#wcbb

IT'S HALLOWEEN, and Paige is drunk.

Not, like, dangerously drunk. Not falling-over, can't-walk-straight, gotta-call-it-a-night drunk. Just loose, warm in the face, her arm slung a little too comfortably around your shoulder drunk. She's been sipping on some concoction Amari made her and stealing swigs from the Tito's bottle that Nika has been quite literally just carrying around all night, and it's hitting her good now—the alcohol, the music, the thick haze of sweat and cheap perfume and way too many bodies crammed into the old frat house.

The place is packed, crammed in a way where everyone's essentially elbow-to-elbow, breathing down each other's necks. There's a fog machine running full blast in the living room, string lights flickering white and orange overhead, and the frat president of Phi Delt has been standing on the kitchen table, pouring people shots all night.

Somewhere in the middle of it all is her and you. You're both dressed up as Subway Surfers, wearing jeans and beanies. Paige is in an oversized denim jacket, you're in a cropped white tank. You've each got fake spray paint bottles tucked into your waistbands, and Paige has been pretending to spray people with hers since she got here.

You look so good tonight that Paige has been struggling—but has managed to (mostly)—keep her hands to herself for hours. Which is impressive, even for her.

But now, she leans into you, pressing her face into the side of your neck, mouth hovering close to your ear. "You're so hot, dude," she mumbles. "Makin' me feel insane."

You laugh, squinting at her, nose scrunched up from the smoke machine blowing directly in your face. "You're so drunk."

Paige nods. "I’m right."

You roll your eyes, but she feels your fingers slip around her waist all the same, anchoring her a little closer. She can feel the curve of your hip against hers, your breath warm on her jaw.

Around you, the rest of the team is scattered across the house. Ice is dressed like Catwoman, full black bodysuit and all, but with white Nike dunks instead of heels. Azzi's a unicorn, wearing a headband with a horn and a rainbow skirt. Predictably, Ash is a cowgirl, sporting a hat, boots, and a flannel. KK's in a football uniform and Paige keeps seeing her chest bump people in the hallway. Nika said she wasn't dressing up and then showed up in Harry Potter robes and a stick she found on the sidewalk as a wand.

Paige loses you pretty quickly. One minute, you're pressed up against her side, laughing at something Nika said about a guy in a banana costume, and the next, Aaliyah and Aubrey are dragging Paige by the hand toward the dining room table where someone set up beer pong.

"Come on, Subway Surfer," Lili teases, tugging her through the crowd. "You owe me after bailing last time."

"I ain’t bail," Paige argues, but her words are mushy and dumb around the edges. She's definitely way drunker than she thought. "You started without me."

Aubrey grins, tossing her a ping pong ball. "No excuses now."

So, she plays. And loses—badly. Because she can barely focus on the cups and because Aubrey's good at everything and also because, if she's honest, Paige kind of forgets the rules halfway through and just starts downing whatever cup is the closest.

Somewhere in the middle of her third round, she glances around and realizes you're gone. Not gone gone, like vanished or anything, but definitely not in the room. Not sipping in the corner anymore. Not perched on the couch with KK or Ice like you were earlier. Not in her immediate orbit, which suddenly feels very wrong.

She blinks, frowns. "Where'd she go?" she mumbles, mostly to herself.

"Bathroom?" Aaliyah offers, setting up another rack of cups.

But Paige is already distracted. Already scanning the room again, brain fuzzy and slow and a little too warm. She feels like she needs water. Or food. Or just her arms around you.

And then—finally—she sees you.

You're coming in from the backyard, cheeks flushed pink and hair mussed from the breeze, trailed closely by Nika who's holding up her pen proudly. The two of you are giggling about something, bumping shoulders, and Paige watches you for a second—the way your mouth curls around a grin, the way you stumble slightly and catch yourself with a hand on the wall—and her chest does this stupid little flutter.

When you spot her, the two of you making eye contact, you beeline straight across the room with a smile that could probably make Paige drop dead if she wasn't already weak in the knees from the five cups of beer she just chugged.

You press yourself into her side like you did earlier, and whisper in her ear through a giggle, "’M so crossed."

Nika sidles up behind you, holding her pen toward Paige. "I think she hit this one too many times," she says proudly, snorting a little.

"I was peer pressured," you say, completely unserious, lips still curved and eyes all glassy. "By a Croatian."

Paige stares at you, unable to stop herself. Your pupils are blown, you smell like weed and your perfume, and your cheek is resting against her shoulder in a way that makes her stomach flutter and roll no matter that you've done it a million times before tonight.

"Shit," she breathes, not even trying to hold back her grin. She slips an arm around your waist, palm flat against the curve of your hip. "You're gon' be done soon."

You nod, unbothered. "I know. But it's okay."

"She also just told me she wants Taco Bell," Nika says with a shrug. "So, good luck with that."

You snort into Paige's neck. "I do want Taco Bell."

Paige lets her head fall back for a second, laughing. She's sweating a little, maybe. Or just flushed. Either way, she pulls you into her tighter and your hand goes to her chest, playing with the edge of her jacket drawstring. Nika mutters something about leaving you two alone before she dies of a contact high, and Paige flips her off halfheartedly as she walks away.

You've been quiet for a moment, just staring stupidly up at Paige like she's some sort of elaborate piece of art. She cups your face loosely with her free hand, thumb brushing your jaw. "You're so high."

"You're so drunk," you respond, laughing a little. The thought of alcohol must spark something in you, because then you perk up, asking excitedly, "Can we take a shot?"

Paige is swaying a little, her head spinning in that slow, dizzy way that makes it hard to tell if she's floating or just leaning into you too hard. And yet, even knowing she probably doesn't need another, her smile widens at the idea of more alcohol and she nods, pulling you towards the table with the drinks.

It's tequila that Paige finds, and she pours just enough into two solo cups, handing one to you. You laugh as you tap the rim of your cup against hers. "Cheers, Subway Surfer."

"Cheers, baby."

You both throw it back, and Paige makes a face like she's just been punched in the throat. The tequila burns all the way down, leaving her eyes watering, but you're already giggling again and pressing your cold fingers against her cheeks like you're trying to stable yourself.

And as Paige watches you do so, brain fizzling out a little, she blurts, "Let's go upstairs and make out."

You blink at her, slow and spacey, like your brain is also buffering—and then your face splits into a wide grin. "Okay," you say immediately, not even pretending to hesitate.

You're already grabbing her hand again, dragging her out of the kitchen, both of you stumbling and laughing like kids skipping class. You nearly run into a guy dressed up as a cowboy in the hallway, and Paige has to use her free hand to brace against the wall just to keep you both upright.

It takes a minute to find a room that isn't occupied—the first one's locked, the second one has a group of girls sitting crisscross on the floor clearly in some sort of debrief, and the third one... yeah, Paige doesn't even want to think about what she saw in there. But the fourth bedroom is empty. It’s mostly dark except for a string of LED lights casting a red glow across the walls. The bed's made, the door shuts with a soft click, and suddenly everything feels a lot quieter.

Paige leans back against the closed door, blinking hard, trying to find her balance.

You're standing in front of her now, still grinning, still flushed and gorgeous and wild-eyed. One of the straps of your white tank is hanging off your shoulder, and your jeans lay low on your waist, and Paige just... stares for a second.

"You're so pretty," she says, like it just slips out.

You hum, pleased. "I know."

And then you're kissing her—hot and eager and messy, arms looped around her neck, your body all soft curves pressed up against hers. Paige melts into it instantly, grabbing at your waist and backing you into the edge of the bed. She's dizzy in the best way, drunk off the alcohol and you, and all she wants is to feel your mouth against hers for the rest of the night.

You tug her down with you when you flop onto the mattress, laughing against her lips as her knee slots between yours.

"You're so warm," you mumble, hands sliding beneath her shirt to press flat against the muscles of her abs.

Paige groans a little, dragging her mouth to your jaw. "You're so crossed."

"Mhm," you respond.

Paige doesn't respond, too busy sucking a soft bruise into your neck, just beneath your jaw. You tug at the hem of her jacket like you want more of her, all of her, now.

The room spins a little when she pulls back to take it off, and she has to laugh at herself to keep from falling over. "Jesus," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut for a second.

When she opens them back up, you're still beneath her, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown, your lips slightly swollen from the way she's been kissing you. Paige feels it everywhere—that slow, warm buzz that starts in her stomach and spreads out through every nerve ending. She's drunk, sure, but it's not just the tequila or the shots that she probably shouldn't have taken. It's you, too, looking like that, beneath her like that, staring up at her like that.

Your hands are gripping at the wife beater tank she's been wearing beneath the jacket, clumsy but firm, pulling her back in close. Paige grins, head dipped, forehead pressed lightly against yours, her breath warm against your cheek as she asks, "Can we fuck?"

