about a media obligation running long, or when mikaylah groans about conditioning like it personally wronged her.

but you don’t look at grace. and grace—who always looks for you without meaning to—doesn’t find you where you usually are.

she clocks it during warmups. not consciously. just a flicker of unease when she glances toward the bench and your eyes aren’t already on her. you’re looking at your phone. or the floor. or literally anywhere else.

“you good?” jada asks when grace misses an easy read in a drill. “yeah,” grace says automatically. she isn’t. it’s small things at first.

you don’t bring her water anymore. you don’t linger after practice. you don’t wait by the tunnel like you used to, leaning against the wall while she untapes her wrists.

kate notices when grace comes out of the locker room and pauses, scanning the hallway like she forgot something.

“you lose something?” kate jokes, light, trying to cut the tension. grace shakes her head. “nah.” but her voice sounds wrong.

at lunch, you sit with the team like always—but not next to grace. never next to grace. there’s a space where you used to be, and no one takes it. it’s like an unspoken rule. like everyone knows better.

mikaylah starts telling a story, animated, hands flying. flau’jae laughs loud, leans back in her chair. you smile when you’re supposed to. nod at the right beats.

but grace watches your face instead of listening. the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. she plays harder. everyone notices that.

grace is sharper in drills. louder. more aggressive on defense. she bodies up an extra second longer than necessary, takes contact she doesn’t need to, jaw tight like she’s chewing through something bitter.

“she’s on one today,” flau’jae mutters under her breath, wiping sweat from her forehead.

jada glances toward you without meaning to. then quickly away. “yeah.”

after practice, when most of the team heads toward the locker room, grace stays behind, putting up extra shots. the ball echoes through the gym—steady, angry, relentless.

you don’t wait. that’s new.

the real shift hits at the first home game after. you’re courtside. same seat. same posture. same everything. except grace doesn’t look for you during intros.

mikaylah notices immediately. her eyes flick from grace to you, then back again. “oh,” she murmurs, barely audible. the ball goes up.

grace plays like she’s possessed—locked in, ruthless, unflinching. she hits shots that shouldn’t fall. dives for loose balls like she’s trying to prove something to the floor itself.

but when the buzzer sounds and the crowd roars, she doesn’t smile.

she goes straight to the bench. straight past you. flau’jae’s head turns slowly. grace’s jaw tightens just a little. that’s when it clicks for them.

after the game, the locker room is quieter than usual. not sad—just tense. the music is lower. laughter thinner. someone finally says it, careful, like stepping on glass.

“are y’all…?” mikaylah starts, then stops. no one finishes the sentence.

you don’t either. you just shrug, small. controlled. “we’re good.”across the room, grace freezes.

for half a second—just half—it looks like she might turn around. say something. correct it. pull the truth out of the air and make it less heavy.

she doesn’t.

someone clears their throat. flau’jae turns the music up too loud. conversation stumbles forward without ever finding its footing again.

later, outside, kate walks beside you toward the parking lot, hands tucked into her hoodie sleeves.

“you know,” she says carefully, “you don’t have to protect her from us.” you stop. the night feels thick. your chest feels worse.

you look at her, eyes glassy but steady. “i’m not,” you say softly. “i’m just done asking someone to notice when they’re losing me.”

inside the facility, grace sits alone on a bench long after everyone’s gone.

she stares at her phone. no messages from you. no missed calls. no footsteps walking away that she can follow this time. and for the first time, she wonders if silence doesn’t just hurt—maybe it costs.

she doesn’t apologize right away.

that’s the thing about grace—she needs the right moment, the right alignment of courage and fear and certainty. and when it comes, it hits her all at once. it’s late. too late for practice, too late for excuses.

you’re curled up on your bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, phone face-down beside you like you’re daring it to light up. it hasn’t. not since the fight. not since the silence settled in your bones.

the knock is quiet. you almost don’t answer it. another knock—softer this time. hesitant. you open the door halfway.

grace stands there like she hasn’t slept. hair loose. eyes rimmed red. hoodie folded over one arm—the one. the gray lsu hoodie you always steal, always claim smells like her even after it doesn’t.

she’s holding flowers. your favorites. the ones you once mentioned offhand months ago, like it didn’t matter.

and chocolate. the good kind. the kind she pretends she doesn’t like but always steals bites of when you’re not looking. for a second, neither of you speak. then she exhales, shaky. “hey.”

your heart stutters. you don’t move. “hey.” she swallows. “can i… can i come in?” you step aside.

she walks in slowly, like she’s afraid any sudden movement will send you disappearing again. she sets everything down carefully on your desk, like an offering.

then she turns to you. really turns. shoulders squared. eyes honest in a way they haven’t been in weeks.

“i messed up,” she says quietly. “i know that’s not enough, but it’s true.” you cross your arms, more for protection than attitude. “you let me walk away.” her face tightens. “i know.”

“you didn’t follow me.”

“i know,” she repeats, voice cracking this time. “and i’ve replayed it every day since.”

she takes a step closer. stops herself. respects the space.

“i thought if i stayed still, it wouldn’t get worse,” she continues. “i thought silence would keep me in control. but all it did was show you i didn’t choose you when it mattered.”

your eyes burn. “that’s what hurt.”

she nods, tears spilling now, unguarded. “i love you. i just got scared of needing you as much as i do.”the room is quiet except for both of you breathing.

grace reaches out slowly and holds up the hoodie. “i brought this because…it still smells like me. and because i know you sleep better when you steal it.”

you laugh despite yourself. a wet, broken sound. she smiles, hopeful. fragile. then she steps in close—close enough that you can feel her warmth, her hesitation.

“can i kiss you?” she asks. not entitled. not assumed. careful.

you nod. the kiss is gentle. slow. her lips lingering like she’s memorizing you all over again. 

one kiss turns into another, then another—soft apologies pressed into your mouth, your cheeks, your forehead.

she pulls back just enough to whisper, “i’m not letting you walk away again.”

you rest your forehead against hers. “don’t say it if you can’t mean it.” she kisses you once more. firmer this time. certain.“i mean it,” she says. “every day. every version of me.”

she slips the hoodie over your shoulders herself, tugging it down like she always does, like muscle memory.

bella’s eyes didn’t leave you once.

later, when you found her outside leaning against the brick wall, you didn’t even say hello before launching into a full recap.

“okay so did you hear when that guy tried to say my framework was weak? because actually—”

you were glowing. animated, hands moving as much as your mouth. you talked with your whole body, like excitement had to escape somehow or it would combust inside you.

bella let you go on for a while.

she always did.

she liked watching you. the way your brows pulled together when you were passionate. the way your voice climbed in pitch when you were indignant. the way you didn’t seem to notice how close you’d stepped into her space.

“—and then the judge nodded when i brought up the statistics, which i knew she would because i literally prepped for that exact argument, and i told maya last week that—”

her hand came up without warning, fingers curled gently around the collar of your blazer as you blinked mid-sentence and then she kissed you.

soft, slow, and deliberate, not rushed. not silencing in a cruel way, just enough to interrupt the current of your words and redirect it somewhere warmer.

your brain short-circuited for a full three seconds when she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “breathe,” bella murmured.

you stared at her. “i was in the middle of explaining something very important.”

“mm,” she hummed, eyes half-lidded. “you explain a lot of things.” that earned her a light shove to the shoulder, she didn’t move an inch.

the contrast between you was obvious to anyone with functioning eyesight. you were bright laughter and tangled sentences and enthusiasm that leaked out of you in every direction. bella was sharp edges and quiet observations and the kind of calm that could unnerve a room into silence.

on the court, she was all focus and fire with you, she was steady hands and small smirks and kisses pressed to your temple when you spiraled into overthinking.

later that night, you were sprawled across her dorm bed, still talking.

“and another thing about public policy reform—”

“you’re still going?” bella asked dryly from where she lay on her back, one arm tucked behind her head. “this is layered, bella.” she turned her head to look at you.

you were on your stomach, chin propped in your hands, rambling like you had endless breath. she watched your lips move for a second too long.

then she reached over, pulled you down by your hoodie yet she kissed you again.

this time you squeaked into it when she rolled you onto your back, hovering just slightly above you, there was the faintest ghost of a smile playing at her mouth.

“what?” you demanded, breathless but still defiant. “you get louder when you’re passionate,” she said. “that’s not a crime.”

“didn’t say it was.” you narrowed your eyes. she leaned down, brushing her nose against yours. “i just prefer this version,” she murmured. “what version?”

“quiet.” you gasped. “rude.” but you were smiling and when she kissed you again, softer this time, your words dissolved willingly.

because the truth was, you liked that she let you be loud. you liked that she never actually asked you to change. she just found gentle ways to anchor you when your thoughts ran too far ahead.

black cat energy and golden retriever devotion.

opposites, sure but every time she silenced you with a kiss, it felt less like being interrupted and more like being chosen. the pmac was louder than any debate hall you’d ever stepped foot in.

purple and gold bled into everything—jerseys, pom-poms, painted faces, the air itself. the band was already warming up, drums echoing against the rafters, and you felt your pulse sync with it as you found your seat a few rows behind the bench.

you had a sign, you told yourself it was ironic but it wasn’t. bella’s name was scrawled across it in messy gold paint, a tiny black cat doodled in the corner because you couldn’t help yourself.

when the team ran out, the arena shifted. volume doubled, the lights seemed to tilt toward the court like even they wanted a better look and there she was.

bella moved differently out there—sharp, economical, coiled. while you radiated outward, she pulled everything inward. her warmups hung loose over her shoulders, headphones resting around her neck. she didn’t smile much during introductions. she just nodded once, jaw set, eyes locked in.

black cat.

predator stillness before motion. you stood on your seat when her name was called anyway, shouting loud enough that the girl next to you flinched.

she pretended not to see you but when she lined up for the national anthem, her gaze flicked up for half a second, yet found you, stayed.

lsu was facing south carolina that night—a ranked matchup, the kind that turned the pmac electric before tipoff even happened. it was fast from the start. physical. every possession felt like a small war.

bella came off the bench midway through the first quarter and immediately changed the pace.

she pressured full court, feet quick, hands disruptive. forced a turnover. dove for a loose ball like the hardwood didn’t matter. the crowd roared when she hit a pull-up jumper from the wing—smooth release, barely a ripple in the net.

you were on your feet again.

“that’s my girlfriend!” you yelled, unfiltered, unapologetic. someone behind you laughed. on the court, bella didn’t celebrate much. just a small nod as she jogged back on defense. controlled, locked in.

but you knew her. you saw the way her shoulders squared a little taller when she glanced up and caught you clapping like you’d just won the lottery.

the game stayed tight all the way through the fourth.

final minute, lsu up by two. the pmac felt like it might actually lift off the ground.

bella was on the floor for the closing stretch. guarding their best perimeter scorer. staying low, sliding laterally, hands active. when the shot clock wound down and the opposing guard tried to force something inside, bella ripped the ball clean.

clean.

no hesitation. she pushed in transition, dished to the corner, assist stamped in the box score like punctuation.

lsu by five.

game.

the buzzer was a shockwave. you were halfway down the stairs before you remembered you weren’t actually allowed on the court. you stopped yourself at the railing, breathless, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

bella didn’t grin, not right away. she shook hands. high-fived teammates. listened to a coach say something close to her ear.

then she looked up and there you were—hair a mess, sign bent in half, eyes shining like she’d personally orchestrated the win just for you.

when she finally made it to the tunnel, you were waiting near the entrance.

she was flushed from exertion, sweat dampening the collar of her jersey, tiger print stretched across her chest. her stat line would show solid minutes, a handful of points, a clutch assist, two steals that shifted momentum. but what it wouldn’t show was the way she controlled the tempo when everything felt like it might spin.

you stepped into her space first this time. “hi,” you said, breath still uneven from yelling. “hi,” she replied, voice low, calm despite the chaos still echoing behind her.

you grabbed her jersey lightly at the waist. she raised a brow. “you played insane,” you said, words tumbling out again, unstoppable. “that steal? and the assist? and the defense in the fourth—bella, you literally changed the entire—”

you stopped yourself.

for once. instead of finishing the sentence, you pulled her down by the collar and kissed her.

it was quick, but certain. crowd noise faded into something distant and muffled. her hands came automatically to your hips, grounding, steady. she didn’t deepen it—not here, not with cameras and teammates milling around but when you pulled back, her expression had shifted.

softer, chosen. “you’re loud,” she murmured. “i know.”

“you were yelling.”

“obviously.” a pause. “that was for you.” her thumb brushed against your side, barely there.

“i know,” she said again.

this time, it sounded different. not teasing, not dry, just sure and as she leaned in to press her forehead against yours for a fleeting second before heading back toward the locker room, you realized something new.

sometimes black cats don’t silence golden retrievers, sometimes they let them bark and sometimes.

you didn't put it on for anyone that's what you tell yourself, anyway, smoothing your palm down your hip for the fourth time in an hour, feeling the fabric cling and give the way it's supposed to you didn't put it on for anyone, but you knew exactly what it would do when you zipped it up in your mirror two hours ago, and you'd be lying if you said the knowing wasn't half the point.

across the room, grace knox is failing to have a conversation you've clocked her three times tonight already impossible not to, the way she takes up space even sitting still, all long limbs and restless hands, six-foot-something forward poured into a black tee that's doing its own kind of advertising.

you've seen her on campus everybody's seen her on campus lsu's worst-kept secret, the freshman who dunks in warmups and pretends she doesn't know cameras exist right now she's not looking at the girl talking to her she's looking at you has been, you realize, for embarrassingly long.

her friend, tall, mouth permanently arranged like she's in on a joke nobody else heard, follows the line of grace’s stare across the bar, finds you at the end of it, and grins like christmas came early.

you watch the whole thing happen in profile, the friend says something, grace shakes her head, the friend says something else, grace’s jaw goes tight in a way that makes you feel low in your stomach for no reason you'd admit out loud and then the friend just shoves her.

physically a palm flat between grace’s shoulder blades, propelling her two stumbling steps in your direction like she's tired of watching the staring and wants the talking to start.

grace catches herself on the bar an arm's length from you, straightens up slowly, tries visibly tries to look like she meant to walk over here the whole time, like this was always the plan and not a friend's patience running out.

"hey." her voice is lower than you expected rougher. "hey yourself." you don't bother hiding that you're amused. "your friend's subtle."

"my friend's a menace." grace glances back and the friend gives an exaggerated thumbs up from across the room, no shame whatsoever and when she looks at you again something in her face has eased, like she's decided to stop pretending this is an accident.

"but she's not wrong that i've been trying to figure out how to come over here for like twenty minutes."

"twenty minutes is a long time to think about walking ten feet."

"you're terrifying. that's why." she says it easy, a half-grin pulling at her mouth, but her eyes are doing something else entirely dragging down, slow, the kind of look that lingers exactly as long as it wants to and doesn't apologize for it. "that dress is not helping my case."

something low in the bar's speakers shifts into a new song sleeker, slinkier, the kind of groove that changes the temperature of a room without anyone deciding to let it.

you feel it more than hear it at first, just a shift in the air, people around you settling into the bassline.

grace's eyes flick toward the speaker overhead and then back to you, and you watch the exact moment the song registers for her the corner of her mouth twitching like she knows it, like it means something, like it's annoyingly perfect timing.

"what." you tip your head, daring her to say it. "nothing." but she's biting back a laugh now, stepping half a step closer, close enough that you catch the low note of her cologne under the bar smell of spilled liquor and air freshener. "just — this song is kind of insane timing, is all."

"yeah?"

"yeah." her voice drops, pitched for just you, the rest of the bar receding into noise. "it's basically about exactly what i'm thinking right now."

"and what's that." she doesn't answer right away, just looks at you really looks, the kind of look that makes you aware of your own pulse and lets a beat of the song fill the silence instead of words, like she's letting the track make the case she's too cocky to make outright.

you get the gist anyway you'd have to be deaf not to."you gonna keep being mysterious," you say, "or you gonna dance with me." that's all it takes as she doesn't need a second invitation.

her hand finds your waist like it already knew the way, warm through the fabric of your dress, and she pulls you in close enough that there's no pretending this is casual anymore.

you let her hand slides up to her shoulder, then the back of her neck, and you feel her exhale against your temple like she'd been holding her breath since you walked in.

she's an unfairly good dancer, hips finding the rhythm of the bassline like her body just understands music the same way it understands a basketball court instinctive, unbothered, a little showy.

her thigh brushes between yours on a turn and you feel the question in it, feel her gauge your reaction in the half-second before she does it again, slower. "you're not subtle either," you murmur.

"didn't say i was trying to be." her mouth is right at your ear now, low enough that it's just for you.

"you've had me losing my mind since you walked in. you know that, right?"

"i had a feeling."

"yeah?" her hand at your waist tightens, just slightly, fingers pressing into the curve of your hip like she's testing how much she's allowed. "what gave it away."