"Yes," you breathe immediately, like it's the easiest answer in the world. You tug her back in, mouth finding hers again, messy and fast and all teeth and tongue.

Paige's grin widens into the kiss, because she can't help it—because she's stupid happy and stupid drunk and stupid turned on and your legs are already hooking around her waist and she just wants you so, so bad.

"God," she murmurs against your mouth, "you're so—"

She doesn't finish. She doesn't even really know what she was gonna say. You're so perfect? You're so hot? You're so mine?

All of them, probably. But the words blur together in her head, and she's too busy kissing you again to get them out anyway. Her hands slip under your tank, fingertips skating across your stomach, and she feels you twitch, shiver a little at the touch.

"Wait," she says, blinking hard. She pulls back just an inch, just enough to see your face better in the red LED light. You’re drunk, and she needs to know.

You blink up at her, all flushed cheeks and bedroom eyes. "What?"

"I just—" She grins again, that gummy one she's got. "You're sure?"

You nod, smiling up at her, though looking slightly impatient. "Paige," you say in amusement.

"Okay," she replies, practically breathless now. "Okay."

And then you're kissing again, a little slower this time, deeper, and Paige forgets all about whatever music is thumping through the floor below, forgets all about where you both are, who might be downstairs, what time it is.

The makeout lasts a while, getting heavier and messier as it keeps going. Paige knows she's sloppy when she's drunk, but you are too, and that kind of makes it perfect. Her hat—part of the whole dumb Subway Surfers thing—got tossed who knows where a few minutes ago. Your beanie is halfway off your head. The spray paint cans that was clipped to your jeans are somewhere on the floor. One of them rolled under the bed and clanged against something, and you both paused for a split second, and then immediately went back to kissing.

You're squirming under her, and Paige feels your fingers dragging up under the back of her tank, and her hips automatically press down, grinding into you. Her breath catches in her throat, and she holds back a groan in the back of her throat. Your grip on her tightens, and she keeps rolling her hips into you, slow and lazy, gasping into your mouth. And then, somewhere in the middle of that, her drunk brain stutters.

Wait.

You're both still fully clothed.

Like... jeans, tops, shoes. So many layers. Why?

Paige pulls back just slightly, looking down between your bodies like it's some big revelation. Her forehead scrunches, confused and dramatic. "Bro," she mutters, dragging her hands up your sides. "Why do we have so many clothes on right now?"

You're breathing heavy, too, lips kiss-bitten and eyes lazy, and you kind of laugh against her. "I don't know," you mumble. "You tell me."

Paige just stares at you for a second, like she's trying to solve a very serious puzzle. Then, she nods, like it all suddenly makes sense.

"That's dumb," she declares, fumbling at your jeans with drunk hands. "That's so dumb."

You laugh again, trying to help her out because she's terrible at buttons when she's sober, let alone several shots of tequila deep. "You're kinda dumb, too."

"I'm serious," Paige says, still messing with your waistband like it personally offended her. "I'm—this is, like—clothes are wrong."

You snort. "Right."

"No, listen," she continues, letting out a half-drunken huff as she finally gets your jeans unbuttoned and starts tugging them down, clumsily but determined. "I just—I don't understand why I'm grindin’ on, like, your zipper when I could be—"

"Paige," you say, half laughing, half gasping as she manages to get your jeans halfway down your thighs.

"What?"

You grin. "I love you, but you gotta stop talking. You're not very good at multitasking right now."

"Rude," Paige mutters, nose scrunching. "I'm tryin' so hard."

"I know," you whisper, hands at the back of her neck tugging her back down. "It's cute."

She smirks against your mouth as she kisses you again, hands still moving. She finally fully gets your jeans off, tossing them to the side with far too much force—they land on a lamp and knock it over with a loud clunk. You both freeze for a moment. Paige blinks.

"That wasn't me."

"That was definitely you."

"Nope," Paige says, leaning back over you, clearly done caring. "Ghost did it."

You're giggling again, arms back around her neck, and she smiles as she kisses you, now with your bare legs wrapped around her waist. It's easier like this—better, closer. Her hands settle at your hips as she rocks down again, sighing against your mouth.

"See," she mumbles, voice low now, "way better without clothes."

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. "You're still wearing pants," you inform her.

Paige doesn't bother with that, too busy kissing you greedily once more, tongue deep in your mouth, one of her hands already sliding between your legs. She palms you first through your panties, just pressing there a second, testing the heat and the way your hips lift into her. You're already warm, already kind of wet, and that makes Paige's stomach flip. You whine into her mouth, and the blonde swears she could live in that sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out, breaking the kiss just enough to look down. Her hand keeps moving, rubbing slow little circles over the damp spot growing beneath her fingers. "You're already like this?"

"You've been on top of me for, like, ten minutes," you remind her.

"Oh, right," Paige says. "My bad."

She grins down at you, biting her lip. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks are hot, and everything’s very hazy. You’re all she really sees. You, spread under her in this random bedroom at some packed Halloween party, lights from the hallway still peeking in under the door, faint bass thumping somewhere below your feet. But it’s all so far away. This—your hands on her waist, your chest rising and falling, your thighs tight around her—is all that matters.

And God, you’re so pretty. Your hair’s a mess and your lipstick’s completely gone and you’re looking at her like you’d let her do anything right now. It makes her dizzy.

She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, tugging slowly.

"Yeah?" she murmurs a little hoarsely, her nose brushing yours. "Can I take these off?"

You nod, eyes wide, breath catching. "Please."

And maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's how turned on she is, or maybe it's just the way you say please, but Paige has never moved quicker. She shimmies your underwear down your legs in a clumsy rush, grinning when you giggle at her drunken focus.

She tosses the panties to the side and leans back over you, planting a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, then your mouth again. Her hand slips back between your legs, and the second her fingers slide through you, her whole body tenses.

"Fuck, mama," she mumbles, mouth still against your cheek. "You're so wet."

You let out a little noise, something between a hum and a muffled moan, grabbing at her shoulders, nails digging in a little.

Paige is definitely drunk. Definitely too gone to be doing this as skilled and purposeful as she usually does—but that doesn't stop her from trying. She kisses you once more, deep and slow, while her fingers start working you open eagerly, not at all trying to tease. No, tonight, she just wants to make you feel good.

Her mouth never stops moving. It’s either kissing you or mumbling into your skin. “You’re so pretty like this,” she says. “So good for me. I swear, you always are.”

And, okay, let this be known: when Paige is drunk, she's a lot of things—clingy, giggly, overly confident, always talking with her hands, always saying exactly what's on her mind without thinking it through. But above all, she's messy. Emotionally, physically, romantically. Just... messy in the way she touches and wants and moves.

Right now's no different.

Her fingers are pumping in and out of you, rhythm not totally smooth, but urgent and hungry and warm—and it doesn't even matter that it's not perfect because the way you're responding to her is more than enough. You're just as gone as she is, mouth falling open with every sharp inhale, hips grinding to meet each thrust, like your body is chasing Paige's touch without needing instructions.

It makes something coil in her gut, this tight hot thing that burns through the haze of alcohol.

"Holy shit," she murmurs, breathless, her vocabulary small at this point. "You feel so good. Like... fuck."

You whimper, thighs twitching around her hand, and Paige swears she could die happy hearing that sound again. The bass from the party downstairs is still faint in the background, but Paige can hardly even hear it behind the sound of your breathing and her fingers working you open.

You whisper her name like it's the only word you remember. "Paige—"

She groans, soft and right into your ear. "Say it again."

"Paige," you breathe, voice breaking around it.

"Fuckin'—love you," she grits out behind another harsh thrust of her wrist. She leans back in, kissing you sloppily, lazily, while her fingers curl again, and this time, the reaction you give her is instant: back arching, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open on a gasp.

"There," she mumbles. "Tha's it, right?"

You nod, biting your lip, and she keeps going—keeps curling her fingers just like that, over and over again, while her thumb starts circling over your clit quickly. Her hand is drenched from you, a white ring started to form around her fingers, the squelching sounds obscene.

"Gonna cum for me?" she asks, all sweet and a little cocky even though she's barely holding herself up.

You nod again, eyes squeezed shut, and Paige watches every second of it like it’s the most important thing she’s ever seen. The way your body trembles, the way your lips part and your breath hitches and your hips buck up against her hand like you can’t help it.

And then you do—right there, falling apart underneath her, your voice breaking, back arching, fingers fisting the front of her hoodie.

It’s honestly one of the hottest things Paige has ever seen.

She slows her hand down, keeps it there, not pulling out until your body softens and your thighs relax around her wrist. You're gasping, blinking up at her with this dazed little smile that makes her heart do a somersault and her cunt pulse.

She pulls her fingers out, watching your slickness slide down her hand as she does so. It's instantaneous—the want that pulses deep inside her.