"the staring. the friend shoving you across the bar like you're a middle schooler at a dance."

she laughs actual laughter, surprised out of her and for a second the cocky front slips into something more real, something younger and warmer, and it does something to you that the staring alone hadn't managed. "okay, that's fair. that's — yeah, okay." she pulls back just enough to look at you properly. "can i be honest with you?"

"please."

"i don't actually wanna dance with you in a bar full of people who are not gonna remember this on monday." her thumb traces one slow line along your hip, deliberate.

"i wanna get you somewhere quiet and find out if you taste as good as you look in this dress." heat rushes up your neck, equal parts want and the thrill of being wanted this plainly, no games left in it. "that's forward."

"you want me to be slow about it?"

"i didn't say that." her grin turns wicked. "didn't think so."

her place is fifteen minutes and an entire conversation's worth of tension away her hand on your thigh in the backseat of the uber, fingers tracing slow idle patterns that have nothing idle about them, her mouth at your ear the whole ride telling you exactly what she'd been thinking watching you across that bar.

by the time the door shuts behind you in her apartment you're already breathless, already reaching for her, and she meets you halfway like she's been waiting all night for permission she didn't actually need.

she kisses like she does everything else confident, unhurried, like she already knows she has all the time in the world to take you apart properly.

her hands map you through the dress first, slow drags up your sides, over your ribs, thumbs grazing just beneath your chest like she's cataloguing every spot that makes your breath catch before she commits to anything else.

"this dress," she breathes against your jaw, walking you backward toward her bed, "has been killing me for two hours."

"you gonna do something about it?"

"oh, i'm gonna take real good care of you." the words land low and certain, more promise than flirtation, and she punctuates it by finding the zipper at your spine and dragging it down with agonizing slowness, baring you to her inch by inch. "gonna make sure you remember exactly who had you like this."

the dress falls away, her gaze drags over you like she's committing the sight to memory, and something in the way she looks at you reverent and hungry at once makes you feel more seen than you have in longer than you'd admit.

"lay back for me," she murmurs, and you do, sinking into the sheets while she follows you down, settling her weight between your thighs like she belongs exactly there.

her mouth finds your throat first, then lower, unhurried, mapping every inch of you with lips and teeth and the occasional graze of her tongue that has your hips already lifting toward her, chasing more.

she presses a broad palm flat against your stomach to still you, a quiet command you feel everywhere. "patient," she says against your skin, amused. "i'm not in a rush, baby. i want this to last."

she makes good on it takes her time working down your body, hands and mouth both, until she's settled fully between your thighs and you're a trembling, gasping mess above her, fingers tangled in the sheets, in her hair, anywhere you can find purchase.

when she finally puts her mouth on you it's unhurried at first, devastatingly slow, like she's savoring it, and the noise that tears out of you makes her hum in satisfaction against you.

"there she is," she murmurs, the vibration of it nearly undoing you on its own. "that's it. let me hear you."

she works you open with her tongue and then her fingers, two thick fingers curling deep with a precision that has your back arching off the bed, her name spilling out of you in broken pieces.

she doesn't let up, reads every twitch and gasps like she's studying game film, adjusting, chasing the exact angle that makes your thighs shake around her head.

"good girl," she breathes, the praise dragged low and rough against your skin, and it hits you somewhere that has nothing to do with logic, has you clenching tight around her fingers, chasing the edge she's building so carefully. "that's it, just like that you're doing so good for me."

the praise undoes you faster than anything else could you come apart around her with a cry you don't bother muffling, hips grinding against her mouth as she works you through every last wave of it, unrelenting, drawing it out until you're boneless and trembling and reaching blindly for her to pull her up to you.

she comes willingly, settling over you with a satisfied, lazy grin, lips wet, eyes dark. "you good?"

"barely," you manage, dragging her down into a kiss that tastes like yourself and her smugness in equal measure.

"good." her hand finds your thigh again, hooking it over her hip, settling herself back between your legs with the unmistakable intent of someone who has no plans of stopping there. "'cause i told you. i'm not in a rush tonight."

so when she leans in to kiss you again, slow and certain, you can still hear that bassline from the bar humming somewhere under your skin the song that started this, playing on a loop now in your head, every bit as true as it had sounded across a crowded room hours ago.

she's still catching her breath against your collarbone, mouth pressed lazy and unhurried to your skin, when you decide you're done letting her run the show.

it's not a complicated decision, it's the way she keeps looking at you even now, wrung out and grinning like she's pleased with herself like she thinks she's got you figured out already like the first round was the whole story.

you push at her shoulder, light but certain, and she goes easily, rolling onto her back with an easy laugh, hands coming up in mock surrender. "okay, okay what's that look?"

"you said you weren't in a rush." you swing a leg over her, settling yourself across her hips, and watch the laugh die in her throat, replaced by something hungrier. "didn't say anything about me taking a turn."

"didn't think i needed to." but her hands find your thighs anyway, thumbs pressing into the muscle there, like she can't help herself. "i was kind of hoping you would."

"yeah?" you brace your palms on her stomach, feel it tense under your hands, feel the way her breathing changes when you roll your hips slow against her. "you've been running this whole night like you've got something to prove."

"maybe i do."

"mm." you lean down, mouth at her ear the way hers had been at yours hours ago in that bar. "let me prove something instead."

you take your time with it more time than she gave herself patience for, dragging your mouth down her throat, her collarbone, finding every place that makes her breath catch and lingering there deliberately, watching her composure fray thread by thread.

she's not used to this, you can tell the stillness, the surrender, the not being the one in control of the pace and there's something deeply satisfying about watching a girl this confident go quiet and pliant underneath you.

"you're killing me," she breathes, hands fisting in the sheets instead of reaching for you, like she's making herself wait for permission. "that's the idea."

by the time you finally settle between her thighs she's already trembling, already saying your name like it's the only word she remembers, and you take your time there too slowly, deliberately, drawing every reaction out of her like you've got nowhere else to be tonight.

she's vocal in a way that surprises you, all that bravado dissolved into broken, honest sound, hips lifting toward your mouth before she catches herself and stills, like she's trying and failing to hold onto some shred of the control she walked in with.

"you don't have to be quiet," you murmur against her, feeling her shudder at just the vibration of it.

"wasn't planning on it," she manages, and then loses the rest of the sentence entirely when you prove her right.

you work her with the same patience she'd shown you reading her like she'd read you, adjusting, chasing the exact rhythm that has her thighs tightening around your head and her hand finally, helplessly finding the back of your neck, not guiding so much as holding on.

when she comes it's nothing like the easy, satisfied confidence from before it's a long, unraveling thing, her whole body going taut and then loose beneath you, your name breaking apart in her mouth like she didn't mean to say it that honestly.

you crawl back up her body slowly, pressing a kiss to her breasts, her throat, finally her mouth, and she meets you there dazed and grinning, breathless in a way you don't think happens to her often.

"okay," she says, when she's got enough air back to manage words. "okay. i stand corrected."

"about?"

"thinking i had the upper hand tonight." she pulls you down against her chest, arm settling heavy and warm across your back like she's not in any hurry to let you go anywhere. "you're not what i expected when my friend pushed me across that bar."

"good or bad?"

"the best kind of bad." she presses a lazy kiss to your hair, and you feel the rumble of her laugh against your cheek. "remind me to thank her."

a strip of athletic tape hung loosely around one of your wrists where you’d peeled it off after dismount practice the living room lights were low except for the warm glow of the kitchen island behind it, and the hum of the ceiling fan mixed with the sound of half a dozen different conversations happening at once.

some of the girls had come straight from the basketball facility others—like you—had walked over from the gymnastics gym across campus, still carrying that tired, post-practice heaviness in your legs.

someone had ordered food, someone else had already stolen half the fries as madi was the one who decided to go live. “wait—wait—don’t start it yet,” bella laughed, trying to fix her hair in the reflection of the dark tv screen.

“too late,” madi said, already holding the phone up, the little red live icon blinking to life, she flopped down onto the couch, angling the phone so the camera caught the middle of the living room where most of the girls had gathered.

comments immediately started rolling up the screen. “hi,” madi said, grinning. “we’re bored after practice.” bella leaned into frame beside her. “and starving.” in the background, the room buzzed with movement.

zakiyah and flau’jae were arguing about which restaurant they should’ve ordered from. mikaylah was sitting on the arm of the couch scrolling through the comments, reading them out loud between laughs. “someone said—” she squinted. “someone said we look like we survived practice barely.”

“barely is accurate,” zakiyah said from the floor, dramatic as ever. “that’s because y’all don’t have to flip for four hours,” liv called from the kitchen. “don’t start,” zakiyah shot back immediately. “running suicides is worse.”

the chat kept moving faster questions about practice, questions about classes as someone asked if they were watching the gymnastics meet that weekend bella leaned closer to the phone again.

“yeah obviously,” she said immediately. “we always watch.”

“supporting our basketball girlies,” madi added, nodding as mikaylah scrolled again. “someone asked which gymnast has the best floor routine.”

“that’s easy,” bella said. “y/n.”

zakiyah snapped her fingers. “facts, the one where she did the double layout? crazy.” in the kitchen, haleigh was leaning against the counter eating straight from the takeout container while liv tried to steal a dumpling off her plate.

“liv,” haleigh said flatly.

“what.”

“get your own.” the camera caught pieces of everything laughing, food containers, basketball hoodies and practice shorts scattered across the room but it didn’t catch the hallway.

not really.

which is where you were, your bedroom door was half open, warm light spilling into the hallway as you leaned back against the wall just outside it. 

your hair was still slightly damp from the shower you’d rushed through after practice, the ends curling softly at the collar of the oversized lsu gymnastics hoodie you’d pulled on.

your legs still felt a little shaky from beam dismounts earlier grace stood in front of you, one hand resting lightly on your waist like it had naturally found its place there.

she had changed into one of her old practice tees and sweatpants, brown hair falling out of a messy bun that had clearly given up halfway through the night. there was still a faint mark from her headband across her forehead.

she’d come over with the rest of the basketball team after practice like she had a hundred times before except this time the apartment was louder than usual and somehow you’d both ended up slipping into the hallway without anyone noticing.

you’d both told yourselves you’d be careful that the teams hanging out together meant you had to be careful three months of dating quietly had made both of you good at that or at least you thought it had.

“they’re live again,” you murmured, nodding slightly toward the living room grace smirked. “they’re always live.”

her voice was soft, low in the quiet hallway, like the rest of the apartment existed in another world a few feet away you rolled your eyes. “someone’s gonna notice you’re gone.”

“someone’s gonna notice you’re gone,” she corrected, leaning a little closer you could still hear the live through the wall.

bella laughed at zakiyah saying something loud enough that everyone started talking over each other someone yelling about stolen fries but here it felt quieter, smaller.

grace’s thumb brushed absentmindedly against the side of your hoodie, tracing the seam where the fabric folded near your waist. “you’re thinking too much again,” she murmured you lifted an eyebrow. “i’m not thinking.”

“you get this little line here when you are.” she tapped lightly between your brows you swatted her hand away, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed you. “shut up.” she laughed quietly under her breath. “gymnast brain,” she teased softly. “always overthinking landings and everything else.”

“basketball players literally run into people for a living,” you said. “strategically.”

“sure.” she grinned then she leaned in as it wasn’t rushed, it never was with grace. 

the first brush of her lips was soft, like she was checking if you’d pull away even though she knew you wouldn’t. 

your hand slid automatically into the front of her shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as she deepened it just slightly her hand tightened a little at your waist.

the hallway light flickered when someone in the living room turned something on. neither of you noticed the phone on the coffee table had shifted when madi set it down, the camera now angled a little wider than before.

wide enough to catch the hallway behind the couch at first nothing happened, the live continued like normal. “wait—read that one,” flau’jae said, pointing at the screen.

bella leaned forward dramatically. “okay someone asked—who’s the funniest on the team?”

“me.” zakiyah said instantly everyone groaned.

“absolutely not.”

“zakiyah you laugh at your own jokes,” mikaylah said. “because they’re funny.” mikaylah was still reading the comments when she paused her eyebrows knit together.

“wait.”

bella glanced up. “what?”

“hold on.” she leaned closer to the screen, squinting. “what are you looking at?” madi asked.

mikaylah didn’t answer immediately; instead, she tilted the phone just slightly and the hallway came into clearer view at the very edge of the frame just enough to see two figures pressed close together.

bella blinked. “wait.” zakiyah followed their gaze then her eyes widened. “yo.”

in the hallway, grace had you pinned gently against the wall now, one hand braced beside your head while the other rested firmly at your waist.

your fingers were tangled in the back of her shirt, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, slow and distracted and completely unaware of anything else the live chat exploded the comments started flying so fast they blurred bella slapped a hand over her mouth.

“IS THAT—”

madi whipped around so fast she nearly knocked the phone over.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT—”

zakiyah was already halfway standing. “nahhhhh,” she laughed, pointing toward the hallway. “nah you gotta be kidding me.” flau’jae leaned forward trying to see better.

“that’s grace.” mikaylah nodded slowly. “and that’s definitely y/n.” someone in the back yelled, “OH MY GOD THEY’RE STILL GOING—”

because you were oblivious, grace pulled back just enough to murmur something against your lips, something that made you laugh softly before kissing her again with that the living room erupted. “HEY!”

the shout echoed down the hallway and you both froze slowly, very slowly you turned your heads every single person in the living room was staring.

zakiyah, bella, madi, flau’jae, mikaylah, liv halfway through eating a dumpling and haleigh still holding the takeout container.

the phone was still live and the chat was losing its mind as grace blinked once and twice then looked at you. “well,” she said under her breath. bella’s voice broke through first, half hysterical with laughter.

“YOU TWO WANNA EXPLAIN?”

zakiyah had fully stood up now, hands on her hips like she’d just caught something unbelievable. “three months,” flau’jae guessed immediately. “i’m calling it.”

“longer,” mikaylah said.

madi grabbed the phone and spun it toward the hallway, zooming in like she couldn’t help herself. “the internet just watched that whole thing.” your eyes widened.

“madi—”

“oh it’s too late now,” zakiyah said, laughing while the comments were flying.

someone had already typed LSU gymnastics x LSU basketball confirmed??? you stared at the camera then at the room then back at grace she rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks pink but smiling anyway.

“…so,” she said quietly.

“secret’s out.”

yet for a moment there was just silence, not the comfortable kind either—the kind that buzzed with energy, with shock, with about twenty people trying to process something at once. 

the comments on the live were moving so fast they were almost impossible to read now, a blur of caps lock and question marks and laughing emojis bella was the first one to recover.

“WAIT.” she scrambled closer to the phone, nearly knocking madi’s knee in the process. “WAIT WAIT WAIT—hold on,” she said, pointing dramatically between the two of you. “hold on.”

zakiyah burst out laughing behind her. “bella’s about to start an interrogation,” she said as madi leaned forward slowly, elbows on her knees, staring at you and grace like she was putting together a puzzle.

“you two,” she said carefully, “have been sitting back there making out on the couch this whole time.” grace let out a small laugh beside you, the kind that came from nerves and relief all tangled together.

“technically,” she said, “it’s your floor.” that made zakiyah laugh harder while the camera was still rolling, still pointed right at the living room chaos as the comments absolutely exploded.

@graceknoxfann2 ARE THEY DATING!!

@user219 NO WAY!!

@ynfan21_ THEY WERE KISSING IN THE BACKGROUND???

@yourfavs2! LSU POWER COUPLE

bella spun around dramatically so fast her ponytail whipped across her shoulder. “HOW LONG.” you blinked. “hi bella.” “HOW LONG!!” she repeated, louder.

grace shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours, warmth still lingering where your hands had been on her a minute ago, you could feel her fighting a grin even while her face stayed pink.

“a few months,” she admitted that answer caused an immediate eruption. “WHAT?!” madi yelled.

zakiyah slapped the back of the couch. “YOU LIARS.”

you sank back against the wall behind you, one hand sliding over your face as laughter bubbled up despite yourself with the secret had been sitting in your chest for months now—every shared look at practice, every quick kiss in empty hallways, every time someone walked into a room and the two of you had to pretend nothing was happening and now it was just out.

completely out, bella looked personally betrayed. “we share a group chat,” she said slowly. “a group chat.” grace shrugged a little, leaning back on her hands.

“yeah.” mikylah leaned over the couch again, pointing dramatically at the both of you. “i KNEW it,” she said. madi turned immediately. “you did NOT know it.”

“i suspected it,” zakiyah corrected, nodding proudly. “no you didn’t,” madi said.

“okay fine,” divine admitted, grinning. “but i should’ve.” bella suddenly whipped back toward the phone.“GUYS,” she said to the live, voice full of theatrical shock. “apparently we’ve been living with a SECRET RELATIONSHIP.”

the comment section went even faster.

someone typed:

@graceknoxfann2 THE WAY THEY WERE JUST CASUALLY MAKING OUT

another:

@ynfan21_ THEY LOOK SO COMFORTABLE THO

zakiyah squinted toward the back of the room again. “wait wait wait,” she said, pointing again. “so when we walked in earlier—” grace immediately started laughing. “no.”