"Fuck, I gotta feel you," she mumbles, and the words fall out low and desperate, like she doens't even realize she's saying them until they're out there.

You nod, wide-eyed and breathless, already reaching to tug at her waistband like you were two seconds ahead of her. The second her jeans and boxers are off—kind of a disaster, honestly, because she almost trips trying to get them off one foot and you're giggling as you yank them the rest of the way—Paige climbs right back on top of you like she's been waiting hours and not seconds. Her hands settle on either side of your head, your legs open instinctively for her, and then she's grinding down against your cunt.

"Shit," she gasps the second her hips roll forward.

Because it's so good. The way your pussies slide against each other, hot and slippery and messy, but perfect in that blurry, overstimulated, drunk kind of way. You both moan at the same time and it's like the sound just echoes in Paige's chest.

She buries her face in your neck and lets herself get lost in the pace. Back and forth, up and down. No real pattern, just feeling wet folds along wet folds. The heat of your thighs around her. Your slick mixing with hers. Your hands digging into her back. Your hips rising to meet her every movement.

"Holy fuck," she whines, not even sure if she's talking to you or herself. "You feel so good. You feel so—God, 'M not gonna last, I swear."

Your hands curl around her waist, fingers digging into the indents of her lower back, and your hips stutter up into hers like you're trying to match her rhythm and just barely missing it.

Paige helps, one of her hands reaching to hold your hip down. She kisses you again, sloppy and open-mouthed, pulling away only to mumble, "You're so perfect, mama. So fuckin' perfect."

"P, so good," you gasp before her lips press back down onto yours.

Paige grinds down harder, every brush of your pussy against hers feeling like fucking fireworks. It's probably the inebriation, but her every nerve feels like it's lighting up. Her whole body is buzzing with it.

You whimper underneath her and tilt your hips just right and Paige gasps because that's it. The fucking spot.

You're both panting now, the tension ratcheting up fast and sharp between you. Her stomach tightens. Her thighs are starting to tremble, aching. The whole room feels like it's spinning but you are solid underneath her, something to hold onto.

"Jesus," she breaths, almost delirious with it. "I'm close. I'm—shit, baby, I'm so—fuck."

Your nails dig into her back. You're close too, she can feel it. The way your body arches, the way your breath catches, the way your pussy pulses against hers, the way you keep chasing every touch like your whole body is begging her not to stop.

"Cum with me," Paige whispers, and it sounds like begging. "Please, baby. Want you to cum with me."

And you do.

You both do, tangled up and shaking and moaning into each other's mouths, slick sliding down your thighs. Paige buries her face in your neck and groans as her orgasm hits her like a truck. Her whole body clenches up and her breath stutters out in short little huffs as she rides it out, grinding down once more before collapsing fully on top of you.

Paige listens to your heartbeat, racing under her cheek, and her eyes flutter shut.

You, however, shift slightly beneath her. Your hand finds her hair and you let out a long sigh, voice slightly slurred as you say, "Bro, we just fucked in a random frat boy's bed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she looked away. looked back. looked away again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you okay, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

paige tilted her head, touching her chin.

“princess, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I. MINNESOTA / STELLATE / SAMIA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

always this, she thought desperately. always this.

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

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

she wanted to press her mouth there. apply pressure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

something devastatingly irreversible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i dunno. just stuff."

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

"just stuff. wow. so specific."

paige scrambled, anxious to rescue the moment.

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

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

"you never give them back."

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

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

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

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

paige didn't know how to answer.

"hm?"

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

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

"nothing. it's stupid."

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

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

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

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

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

the way her lips brushed there, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

everything azzi gave her, paige let rule over her.

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

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

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

but she had to save it.

so, she said,

“we’re gonna be the best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"is she good?" kk asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"azzi?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what's that supposed to mean?"

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

"azzi—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

paige wondered what would fall out if she let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there was so much she was swollen with.

wanting.

confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this was mutualism.

III. VIRGINIA / SMOTHER / DAUGHTER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her room was next door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"azzi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then, almost casually, she said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then some.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what?"

"roll onto your back, baby. please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it made her look smaller than she was, younger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

several names.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"promise?"

"pinky swear."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she'd been right to be scared.

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

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

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

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

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

and paige—

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

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

azzi’s eyes darkened, went low and ravenous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“with you? never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and paige could never believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

here, paige thought. my heaven is here.

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

angel on fire.

eudaemonia.

Blonde lashes sweep the gentle slopes of her cheeks with every sleepy blink as she sighs through flared nostrils, shifting in her seat again to sit up straighter.

The car isn’t completely silent. A song from her rap playlist—one recently added—whispers to her through the speakers. For a second, it’s drowned out by the sharp kiss of her teeth.

“C’mon…”

She’s careless in the way she snatches her phone up from the console; her fingers stretching to squeeze the bottom corners of the case-less device to merely glance at the time.

Twenty minutes.

Wetting her bottom lip, she unlocks the device, holding it more securely in-hand as she opens her messages. Over a thousand unread texts. And she ignores them all the same for one of the three chats she has pinned: Fudd 🐰

The clear gel on her thumb glistens gently as it swipes over her keyboard. She presses send without thinking too hard:

‘Would’ve already left if I didn’t fwu’

She watches her message shoot up, get delivered, then counts the seconds in between until it’s read.

Nine, by the way.

Bubbles appear on the other side of their chat. Bouncing, taunting her for two seconds too long.

‘I’ll take longer if you want.’

A weak scoff falls from her nose as she looks away from her screen, barely smirking with the shake of her head.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Reaching a hand up, she rakes her dull nails through the gentle waves of her hair, reaching deep to scratch at her scalp. All the while, that same thumb swipes over the keyboard.

‘I’m falling asleep waiting up on u’

She picks at the drying skin on her bottom lip with her teeth as she watches those bubbles bounce again. She tries not to think about how the corners of her mouth quirk up, waiting to see what she’ll say.

‘5 more mins’

The message pulls a heavy groan from her throat. She drags her hand from her hair to rub at one of her eyes, the cold air making her lash line ache.

She wants to argue back, but that would cause a rift in her façade. Azzi would ask of the reason for her rushing. And, slightly embarrassed, Paige wouldn’t have an answer for her. 

Admittedly, she doesn’t have anything to do after this. Nothing planned, anyway. She’s already had her training session, in the gym before the sun could rise to greet Cali’s residents.

It’s off season. No obligations or responsibilities; rest is her right. No media outlet, blog, or tea page is going to see her—not if she can help it.

But, it isn’t lost on her that she’s replaced the demands of her career with catching this pretty model off-duty.

Azzi Fudd.

They met at a campaign shoot for Marc Jacobs just shy of two months ago. 

She spotted the golden-skinned woman first, skin dewy even before the makeup team applied her foundation. She was particularly paying attention when they applied a tinted lip gloss to her.

Paige remembers mentally waxing poetic, likening her lips to flower petals. Open, pliant, and soft. 

She also remembers the way the bottom lip bounced with each pet of the wand as the makeup artist perfected her lip combo.

Pretty as fuck.

They never shot together, the shoot coordinators electing for Paige to be the main focus of the ad; she only ever shot by herself.

However, she caught a glimpse of Azzi on her way out. In the middle of a shoot with the other models, she stood out. No doubt, she was all Paige could look at—if that hinted at her beauty (she thinks very highly of her taste in women). But, it was also her height.

She knew immediately she couldn’t pass up the chance—by the end of the day, she had Azzi’s Instagram handle.

The last time they spoke, it was over the phone. It’s been about a week. Looking at the other woman’s location, she was barely surprised to see her contact floating around in Greece on the map. 

She’d never been more jealous of a country than before.

“Tuesday is my least packed day,” she remembers Azzi saying over the impromptu FaceTime call.

The phone’s screen bathed her face in a soft glow. A cotton tee was wrapped around her hair, sopping up the excess water in her curls as she sat before the phone in a crisp, white towel robe.

Paige had caught her right after a shower.

“Tell me about it.” She glanced at the phone, propped up against an open bottle of Saratoga water resting on her coffee table, before looking back at her TV screen. 

Yet again, a controller was in her clutches as she leaned forward, eyes on the game—Fortnite of course. And she hadn’t escaped Azzi’s light scrutiny about it either.

“Well, first thing is Pilates at eleven—“

She scoffed.

Azzi paused. “I don’t see what’s funny.”

A light shrug lifts her shoulders, a frown of indifference on her pink lips as she scrolls through the character selection of the game. “You’re doing all that when you could just pick up a sport. ‘Least it’ll be fun.”

“Right…” Paige can tell she had rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I have lunch with an old friend afterwards. Then I have to go to a fitting for an upcoming shoot.”

“So … I can’t see you, then.”

She didn’t see the way Azzi looked at her with a raised brow. “Not with that attitude.”

Her tongue swiped against her bottom lip, a poor attempt to stop herself from breaking out into a grin. 

“A’ight then…” Her hands dropped to her lap, still clutching the white controller, as she finally gave her full attention to the phone. “Lemme come get you.”

The other brow raised to meet its perfect sister. “From where?” Azzi laughed, the perfect sound tumbling out past her lips.

“Your lil’ Pilates class. Could go back to your place and chill before you get lunch with your friend—what time did you say that was?”

With pursed lips—that look oh-so-kissable—Azzi looked her up and down through the screen. “Two.”

Picking up her controller, Paige recentered her focus on the TV once more.

“Bet.”

She didn’t need to look to know there was a satisfied grin on Azzi’s face.

In remembering all of this, Paige settles for Azzi’s promise. She managed to wait a week to see the woman, what is five extra minutes?

Besides, she would rather allow Azzi to believe that she’s rushing her for the sake of adhering to some strict, imaginary schedule instead of letting on how eager she is to see her.

So for the next three and a half minutes—but who’s really counting—Paige begrudgingly scrolls through her TikTok’s “For You” page to pass the time. 

And even when her attention is arrested by whatever trend the app decides to make viral this week, she spots that figure yards away. Her head remains pointed downwards at her screen, yet her eyes follow Azzi’s body from the door of the Pilates studio to her car. 

There’s a quiet ease and strength that she walks with; she’s a model in every sense of the word.

Before Azzi can touch the car—just within arm’s reach of it—Paige stretches over to push the passenger door open. The action comes as no surprise to her. Instead, she slides right into her designated seat within the Lambo.

“Ugh, that’s where I left my clip,” she notes, spotting the baby pink hibiscus clip resting in one of the cup holders between them.

Paige hums. “Yeah, you left it from last time.”

There’s minor shifting as Azzi pushes her bag to the ground and settles it in the space between her feet. “Thank you—for keeping it safe.”

“Yeah, well you better get it. It’s been throwing off the whole aesthetic of my car.”

“What, a single bachelorette too obsessed with Fortnite to go out and touch grass?”

Her dry sarcasm has never had much of an effect on Azzi. And Paige must admit, it’s a turn-on.

The corner of her mouth quirks up at her reply. “Pink flowers don’t belong in here.” 

She won’t admit that she’s been using the clip when she felt too needy about Azzi during her absence.

“If you’re picking up other girls in this car, just say that, Paige.”

She looks over in time to catch the tail-end of a lazy shrug. There’s still remnants of a smirk on Paige’s lips as her eyes run over her figure.

Poised and patient, yet there’s a quiet energy stirring beneath the surface. She can’t claim to know everything about Azzi, but she knows just enough about the woman to know better than to assume she made that joke in good faith.

“Stop playin’.” She looks ahead again as she shifts the gear to get out of the parking spot. “You look good though … I like red on you,” she mumbles.

It briefly crosses Azzi’s mind how she had the star basketball player pick out her outfit earlier this morning over text. A hum is the only acknowledgement she gives the compliment as she watches her maneuver out of the spot with ease. 

“Why’d you pick this place … it’s so out the way from your crib.” Paige enters traffic, starting on the route to Azzi’s LA apartment—no GPS needed.

“Are you complaining?”

The dent made between her brows only appears for a second as she shakes her head, right hand raised to hover over her lips as she drives with the left.

“Never. Just curious…”

Azzi’s silence bids her to glance the model’s way. Their gazes meet for a split second before Paige’s dips for an even shorter amount of time. Turning her attention back to the road, she shifts in her seat with another quick lick of her lips.

And so, Azzi remembers how what’s bared of her chest is covered in a light sheen of sweat. Nevertheless, she looks at the road ahead. “I like the travel.”

A scoff. “When you get driven.”

She shrugs, a sly smile stretching her mouth. “What can I say? I’m a passenger princess.”

Silence floats between the two women. In this space, Azzi finally gets to realize which of Paige’s playlists she’s got on. Reaching forward, her manicured hand reaches out to turn up the volume by a few decibels.

And when the lyrics finally hit her ears, she can only laugh. “Uh—really?”

Paige glances at her, face open with a question. “What?”

Azzi nods over to the stereo, and Paige finally realizes the song playing: 41’s Pilates.

She cracks a smile. Her free hand raises with a half-made shrug. “Coincidence.”

Shaking her head, brown curls that had escaped her messy high bun dance around her temples.

“Shit … they not wrong though,” she smirks, looking the other woman up and down as she turns up the volume some more.

𑁍ུ ࣭ ࣭ ࣪ Arriving at Azzi’s apartment was a relief for the two of them. Really Azzi, more than Paige.

She beelined for the fridge. The kind that’s stainless steel and has a touchscreen to see its contents without having to open the door and waste energy. And it’s undoubtedly stocked with neat rows of bottled water, yogurts, chopped fruit, and a small six-pack of Blood Orange flavored San Pelligrino for the occasional treat.

Paige can only wish for half of that kind of self-discipline when it came to food.

Its contents clank softly as Azzi yanks a door open to pull out an icey bottle of water.

She doesn’t even pour it out into a cup, as Paige knows her for. Instead she stands before the open fridge, guzzling down the cool drink without a pause for breath, such that her muscles don’t even get the chance to relax.

Arms crossed against her chest, Paige moves to lean against the lip of the kitchen island. Crossing one ankle over the other, the lengthy lanyard of her car keys dangles from her pocket. Its highlighter-yellow stands out against the sable color of her sweats.

No one’s ever made drinking water look this good. Azzi’s throat bobs with every repeated swallow. Her gulps are quiet, the clicking of her clenching throat muted.

She doesn’t even realize how her body mirrors the action, her own throat bobbing in imitation with a single swallow. She’s reminded of how dry her mouth is.

Her chin bounces softly each time a gulp of water slides down her throat. It’s funny, Paige notes, how her jaw does that same movement when she drinks from her.

Azzi’s chest barely moves. The line of muscles in her stomach has softened some since she left the class, but the pump is still there. The reminder lies present in the popped hip, the round curve of her backside perched above a flexed thigh.

How many times is Paige going to lick her lips before she remembers her chapstick in her left pocket?

Even in her desperation to hydrate, Azzi isn’t oblivious. She’s used to being stared at—way past that. And yet, her skin’s never burned hotter under that cool blue gaze and blonde lashes.

Goosebumps ripple across her skin. Finally, she pulls the almost empty bottle away from her pinked lips. She wipes at them with the back of her hand even though not a single drop of water had escaped.

“Nah, don’t stop now.” 

What was supposed to be an easygoing, light chuckle, came out sounding parched and desperate. It doesn’t escape either of their notice.

Continuing, Paige nods to the plastic bottle in Azzi’s loose grip. She clears her throat. “You only got like … two swallows left.”

Lower lip caught between her teeth, Azzi gives her a quick once-over. A black sweatsuit in the summer time is ridiculous, yet she can’t find it in herself to rag on her outfit. It’s so—Paige. Nevertheless, she outstretches her arm, open bottle in hand. 

“Looks like you might need the rest.”

Paige’s jaw shifts as she licks a molar. Azzi tries—and fails—to hide her growing smirk, clearly thinking so highly of her wit.

Stiffly, the taller of them shakes her head. “Not thirsty for water.”

The grin slips from that slick mouth. 

Will she bite at it, Paige wonders.

Azzi brings the bottle back towards herself, choosing instead to gaze into it. “Juice?” She presses the bottle’s opening to her lips again, knocking back its dregs.

—A quiet snort. 

“Nah.” 

When Azzi pulls the empty bottle away, she has no choice but to see the blue fire in her eyes.

Her skin is hot.

Clearing her throat, she turns away from Paige to dunk the bottle in the recycling can hidden in a nearby cabinet. She moves quick, enough that she doesn’t give her much time to stare at her ass, straightening to stand immediately after.

“You’ll be fine in the living room? I gotta shower.”

She’s already making her way out of the kitchen before Paige can object to being alone.

The blonde only smirks, watching her retreat to safety.

𑁍ུ ࣭ ࣭ ࣪⠀Much like when she picked her up, there remains that rosy flush in Azzi’s skin.

Shorter curls at her hairline stick to her shiny skin, the greater mass of her hair pulled back into a low bun.

It’s not slicked back, noting the faint bumps of her curls against her scalp. Frizzy strands float around the perimeter of her head’s shape like a halo.

Paige likes this more than its sleek version.

But she forgets all about her inane preferences for Azzi’s hair when she caught sight of those strong legs, flowing out of a way-too-cheeky pair of shorts reserved only for the home.

Azzi had found her sitting on the loveseat, head buried in her phone. That was, until her own steps seemed to rat her out.

The other woman pulled her head too quickly out of whatever she was watching, to see Azzi.