“YES,” bella said, gasping you buried your face in your hands again, laughing helplessly now madi leaned back on the couch dramatically. “i cannot believe this.” but she was smiling.

really smiling, the kind that made it obvious nobody was actually upset—just shocked and wildly entertained. grace nudged your shoulder gently with hers, voice dropping quieter so it stayed mostly between the two of you. “you okay?”

you turned your head to look at her the nervousness you had expected to feel wasn’t really there anymore if anything, there was this strange, light feeling in your chest, like a weight had finally lifted.

everyone knew no more hiding, no more pretending you were just friends passing through each other’s lives. “yeah,” you said softly.

grace studied your face for a second like she was making sure, like she was searching for any sign of panic when she didn’t find it, her smile grew warmer.

divine suddenly shouted from the couch. “ARE YOU TWO ABOUT TO START KISSING AGAIN BACK THERE.” bella immediately spun around. “DON’T DO IT—THIS IS A FAMILY LIVE.”

that only made madi laugh harder as grace leaned closer to you again, lowering her voice. “they’re never going to let us live this down.” you watched the room for a second—the chaos of teammates sprawled everywhere, the glow of the phone camera, the laughter bouncing around the apartment after a long practice then you looked back at her.

“probably not,” you said grace tilted her head slightly, studying you for another second and then she kissed you again anyway.

soft, quick, yet so completely unapologetic that the room exploded. “OH MY GOD.”

“THEY DID IT AGAIN.”

“BELLA TURN THE CAMERA.” bella absolutely did not turn the camera she leaned closer to it instead.

somewhere in the middle of it all bella kept moving, quick cuts across the floor, ponytail swaying behind her, eyes locked on the play in front of her even though a small part of her mind kept drifting somewhere else, somewhere far from baton rouge and the bright lights and the roar of the crowd.

long distance had a way of doing that to you, of leaving little quiet spaces in your thoughts where the other person lived.

she had gotten used to it by now, the late night calls when one of you was half asleep, the good morning texts sent hours apart because of practice schedules and classes, the small moments shared through screens instead of in person.

yet most days it worked, most days it felt like enough but today felt heavier for reasons she couldn’t really explain.

maybe it was the pressure of the game or the way the stands looked fuller than usual or the fact that you had been quieter than normal the last few days, brushing off her questions with soft little excuses, saying school had gotten busy, that practice was exhausting, that you’d call later.

she had believed you, mostly but something still tugged at the edge of her thoughts.

the whistle blew and the quarter ended, and bella jogged toward the bench, chest rising with quick breaths, sweat cooling against the back of her neck as she grabbed the towel someone handed her, the arena still buzzing around her while the team huddled together

flau’jae was talking, animated like always, hands moving as she replayed the last possession, mikaylah leaning forward listening closely, aneessa nodding while the coaches added their own instructions over the noise

bella tried to focus, really she did but then the announcer’s voice drifted over the speakers, casual and bright like it always was between plays

“and we’d like to welcome some special guests in the crowd tonight”

the camera started panning across the stands, flashes of people waving and laughing, the jumbotron lighting up with random fans who immediately started cheering louder the moment they saw themselves on screen

bella barely glanced up at first until the camera stopped and suddenly the entire arena reacted in that collective gasp-laugh-cheer kind of way that only happened when something unexpected appeared.

her head snapped up before she even fully realized why and there you were

sitting in the stands, a little breathless like you had just gotten there not long ago, wearing one of her old lsu hoodies that she’d left with you months ago, the sleeves pushed over your hands the way you always did when you were nervous, your smile small at first until the camera zoomed in closer and the crowd’s reaction got louder.

for a second bella just stared the noise of the arena faded into something distant and blurry, her brain trying to catch up with what her eyes were telling her

you were supposed to be across the country, you were supposed to be at usc you were supposed to be watching through a screen like always and yet there you were, real and unmistakably here.

she stood up before she even thought about it. “wait—” mikaylah started, half laughing as she followed bella’s gaze up toward the jumbotron, flau’jae leaned back slightly, squinting at the screen before realization spread across her face,

“oh no way,” she said, grinning wide, “that’s your girl”

bella didn’t answer, she was already halfway down the sideline, hands on her head for a second like she needed to ground herself in reality, then dropping them as she looked back up toward you again.

you waved a little awkwardly when you noticed her staring, your smile turning softer, almost shy now that the moment had shifted from the big screen to something more personal she mouthed something that looked like are you serious.

you just nodded

practice had been rough lately, classes had been piling up, travel schedules had kept both of you running in opposite directions for months, and somewhere between all of that you had quietly bought a plane ticket, packed a bag, and flown across the country without telling her.

just to sit in the stands and watch her play, bella laughed under her breath, the kind of laugh that came from pure disbelief, shaking her head slightly as she backed toward the bench again because the coaches were already calling everyone in.

“i can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she muttered to herself, though you couldn’t hear it when she sat back down the girls were already looking at her.

“you good?” grace asked, nudging her shoulder bella tried to play it cool but the smile wouldn’t leave her face, bright and completely unguarded in a way it hadn’t been all week.

“yeah,” she said softly, glancing up toward the stands one more time just to make sure you were still there, you were.

leaning forward now, elbows on your knees, watching her like you always did when you were proud of her, like the entire arena could disappear and you’d still be focused on nothing but her bella swallowed slightly, something warm settling in her chest.

long distance had never been easy but moments like this made it feel a little less impossible

the whistle blew again, the team standing up to head back onto the court, and as bella jogged past the scorer’s table she couldn’t stop herself from glancing up toward your section once more you caught her looking, your hand lifted in a small wave again, softer this time, something just between the two of you.

bella pointed toward you briefly, a quiet promise written in the gesture wait for me and then she turned back toward the court, a little lighter on her feet now, the noise of the arena rushing back around her while the game started again.

but this time every time she ran down the floor she knew exactly where you were sitting and for the first time in weeks distance didn’t feel quite so far anymore.

the surprise had started weeks earlier, quietly and a little chaotically, somewhere between late night study sessions and the soft glow of your laptop screen in your usc dorm room, the kind of night where the campus outside your window had already gone still, palm trees barely moving in the warm california air while you sat cross-legged on your bed staring down at your phone.

bella’s contact name sat at the top of your messages, the last text from her simple and sweet like always. miss you, call me after practice?

you had typed a response, erased it, typed another, erased that too because the truth was you were already planning something she absolutely wasn’t supposed to know about.

so instead you locked the phone and opened another message thread, the one labeled flau’jae as your fingers hovered for a second before you finally typed. “okay so…this might be a little crazy but i want to surprise bella at one of her games.”

the typing bubble appeared almost instantly “oh this already sounds messy i’m in.” you laughed quietly under your breath, the sound small in the quiet room.

“no seriously, you wrote back, i wanna show up at a game without telling her.”

three dots again then another message

“hold up.”

“like…fly all the way here and sit in the stands type surprise?”

“yes”

there was a long pause after that, long enough that you wondered if maybe you’d crossed into territory that sounded ridiculous when said out loud then your phone buzzed three times in a row.

“oh we doing this.”

“i’m texting the group chat right now.”

“she is NOT finding out!!”

you pushed your face into your pillow for a second trying not to laugh too loudly, your heart beating a little faster now that the idea had become something real because once the team knew, there was absolutely no way the secret would stay small and sure enough the group chat lit up not even a minute later.

mikaylah: wait WHAT

grace: hold on are you serious

flau’jae: her girl flying across the country y’all

mikaylah: nah we gotta make this dramatic

you typed quickly before the chaos could get too out of hand

“i just want to sit in the crowd and watch her play honestly, nothing huge.”

another pause then flau’jae again.

“absolutely not!”

“if we are doing this, we are doing it right.”

you could practically hear the grin in her voice through the screen

“camera moment. jumbotron. whole arena is losing their minds.”

you stared at the messages, half nervous, half excited

“she’s going to kill me.”

“nah”, flau’jae replied almost immediately, “she gonna cry." 

the next few weeks turned into something that felt like a quiet undercover mission

every detail had to be planned around bella’s schedule, around games she’d be too focused to notice anything strange, around flights you could take without accidentally letting it slip during one of your nightly calls.

you learned quickly that planning a surprise with an entire college basketball team involved was…complicated

there were voice notes from flau’jae sent at random hours

“okay so listen,” her voice crackled through your phone one night while you walked back from a late class, “you gotta come to the home game in february because that one’s gonna be packed and the camera crew always looks for crowd reactions, trust me.”

mikaylah sent screenshots of the seating chart

“you need to sit here.” she wrote, circling a section close enough for the cameras but far enough that bella wouldn’t accidentally notice you before the moment, grace mostly reacted with laughing emojis and occasional reminders like. “don’t wear neutral colors, we want the hoodie moment.”