Now, staring at her emergence from the barely lit hallway, Paige gives a simple, easing smile. 

Azzi felt her shoulders relax some. She wasn’t sure what state she’d find her in. But, as she assumed it would be, her time in the shower was good for the both of them.

Paige speaks first.

“Thought you missed me.”

Confusion flashes gently across Azzi’s face. It’s cute. “In the shower?”

She stands, her height less of a statement with all of this space between them.

“You haven’t touched me since I seen you.”

Opening her mouth to respond, laughter tumbles out first. 

“No hug, no kiss,” Paige continues. “Not even a push to the shoulder.” 

She smirks, Azzi laughs a little harder.

“If you were so desperate to be touched, all you had to do was ask.”

The playful jab doesn’t offset her. Paige only smiles wider. As her laughter dies away, matched stares linger. There’s a second of stillness.

Silently, Paige plucks her hands from the deep pockets of her sweats, and throws her arms open.

The bed of her chest, covered in a way too expensive hoodie, is enticing. She’s patient. Doesn’t beckon her over. Doesn’t even say “c’mere.” She just waits.

There’s an evil thought in Azzi’s head, as she imagines leaving her hanging. Only to see her reaction.

Then she glances at her chest again, looking deceptively flat beneath her sweater. And—when was the last time they touched?

Her feet move her forward. Not much information really registers in her brain until she’s got her arms around Paige’s torso and her head in her neck.

Their bodies melt together. Azzi allows herself to be cradled as those strong arms squeeze her tight.

“You gonna say it?”

Another piece of laughter vaults from her mouth, the sound muffled by Paige’s hoodie. “Not before you.”

Now it’s Paige’s turn to laugh. “A’ight, then … I missed you.”

She feels her cheeks burn with a growing smile as she keeps her face tucked. “Might’ve … missed you too,” she says, her soft voice muffled.

“Mmh, right.”

Trying to keep herself from smiling any harder, Paige aggressively bites at her bottom lip. Still, the expression managers to slip through. She knows she must look like an idiot right now.

Her hands rub up and down Azzi’s back, keeping her there long enough so that she can wrestle her own expression back under control.

It’s Azzi that pulls away first. And even as she tries to put some space between them, Paige lets her touch linger; she knots their fingers together.

Nervous laughter bubbles from Azzi. Paige finds it a feat of her own that she’s able to recognize it, even more so that she seems to be the only one to get the model acting this way.

Without a doubt, the feeling was brought on by the way Paige had looked at her once she pulled away: eyes low, face barely flushed, and mouth caught in a lazy smile.

“What time d’you say you gotta meet your friend?” 

“Soon, Paige,” Azzi laughs again.

Her fingers unknot themselves from Azzi’s, passively crawling up her arm to wrap softly around her wrist.

“How soon is ‘soon?’”

“Oh my God—” Azzi can’t stop giggling as she’s tugged closer.

“What?” 

Paige’s smile widens as she gets her close enough to wrap an arm around Azzi’s waist this time. There’s a hand pressed to her chest.

“Paige.”

“Azzi,” she mocks, eyes widening for a split second as stares into the other woman’s pretty brown eyes.

“I said soon.” She can’t stop herself from smiling.

“I heard you,” she nods, voice going softer.

“Well—I’m sore.” She chokes, pushing against her chest some. “Class was a-a lot—” Her gaze falls to the wayside as she tries not to notice the way Paige is staring at her lips form words.

Paige nods. “Mmh.”

“My legs were literally shaking—so much.”

Her face gravitates closer to Azzi’s. 

“I swear—“ Her voice seems to walk on a tightrope, not enough expertise to walk in a straight line without teetering. “I almost passed out.”

The gentle breeze of a clipped snort fans over her face. She looks back at Paige’s face to see that cocky smirk stretching out her lips.

First, she was burning up. Now, she feels herself drowning under her stare.

Paige throws her a lifeline.

“Could give you a massage.”

Despite that long drink of water earlier, Azzi finds her mouth growing dry. “Are you certified to do that?”

“Nah, but with hands like these, a license’s not changing anything.”

The spell is broken, and just enough self-assuredness floods back into Azzi’s system for her to roll her eyes.

𑁍ུ ࣭ ࣭ ࣪⠀Soft skin stretches over the expanse of hard muscle, barely flexing as she sits up on her elbows. Pointed and painted toes make her calves and thighs look carved out of stone.

They’ve taken to the couch, a spread of long limbs, blushed cheeks, and less than perfectly situated hair.

The air isn’t as thick as outside’s. In here, Paige can breathe better. In here, the only thing that fills her lungs is the smell of Azzi. She’s everywhere, almost; in her thoughts, in the air, beneath her fingertips.

Paige wishes her presence extended to the inside of her mouth. Her tongue writhes against her teeth and the walls of her cheeks, desperate to get a taste.

“I thought you said you were good at this.”

The drawl of Azzi’s words rouse her from her mind.

“I am,” she smiles, brows barely creased in confusion.

“You sure?” She raises a brow. “You’ve just been staring, lost, for the last minute.”

A roll of the eyes. “Didn’t say I was lost.”

“Well, usually when people know what to do, they do the thing.”

Paige presses her lips into a thin line as she pulls a foot into her lap. “I can’t admire you?”

Azzi offers a pointed look. “You can admire and massage at the same time.”

“I can take longer if you want.”

Her eyes bounce between Paige’s own before narrowing, her own words coming back to her. A closed-lipped grin plants itself on Paige’s lips right before a faint chuckle drifts past them.

“Just kidding.”

Any other jokes and thoughts are kept tucked in her mouth for safekeeping as her fingers take up the load of working through the thick muscle.

They knead with the expertise of a thousand after-practice routines, pushing out the burn of lactic acid leftover in her body.

Good news is her body isn’t too tight, there isn’t much work that Paige has to do to ease the ache.

There’s a silent effort to keep her gaze locked on the ceiling. Azzi almost suffocates, trying to keep herself from breathing too loud or too fast. Anything that hints at the idea of Paige’s touch having an effect on her.

But the seams start to burst, one by one, like they’re being plucked by a pair of tweezers named Paige Bueckers.

When the last one pops—Paige’s ascent to her thigh—a strangled whimper, twisted in all of it’s ways, slips from her lips as she fails to keep it at bay.

“That hurt.” Azzi's voice wobbles.

Except, the pain isn’t something she minds. No, not at all. Paige only blinks, swallowing to keep down a truth she knows too well.

Her movements turn robotic as her mind takes her back to the last time she’d been at this apartment:

“Don’t bite too hard,” Azzi gasped. “I-I have a swimwear ad tomorrow.”

The words sounded like they hurt to say. Azzi was caught staring down at her with eyes so low and unfocused, Paige almost thought she wasn’t even speaking to her. And she herself was laid between those golden brown, muscular legs, teeth bared to the skin of her inner left thigh.

Even with the occasional haze of a resurfacing memory, Paige takes her time with Azzi. She always does. Her hands squeeze and roll the fat and muscle of her leg like it’s a fruit—only applying just enough pressure to tenderize, but not to pop.

At her sides, Azzi’s fingers twitch against the linen of the couch. Every deep inhale she takes is either disrupted by a break in breath or a swallow. It’s better than letting out a whine.

When pale fingers, deft and precise, target the inner thigh, a mewl claws at her throat to be released. She doesn’t let it.

Neither of them speak. Not even Paige when it hits her: an earthy-sweet, but gentle, musk that curls over her shoulders and around her neck like a Marabou feather boa. Its touch is whispering—slipping through her fingers whenever she touches it, yet its ghost remains on her skin.

She’s craved scent after the first time she had it. Sometimes, in the haste of her everyday life, she’ll catch the barest hint of it. Always, it triggers a memory. And, always, her body reacts, bearing down on nothing as it remembers the slip of Azzi’s wetness on her skin.

She glances up into mink-brown eyes before she dares herself to peak between those parted legs. Didn’t need to maneuver much—if at all—to see the press of her cunt against thin fabric. Full and begging to be noticed.

To be acknowledged.

It’s amusing, Azzi’s coyness, in the same way that it is incredulous. A woman, so confident and teasing, yet willing to hide her desire—behind a thin veil, at that.

She wants it to be found; what other conclusion is Paige supposed to draw?

Her hands move higher.

Azzi stiffens.

Their eyes meet.

The tips of Paige’s fingers are warm as they slip beneath the hem of the shorts. Azzi’s lips part, puffing out a single breath as her legs fall apart.

“Did you really?” Paige’s voice comes out, raw and parched. Still thirsty. “Miss me?”

Azzi presses her mouth into a thin line before nodding.

One finger, the middle, swipes up the trace of her inner lips where they peak out past the outer ones. “How much?”

Blood blooms beneath the skin of her chest. She clenches. “A lot.”

Another swipe, more pressure this time.

Paige shakes her head, bottom lip nipped by her teeth. “That's not enough, Az.”

Her words are mumbled.

The room spins around Azzi. Heat pricks at random spots all over her body. Already, her skin grows clammy with the promise of a light sweat. She almost chokes on her own spit.

Paige runs her finger through the seam of Azzi's lips, drenching the tip of it in her slick. Her pace is slow—daunting. She presses in deeper.

"I ... I—" One hand stutters as she just barely stops herself from reaching out for Paige. "Um, Greece—I ... th-thought about you."

"You did?"

Her nod is loose and impatient. “A-a lot.”

Another finger; the ring. They gather at her clit, slippery and throbbing with its own pulse. They move together in circles; pressing, pressing, pressing—

“E-every night—in my h-hotel room..." Her hips twitch.

Paige waits for more, aegean-blue eyes rolling over her dewey face as her fingers keep moving. Her gaze zeroes-in on the way her two front teeth graze the skin at her bottom lip.

She wants to kiss her. Everywhere.

There's a whimper, Azzi's shoulders jump. "In bed..."

Her fingers dip low again, toying with the idea of pushing inside. Paige pushes her face closer.

"Say it." Her lips hover just over the corner's of Azzi's. "C'mon."

Her lips open and close with quiet gulps for air. "I ... I ... I touched—"

A gasp, so sharp it cut through the air. Paige wouldn't deny her anymore. She couldn't.

"Keep going."

She doesn't think too much about the way her thighs squeeze around her arm or the way Azzi's eyes barely keep open. Instead, she feeds on what it means for such a reaction when all she's given are shallow, gentle strokes.

"I, um—touched myself."

Paige only has to turn her head a fraction of an inch for their lips to connect. She actually pauses to focus on the kiss. It's heavy, the way she presses her mouth against Azzi's. The model can only succumb to it.

Movement returns, and Paige doesn't stop to focus on only one thing this time. Beneath her body, Azzi's own melts.

Before her brain can catch up, Paige's mouth veers onto a different path. She's moving lower; the side of her mouth, her chin, and a small spot below her ear.

"Wanna know how much I missed you?"

Azzi nods, forgetting how to form words.

Paige pulls away to look her in the eyes.

"Yes," she exhales.

There's a sudden loss within her as Paige pulls out, but Azzi doesn't get to whine about it. Her body is quickly sated with caresses to her clit again.

"If you didn't go to shower," Paige starts, voice nearly hoarse. "I would'a got you."

Pretty lashes bat back at her. Then, breathless laughter flutters out from Azzi's mouth. "I was sweaty, Paige—unh."

The sound that comes out of her is soft and whiney, her face falling as Paige pushes back into her.

Her fingers are enveloped in a tight, syrupy embrace. When Paige finds her G-spot, she never lets up on it. Middle and ring fingers—in union—start gently at her. But it doesn't last long. The pressure grows firm as she rubs into her.

Azzi crumbles around her. Paige takes the chance to push her face into the crook of her neck as she mumbles into her clammy skin two words:

"Don't care."

The confession makes the model shudder. Somewhere at the back of her mind, her brain acknowledges Paige's teeth bared against it in a smile.

"Didn't fuck with no one else while you were gone," she says softer, barely shaking her head. "Only wanted you, Azzi." She presses her lips to her skin, momentarily cooling the searing hot surface. "You."

The deep crawl of her voice has her fluttering around Paige.

"Would've ate you like you were the first meal I had in years."

Azzi wants to laugh, too familiar with Paige's tendency to become hyperbolic in moments like these. However, she's too busy trying to catch her breath to even express her amusement.

"You are."

Something close to a cry weasels its way out of her.

Paige's hand is drenched; it's driving her crazy. Especially when she sees the growing wet spot in Azzi's shorts.

Her own boxers are a mess, she can feel it every time she shifts in her seat.

She presses her lips to the shell of Azzi's ear. Her hair smells faintly of the products she always uses: a perfumed fruitiness.

"And I been waiting."

first Pazzi fic/drabble. how did I do?

Banners • @cursed-carmine

when paige told you that she booked you two a getaway for spring break you had no idea that it would be this luxurious.

the room alone was huge. windows covering an entire wall from ceiling to floor. most surfaces were covered in beautiful decor and the bed faced the humongous pool that sat just beyond the deck outside. it was perfect.

you couldn’t actually fuss about the cost or how hard it must’ve been to book because paige was quick to hush you with a kiss on your forehead and mutter how she’d always “do anything for you.”

the vacation honestly felt more like you both ran away. off of your phones for days, with the exception of checking in with family and taking numerous photos. although it wasn’t intentionally secretive that made it even more enjoyable.

the beach, which you had visited every day thus far due to its close proximity, was perfect. the area surrounding your villa nice and quiet as well. 

of course with the extra rest time that comes with a vacation you had encouraged paige to rest, that’s all you wanted for the both of you. but after the first two days you realized that even you could only nap so much. 

today after a little more exploring the amenities of your villa you did lay down together and close your eyes for a bit. when you open them again you don’t know how much time has passed, but paige was knocked out of course.

you had been awake for a good 20 minutes. in your defense you did try to close your eyes again but it was unsuccessful.

your body was draped over paige’s, one of her hands resting naturally on your thigh that was slung across her hips. her bicep flexed slightly as it was propping her head up on the pillow. you catch yourself silently chuckling when you realize you were just staring at her in awe.

it was all so domestic. from the sleeping position to the way that one of the only noises you could hear were little puffs of air from paige’s parted lips. if you could capture the feeling into one world it would be complete. or maybe absolute.

you’re aching at this point from craning your neck to gawk at paige and you honestly feel ridiculous for how long you’ve been laying like this.

with the urge to bask in the sun and swim a little you gently turn over, lifting paige’s arm from you. you slip out of bed, careful not to wake her and you quietly get changed and head outside. 

the wide window in the room gave her a clear view of the pool. hopefully she’d wake up, see you perched in a chair, and come join you.

her nap actually lasts way longer than you anticipated and you were getting antsy. you read your book until you couldn't anymore and switched your lying position too many times to count. it had already been about an hour and a half since you’d got up from the bed and paige was still asleep.

the sun was starting to set and you hoped she would get up soon, but alas the impatience was becoming a bit painful. 

you pick up your phone deciding to text paige and immediately open the camera. putting a slight pout in your lips you take a selfie, tits perky and in frame. then you flip the camera and angle your phone down to get your entire lower body and the pool in one picture. you take the photo, press send and quickly type up something to emphasize on the amount of notifications she’d get. 

*buzz* 1 attachment 

*buzz* p, can you nap faster? i’m…bored.

*buzz* 1 attachment 

of course paige was still on dnd so naturally you pressed the notify anyway button. sighing in contentment you decide to get up off your ass (hardly) and sit in the hot tub that was adjacent, waiting for your girlfriend.

your texts didn’t wake paige, she had already started tossing and turning a bit ago signaling the end of her nap.

however, when she did pick up the phone after realizing you were no longer lying beside her she felt her eyes go so wide that they could have bulged out of her head.

she looks at both the pictures you sent and exhales sharply, running a hand over her face in disbelief.

the blonde couldn’t help but glance outside, eyes instantly making contact with your bikini clad figure. she bit her lip as her eyes ran up and down your body.

your hair had gotten wet and began to cling to your chest and neck that was now glistening and catching a slight glow from the fluorescent lights in the hot tub. your lips were glossy, as always, and they were parted while you let out what looked like a sigh.

she lifts her phone from the bed swiping the camera icon at the bottom of the screen.

these photos were for her, but also to show you how good you really did look.

your head is slightly tilted to the side when she snaps the photo. you’re standing to adjust yourself so your hips come up to the surface of the water. she almost drools looking back at the way she had captured you before she presses the blue arrow in the text bar. 

getting up and changing out of her clothes and into her swimsuit she hurries outside. 

when you hear the sliding door your attention is on paige as she makes her way to the hot tub.

your eyes light up and you grin, pleased to see her awake. when you notice that she’s getting in the water, you have to force yourself not to stare.

her abdomen toned and flexing with each step she took. chest exposed and already showing a tan as a result of earlier time spent in the sun.

“so you missed me?” paige breaks the silence once she’s settled into the water across from you.

“don’t act shocked.” you scoff.

“oh, i’m not. it’s just…cute ‘s all.” she says, lifting her eyebrow a bit and stifling a giggle when she sees you roll your eyes.

“i sat out here for almost two hours while you slept, it got boring fast. plus i knew you’d want to watch the sunset so i hoped you’d wake up in time.”

paige’s heart swells at the confession. she had just been a threshold away from you asleep and still the only thing on your mind. it was never a secret between the two of you or to anyone else how obsessed you were with each other. but that didn’t mean it got old. 