“hoodie moment?” you replied. “the one bella gave you”, she answered simply, “obviously?” that made your chest warm in a way you couldn’t really explain because you still had it folded carefully in the bottom drawer of your dresser, the purple lsu hoodie bella had tossed over your shoulders months ago after one of her games when the arena air had been too cold and you’d been shivering beside her.

you wore it on the plane, as you pulled your hood pulled up slightly while you waited at the gate, fingers nervously twisting the sleeve because even though the plan had been weeks in the making it still didn’t feel real.

you texted flau’jae when your flight landed

“okay i’m here.”

her reply came immediately

“i knew you were serious when you sent the boarding pass.”

“don’t worry we got you.”

the day of the game you arrived early, the arena still slowly filling with fans while the echo of warmups bounced around the high ceiling, sneakers squeaking against the floor in sharp little bursts.

grace had slipped out briefly to meet you near one of the tunnels, hoodie pulled low over her head like she was on some secret mission even though half the arena staff probably recognized her anyway when she saw you she broke into a wide grin.

“you actually did it.” she said, pulling you into a quick hug before stepping back to look at you again like she needed to confirm you were real. you laughed nervously. “i’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

“nah,” she said immediately, shaking her head, “this is the best idea anyone’s had all season.” she walked you toward your seat, pointing things out along the way like a tour guide for the chaos you were about to cause.

“okay so you stay here,” she said once you reached the row mikaylah had picked out earlier, “bella can’t see this section from the bench unless she really trying.”

you sat down slowly, your stomach fluttering as the arena lights brightened slightly and more fans started filling the seats around you

“and the camera crew?” you asked as grace smirked. “already handled.”

about twenty minutes before tipoff flau’jae appeared beside you, sliding into the empty seat like she belonged there even though she definitely had somewhere else to be.

“alright,” she said, glancing toward the court where the team was finishing warmups, “moment of truth.”

you followed her gaze and there bella was running a quick drill with mikaylah, focused and serious in the way she always got before games, hair pulled back, jersey shifting with every quick movement.

for a second you forgot how to breathe because seeing her through a screen was one thing seeing her here, real and close enough that you could hear the bounce of the ball against the floor.

that was something else entirely as flau’jae noticed the way your expression softened. “yeah,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder, “she about to lose her mind when she sees you.”

“do you think she’ll be mad?” you asked, half joking but also half serious flau’jae laughed under her breath. “trust me,” she said, standing up as someone from the staff called her back toward the court, “bella’s been talking about missing you all week!”

she started walking away, then turned back briefly. “just wait till the timeout,” she added, pointing toward the giant screen above the arena. “that’s when the camera hits the crowd.”

with that she disappeared down the steps toward the court again, leaving you sitting there in the middle of a slowly roaring arena, heart beating faster with every passing minute waiting for the exact moment everything would finally unfold and somewhere down below, completely unaware.

bella kept playing like it was just another game.

the game kept moving around her, the rhythm of it familiar, the constant motion of bodies cutting across the court, sneakers squeaking sharp against the hardwood, the crowd rising louder every time lsu pushed the ball down the floor.

but somewhere beneath all of that bella felt different now, lighter in a way she hadn’t expected, like the air in her chest had finally loosened after weeks of holding something too tight because every time she turned down the court her eyes flicked up toward that same section and every single time.

you were still there

leaning forward in your seat sometimes, sometimes sitting back with your hands tucked inside the sleeves of that hoodie, sometimes clapping when a play worked out the way it should, and every time she looked you were already looking right back at her like you’d been waiting for the moment she’d glance up again.

it made her grin during plays she usually would’ve stayed focused through flau’jae noticed first, bumping her shoulder lightly during a brief pause near the free throw line. “lock in,” she muttered under her breath even though she was smiling. 

bella tried to look serious again but the expression didn’t last long because the truth was she couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop reminding herself that you were real and not something her brain had made up in the middle of a stressful game.

once, during a timeout, she caught you pulling your phone out like you were recording something when your eyes met hers. you pointed the camera toward her and mouthed.

“hi!”

bella shook her head with a quiet laugh, running a hand over the back of her neck before the coaches pulled everyone in again. “you good?” mikaylah whispered beside her

bella nodded, still smiling. “yeah,” she said softly, “i’m really good.”

the game felt like it went faster after that, plays blurring together, the clock ticking down in steady glowing numbers above the court while the crowd grew louder with every possession, and when the final buzzer finally sounded the entire arena erupted into cheers that echoed off the high ceiling.

bella barely heard it because the first thing she did was look up you were already standing now, hands gripping the railing in front of you like you were debating whether to run down or wait.

she didn’t wait to find out. “bella—” someone started behind her but she was already moving jogging toward the sideline, slipping past the bench and the cluster of people gathering near the tunnel while security and staff tried to keep the postgame chaos somewhat organized.

someone must have recognized what was happening because after a second the usher near your section stepped aside with a small grin, waving you down toward the court and then suddenly you were walking toward each other.

the distance between you shrinking faster than either of you seemed ready, yet a moment bella slowed slightly like her brain needed time to process that you were actually right there, not behind a screen, not frozen in a paused video call, not miles away across the country.

right here in front of her you barely had time to say her name because the second she reached you her arms were around you.

strong and sudden and a little breathless as she lifted you straight off the ground like it was the most natural thing in the world

“you’re kidding.” she laughed into your shoulder, the words half disbelieving as she pulled back just enough to look at you again.

her hands moved to your face like she needed to make sure you were real, thumbs brushing your cheeks lightly. “you’re actually here”

you opened your mouth to answer but she didn’t give you the chance because the next thing you knew she was kissing you, quick at first, almost startled, then softer and longer when the reality of it finally settled in.

the arena noise swelled somewhere behind you, a few cheers breaking out from people who had noticed the moment, but neither of you really paid attention. bella pulled back just long enough to stare at you again. “how—” she started, shaking her head slightly like she couldn’t even form the question.

“plane,” you said, laughing softly, still a little breathless as she narrowed her eyes playfully. “very funny.” then she hugged you again, tighter this time, lifting you off the floor once more before spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t help herself.

“bella—” you laughed, grabbing her shoulders as the world briefly tilted around you. “i’m checking,” she said, still smiling wide, setting you down only to pull you close again. “checking what?”

she looked at you like the answer was obvious. “that you’re not fake” you blinked.  “fake?”

“yeah,” she said, squinting slightly as if inspecting you, one hand still holding your arm like she didn’t trust you not to disappear. “because i swear if this is some stress hallucination i’m gonna be really mad when you vanish in five minutes.”

you stared at her for a second before laughing “bella” she poked your shoulder “see? solid.” then she kissed you again, softer this time, the kind of kiss that lingered just a second longer than the last.

“definitely real,” she murmured when she pulled back by now a few of her teammates had wandered closer, grinning like they’d been waiting for this exact moment.

flau’jae clapped slowly from a few feet away. “okay so the plan worked?” bella turned her head sharply. “you knew?” mikaylah lifted both hands innocently “don’t look at me.”

bella just laughed, “we helped a little.” bella looked between them and then back at you, eyes widening slightly as the realization settled in. “you were all in on this?” you shrugged a little

“maybe?” she shook her head slowly, clearly trying to process the fact that her entire team had apparently kept a secret from her for weeks, then she looked back at you again and the smile returned immediately.

“worth it!” she decided her hand slipped into yours naturally like it had always belonged there and as the arena slowly emptied around you, the noise fading into a distant background hum, bella stayed close like she was still making sure you wouldn’t disappear the moment she looked away.

pink paper hearts you had taped along the cabinets earlier that morning swayed gently whenever the vent clicked on, their edges fluttering in small, uncertain movements. a candle flickered near the sink, wax pooling slowly, light catching the faint shimmer of the gold ribbon you had tied around the pie tin. the apartment wasn’t extravagant. it wasn’t overdone. but it was intentional.

valentine’s day.

three years.

and the pie—your pie—sat in the center of it all like a quiet monument to the first night you realized you might be in trouble.

you could still remember that first date in startling detail. how bella had shown up slightly out of breath from practice, hoodie hanging loose on her shoulders, apology already forming on her lips. how you had laughed it off and insisted it was fine, though your stomach had been doing something erratic and uncontrollable. 

how she’d taken that first bite of this same strawberry pie and gone quiet—not because she didn’t like it, but because she did. because she was trying to process how something so simple could taste like comfort.

“you made this?” she had asked back then, brow furrowed like she didn’t believe it.

“yeah.”

“you might’ve just secured a second date.” you had pretended not to blush. tonight, as you brushed flour from your cheek and adjusted the edge of the lattice crust one last time, you wondered if she would look at it the same way she had then. if she would remember.

the door clicked open.

not loud, not dramatic, just something familiar as your heart stuttered anyway. bella stepped inside carrying the day with her. practice gear still clung to her frame, lsu warmups slightly wrinkled, hair pulled back but loosened from hours of drills and film. the loss to south carolina lingered in the line of her shoulders, in the tightness at the corner of her mouth. you knew her well enough to recognize it—the quiet frustration, the replaying of possessions in her head, the weight of wanting more.

she shut the door gently behind her, as stood there for a second. inhaled. the scent of vanilla and berries drifted down the hallway toward her.

her posture shifted almost immediately. “you baked,” she said, voice softer now, as though the kitchen had interrupted whatever storm had been building in her mind.

you didn’t turn right away. you wiped your hands on the dish towel again even though they were already clean enough. “maybe.”

her bag dropped near the couch with a dull thud. sneakers nudged off without ceremony. she didn’t rush toward you. she walked slowly, deliberately, like each step into the kitchen peeled a layer of tension from her frame.

you felt her presence before you saw her shadow stretch across the counter and then her hands were on your waist. firm, steady but not teasing.

her palms flattened against your flour-covered shirt, fingers spreading wide like she needed the full confirmation that you were there. her head lowered until her forehead rested against your shoulder, the side of her face brushing your neck. she exhaled deeply, the kind of exhale that carried weight. “hi,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your skin.

your breath caught. “hi.” she kissed your cheek first, slow and unhurried. then your shoulder, lips pressing through the thin cotton dusted with flour. she didn’t pull away afterward. instead, her arms tightened slightly, anchoring you in place, and she began to sway.

back and forth.

back and forth.

a subtle rhythm, like she was resetting her body, recalibrating after a day that hadn’t gone the way she wanted. “i’m sorry about today,” you said quietly. her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. “we’ll fix it.”

that was her. never defeated, never resigned but you felt the edge beneath it. you turned in her arms carefully, flour smudging against her hoodie as you faced her fully. up close, you could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the faint redness from hours of sweat and effort, the disappointment she wouldn’t let spill over.

“it still sucks,” you said gently.

her hands slid from your waist to your hips, thumbs pressing into the curve there as if grounding herself. “yeah,” she admitted, voice lower. “it does.” you brushed a streak of flour from her cheek with your thumb, the gesture soft and instinctive. “i made your favorite.”

her gaze flicked to the pie over your shoulder. recognition dawned slowly. “no way,” she breathed. “way.” she stepped around you to look at it fully, hands still resting on your waist like she couldn’t quite let go. her fingers tightened slightly when she saw the lattice crust, the careful weaving, the gold ribbon.

“you remember,” she said, not a question. “of course i remember.” she laughed softly through her nose, the sound lighter now. “i told the team about that pie once.” you blinked. “you did not.”

“i did. i said if anyone ever wanted to impress me, they had to beat that first date pie.” you felt heat creep up your neck. “that’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she said, stepping back in front of you. “that’s legendary.” she leaned in again, pressing her forehead to yours, and for a moment the kitchen felt impossibly small and impossibly perfect all at once. “three years,” she murmured.

“three years.” as her thumbs traced slow arcs at your hips, and the swaying resumed, softer now, more intimate. 

her eyes searched yours, something thoughtful settling there. “i was thinking about something today,” she said after a moment.

“what?”

she hesitated, not because she didn’t want to say it, but because she was choosing how. her hands stayed firm at your waist, thumbs pressing slowly into the flour-dusted fabric of your shirt, grounding you both in the warmth of the kitchen.

“during practice,” she continued, voice quieter now, “after film. when everything got kind of loud.”

you frowned slightly. “about the game?”

“yeah.” she exhaled softly. “about the loss. about how i get when i’m in my head.”

your stomach tightened a little, knowing exactly what she meant—the way she goes quiet, the way she carries responsibility like it’s something physical. “i kept replaying stuff,” she admitted. “but then i started thinking about you.”

“me?” she nodded once, gaze steady. “about how you talk to me when i’m spiraling. you don’t rush me. you don’t push. you just…steady me.”

your fingers twitched slightly against her hoodie. “that’s just what you deserve.” a faint smile touched her mouth. “that’s the thing.” she leaned a little closer, forehead brushing yours. “i realized you like that too.” heat crept up your neck. “like what?”

“being steadied,” she said softly. “being held in a way that feels…protective.” your pulse quickened. “bella.”

“i’m not teasing,” she said gently. “i’m serious.” the kitchen felt warmer suddenly, smaller, the air thick with vanilla and something unspoken. “sometimes when i say certain things,” she continued carefully, you soften. your shoulders drop. your eyes change. you swallowed. “that’s not—”

“it is,” she said quietly, not correcting you harshly, just certain. her thumbs traced slow circles at your waist again, steady, reassuring. “and i don’t think i say it enough,” she admitted.

“say what enough?” she looked at you for a long second, something tender in her expression. then she leaned in, lips brushing just beneath your ear. “the things that make you feel safe, ma.” you froze, she felt it instantly as her grin widened against your skin. voice playful but edged with something softer. “but i did think about it.” you swallowed. “bella.”

“do you?” she asked gently now, the teasing dissolving into something careful. the kitchen felt warmer, yet smaller. you stared at the front of her hoodie instead of her eyes. “maybe.” her hands stilled at your hips. “maybe?” she prompted. “i like it,” you admitted quietly. “when it’s not a joke.”

her fingers tightened slightly, not possessive, just certain. “when it means something,” you added. bella went quiet, not stunned, not amused but just thinking then she tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze to meet hers.

there was no smirk there now, only warmth. “you like being taken care of like that, ma?” she asked softly. the word landed differently than it ever had before. not loud, not exaggerated, just natural.

your breath hitched, her eyes softened immediately. “okay,” she murmured, as though something fragile had been handed to her and she intended to keep it safe.

she pulled you closer, arms wrapping fully around your waist this time, head dipping to press a lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “you’re safe with me,” she whispered. “always.”

your hands slid up her back, holding her just as tightly. the loss to south carolina still existed. the season still demanded everything from her. the world outside the apartment was still loud and relentless.

but in that kitchen—flour on your shirt, vanilla thick in the air, your three-year anniversary glowing quietly between you—none of that felt bigger than the way she held you. steady yet so sure, like she wasn’t going anywhere. “happy anniversary, mamas,” she said softly and this time, the word didn’t make your knees weak, it made you feel home.

for a moment neither of you moved. the kitchen continued its quiet hum around you—the oven clicking as it cooled, the candle flickering near the sink, the faint rustle of paper hearts shifting in the air vent’s breeze—but the center of the room had narrowed to the space between your bodies and the way her hands rested securely at your waist.

you tilted your head back slightly to look at her. “you’re not just saying that because i baked,” you murmured. her brows drew together in mock offense. “i would never reduce three years to baked goods.”

“you literally told your team about this pie.” she huffed a quiet laugh, thumb tracing a slow circle against your hip. “because it mattered.” that softened something in your chest.

you leaned forward just enough to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, slow and unhurried, tasting faint salt from earlier practice still lingering on her skin. she responded immediately, one hand sliding higher along your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades as if to keep you close.

“i hate losing to them,” she admitted quietly against your lips. you knew she meant south carolina without having to say it. the weight of that rivalry. the expectations. the way the scoreboard replayed itself in her head long after the crowd had gone home. “i know,” you said.

“i keep thinking about the third quarter. that turnover. i should’ve—” you pressed your forehead to hers gently, interrupting the spiral before it could take root. “you’re allowed to have a bad night.”

“it wasn’t just me.”

“i know.” she exhaled again, deeper this time, like she was letting the tension leave in pieces. your hands slid up her arms, squeezing lightly. “you showed up,” you said softly. “you always do.” her eyes searched yours, looking for doubt, but finding none. “and you came home,” you added.

that made her smile—small but real. “i always will,” she replied. you stepped out of her hold only long enough to reach for the pie knife, cutting two careful slices as she watched. her gaze followed your movements with that same quiet attentiveness from earlier, but now it held something steadier. something lighter.

you placed a plate in her hands. she didn’t take a bite right away. instead, she studied the crust, the way the strawberries glistened beneath it.

“you even did the little twist on the lattice,” she noted. “that’s how it was the first time.” she looked up at you slowly. “you remember everything, huh?”

“only the important parts.” she took a bite and just like three years ago, she went quiet as her eyes softened first. then her shoulders dropped. then the corner of her mouth lifted.

“okay,” she said, pointing the fork at you. “this is still undefeated.” you laughed, relief blooming in your chest. “told you.” she set the plate down on the counter and stepped back into your space, hands finding your waist again like they had never left. “you know what i remember?” she asked.

“what?”

“you were covered in flour that night too. you kept apologizing for it.” you glanced down at your shirt, streaked with white, strawberry juice smudged near the hem. “it’s part of the charm.”

“it is,” she agreed then she leaned down and kissed the flour off your shoulder. not rushed, not distracted, just slow yet deliberate.  “three years,” she repeated, voice softer now. “i didn’t know it would feel like this.”

“like what?”

“like…calm.” the word settled between you, unexpected and honest as you reached up to cup her face gently. “you’re allowed to feel calm.” her hands tightened slightly at your waist again, grounding, firm but tender all at once. “say it again,” you murmured.

“what?” she leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “mamas.” heat bloomed through you, but this time it didn’t feel overwhelming. it felt steady, secure. “happy anniversary, ma,” she whispered.

and when she swayed with you again—slow, back and forth, your bodies moving in quiet sync beneath the kitchen lights—it didn’t feel like recovering from a loss or celebrating a milestone separately.

it felt like something woven. three years of late-night practices and early morning games. of wins that felt electric and losses that lingered. of first dates and second chances and inside jokes and flour-dusted counters.

and bella is on the wing, calm as ever. she rises into her jumper like nothing in the world could rush her. release clean. net snaps.

you skid to a stop near the baseline, hands on your knees, trying not to wheeze. “don’t look,” you mutter to yourself.

bella looks anyway. it’s subtle—the smallest head turn, barely there—but her eyes land on you and soften. just a little. like she expected you. like she always does. you grin and wave too hard, almost knocking over a chair.

she shakes her head, lips twitching. later, when practice breaks, she walks over with that easy, quiet stride. sweat darkens the collar of her shirt. she hands you a water bottle without a word.

“you ran here,” she says. you blink. “how do you know that?”

“you’re loud,” bella replies gently. not teasing. just honest. you laugh, bright and uncontained, bumping your shoulder into hers. “missed me, huh?” bella pauses. then, softly—so softly it’s almost just for you:“yeah.”

and something about the way she says it makes your chest feel too full for such a simple word. it starts small. too small for either of you to clock.

bella always sits in the same spot on the bench—second seat from the end, towel folded just so, water bottle to her right. except now, there’s a bag in the seat next to her. your bag. bright, messy, straps tangled like your thoughts usually are.

no one says anything the first time. but then they notice other things. how bella’s eyes track the sideline more than the scoreboard. how she relaxes only after she spots you there, legs tucked under you, cheering too loud for a single person.

how you know exactly when to stand—before a big possession, before her shot—even when the crowd doesn’t feel it yet. “you see that?” one of the guards murmurs during a timeout.

“bella doesn’t do that for anybody,” another answers. during practice, it’s worse. or better. depending on who you ask.

you wander in like you belong there—because somehow, you do. you sit on the baseline, legs crossed, rambling to the trainer, to the managers, to literally anyone who will listen. bella pretends not to hear you.

but when you laugh? she misses her free throw. when you clap too hard and shout her name? she sinks three in a row. “oh,” someone mutters. “that’s dangerous.”

the looks start coming. the knowing ones. the teasing ones. “your girlfriend’s here,” a teammate says casually, tossing bella the ball. bella doesn’t answer. just dribbles once. shoots. makes it. but her ears are red.

it happens after a long day. one of those days that leaves everything stripped down to its truest form.

you’re sitting on the hood of bella’s car in the empty lot, legs swinging, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. the air is warm, cicadas buzzing like static in the background.

bella leans against the driver’s door, arms crossed, listening. always listening. you finish a sentence and realize she hasn’t interrupted you once. “what?” you ask, suddenly shy. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“like what?”

“like you’re…thinking too hard.” bella exhales. slow. measured. “i always think too hard.” you hop down from the car without thinking, standing way closer than you meant to. you can smell her—clean, familiar, something that feels like home even though you don’t say that word out loud.

“then say it,” you tease gently. “whatever’s going on in that head.” bella hesitates. that’s new. “i don’t know how you don’t get tired,” she says finally. “you’re always moving. always glowing.”

you laugh softly. “bella, i’m exhausted all the time.” her eyes soften at that. “yeah. i know.” your smile fades into something quieter. more real. “then why do you look at me like i’m…a good thing?” you ask.

bella steps closer. just a fraction. close enough that the world feels like it’s holding its breath. “because you are.” the words land between you. heavy. tender. you don’t rush it. for once.

“can i—” you start, gesturing vaguely between your faces. bella nods before you finish. “yeah.” your hand finds her wrist first. grounding. familiar. then you lean in, slow enough to give her time to pull away. she doesn’t.

the kiss is soft. barely there. like testing the edge of something fragile. her lips are warm, steady—exactly like her. your heart is doing cartwheels. when you pull back, your forehead rests against hers.

“we’re gonna get caught,” you whisper. bella smiles. small. real. hers. “yeah,” she says. “but i don’t think i mind.” and somewhere inside, you know—neither do you.

it happens in the locker room. not dramatic. not loud. just…inevitable. you’re perched on a folding chair you absolutely are not supposed to be sitting on, rambling to one of the assistants about literally nothing. bella’s a few lockers down, unlacing her shoes, hair damp, face calm.

too calm. “so,” someone says, breaking the noise. casual. dangerous. bella looks up. you don’t. that’s your mistake.

“are y’all gonna keep pretending,” the voice continues, “or are we allowed to talk about the fact that bella hasn’t stopped smiling since she showed up?

silence. thick. charged. you freeze mid-sentence. slowly turn your head. bella closes her locker. finally meets your eyes.

“…what?” you say, innocent in the way that convinces no one. another teammate snorts. “don’t ‘what’ us. you sit in her seat. you wear her hoodie. she watches you more than film.”

bella exhales. rubs the back of her neck. “we’re not—” she starts. you cut in, too fast. “we’re just—” the team groans in unison.

“oh my god,” someone mutters. “they’re in denial.”bella glances at you, something soft and apologetic in her eyes. then she straightens.

“we’re together,” she says. quiet. steady. no hesitation. your heart flips. the room erupts. whistles. cheers. someone yells “called it.” someone else throws a towel at bella’s head.

you just stare at her. she shrugs like it’s no big deal. then, softer—just for you: “wasn’t gonna lie about you.” it’s a home game. loud. electric. the crowd is unreal.

you’re courtside, bouncing on your toes, yelling encouragement like you’re part of the rotation. bella’s locked in. third quarter, tight game. an opposing guard gets mouthy. chirping. hands too active. eyes drifting your way between plays.

you feel it before bella sees it. but once she does?everything changes. next possession, bella picks her up full court. chest low. eyes sharp.

no smile. no softness. she bodies her clean. forces a turnover. runs the floor and drains a three like punctuation.

after the whistle, the guard says something again—quiet, mean. bella steps closer. not aggressive. not loud. dead calm.

“keep her name out of your mouth,” she says. the guard laughs nervously. bella doesn’t.

after the game, you find her in the tunnel, adrenaline still buzzing.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice soft. bella cups your jaw, thumb warm against your cheek.

“yeah,” she replies. “i did.” it’s not always like the games. sometimes it’s just bella’s apartment, lights low, you in one of her hoodies that hangs off you like it belongs there.

you’re sprawled on the couch, legs draped over her lap, reading out loud dramatically from your phone. bella hums, fingers absentmindedly tracing your calf.

“you’re not even listening,” you accuse. she kisses your knee. “i am.”

“what did i just say?”

“…that the pasta place messed up your order again.”you grin. “okay fine.”

later, she cooks. you “help” by stealing bites and dancing around the kitchen. she pretends to be annoyed. she’s not.

when you fall asleep first, head on her chest, bella doesn’t move. not even when her arm goes numb. worth it. always.

it doesn’t stay quiet forever. people notice. fans whisper. someone posts a photo. another zooms in.

suddenly, there are eyes everywhere. you start pulling your hand away in public. bella notices immediately.

“hey,” she says one night, gentle. “what’s wrong?”

you hesitate. then: “i don’t want this to mess things up for you.” bella goes still. “you’re not a mess,” she says firmly.

“i know, i just—” you swallow. “this is your career. your space.” bella takes your face in both hands. makes you look at her.

“you’re my safe space,” she says. “not the problem.” you break a little at that.