“as great as it is to rest, i'm glad i woke up in time to catch the sunset,” paige starts. “and you in this…this bikini?”

“what do you mean? it is a bikini.” you contest, raising your own eyebrow now and anticipating how paige would admit that your bathing suit barely covering anything was causing her own skin to run hot.

her cheeks are beet red and she purses her lips together to stop herself from smiling like an idiot.

“you know exactly what i mean.” she mutters, voice suggestive. 

you do fully giggle this time, leaning your head back. when you’re done laughing you unintentionally press your entire body forward for a second when you rest your arms on the sides of the hot tub. 

you watch the blonde across from you lick her lips as her eyes travel straight to your tits, back up to your face, and then to your tits one last time before she opens her mouth once more.

“I loved the photos by the way. can’t say they compare to having you right here within my reach, but you look amazing.”

“thank you baby. wanna say it again and look me in the eyes this time?”

tonguing her cheek to hold in a laugh she shakes her head. partially because she was caught ogling and partially at how bratty you were being.

“i can show you better than i can tell you.”

“yeah?” you taunt, tilting your head.

“get over here.”

you practically pounce on her with how quickly you travel from your end of the water to her lap. she wastes no time grabbing your hips so you’re comfortably straddling her.

you let out a hiss when she presses your hips down, forcing you to sit on her completely. you had been riled up since she stepped outside, the friction on your clit from the material of your swim bottoms wasn’t helping.

paige brings a wet hand up to cradle your chin, turning your head to face her completely. she pulls you closer, not kissing you yet.

“you really are so gorgeous, you know that?” paige mutters, lips ghosting over yours.

“p, have you seen yourself? cmon now–“ 

“this isn’t about me, baby.” 

she stops you mid thought with a soft peck on the lips. although it’s feather light a smack sounds between you both at how quickly it happened.

you whine when she pulls back and you don’t miss how she smirks at your reaction.

“don’t be a brat.”

“okay, then kiss me.” you groan, bringing your arms above the water to wrap around her neck, closing the bit of distance that's between your lips.

it’s already warm in the water that’s ricocheting against the walls of the hot tub and your bodies, but the way that paige moans into your mouth when she kisses you back heats you up more.

for a while you’re just kissing like horny teenagers. it’s sloppy and wet and you pull away panting a little. 

you run your hands through paige’s hair and study her features before leaning in to kiss her again, stopping just barely before your lips meet. she closes her eyes in anticipation but opens them after she realizes you’re not gonna kiss her. 

“like i was saying,” you whisper, struggling to hold eye contact when you feel her breath hitch against your lips. 

“i could look at you all day.” you lean in, intending just to give her a peck like she did you earlier. but the moment your lips lock one of her hands is holding you by the back of the neck, it was firm but she knew you weren’t gonna pull away.

she parts your lips with her tongue and it’s your turn to moan into her mouth. you can’t help the grinding of your hips, rutting against her eager for your clit to make contact with part of her somehow. she takes note of this and takes her hand off of your neck, it disappears under the water quickly. 

she uses two fingers to push your bathing suit to the side, immediately pressing onto your clit. you pull back from the kiss to gasp, eyes heavy as you try to keep them open and on paige.

“just look? i mean, i’m flattered but there’s a lot that i’d rather do to you all day.” she trails off, now circling your clit with her fingers, watching your reaction intently.

“f-fuck, you know what i m-mean. i always want to look at you, kiss you, touch and feel you. i’m so in love with you baby. you’re so good to me.” you ramble, bucking your hips to signal that you wanted her fingers inside.

“yeah?” she was mocking you. “sure you’re not just saying that because you want something from me right now?” 

her voice was low and her eyes never left yours. hearing her say that while her hand was between your legs caused you to clench around nothing.

of course it wasn’t true, and you both knew it, before you could give her any attitude her middle and ring finger were thrusting into your cunt. 

“p, oh my god–“ you don’t even finish your sentence.

the ease in which the heel of her palm met your clit was almost embarrassing. it was like your pussy was made to take her fingers. 

your jaw goes slack, and you struggle to breathe out for a split second. since you were on top of her she was already prodding at the spongy spot you knew all too well, each thrust making you shudder and clench harder around her fingers.

“‘s so good, so deep!” you pant.

“i know pretty girl,” she pants, placing kisses your chest. her tongue is hot when it comes in contact with the same spots she pecked. she uses her free hand to move your hips until you get the idea and start riding her fingers, already close to your release from how long you'd waited to have her.

“keep it up, i can feel how close you are baby.” she says, voice muffled by the skin of your tits that she’s still burying her face in.

it doesn’t take long for your hips to begin to circle messily, your eyes are squeezed shut and your entire body is on fire. 

curling her fingers as they drilled into your hole, paige uses her thumb to fondle your clit. not letting up on her thrusts she leans forward to tongue your nipple through your bikini top and your head falls back as you let out a sound that mimics sob. you take in one sharp breath before letting out a moan that’s borderline pornographic. 

paige’s eyes are on you, watching your face and body contort with pleasure. her lips are parted, eyebrows furrowed, and she’s moaning occasionally too with the way your cunt was fluttering around her fingers. she was getting off on this just as much as you were.

“shit! p-please don’t stop, i’m so close.” you choke, hands gripping onto her shoulders like she had intentions to run away.

“you wanna cum for me?” she coos, once again in a mocking manner.

you attempt to nod but paige starts making a scissoring motion inside of you with her fingers and you’re already feeling static from head to toe. 

you do cum, literally into the palm of her hand. she can’t hide how badly she’s into this shit and you can feel her smiling against your skin as she kisses any part of you that her lips can reach, milking you through the rest of your high. 

when you’re starting to catch your breath you feel paige curl her fingers inside you again. 

choking on a mixture of a scream and a moan you have to reach down and hold her wrist to stop her from stimulating you more.

“p that’s enough, what about you?” you ask, already licking your lips at the thought of getting to have your way with her next.

“what about me?” she responds, placing another hot kiss on your neck and making zero effort to move from her current position: beneath you with her hand between your legs.

“i want to taste you. please?” you whisper the last part. it came out as more of a plea than you realized but you didn’t care. 

on wobbly legs you stand, pulling paige to her feet as well. 

she towers over you, bending down to kiss you again. you kiss back hungrily and place your hands on her hips and guide her to sit on the edge of the hot tub.

she parts her legs for you and you grip onto her thighs with gentle hands. looking up at her as you kneel and begin to pepper light kisses on her damp skin. her breathing gets harder the closer you get to where she wants to feel you the most.

“you were just begging to taste me, don’t tease me.” paige groans, placing a hand on the back of your head to guide you. 

you place an open mouthed kiss on her clit through her swim bottoms and she shudders at the feeling. using two fingers you pull them to the side and kiss the same spot, this time skin to skin.

paige gasps, the hand that was on the back of your head threading through your hair for a better grip. 

you lift your other hand and use two fingers to part her lips. as slow as you can manage you lick sloppily from her clit to her hole and your eyes roll back into your head when you feel her gush into your mouth. 

“fuck!” paige whines, throwing her head back. 

you relax your jaw and stick your tongue out again, shaking your head from side to side, intentionally making a little extra noise to add to the crudeness of the act.

paige’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as she pants, simultaneously trying to watching you pleasure her. when you both lock eyes you moan and take her clit between your lips sucking on it messily. 

this sends her into a frenzy. 

although paige was never afraid to be vocal with you, this was possibly the loudest she had ever been during oral. you’re gloating mentally as you start literally making out with her cunt. 

it’s lewd and you love it, clearly she does too. you feel her thighs start to close around your head and when you force them apart you watch her throw her head back and reach up to play with her nipples.

“you’re doing so good for me baby, it’s almost like you were made for this.” paige groans, pulling on your hair a little harder than she had intended, almost cumming from the moan you let out against her.

“i was made for you.” you pull back and pant before lowering your head again and thrusting your tongue into her, using your thumb to circle her clit.

paige is a babbling mess and you can feel her start to thrash around slightly.

“f-fuck! i’m almost there.” she manages to spit out, a yelp following as her thighs start to shake.

it doesn't take much more and as soon as you can hear her you can taste her. she cums, hot and immediately coating your lips and chin. 

paige’s back is arched as she tries to close her legs around your head. you’re pussy drunk and have no intentions of pulling back despite the way that she’s nearly sobbing every time you flick her aching clit with your tongue. 

one final harsh tug at your hair causes you to pull away from her breathing heavily and with a groan. instantly she’s pulling you to your feet and against her body. 

when you’re face to face you’re obsessed with how fucked out paige looks. her lips pink and puffy, eyes glossed over, and hair a mess.

when she pulls you in your lips make contact and you smirk into the kiss at the thought of her being so eager to taste herself.

after a few more sloppy languid kisses you drop your head to her shoulder and she leans forward,

submerging you both into the warm water once again.

“that was so sexy.” you mutter, voice hoarse. 

“you need to wear this bikini anytime we are near a body of water, for the rest of this trip.” paige says, causing a giggle to bubble in your chest that pressed against hers.

“whatever you say, p.” you reply, tone singsong like.

your back hits the wall of the other side of the hot tub and paige wraps your legs around her waist and stands again.

reaching behind you towards your towel and other belongings you grab your phone, thinking of how much you wanted to capture this moment.

when the screen lights up and you see the last text you received your mouth opens in shock and you can’t help the way that your cheeks rise. you're grinning like an idiot.

2 attachments

i need that.

“paige!” you say, looking up from behind your phone to catch her already smiling back at you, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

Now it’s months later, and “doing something dumb” has become the recurring theme of your life. You, who once thrived on order and routine, now have your evenings dictated by spontaneous late-night drives, playlists that change moods every ten minutes, and Juju showing up at your door wearing a hoodie she swore she “just found” (which always turned out to be yours). She was energy condensed into a person - every room shifted a little when she walked in and you never stopped noticing it.

She wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she said. (oops micheal scott reference 👀)

“I don’t do all that possessive girlfriend stuff,” she’d claimed one night, legs draped across your lap as you sat on the couch watching something neither of you were actually paying attention to. She’d said it with that same nonchalant shrug she used when talking about missing free throws or acing interviews, like she was immune to small, human insecurities. You’d laughed and believed her because it was easy to believe Juju when she said things like that. Her conviction always came packaged with a grin that made everything sound like truth.

Still, there were little moments that said otherwise.

The way her hand always found your waist when you talked to someone new, the slight tension in her jaw when another girl complimented your outfit a little too eagerly, the soft, near-silent “come here” she’d murmur at parties whenever you drifted too far from her. It wasn’t jealousy, not really - more like instinct, like she had this need to keep a hand on you, a reminder that you were hers

You didn’t mind. In fact, you found it almost endearing. Juju’s brand of protectiveness wasn’t suffocating; it was quiet, like she didn’t want to own you - just to be certain you knew she was there.

That morning, you’d both decided to stop by the Starbucks near campus because Juju had declared she “deserved” a drink after surviving three back-to-back workouts (even if she was technically missing morning lifts).

The Starbucks is packed.

It’s that first week of November chaos, the kind that always hits when the seasonal drinks drop - red cups, new foam combinations, the vague scent of cinnamon and capitalism hanging in the air. The line snakes past the pastry case and wraps around a display of holiday mugs. You and Juju slide in near the end, your phones both out, trying to pretend the wait isn’t going to take twenty minutes.

“Why are there so many people?” she mutters, tilting her head to peek over the crowd. “It’s not even ten a.m. You all got jobs?”

You laugh. “Says the girl skipping her morning lift.”

She smirks, barely looking up from her phone. “You say it like you didn’t beg me to stop for coffee first.”

You bump her shoulder, smiling. “I said I suggested it.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting a grin. “Riiiight, like that makes a difference.”

The two of you settle into the rhythm that always feels easy - a mix of teasing and warmth that has become your love language. She scrolls absently through her phone, occasionally showing you something funny, occasionally leaning close enough that you can smell her shampoo, faint and clean. Every now and then, someone glances her way. USC basketball’s rising star, standing in line like she’s not used to cameras or clout.

She doesn’t care, or at least she pretends not to, and well, Juju’s good at pretending.

When you finally reach the counter, she steps up first. “Venti caramel brulée latte,” she says, then looks back at you, eyebrows raised. “You want your usual?”

“Yeah, please.”

She repeats your order like it’s second nature which, by now, it is and pulls out her card before you can even move.

“Juju,” you protest, half-hearted.

She doesn’t even look at you. “Don’t start. You can get the next one.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I meant next time,” she says easily, grinning when the barista hands her the receipt. She’s got that little flicker in her eyes that always shows up when she knows she’s won something small.

You roll your eyes but let her have it. It’s not worth fighting over when she’s like this - relaxed in her element. You grab the drinks when they’re ready and find a small corner table near the window, tucked between the noise of espresso machines and the soft buzz of conversation.

She slides into the seat across from you, stretching her legs out until they brush yours under the table. “You’re quiet,” she says after a moment, taking a sip. “What’s going on in that brain?”

“Just tired.” You rest your chin in your hand, watching the street outside. People rushing past with scarves and red cups, everything cold and alive. “Also thinking about how we’re never getting a table this good again.”

“Because you manifested it,” she says seriously like she actually believes it. “We’re sitting in the manifestation zone.”

You snort. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is if I say it is.”

Her grin is soft and slow-spreading, the kind of look that makes you forget other people exist, which is probably why you notice the guy.

He’s tall, maybe early twenties, wearing a puffer jacket and a smile that’s way too confident for someone you’ve never seen before. You look up instinctively, caught off guard.

“Hey,” he says, voice smooth in that performative way some guys talk when they think they’re charming. “Sorry, I don’t wanna interrupt but I just had to come over.”

Juju’s eyes flick up from her phone, her body going still. You can feel the shift - the way her easy posture straightens just slightly, the playful energy draining into something colder.

You blink, trying to figure out what he’s about to say. “Oh, uh-”

He smiles wider, nodding toward your drink. “Didn’t I see you here last week? You had the same drink, right? The - what is it, shaken espresso thing?”

You’re caught between confusion and politeness. “Maybe...? I come here a lot.”

“Yeah, thought so.” He laughs, leaning on the edge of the table like he belongs there. “You’ve got good taste. Anyway, I was gonna ask if I could get your Snapchat or something. You seem cool.”

For a second, you freeze. Not because he’s asking (that happens sometimes) but because of the way he’s asking. Too easy, too sure of himself. Like Juju sitting across from you doesn’t exist.

And maybe he really doesn’t realize. You and Juju aren’t exactly the “public PDA” type - her hand isn’t on yours, you’re sitting across from each other and she’s got that unreadable face that makes it hard for strangers to place her. Still, the air feels suddenly charged.

You open your mouth, ready to respond, but Juju’s voice cuts through before you can.

“She’s taken.”

It’s calm. Flat. Almost bored but there’s something in it that makes the guy stop mid-smile.

He turns toward her, eyebrows raised. “Oh-uh, I didn’t-”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back in her chair, eyes fixed on him. “You didn’t but you do now.”

You can see the corner of her jaw working, the smallest flicker of annoyance in her expression. Her hand wraps around her coffee cup like she’s forcing herself to stay collected.

He laughs awkwardly, trying to brush it off. “My bad. I just thought you guys were friends or something.”

You try to step in, to diffuse it. “It’s fine, really-”

Juju’s gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s not harsh, just sharp, the kind of look that says she’s not joking but doesn’t need to raise her voice to prove it.

Her leg nudges yours under the table, deliberate, claiming without fanfare.

The guy looks between you both, clearly realizing he’s misread the entire situation. “Right. Yeah. My bad, seriously. Didn’t mean to step on anything.”

Juju hums, taking a slow sip of her latte. “You’re good. Just - maybe next time, try paying attention before you walk up to someone else’s girl.”

There’s no bite in her voice now, just that quiet finality that leaves no room for argument.

The guy mumbles another apology and retreats toward the exit, his confidence dissolving somewhere near the door. The air he leaves behind feels lighter but also buzzing, like static after lightning.

You sit back, exhaling slowly. “You didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I did.” She doesn’t even let you finish, her eyes still following the door for a second before turning back to you.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna act like you’re not the jealous type after that?”

She gives a low chuckle, setting her cup down. “I’m not jealous,” she says, and you can tell she believes it. “I just don’t like when people act stupid.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” she insists, her grin creeping back, slow and defiant. “Jealous would be if I started a scene. That was just me being... informative.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Informative?”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning forward a little, elbows on the table. “Like, public service announcement level. Everyone benefits.”

Her tone is teasing now but there’s still that edge of protectiveness underneath - the same current that had flared up the second someone else stepped into your space.

You look at her for a moment, trying to read her expression. The tension has faded, replaced by that usual warmth, but something lingers behind her eyes - a flicker of something fierce.

“You know,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to prove anything. I know where we stand.”

She studies you for a long second before her lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I know you do,” she says softly. “Doesn’t mean other people don’t need reminding sometimes.”

The way she says it makes your heart tug in that stupid, uncontrollable way it always does around her.

You nudge her ankle under the table. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours,” she says, smirking now, leaning back again like the whole thing never happened.

And just like that, the tension breaks completely. The noise of the café folds back in - laughter, coffee grinders, holiday music spilling faintly from the speakers.

You watch her as she scrolls through her phone again, pretending to be unbothered, but the corner of her mouth keeps twitching upward every few seconds, like she’s fighting a grin she doesn’t want you to see.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !