blairwbb

[blairwbb]

August

paring: paige Bueckers x fem!oc

summary: Every summer, Paige Bueckers and Claire Miller spent three weeks together like clockwork—family friends, best friends, maybe something more. But the summer before senior year, they crossed a line. One night. No labels. No promises. Paige left the next morning without a word.

A/N: I suck at writing! But this is based off ‘August’ by Taylor swift!

-

Claire Miller still remembered how the sun looked that last day—smeared gold like melted honey, stretching across the lake behind Paige’s Minnesota house. It was the kind of day they usually swore they'd never forget. But now, a week into senior year at UConn, Claire would’ve done anything to forget it all.

Because this time, it wasn’t like the others.

This time, Paige kissed her first.

It had been late—August 28th. Their last night before flying back to campus. They were stretched out on that splintered dock behind the Bueckers’ cabin, drinking whatever warm cider they’d stolen from the fridge, laughing too loud, too long. Paige had looked over, tucked a strand of Claire’s hair behind her ear like she’d done it a thousand times before, and kissed her like it didn’t mean anything.

And Claire, foolish and sunburned and always a little in love, had let her.

She told herself it was different because Paige didn’t pull away. Not after that kiss. Not when Claire whispered, “I’ve always wanted this.” Not when she kissed her again in Paige’s bedroom with trembling hands and a heartbeat louder than the crickets outside.

But the next morning?

Paige didn’t say anything. No apology. No I���m sorry. Just a tired smirk, a “you good?” and a slap on the back like they’d played a game of pickup, not shattered something sacred.

And then she flew home to Storrs and started hooking up with anyone that wasn’t Claire.

Now Claire stood outside her Tuesday morning lecture, barely listening to the buzz of students rushing past, earbuds in and Starbucks in hand. Her phone lit up with a text from her friend:

Cam: Just saw Bueckers leaving East Hall. With Jordan. Again. You good?

Claire didn’t reply.

She just shoved the phone in her tote and walked inside, dropping into the same seat she always did—third row, left side. She didn’t cry. Not here. Not where people could 

see her still hoping.

She wasn’t hoping.

She wasn’t.

Across campus, Paige Bueckers laced up her sneakers in the practice gym, pretending the past three weeks didn’t exist.

“Yo, Bueckers, Jordan’s coming to the party tonight. You down?” Azzi teased from the sideline, spinning a ball on her finger.

Paige shrugged. “Maybe.”

Truth was, she didn’t want to see Jordan. Or talk to her. Or touch her. But she would. Because it was easier than seeing Claire in the dining hall and pretending she didn’t still remember the way Claire looked in that purple hoodie the morning after—half-asleep, hopeful.

Because Claire made her feel things. And Paige Bueckers didn’t do feelings.

Not when the season was on the line.

Not when she had the world watching.

Not when love looked like a quiet girl who read books in trees and kissed like it meant forever.

Claire passed Paige once that afternoon. 

Outside the library. Paige didn’t look at her. She laughed at something Jordan said and kept walking.

And Claire didn’t turn around.

Because she was never Paige’s.

And maybe she never would be.

Claire couldn’t sleep the first night back at UConn.

She blamed it on the heat — the kind that stuck to her skin, made the sheets cling like regret. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t the weather.

It was her. Or more specifically, Paige.

She kept replaying that final night in her head like it was a scene from a movie she hadn’t been ready to stop watching.

Even now, curled on her twin XL mattress in a dorm that smelled like old coffee and lavender detergent, Claire could still taste the lake air, the cinnamon on Paige’s lips, the moment everything shifted.

FLASHBACK – AUGUST 28TH

“I don’t want to talk about leaving,” Paige had said, tossing a rock into the water with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“You always say that,” Claire replied, pulling her knees to her chest. “But we always leave anyway.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Paige leaned back on her elbows. Her tank top had ridden up just enough for Claire to see the pale skin just above her waistband. Claire looked away, heart slamming into her ribs like it was trying to break free.

She knew this version of Paige. Summer Paige. Softer. Quieter. Unburdened by cameras or crowds. No jersey. No pressure. Just freckles, damp curls, and the occasional teasing smile.

And for three weeks every summer, she got to keep her.

Kind of.

“I wish we had more time,” Claire whispered. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Paige turned her head toward her. “More time for what?”

Claire looked straight ahead. “I don’t know. This. Us. Whatever this is.”

Paige was quiet. Then: “Claire…”

And then she kissed her.

She didn’t warn her. Didn’t ask. Just leaned over and pressed her mouth to Claire’s like she’d been thinking about it all summer too.

Claire froze — for half a second.

Then kissed her back.

She remembered the exact moment Paige’s hand slid up the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. The way her lips moved slowly at first, then hungrier. Like something had cracked open inside her. Like they were finally doing what they were always meant to do.

And later, in Paige’s room, when Claire had taken off her sweatshirt and stood in front of her in just a bralette and jean shorts, she’d whispered, “Are you sure?”

Paige had nodded. Pulled her in. Traced her skin like it was a map she already knew by heart.

It hadn’t been just sex.

Not to Claire.

PRESENT DAY – SEPTEMBER

She hadn’t told anyone what happened. Not Cam. Not her sister. Not the girl in her seminar who always asked too many questions.

Because how do you explain the way someone touched you like you mattered and then never spoke about it again?

How do you say, “I think she meant it when she kissed me,” when all she does now is kiss other girls?

Claire hadn’t even seen again Paige until her second day back.

It was outside the campus center, and Paige was walking with her arm around a girl Claire didn’t know. Not holding hands. Not kissing. But close. Close enough to make Claire feel like she was losing her breath.

She remembered freezing. Heart in her throat. Trying to decide if she should wave. Smile. Say something.

Paige didn’t look her way.

Just laughed at something the girl said and kept walking.

Claire wiped at her eyes now, curled up on the tiny bench outside the student union. It was past 8 p.m., and she hadn’t eaten dinner. Not because she forgot. Because everything tasted wrong lately.

The sky was fading into that deep UConn purple-blue, and the breeze made her tuck her hands under her sweatshirt sleeves. Her phone buzzed again.

Cam: We’re going out. Come. Please.

Claire stared at the message for a long time. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

She didn’t want to go. But she didn’t want to sit here thinking about Paige either.

So she typed back, Be there in 10, and stood up, even though her legs felt like they didn’t belong to her.

Later that night – Off-campus party

Claire walked into the party and immediately regretted it.

The music was loud, the lights dim and dizzying. Bodies everywhere. Sweat. Laughter. The kind of scene she usually avoided.

She spotted Cam near the makeshift bar and made her way over.

“You came,” Cam said, smiling wide.

Claire nodded, grabbing a cup of something that tasted like floor cleaner. “Only for you.”

It didn’t take long before she saw her.

Paige.

In the corner. A backwards cap on, hoodie pulled halfway up her arms, red solo cup in hand.

Claire’s stomach turned.

She looked… good.

Unbothered.

And the girl she was talking to? Blonde. Pretty. Laughing too hard at whatever Paige was saying.

Claire didn’t mean to stare. But Paige looked up.

And their eyes met.

Just for a second.

Then Paige turned away.

Claire didn’t last more than 30 minutes before walking home alone.

She didn’t cry.

She just put in her earbuds, hit play on August by Taylor Swift, and walked faster when she heard the line that always made her stomach twist.

‘Cause you weren’t mine to lose’

-

Claire never realized how many versions of Paige lived on this campus.

 She saw her everywhere now. In the echoes of a laugh down the hallway. In the back of a blonde head at the dining hall. In the number 5 jersey some freshman wore with pride and no idea what it meant to Claire.

She didn’t try to see her. She tried not to. But UConn wasn’t big enough to erase someone who already lived under your skin.

Some nights, Claire swore she could still feel her fingertips on her ribs. Her voice low against her neck, asking things like, “You okay?” and “You want me to stop?” and “You’re so damn soft, Claire…”

Those words were hers now. Not Paige’s. Paige didn’t claim them. Paige didn’t remember them — at least not like Claire did.

It had been eleven days since the party.

Eleven days since Paige looked at her for half a second and then looked away.

Claire had counted them the same way she counted how long it had been since Paige last texted her — 16 days.

No “I made it home.”

No “Let’s not talk about it.”

Not even a half-assed “You good?”

Just silence. The kind that fills your chest like water.

Claire started sitting in the back of her classes.

She used to like the third row — close enough to see, far enough not to be stared at. Now, she couldn’t stomach being seen at all. Couldn’t risk someone asking how her summer was, or worse: “Weren’t you with Paige Bueckers at that cabin? Don’t your 

families do that every year?”

Yes.

We did.

And then we didn’t.

She still hadn’t told Cam. Sometimes she thought about it. Laying it all out. Saying the words out loud so they’d stop eating her alive.

But how do you explain the feeling of almost? Of being touched like a secret, then abandoned like one too?

FLASHBACK – EARLY AUGUST

Claire had always been the one who remembered the little things. Paige, the big.

Paige would remember the year it rained all week. The time the boat flipped. The summer Claire fell off the dock and came up with a bloody lip and Paige had carried her back, panicked.

Claire would remember how Paige had said, “You scared the hell out of me.”

She’d remember the way Paige’s thumb brushed the blood away. The way she looked down at her like she wanted to say something else.

But didn’t.

Claire would remember how it had always been like that. Like there was something waiting between them, some unspoken truth pressed under tongue and bone.

She remembered the night they shared the hammock. Paige’s legs tangled with hers. That perfect silence. Paige whispering, “Do you think we’ll still come here when we’re 30?”

And Claire, without thinking: “Only if you still want me here.”

She remembered the pause.

And Paige saying, softer: “I always want you here.”

Claire stared up at the ceiling now, headphones in, blanket pulled to her chest.

Her roommate was out for the night.

She could cry, if she wanted to. She didn’t.

She pressed play on another song. Not August this time. Something slower. Something sad. But it didn’t matter. 

Everything sounded like Paige lately.

She’d tried journaling. It didn’t help.

She’d tried writing it down, starting with: We kissed. You touched me like I was something soft. Then you left me like I wasn’t anything at all.

She never got past the first sentence.

The worst part wasn’t that Paige left.

It was that she didn’t even say goodbye.

Not that night. Not the next morning. Not at the airport.

Claire remembered waking up alone in Paige’s bed. Her side still warm.

She’d pulled on her hoodie, walked into the kitchen expecting Paige to be there — maybe with coffee. Maybe with a joke about how they should never talk about what happened.

But she wasn’t there.

Paige was already outside. In a tank top. Tossing a basketball against the side of the house, like nothing had changed.

Like they hadn’t changed.

When Claire stepped out onto the porch, 

Paige looked over and said, “You sleep okay?”

That was it.

Not “about last night.”

Not “I’m sorry.”

Not “I felt something too.”

Just: You sleep okay?

Like Claire hadn’t fallen apart a little in her arms.

Like Claire hadn’t handed her something real.

Now, two weeks into the semester, Claire walked past the practice gym just in time to hear laughter echo from inside. A basketball bounced. Then again. She didn’t look.

She just pulled her hoodie up tighter and walked faster, clutching her books like they could hold her together.

She didn’t want to see Paige sweaty and golden under those lights. Didn’t want to see her smile or joke or wink at someone who wasn’t her.

But mostly, she didn’t want Paige to look at her again like she never had.

Some nights, Claire still went to the little hill behind the dorms, where the trees swayed just like the ones back at the cabin.

She’d sit there. Let the wind hit her cheeks. Pretend she was somewhere else. That it was still August. That Paige hadn’t forgotten.

That she hadn’t.

But she had.

They both had.

And the silence between them was louder than anything Claire had ever heard.

-

Paige wasn’t sleeping much these days.

No matter how hard she practiced. No matter how many miles she ran on the treadmill after hours. No matter how many hands she pulled into her bed just to feel something — it never stuck.

She couldn’t stop seeing Claire.

Not in the obvious way. Claire wasn’t texting her. Wasn’t standing in front of her asking questions Paige didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t saying anything at all.

But that didn’t matter.

She saw Claire anyway. In the hallway across from her sports psych class. At the dining hall, her head bent over some book, blonde hair tied up in that stupid knot she always fixed twice before it sat right. In the way the leaves had started changing outside the dorm windows.

Late summer always looked like Claire.

And now Claire looked like something she couldn’t touch.

It was easier to pretend when other people were around. When Azzi was cracking jokes or Jordan was hanging off her arm. It was easier when someone else was laughing in her ear, pulling her to parties, saying things like “You’re such a flirt, Bueckers,” like it was a compliment and not a cover.

No one asked why she didn’t go home right after the summer.

No one asked what happened at the lake.

And Paige didn’t offer it up.

Because what could she say?

I kissed Claire because I wanted to.

I touched her like she was mine.

Then I walked away because I don’t know how to stay.

Because I don’t know how to be wanted  back.

FLASHBACK – AUGUST 28TH

Paige hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But Claire had looked so pretty in the moonlight. Knees pulled to her chest. Talking like always — soft, thoughtful, the kind of voice Paige would’ve put on repeat if she could.

And she’d said something stupid, something like “I wish we had more time.”

And Claire had said, “This. Us. Whatever this is.”

And that was it.

She’d kissed her.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was.

The way Claire gasped softly into her mouth. The way her hands trembled. The way she pulled Paige in like she had yearned years for it.Maybe she had.

Paige remembered every second of that night. Every piece of clothing she slid off Claire’s body. The way Claire whispered her name like it meant something. The way her lips found Paige’s wrist, her collarbone, the curve of her hip.

She remembered how Claire had said, “You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”

And Paige hadn’t answered.

She’d just kissed her again.Harder this time.

Because if she didn’t answer, maybe it wouldn’t be real.

She hadn’t meant to leave her alone in the bed the next morning.

She’d woken up early. The sky still that pale, sad gray it turned before sunrise. And she panicked.

Because Claire looked peaceful. Content.

Like she thought it meant something.

And maybe it had. Maybe it did.

But feelings were complicated. Messy. And Paige had spent her whole life running from anything she couldn’t control.

So she slipped out of bed, pulled on a hoodie, and went outside to shoot.

By the time Claire came out onto the porch, Paige had already decided how the morning would go.

Casual. Safe. Distant.

She hadn’t looked her in the eyes.

She couldn’t.

“You sleep okay?” she’d asked, like Claire hadn’t just offered her something soft and rare and real.

Claire had just nodded.

She didn’t say much after that. And Paige never asked her to.

 NOW – SEPTEMBER

Paige sat in the back row of the weight room, earbuds in, head against the wall. Everyone else had left for the night. She liked it better this way. Quiet. Empty. No one asking where she’d been. Why she didn’t come out last night. Why she hadn’t answered Jordan’s text.

She opened her Notes app.

Typed something.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Claire.

I know I messed up.

I know you think it didn’t mean anything—

No.

You think I think it didn’t mean anything.

Deleted.

She sighed. Shut her phone off. Closed her eyes.

When she dreamed, she always dreamed of the lake.

Claire’s voice in the dark.

The hammock swaying.

That night. That kiss.

The soft “I’ve always wanted this.”

It haunted her.Because Paige had wanted it too. She just didn’t know what to do with it once she had it.

Paige saw her again that Friday. Outside the library. Claire was sitting on the steps, legs crossed, notebook in her lap.

She looked tired.

But beautiful. In that quiet way only Claire could pull off.

Paige stopped walking for half a second. Just… watched her.

Claire looked up.

Didn’t see her.

Or maybe she did — and just looked through her.

Paige didn’t know which one hurt more.

She turned before Claire could look again.

Walked faster.

Didn’t look back.

But the guilt sat heavier than her practice bag.

Paige had gotten really good at acting like she didn’t care.

It was second nature by now — the smirk, the shrug, the well-timed joke. She knew how to laugh with her mouth full of guilt, how to hold eye contact without letting anything real slip through.

And no one ever questioned it.

Not her teammates. Not the girls she let kiss her neck at parties. Not her coach. Not even herself — most of the time.

But then she’d see Claire.

Even from a distance. A flash of dark hair in the library courtyard. A glimpse of her sitting outside the student union with her legs tucked underneath her like she always did. Her notebook open, lips pressed together like she was holding back everything.

And Paige would forget how to breathe.

Not in a dramatic way. Not in some movie-scene breakdown.

But in a quiet, collapsing way — the kind where your ribs feel too tight and your hands start shaking and there’s no one to blame but yourself.

Because Paige had done this.

She kissed Claire. Touched her. Held her like she meant to stay. Whispered her name like it was a promise.

And then she left.

Because love wasn’t something Paige Bueckers did. Not really. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But wanting had never been enough for her.

FLASHBACK – AUGUST 29TH

They were lying in her bed, half-naked and flushed, the air heavy with whatever had just happened between them.

Claire was quiet. Her hand rested on Paige’s stomach, her thumb moving in the smallest, softest circle.

Paige had never felt so still in her life.

“This changes things,” Claire had whispered.

Paige didn’t respond. She stared at the ceiling like it held an answer she didn’t have.

“Paige,” Claire said again, softer this time.

And Paige had done the only thing she knew how to do when she got scared.

She kissed her.

Not gently. Not tenderly.

Just enough to shut her up. Just enough to make it seem like the silence meant nothing.

Now, weeks later, Paige sat in her room alone, phone facedown on her pillow. The lights were off. Practice had ended three hours ago, but she hadn’t moved since her shower. She could still feel the cold tile beneath her feet.

She hadn’t talked to Claire.

Not once. And Claire hadn’t reached out either. She didn’t blame her.

If she were Claire, she wouldn’t either.

There were moments — slivers of the day — where Paige swore she’d text her. Just a simple “Can we talk?” or “I’m sorry.”

She even typed it once.

I messed up. I— I didn’t mean to leave you like that. I just didn’t know how to stay.

She stared at it.

Then deleted every word.

Because if she sent it, it would be real.

And if it was real, then she’d have to admit what she did. What she felt. What she ruined.

She passed Claire in the quad on Thursday. Didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to.

Claire was sitting alone, headphones in, hoodie drawn tight over her head like she was trying to disappear.

And Paige?

She kept walking.

She didn’t even let herself glance back.

But that didn’t stop the ache.

Didn’t stop the way her chest burned when she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, hearing the echo of Claire’s laugh from some summer three years ago. Back when things were simple. Back when they were just best friends who pretended they didn’t want more.

She thought hooking up would make it easier.

She thought if she could just bury it — Claire, the kiss, the way Claire’s voice cracked when she said, “Don’t act like it didn’t mean anything,” — maybe it would go away.

But it didn’t.

It stayed. In every silent hallway.

In every girl who didn’t feel like her.

In every sleepless night Paige spent pretending she hadn’t ruined the only thing that ever made her feel safe.

She heard a rumor that Claire had left a party early. That she’d shown up, stayed twenty minutes, then walked out like something had cracked open inside her.

Paige hadn’t even seen her there. But when she heard that? She didn’t sleep that night either. Because she knew. She knew Claire had seen her first. And still left. And something about that felt worse than if Claire had screamed.

Paige started skipping the dining hall.

Not because she didn’t want to eat.

But because she couldn’t sit across the room from Claire pretending she didn’t want to beg. She’d never been good at words. Feelings. Anything that required showing people the parts of her that weren’t polished or perfect or made for the spotlight.

Claire was the opposite.

She was real.

She felt.

And Paige… ran.

She kept thinking about the last line Claire had whispered into her hair before falling asleep that night in August.

“I don’t want this to be temporary.”

And Paige had kissed her shoulder instead of answering.

Because she already knew it would be.

Because she was going to make it that way.

Because temporary was safer than real.

And now?

Now Paige couldn’t stop thinking about how temporary had never hurt this bad.

[blairwbb]

Flipped

Part 2.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x fem!oc

A/N: Bryce lowski and Julie baker are back! Well I mean Paige Bueckers and Lottie Harp. Some of you guys asked for a part 2 so I must post this!

Paige stood there, the weight of Lottie’s words pressing harder against her chest than the dumbbells ever could. She hadn't even moved since Lottie slipped out of the room, her quiet footsteps somehow louder than anything else.

She raked a hand through her hair, frustrated at herself — at everything.

Why was it so hard to say something real?

Why did it feel like she had this endless wall around her whenever it came to Lottie? 

Maybe because Lottie had always looked at her like she mattered, even when Paige had been hell-bent on proving she didn’t.

With a heavy breath, Paige grabbed her water bottle, tossed it into her bag, and followed instinct — not thought — out the door.

The hall was cooler, quieter. She caught sight of Lottie’s figure disappearing around the corner, her long strides quick, like she didn’t want to be caught.

Typical. 

Paige waited too long again.

But this time, she didn’t let herself hesitate. She jogged a few steps to catch up. “Lottie!” she called out, sharper than she intended.

Lottie paused but didn’t turn around right away. When she finally did, her arms were crossed, and there was a guarded look on her face that sliced Paige open without mercy.

“What?” Lottie asked, voice even but tired.

Paige opened her mouth, but nothing good came out. “You didn’t let me say anything.”

Lottie laughed — not the kind Paige used to crave hearing. This one was dry.

“You had all freshman year to say something. Sophomore year too, apparently.” She shook her head, blonde hair catching the hallway lights. “I’m not sticking around for another year of... this.”

Paige flinched. This. Like whatever she and Lottie could’ve been had already withered into something broken.

“I get it,” Lottie said, voice softer now. Not kind — just resigned. “I’m not mad. I just... I’m done chasing you, Paige.”

The words knocked the air out of her. She didn’t even realize she was holding onto the strap of her bag so tight until her knuckles went white.

Lottie turned to leave again. This time, it felt final.

And Paige — Paige didn’t know if she was 

brave enough to stop her.

Not yet.

Paige didn’t say anything when Lottie walked away.

She just stood there, feeling the door close between them — not just the physical one.

By the next morning, it was obvious to everyone that something was off with her.

"Okay, what is your problem?" Nika demanded, dropping her bag onto the table where Paige was blankly staring at her cereal.

"My bad," Paige muttered, pushing the bowl away. "Didn’t realize eating was a crime."

"It’s not eating," Azzi cut in, sliding into the booth. "It’s... whatever this is." She waved her hand at Paige, frustrated. "You've flipped lately."

"Yeah," kk agreed "You're not talking, you're not joking — you're just... weird."

"I’m tired," Paige said flatly.

But they didn’t buy it.

Because the thing was — Paige wasn’t just tired.

She was distracted. Edgy. Like she was fighting herself every second.

She didn’t want to tell them the truth — that her mind was stuck on a girl who used to look at her like she was worth the trouble. And that she was the one who ruined it.

That afternoon, after practice, Paige sat alone on the bleachers, staring at her phone. The old her would've just shrugged and moved on. Would've laughed it off. But the old her had never cared this much.

She knew just texting Lottie wouldn’t be enough. Words didn’t mean anything anymore — not after how long she made Lottie wait.

So instead, she did something she never thought she’d do.

Paige pulled out her phone, opened her Notes app, and started typing.

Really typing.

Everything she should’ve said months ago. Not some fake apology, not some half-joke to soften it. Just the truth. Raw and ugly.

When she finished, her hands were shaking.

She hesitated — for once, not out of fear — and then took a screenshot of the note.

She sent it to Lottie.

No caption. No explanation.

Just the truth, dropped in her messages like a weight.

And across town, Lottie was still trying to get over her.

Still trying to convince herself that Paige wasn’t worth the ache anymore.

Still telling herself to move forward — not back.

When her phone buzzed, she almost didn’t look.

But curiosity won.

She opened it — and froze.

It wasn’t just a text.

It was Paige’s heart, bleeding out onto the screen.

For a second, Lottie forgot how to breathe.

Lottie read the message twice. Then a third time.

Her chest ached, and her hands felt useless in her lap.

She didn’t reply.

She didn’t know how to reply.

What was she supposed to say? Thanks for realizing it too late? Thanks for telling me when I’m finally trying to move on?

No.

It was easier to do nothing.

She tucked her phone away and buried herself in distractions — schoolwork, friends, anything but Paige.

But life had other plans.

Two days later, they ran into each other outside the practice gym. Neither of them planned it. It just happened — messy and uninvited — like everything between them always was.

Lottie nearly turned around when she saw Paige walking out the door.

Paige looked different. Tired, but not in a weak way — in a way that said she was carrying something heavy.

They locked eyes for a second. It was enough.

Paige stopped in front of her, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. Her voice was rough when she spoke, but steady.

"You didn’t reply."

It wasn’t an accusation.

It was just a fact.

Lottie crossed her arms, feeling that familiar pang she hated.

"I didn’t know what to say."

Paige gave a small, almost broken laugh. She rubbed the back of her neck.

"Yeah. I figured."

They stood there, the words unsaid louder than the ones spoken.

Paige looked like she wanted to say more. Maybe beg. Maybe apologize again. But she didn’t.

Instead, she just said,  quieter this time, "I meant it. Every word."

Lottie didn’t answer right away.

And Paige didn’t push.

Instead, she nodded — like she accepted whatever came next, even if it was nothing — and stepped around Lottie to leave.

Lottie turned slightly, watching her walk away.

Something twisted inside her chest.

She hated her for making her feel like this again.

She hated herself more for still caring.

Lottie tried. God, she tried.

She threw herself into everything else — school, work, mindless conversations with friends who didn’t look at her the way Paige used to.

Some days, she almost convinced herself she was getting better.

Other days, she caught herself checking her phone for a message that wasn’t coming, 

and she hated herself all over again.

She didn’t want to be the girl who couldn’t let go.

She didn’t want to be the girl who still loved someone who only realized what they had after they lost it.

Get over it, she told herself. You have to.

One afternoon, when the walls of her dorm felt too small, Lottie wandered into a bookstore off campus.

She wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe because she needed somewhere she didn’t feel haunted.

She ran her fingers across the spines of worn novels and poetry collections, pretending she wasn’t breaking all over again.

Near the back, there was a display — a cheap wooden sign hanging above a table stacked with old books.

In faded white paint, the words read:

"True love waits."

Lottie froze.

Her hand hovered over the nearest book, but she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

True love waits.

What if it wasn’t about waiting for the perfect time?

What if it was about standing through all the wrong times too?

What if it wasn’t weakness to still feel something?

What if it meant she wasn’t crazy for still wanting Paige after everything?

Her chest cracked open painfully.

Because deep down, beneath all the anger and hurt and walls she built, Lottie knew the truth: She never really stopped wanting her. Not even when she tried.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes — unexpected, hot, burning. She blinked them away, embarrassed even though no one was watching.

It would’ve been easier if she could hate Paige.

It would’ve been easier if the note didn’t still sit in her phone, heavy and real.

Lottie pressed her palms against the edge of the table, grounding herself.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe it was messy and late and human.

Maybe — just maybe — it was still real.

She closed her eyes for a second, letting herself feel it instead of fighting it.

When she opened them again, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

She just knew she couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter anymore.

That night, Lottie sat curled on her bed, the dim lamplight soft against the walls.

The bookstore moment — the "true love waits" sign — kept echoing in her head, no matter how hard she tried to shut it out.

She found herself scrolling mindlessly through her laptop, not even sure what she was looking for — until she landed on the pictures.

Pictures she swore she’d deleted.

Pictures of Paige.

Laughing at some stupid joke. Holding a basketball like it was just an extension of her body.

Caught mid-smile, before Lottie even knew she was falling for her.

Back then, Paige didn’t even realize what 

she was doing to her.

And maybe back then, Lottie didn’t either.

She thought about Flipped — the way Juli had always seen something in Bryce, even when he didn’t deserve it.

The way Bryce only really saw her when he was about to lose her for good.

Lottie never wanted to be someone's second choice.

She never wanted to be the girl they only appreciated when she was walking away.

But what if it wasn’t like that?

What if Paige wasn’t just flipping now — but growing?

What if love wasn't just about being seen — but also about waiting for the other person to finally lookthe right way?

She set her phone down, heart racing.

Because somewhere deep down, under all the stubbornness and the bruises on her 

heart, Lottie knew:

Paige was different now.

Maybe not perfect.

But different.

And Lottie — as much as she hated it — she was different too.

Not weaker.

Not desperate.

Just... changed.

The credits were still rolling, soft music playing, but Lottie didn’t move. Flipped had left her heart aching in that inconvenient, nostalgic way. She hated how much it reminded her of Paige—of being the one who waited, who saw something in someone long before they saw it in themselves.

But Juli Baker got her ending.

Did girls like Lottie?

She stared blankly at the black TV screen once the movie ended, the question echoing louder than she wanted it to: What if Paige flipped? And what if it’s too late?

Could someone who left you standing there, who pulled away when you gave them everything—could they really come back and mean it this time?

Did Paige even get to do that?

Lottie didn’t know.

And she wasn’t sure she cared to find out.

Except she did care.

Of course she did.

Because that night in the bookstore hadn’t left her. Neither had Paige’s eyes—like they wanted to say something they didn’t have the right to say anymore. Lottie had gone home that night pretending she felt nothing. She told herself she was done.

And then Paige reached out.

A text.

Just her name. Then, a few minutes later: Can I talk to you?

Lottie stared at the screen for way too long, thumb hovering over the keyboard. She didn’t reply.

The next day, another one: Please. I won’t say anything you don’t want to hear. I just… I’d really like to try.

Lottie locked her phone and set it face-down. She walked around her apartment like it didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t thinking about all the times she had wanted Paige to try—then. Before the silence. Before the wrong kind of distance.

Now she didn’t know.

Now the idea of hearing Paige’s voice made her feel like she might break all over again.

Because the truth was—she wanted to hear what Paige had to say.

But she also didn’t think she could survive it.

Not if it was too late.

Not if it wasn’t real.

And definitely not if it was.

Lottie didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to answer. So she found distractions.

She hadn’t meant to stop walking.

She was just passing through the quad, hoodie up, earbuds in, telling herself she was fine—because that’s what she always did. Pretend everything was background noise. Pretend the ache didn’t still follow her everywhere.

But then she saw her.

Lottie.

And less than twenty feet away from me was Lottie.

My Lottie.

God, she looked the same. A little more guarded maybe, but still soft in the way Paige remembered. And she was laughing.

Laughing.

What was she laughing about?

Paige’s feet didn’t move. Couldn’t. All she could do was watch as some guy—tall, probably charming, the kind of safe Paige never knew how to be—leaned in and said something that made Lottie cover her mouth with her hand and shake her head like stop it.

She used to do that with Paige. That same look. That same tilt of her head.

Something bitter crawled into Paige’s throat.

She wanted to believe Lottie was faking it. That it didn’t mean anything. That this wasn’t what moving on looked like.

But it felt real.

And she looked happy.

Happy in a way Paige hadn’t seen since before—before the text, before the silences, before everything broke.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of 

her backpack.

She’d thought maybe, if she gave it time, Lottie would talk to her. Hear her out. Let her explain, even if it didn’t change anything.

But seeing her now—with him, laughing like that—

She didn’t owe Paige anything.

And yet, all Paige could think was: That was supposed to be me.

That used to be me.

She blinked once, hard. Then turned away. One step. Then another. Fast enough to disappear before Lottie noticed.

Or maybe she already had.

And just… didn’t care.

Again.

It was stupid.

The way Lottie could feel her before she 

even saw her.

She was just walking with Parker again—he was talking about some movie she hadn’t seen, something light and forgettable, something easy. He was good at that. At making things feel quiet. Safe. He didn’t ask questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

And then—

Her skin prickled.

The air shifted.

She looked up.

And there she was.

My Paige.

The thought hit her like a punch to the chest, unwanted and reflexive. She hated it—hated herself for still calling her that, even in her head. For holding on to something that had never really been hers to keep.

But there Paige was.

Across the sidewalk, less than ten feet 

away, slowing down as soon as she saw them. Lottie saw her hesitate—eyes flicking from her to Parker, then back again. And in that instant, Lottie knew what was coming.

She braced herself.

She looked away.

“Hey,” Paige said.

Lottie didn’t stop walking. “Don’t.”

Paige blinked, already behind them now but turning to follow. “Lottie, please. Just for a second.”

“No.” She didn’t even raise her voice. Just kept her steps steady, like her heart wasn’t racing.

“Just let me say something—”

“You said enough,” Lottie said over her shoulder. “A long time ago.”

Parker looked between them, clearly unsure if he should stay or give her space. But Lottie just kept moving. Because if she stopped, she’d listen. And if she listened, she might feel it all again.

And she wasn’t going to do that.

Not again.

Paige stood there, watching her walk away, swallowed by the crowd.

Lottie didn’t turn around.

But she felt it. The way she always did.

Like some part of her still belonged to Paige, no matter how hard she tried to cut it out.

-

Lottie didn’t cry when she got home.

She sat on the edge of her bed, shoes still on, jacket still zipped, and just… stared at the wall. Quiet. Numb. Tired in that way that has nothing to do with sleep.

Parker had offered to stay. She told him no.

He didn’t deserve to be a placeholder for a person who’d broken her.

They weren’t anything serious, but she could see it in his eyes—he cared. And that was the thing. Lottie couldn’t be cared for right now. Not by someone who wanted to help her move on when she hadn't even figured out how to let go.

She couldn’t hurt someone kind just because she was hurting.

So she ended it. Gently. Quietly. No drama.

Just the truth: “You deserve more than someone who still feels hollow.”

And now she sat alone, thinking about how Paige had said her name. Like it meant something. Like it still had weight. Like Paige had the nerve to want back in after all this time.

She flipped.

That was the part Lottie couldn’t get out of her head. The movie had planted it there. Paige had been the one running from everything, always unsure, always halfway gone.

But now?

Now she was looking at Lottie like she got it. Like she finally understood.

Now.

After Lottie had scraped herself off the floor alone. After all the nights spent wondering what she did wrong. After all the time wasted hoping Paige would come back and mean it.

Now Paige flipped.

And Lottie was so angry she couldn’t even breathe.

Because deep down, even with all the hurt and all the silence—

She still wanted her.

God, she hated that.

She hated that her hands still remembered what Paige’s felt like. That her body still reacted to her voice. That somewhere, under all the walls, there was still that flicker of something stupid and raw and real.

She pulled her knees to her chest, curling in like she could press the feeling out of her body.

“I waited for you,” she whispered, like Paige could hear her. “And you came when I stopped.”

She didn’t know what was worse—that Paige flipped, or that it might actually mean something now.

And Lottie? She wasn’t sure she had anything left to give.

She hadn’t planned to go out.

But distractions don’t plan themselves, and Lottie was tired of her bed swallowing her whole. So she let a couple of classmates drag her out to some off-campus bar. Not the loud kind—no sweat and strobe lights—just music, dim lights, and a bar that didn’t card too hard if you looked like you belonged.

Three drinks in, she stopped checking the door.

She wasn’t drunk, not really. Just warm. Just light enough to laugh at a joke someone made down the bar. Just calm enough to pretend the ache in her chest wasn’t Paige-shaped.

Until it was.

The air shifted before she even looked.

She didn’t need to see her. She felt her.

And when she turned her head, Paige was sliding into the stool next to her like she belonged there.

Lottie didn’t flinch.

She didn’t speak.

But she didn’t get up either.

Her silence was permission.

Paige’s voice was soft, raw in a way Lottie had never heard from her before. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Lottie didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the drink in front of her. A second passed. Then another.

“I was walking by. Saw you through the window.” Paige swallowed, like it hurt. “I almost didn’t come in.”

“Why did you?”

“Because,” Paige said, voice cracking just a little, “I couldn’t keep walking.”

Silence again. Lottie swirled the straw in her glass.

“I’ve been running from this for so long,” Paige said quietly, almost like a confession. 

“From you. From what I feel. From the way I’ve always felt about you.” She looked sideways, gaze catching Lottie’s. “You’ve always made me feel... seen. In a way that I didn’t think I deserved. But I’ve been hiding it, trying to ignore it, trying to pretend it was just a crush or something. And I’ve told myself I could get over it. But I never did. I just... lied to myself.”

Lottie kept her gaze locked on Paige, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to hear this—didn’t know if she could.

“I’ve always wanted to be around you,” Paige continued, her voice growing softer, more vulnerable. “And every time I did get close, I pushed you away. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to mess things up, but the truth is, I was terrified. I was terrified of what I felt for you. Of how strong it was, how much it mattered.”

Lottie didn’t move. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

“I kept thinking if I could just ignore it, it would go away. But now… now it feels like I’ve been running away from something I should have been running toward. And I don’t know if it’s too late, but I’m done hiding from it. Done pretending I don’t care about you in a way I’ve never been able to explain to anyone.”

Her eyes were wide, full of emotion, full of something Lottie hadn’t expected. Paige looked broken. Raw. In a way that Lottie hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve always wanted this,” Paige whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I never thought I’d be brave enough to admit it.”

Lottie’s chest tightened. She wanted to say something—anything—to make it stop, to shut it down. But the truth of it, the way Paige was looking at her, made her throat close up.

The worst part? Lottie wanted to listen. 

She wanted to hear the rest of the story, to finally know what Paige had been too scared to say all this time. The part of her that had waited for this moment, the part that had carried all the unanswered questions, was suddenly wide open.

And she hated that she was so willing to listen now, when Paige had stayed silent for so long.

But in the silence between them, Lottie finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why now?”

Paige’s eyes filled with unshed tears, but her chin lifted. “Because I was tired of lying to myself. I was tired of pretending I didn’t care. I thought if I kept my distance, it would be easier. But it wasn’t. Not anymore.”

Lottie didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to respond to the weight of the words hanging between them.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t know if she was ready to believe that Paige was actually being honest. Not when the past had been full of longing and silence.

[blairwbb]

Flipped

pairing: Paige Bueckers x fem!oc

Summary: Lottie Harp her freshman year falls instantly in love with campus celebrity, Paige Bueckers . Paige, however, does not feel the spark. From that day forward, she tries hard to keep brash and unpredictable Lottie at bay. After a year Lottie begins to feel that she was wrong about her being the love of her life. Unfortunately, that is just about the time that Paige begins to think she was wrong about Lottie, too.

A/N: Bryce lowski and Juli baker but make it Paige Bueckers and Lottie Harp. Lottie stand up!

-

Lottie didn’t believe in love at first sight—until she saw Paige Bueckers.

It was the second week of freshman year at UConn. Parker was running late for her media studies lecture, juggling her camera bag and iced coffee, when she darted into the building and nearly collided with her.

Paige Bueckers. The name echoed across campus. Everyone knew who she was—the basketball prodigy, the face on the banners, the one ESPN couldn’t stop talking about. But to Parker, she was just a girl standing in the hallway with a lazy ponytail, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and this look in her eyes like she belonged anywhere she stepped.

“Sorry,” Lottie had said quickly, backing up with an apologetic smile.

Paige barely looked at her. “Watch it.”

That was the first time they met. The first time Paige brushed her off. And still, Lottie fell.

They didn’t run in the same circles—lottie worked behind the camera for the school’s athletic media team, covering games, editing highlight reels, staying late to organize footage most people wouldn’t notice. She’d film from the sidelines and zoom in when the crowd went wild over #5—Paige—cool and collected under pressure, the center of every moment.

Lottie tried not to stare too long.

She told herself it was nothing. Just a harmless crush. Admiration, maybe. A fascination with the way Paige never seemed to care what people thought.

But deep down, she knew better. The feelings were real. And stupid.

Because every time Lottie  found herself near Paige—at the gym, outside a press conference, in passing on campus—she was met with coldness. Disinterest. And sometimes, if she was lucky, a sarcastic comment that stuck in her chest longer than it should.

Paige didn’t understand Lottie 

This random girl who always showed up with a camera and soft eyes, who asked polite questions like “Do you need help?” or “You good with that clip?” when Paige couldn’t stand anyone asking anything of her.

Lottie was kind. Too kind. And Paige didn’t trust kind people—not anymore.

So she ignored her. Dismissed her. Rolled her eyes when Lottie  smiled.

Because the last thing Paige needed was someone like that getting too close.

Especially someone who made her heart stutter when they said her name.

-

By sophomore year, lottie had learned to keep her distance.

She still saw Paige everywhere—on billboards, in highlight reels she edited, on the court with that same fire in her eyes—but lottie had stopped trying to be noticed.

She stopped saying hi in passing. Stopped pausing near the court after games. Stopped looking up every time Paige walked into the room.

It wasn’t bitterness.

 Not quite.

It was more like exhaustion. A quiet ache that came from spending an entire year hoping someone might see you—just to realize they probably never would.

She felt stupid for ever thinking there was something there. A spark. A shift in Paige’s tone. A look that lingered half a second too long. Maybe those moments had never meant anything. Maybe she’d just been imagining all of it.

Paige Bueckers didn’t care about her.

She never had.

But Paige noticed.

She noticed when Lottie stopped asking questions during media sessions. When she stopped waiting outside the gym with her clipboard and quick, nervous smiles.

When her laugh stopped ringing through the hallways near the court.

Paige told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself Lottie was just some girl with a camera and a sweet face. Someone she could forget.

But she couldn’t.

Because for the first time in a long time, the 

silence left by someone actually hurt.

And that made Paige mad—at lottie, at herself, at whatever part of her heart had started to beat differently around that girl and didn’t know how to stop.

One night, Paige found herself standing outside the media room. Lottie was inside, alone, piecing together a highlight reel for the next morning’s press release.

Paige could see her through the window—headphones on, lips pursed in focus, the glow of the screen lighting up her face.

Paige didn’t knock.

She stayed there for a few seconds, just watching. 

Then she left.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for.

And Lottie? She didn’t even know Paige had been there at all.

Lottie stopped showing up early to games.

Stopped lingering after interviews.

Stopped hoping Paige would look at her the way Lottie looked at her when no one was watching.

It wasn’t some grand decision—it was quiet. Like water drying up. Like something gentle being slowly, painfully wrung out of her chest.

Lottie had loved the idea of Paige Bueckers. Loved her confidence, her brilliance, the fire in her eyes when she was on the court. But more than that, Lottie had loved her smile—the one she imagined might exist when the cameras were off. The one she was stupid enough to believe she could earn.

But she never did.

And now, the feelings she once carried so loudly—heart skipping, cheeks burning, daydreams spiraling—they were just… quieter. Still there. But different.

She still filmed her. Still edited clips of her fast breaks and clean shots.

But when her fingers brushed the keyboard, she didn’t think of what Paige’s laugh might sound like anymore.

She already knew it didn’t sound like it was meant for her.

Paige noticed the silence before she knew what it meant.

Lottie didn’t hover by the tunnel anymore. Didn’t offer a soft “Nice game” or that weirdly charming half-smile she always did, like she wasn’t sure she belonged near someone like Paige.

She didn’t ask how Paige was feeling post-injury. Didn’t try to talk to her after press conferences. She just… existed. Quietly. Professionally. Distant.

And it made Paige restless.

She’d gotten used to lottie being there in the background—soft edges in a world that was all noise and expectations. She didn’t know when she started looking for her. Just that one day, she looked—and Lottie wasn’t looking back.

And Paige hated that.

Not because she missed the attention.

But because maybe—just maybe—she missed her.

Lottie laughed at herself a lot these days. Not the funny kind. The self-aware kind. The kind that stings when you realize how much time you spent hoping someone might care about you when they clearly didn’t.

She’d been nothing to Paige. Just a name she probably didn’t remember. A presence in the corner of her world. And now, she was trying—really trying—to finally accept that.

No more late-night edits with heartache tangled in the background music. No more glancing at practice schedules like maybe she’d “accidentally” be there. No more imagining a version of Paige that didn’t exist.

Just her.

Her work.

Her peace.

That’s what she was choosing now.

Even if it didn’t quite feel like peace yet.

Paige stood in the hallway outside the media room again.

She didn’t knock.

She stared at the door like it had the answers to a question she hadn’t asked yet.

Inside, she could hear faint music. She wondered if lottie still made playlists for the reels she edited. She wondered if Lottie still hummed under her breath when she worked late. She wondered why she cared.

She’d spent so long keeping Lottie away—pushing her off with coldness, pretending she didn’t see her kindness as anything more than a nuisance.

But Paige had never been good at being honest.

The gym was too quiet.

Practice had ended an hour ago, and most of the girls had already left. Paige stayed behind, working through free throws that didn’t need fixing and pretending her thoughts weren’t drifting somewhere else entirely.

The ball hit the rim—clink. Off.

She didn’t even flinch.

“You’re off today,” Nika said from the sideline, unwrapping a protein bar and watching her like she was waiting for Paige to break first.

“I’m fine.”

Nika raised a brow. “You missed that shot by, like, two counties.”

Paige caught the ball and sighed, tossing it lazily toward the baseline.

“You wanna talk about it?” Nika asked. “Or do I have to guess?”

“No talking necessary.”

“Okay, so it’s about a girl.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “It’s not about a girl.”

“Interesting. Because the only time you start brooding this hard is either after a loss… or when she’s in the room.”

Paige didn’t answer.

Nika grinned like she already knew. “It’s lottie isn’t it?”

“Lottie?” Paige scoffed. “As in lottie Harp? The one I couldn’t stand all last  year?”

“Exactly. That Lottie.”

Paige turned, grabbing her water and trying to hide the way her ears were turning red.

“I don’t—she’s just…” she mumbled.

“She’s just what?” Nika asked, still smirking.

“She’s different now.”

“No, no, no,” Nika said, standing and pointing her protein bar at Paige like a sword. “Don’t even try that. You’re not slick. You’ve flipped.”

“I haven’t flipped,” Paige muttered, but her voice was soft. Too soft.

Nika crossed her arms. “You literally used to come into the locker room ranting about how annoying she was.”

“She was always there! Asking questions. Being… nice.”

“Oh no, how dare she.”

Paige glared. “That’s not what I meant.”

Nika walked closer, her voice calmer now. 

“What do you mean then? Because the way you’ve been acting lately, it’s like you're not sure if you want to fight her or kiss her.”

Silence.

Paige looked down.

And Nika just smiled, tossing her a towel like it was nothing.

“Take your time figuring it out, Bueckers. Just… try not to ruin it before you get the chance.”

Across campus, Lottie sat on a cold bench outside the library, laptop open, coffee going cold beside her.

She scrolled through clips, frame by frame, working on a player spotlight video she’d been asked to turn around in two days.

The subject?

Paige Bueckers.

Of course.

She rested her chin in her hand and sighed.

“I’m so over this,” she whispered. But her fingers didn’t stop. And neither did the way her heart tugged every time Paige looked at the camera like she wasn’t afraid of anything.

Like she had no idea she was still buried under Lottie skin.

Lottie was starting to get good at pretending.

Pretending Paige wasn’t behind her in the film room. Pretending her laugh didn’t echo a little louder whenever Lottie was nearby. Pretending she didn’t still notice every move Paige made, even when she didn’t want to.

It was easier this way.

Or at least it was supposed to be.

The request came in through email.

Subject: Player Mic’d Up – Paige Bueckers

From: UConn Athletics Media Team

To: Lottie Harp

“Hey Lottie, Coach wants to do a fun ‘day in the life’ piece. She mentioned you specifically. Can you shoot this? Paige already said yes.”

Lottie stared at the screen for a long time.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

She almost typed “No.”

Instead, she typed: “Sure. When?”

Paige told herself it was random. No big 

deal.

But when the team’s media director asked who she’d be comfortable doing the feature with, the first name that came to her lips was lottie’s.

Not because she wanted to make anything weird. Just because… lottie was good at her job. Quiet. Focused. Kind.

And because somewhere in her chest, Paige missed the way lottie used to talk to her. Like she wasn’t famous. Like she mattered for reasons that had nothing to do with basketball.

So she said her name.

She didn’t expect Lottie to agree.

But she did.

The morning of the shoot, Paige lingered by the locker room mirror longer than usual. Adjusted her braid. Re-tied her shoes. Fidgeted with her hoodie.

“You look the same as always,” Nika said, walking by with a smirk.

“I didn’t ask,” Paige muttered, but her hands stilled.

Lottie kept it professional. Set up the mic. Checked the lighting. Gave Paige a run-through of what they’d be filming. Her tone was flat. Polite. Detached.

Paige cracked a joke about the mic being itchy.

Lottie gave her a small nod, didn’t laugh.

It was the first time in weeks Paige had been the one trying to fill the silence.

And lottie was the one who let it stay.

Later that night, as she reviewed the footage, Lottie caught herself smiling at a moment she didn’t remember live.

Paige looking at her, mid-laugh. A little too long. A little too soft.

It made her chest tighten.

Because Paige hadn’t done anything—nothing real, nothing brave, nothing clear.

But she also hadn’t done nothing.

And that was almost worse.

Paige didn’t mean to be looking.

Lottie was just... there again. On the sidelines of Tuesday’s practice, camera slung over her shoulder, hair pulled back, head tilted in focus. Doing her job. 

Not looking at Paige.

Not even once.

Paige tried to focus on drills. On the clock. 

On the way her teammates called out screens and cuts and switches.

But her eyes kept drifting.

And lottie kept not noticing.

Or maybe she was pretending. Either way, Paige felt like a ghost.

The kind that haunted people who used to care.

Lottie knew Paige was watching her.

She could feel it.

The same way she could feel when a storm was coming—some ache in the air before the rain even hit.

But she didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Because the way Paige looked at her now? It was soft. 

Curious. 

Careful.

Too careful.

Lottie wasn’t a puzzle to solve. She wasn’t a mystery or a fun challenge to make sense of. She was a person. With feelings. Ones Paige had ignored for a year straight.

And now suddenly?

Now she wanted to notice?

Lottie pressed record.

Steady hands. Steady heart.

Liar.

Later that day, Paige held the gym door open for Parker.

It was stupid. Just a door. Just a pause.

But when lottie reached out to take it, their 

fingers brushed. For half a second And for half a second more—neither of them moved.

Then Lottie  pulled away.

"Thanks," she said quietly, walking past without looking up.

Paige watched her go, her hand still hovering on the metal, her breath caught between say somethingand don’t ruin it.

Lottie replayed it in her head later. The way Paige looked at her. The way her hand stayed on the door like she wanted to say something and just… didn’t.

Lottie rolled her eyes at herself, curled up on her dorm bed, blanket twisted around her legs.

It didn’t mean anything.

Just a stupid crush.

Not the glance. Not the pause. Not the way Paige had been acting like maybe she finally saw her.

Because if Paige wanted to say something, she would’ve by now.

Right?

The weight room was nearly empty when she walked in.

Her camera strap dug into her shoulder, and her fingers ached from setting up equipment all day. She was here for five minutes, maybe ten—just a few shots for the new facility tour edit. Quick in, quick out.

Until she saw her.

Paige.

By the squat rack.

Alone.

Lottie idn’t falter, didn’t stop. She just 

nodded once—sharp, impersonal—and went 

straight to setting up her tripod.

She didn’t ask how Paige was.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t chase.

Not anymore.

Paige had been staying late on purpose. Not that she’d admit it out loud.

But sometimes Lottie showed up around this time, and lately… Paige found herself hoping she would.

Today, the hope worked.

Only, Lottie  didn’t look at her the way she used to. Not like she was waiting to be seen. Not like she cared.

Paige swallowed hard.

This was new.

And for the first time, she realized—really realized—how many times lottie had tried. How many times she had reached out, smiled first, stayed kind when Paige gave her nothing.

And now she was just… done?

That’s not fair, Paige thought. You don’t get to stop wanting me just when I’m starting to want you.

But she didn’t say it.

Instead, she said, “Hey.”

Soft. Testing.

Parker didn’t even look up. “Hey.”

The camera focused easily. The lighting was trash, but she’d fix it in post.

Lottie didn’t need to be here. Not really. She could’ve asked someone else to get the footage. But a part of her wanted this—needed to see if it still hurt the way it used to.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Not exactly.

It just felt... numb.

Because somewhere between last year’s hallway conversations and this year’s quiet avoidance, lottie had accepted it. Paige wasn’t going to choose her. Not then. Probably not now.

And even if she did—what then?

“You’re quiet,” Paige said behind her.

Lottie didn’t turn around.

“You’re usually more talkative.”

“Not anymore,” she said. Calm. Final.

That one stung.

She didn’t know what she expected. Some soft smile? A joke? The same warmth she used to ignore?

This wasn’t that.

Lottie’s voice was distant. Measured. The kind of calm that came from letting something go.

Paige shifted her weight, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Did I do something?” she asked, quieter now.

Lottie did look at her then. One long glance. Not angry. Not sharp. Just… tired.

“Nothing you didn’t already do last year,” she said.

And then she packed up her camera. Smooth. Efficient. Unbothered.

And walked toward the door.

Her hand was on the handle when she heard Paige again.

“I didn’t mean to push you away.”

A pause.

“I think I was just scared.”

Lottie didn’t turn around. Not fully.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well… you did.”

And then she left.

[blairwbb]

I know it won’t work

A/N: hi! This is another part of I know it won’t work. I will probably only post one more part of this. I’m still getting used to writing a lot and good plots and stuff! Enjoy!

It’s been a few days since Blake and Paige ran into each other and Blake has been doing everything she can to avoid another run in with Paige.  

That’s how she ended up here. Kate’s living room was dim, lit by the soft glow of fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and they were one bottle of wine in—maybe one and a half. Blake had kicked off her shoes an hour ago, her legs curled under her, the stem of her glass forgotten on the coffee table. The weight she carried all week—every time she turned a corner, half-expecting to see Paige—was catching up to her.

Kate swirled the last sip of wine in her glass, eyeing Blake carefully. “So… are you going to tell me what actually happened between you two? College Paige sounds like a whole other person.”

Blake exhaled sharply, a half-laugh, half-sigh, like she’d been holding something in too long. She picked at the label on the wine bottle. “I didn’t mean to tell you. I don’t usually… talk about her.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kate said gently. “You wanted to.”

That was the thing. She had. And now, with the warmth of wine in her chest and Kate’s quiet presence beside her, the words were rushing out faster than she could filter them.

“I still love her,” Blake admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “God, I hate it. I hate that I do.”

 Kate didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, letting Blake speak without judgment.

“I’ve tried everything,” Blake went on, voice cracking slightly. “Avoiding her, pretending she doesn’t exist, acting like I’m fine. But when I saw her the other day… it just—it ruined me. For a second, it was like no time had passed. Like she could still undo me with just one look.”

Kate set her glass down and leaned in a little. “You’ve been holding that in for a long time.”

Blake laughed bitterly. “Too long. I thought if I kept it buried, it would just go away. But it doesn’t. It’s like… she’s always there. In the back of my head. And I know she’s not good for me. I know that. But part of me still wants her to turn around and say she’s sorry. That she misses me too.”

Kate was quiet for a moment, then reached for Blake’s hand. “You don’t have to carry all of that alone. I meant it—I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re safe with me.”

Blake’s eyes welled up, but she blinked them back. “Thanks. I think I needed to say it out loud… even if it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes something,” Kate said. “Maybe not with her. But with you.”

Blake nods not  wanting to say anything out loud.

Blake let herself into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her with a quiet finality. The warmth from Kate’s place still clung to her skin, but here—alone—it all started to unravel again. She kicked off her shoes, tossed her keys in the bowl by the door, and sank onto the couch without turning on a single light.

The TV was still on from earlier, the volume low. A Dallas Wings game lit up the screen in soft blues and whites, the camera panning across the court. And then—there she was. 

Paige.

Blake’s breath caught without warning. Paige moved with that same sharp grace she always had—fast, focused, determined. Blake hated how instinctively she knew the way Paige’s shoulders tensed before a pass, how her jaw clenched right before a drive. She hated that she still noticed. That her eyes lingered longer than they should have.

She cursed under her breath and looked away, blinking hard.

This wasn’t love—not anymore. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this: bitter and aching and lonely. But she still loved her. Of course she did. She had promised she always would.

So why did it feel so wrong now?

Maybe because Paige was out there, living like none of it mattered—like Blake never mattered. And maybe Blake was just here… moping. Mourning someone who’d already moved on.

She dragged herself to bed not long after, slipping beneath the covers like it might quiet the noise in her head. But it didn’t. The silence only made it worse.

Her heart was still heavy as she closed her eyes, Paige’s name echoing in the dark like a secret she’d never be free of.

The office buzzed with a soft kind of chaos—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, conversations muffled behind glass walls. Blake sat at her desk, half-tuned out of the morning meeting, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her but not really seeing it.

She was good at her job—new as it was—and maybe that’s what made it worse. Because even on days like this, when her chest felt tight and her head ached from too little sleep and too many thoughts, she still showed up. Still smiled. Still sent in reports on time and made her coworkers laugh over coffee breaks like she wasn’t falling apart inside. The night before still lingered—Kate’s apartment, the wine, the confession that still left a burn in her throat.

She needed quiet. Routine. Anything but this.

She stood to refill her coffee, hoping the break room was empty. It wasn’t.

Cassie’s voice was already floating through the air, casual and a little too loud, as she leaned against the counter talking to another coworker. Blake slowed her pace, pausing just outside the doorway.

“I swear, I still haven’t heard from her,” Cassie was saying with a laugh, stirring her coffee. “It was like… two days after that event we went to? Paige Bueckers. Yeah. That one.”

Blake froze.

“She came out with a few of us after, and I guess one thing led to another. We hooked up. And then—nothing. She dipped before I even woke up. Not a text, not even an emoji. Just… vanished.”

The other coworker gasped. “No way. That’s brutal.”

“I mean, it’s whatever,” Cassie continued, trying to sound nonchalant. “She’s Paige Bueckers. Everyone’s into her. It’s not like I expected a relationship or something. Still, it was cold. She barely knew me.”

Blake stood completely still in the hallway, her heart sinking deeper with every word. Something about hearing it out loud—from someone who had no clue—made it worse.

This wasn’t the Paige she remembered. Not the one who used to kiss her like she meant it, who used to call her by her full name just to make her blush. That Paige wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Wouldn’t have made someone feel like nothing.

But now?

Now she was sleeping with girls she barely knew and disappearing before the sun came up.

Blake turned and walked back toward her desk, the weight in her chest heavier than it had been in weeks. Maybe Paige had changed. Or maybe Blake had just never seen her clearly.

Either way, it stung.

She slid back into her chair, pretending to scroll through emails, pretending like none of it mattered. But her fingers were shaking slightly, and her coffee remained untouched.

Why was Paige still doing this?

Why did it still feel like Blake was the one left behind?

Why am I here? Was the only thing that was repeating in Blake’s head.

She’d said yes to Kate because she needed the distraction. One drink after work. Maybe two. Something easy, something light. Kate always had a way of pulling her out of her head without trying too hard. So they ended up at a small bar just off the main street—warm lighting, indie music playing low, enough background noise to muffle the week behind them.

Kate was mid-sentence about some coworker drama when Blake’s eyes caught on the door—and time stopped.

Holy shit.

Paige.

She walked in like she owned the place, like the city hadn’t swallowed Blake whole since the last time they locked eyes. Her hair pulled back, sleeves rolled just slightly, that same effortless gravity to her. She looked… exactly the same. And nothing like Blake remembered.

Blake froze. She couldn’t even hear what Kate was saying anymore.

Of course she’s here. Of course she is.

You can’t avoid her forever.

Paige’s eyes scanned the bar—laughing at something one of her friends said—until they landed on Blake. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

She came over.

“Blake.” Her voice was low, unreadable.

“Paige,” Blake said, sitting up a little straighter, every muscle in her body stiff.

Kate’s eyes darted between them but wisely said nothing, giving Blake the space she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted.

There was a pause. An awkward, suffocating kind of silence that pressed down hard.

“You look…” Paige started, but her words trailed off.

“Don’t,” Blake said quickly, then took a long sip of her drink. “Please.”

Paige frowned, the calm in her face flickering.

“Haven’t seen you around much” Paige says  

“I’ve been busy.” Blake replies quickly.

Blake let the silence stretch again before her voice dropped, quieter but sharp: 

“Seems like you’ve been keeping yourself busy also.”

Paige’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Blake raised an eyebrow, the meaning behind her words clear. “Cassie? A couple days after the event?”

Paige stiffened. Her face didn’t give much away—but the crack was there. Barely visible, but Blake saw it.

“That’s none of your business,” Paige said quietly, but there was no heat behind it. Just something that sounded a little too close to guilt.

“Maybe it’s not,” Blake replied, finishing her drink in one final, bitter sip. “But don’t act surprised when your past starts catching up to you.”

Kate shifted slightly beside her, lips pressed into a line. Still saying nothing. Still watching it unfold.

Blake stood slowly, grabbing her coat. “Thanks for the drink, Kate. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t look at Paige again as she walked out, but her heart was thudding against her ribs, loud enough to echo.

Outside, the cold hit her skin like a slap. But it was nothing compared to the storm still raging inside her.

-

Paige stood there long after Blake was gone, the air around her thick with everything left unsaid. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and for a second—just one brief, burning second—she almost chased 

after her.

Almost.

Because God, she wanted to. She wanted to run out into the street and call her name, to grab her hand and tell her that none of this meant anything. That the hookups, the parties, the silence—it was all noise. It was all her trying to drown out the one voice she couldn’t stop hearing in her head.

Blake’s.

She missed her.

Not in a casual, passing way. In the way that gutted her. In the way that made everything else feel hollow.

But doing that—admitting it out loud—would mean everything. It would mean stepping back into the version of herself she’d been avoiding for months. The one that cared too much. The one that got hurt. The one that still loved Blake, no matter how far she tried to run from that truth.

And what if Blake didn’t care anymore?

What if she was done—really done?

Paige had pushed her away for so long, she wasn’t sure if she could blame her for walking out without a second glance.

So instead, Paige just stood there, the sounds of the bar dull and distant, her jaw tight.

She needed to fix herself. And fast.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to lose the only person who ever really knew her—again.

And this time, it might be for good.

Paige couldn’t get her shot to fall.

Every jumper rimmed out, every drive felt heavy, her passes off by a second. It was like her body was moving through molasses while the world spun faster around her. She wiped sweat off her forehead, muttering a curse under her breath as the whistle blew and the scrimmage came to a frustrating end.

Lou was already grinning when she jogged up beside her. “Damn, Bueckers. Who broke your heart this time?”

Paige gave her a look, grabbing a water bottle and tilting it back. Arike joined in, bumping her shoulder on the way to the bench.

“You’ve been off all week,” Arike said, eyebrow raised. “And don’t even try to blame it on your knee. We know you.”

Lou plopped down beside her, shooting her a knowing look. “Let me guess. A certain Blake kind of off?”

Paige froze, the bottle paused at her lips. The silence lasted a beat too long, and that was all the answer they needed.

They’d met Blake once. During the before. When things were still good. When Paige still had someone in the stands who made her feel like more than her stats.

Lou leaned back, arms crossed. “Didn’t think we’d hear that name again.”

Paige tried to laugh, but it came out dry. 

“It’s nothing. Just saw her recently. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Arike said, not buying it for a second. “And how’d that go?”

Paige shrugged, eyes glued to the floor. “She left. Can’t blame her.”

Lou let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Neither of them pushed. They never did when it came to the stuff that actually hurt.

After a long silence, Arike nudged her foot. “Look, I’m not saying this to lecture you, but… you can’t expect things to fall into place if you’re out here hooking up with girls you barely know and pretending you’re fine.”

Paige’s stomach twisted.

Lou nodded. “You keep messing yourself up, trying to outrun feelings that clearly haven’t gone anywhere. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

Paige blinked hard, jaw tight. The words shouldn’t have hit so deep, but they did. Because they were right.

She wasn’t okay. And she hadn’t been for a 

while.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said quietly, more to herself than them.

Arike stood, tossing her towel over her shoulder. “You better. Before you lose more than just your jump shot.”

They walked off, leaving Paige alone on the bench, heart pounding under all that stillness.

She missed Blake. Missed who she was when she was with her. And all the flings, the silence, the bravado—it hadn’t made her forget. It had just made her numb.

And now she was stuck between who she used to be and who she didn’t recognize anymore.

Later that night, Paige sat in the corner of her apartment, lights dimmed, the glow from the muted TV painting her face in shifting colors. Another game playing. Another distraction that didn’t work.

Her phone was facedown on the coffee table. She hadn’t picked it up in hours.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Blake looked at her—sharp, tired, like she didn’t even recognize her anymore. Like Paige had become everything she used to be afraid of.

She wasn’t wrong.

A soft ping broke the silence. A message from Lou.

Lou: Just checking in. Don’t ghost us. We care, even when you act like a jackass.

Paige let out a slow breath, thumb hovering over her screen. She didn’t reply.

She didn’t know how to say thank you without lying. And she didn’t want to lie anymore.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. It was Lou.

Paige opened it in a hoodie and shorts, eyes rimmed red. Lou didn’t comment. She just walked in like she always had, dropped a bag of takeout on the table, and flopped onto the couch.

“I brought the spicy noodles,” she said. “Because I know you only cry over those when it’s really bad.”

Paige sat across from her, fingers curled under her sleeves. She didn’t speak right away.

Lou didn’t push. She just cracked open a drink and waited.

“It’s not just Blake,” Paige finally said, voice low, almost raw. “It’s everything.”

Lou nodded slowly, setting her drink down. 

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m fine. That none of it matters. That I don’t care,” Paige continued, her voice wavering now. “And every time I hook up with someone or leave without saying goodbye, I feel worse. Like I’m erasing myself piece by piece.”

Lou’s eyes softened. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Paige let out a bitter laugh. “Because I’m Paige Bueckers. People expect me to have it together. And if I don’t, they stare like I’m breaking the rules.”

“But you’re human,” Lou said simply. “You get to hurt. You get to be a mess. But you don’t get to shut everyone out and pretend it’s strength.”

Paige stared at the floor. “She was the only one who saw me like that. Like really saw me. And now she won’t even look at me like she used to.”

“Do you blame her?” Lou asked gently.

“No.” Paige’s voice cracked. “I’d walk away from me, too.”

Lou moved over to sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “So stop giving her reasons to.”

Paige closed her eyes. Her chest felt like it was caving in, but also—just barely—like she could breathe again.

She didn’t know how to fix everything. Or if she even could. But she was tired of pretending she didn’t want to.

Paige wasn’t sure what she expected, but when she walked into the smoothie shop and saw Kate standing behind the counter, her arms folded, a smirk playing at her lips, she realized she’d probably walked right into the lion’s den.

Kate was busy cleaning the counter, but the second she noticed Paige standing there, she didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Well, well. If it isn’t Paige Bueckers. To what do I owe this... unexpected honor?”

Paige hesitated, her nerves climbing up her spine. “Hey, Kate,” she said, forcing a casualness she didn’t feel. “I... I just wanted to talk.”

Kate didn’t look surprised. In fact, she looked like she’d been expecting this. “About what? How you messed Blake’s life for the hundredth time?”

Paige’s chest tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m trying to fix it. I just need to talk to her.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on a towel. “Yeah, sure. You think Blake’s gonna let you come back in after everything you did?”

Paige bit her lip, pushing down the sting of her words. “No. I know I messed up. I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve hurt her. I get that.”

Kate finally leaned against the counter, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “Look, Paige, Blake’s one of my closest friends. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I don’t know how much she still cares about you. But if you think you can just show up and make everything right like that,” she snapped her fingers, “you’re wrong. It doesn’t work that way.”

Paige swallowed. “I know it doesn’t. But I’m trying. I’m... I’m just trying to figure out how to fix this.”

Kate’s expression softened a fraction, though her tone was still direct. “You want to know the truth? You should’ve been more honest with her. From the start. You ran away, and you kept running. And you think you can come back now with some half-assed apology and expect everything to magically fix itself? That’s not how it works.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but Kate held up a hand, cutting her off.

“No. Listen. I’m not saying Blake’s perfect. She’s been a mess in her own right, too. But you know what she deserves? Someone who’s gonna be straight with her. Someone who won’t just disappear when things get tough. And if you want her back? You need to be that person.”

Paige stood still, her heart heavy in her chest. She could feel the weight of Kate’s words. The truth of them. She’d never been honest with Blake—not like she should’ve been. She’d hidden behind her mistakes, her fears, her pride. And now?

Now it felt like she was too late.

“You’re right,” Paige said quietly, her voice a little hoarse. “I’ve been running. I thought I could... forget about it. About her. But I can’t. I can’t just walk away anymore.”

Kate didn’t smile or soften the way Paige had hoped. She just gave a small nod, as if she already knew that.

“Good,” Kate said, her voice low but firm. “Now do something about it. You want her back? Then stop running. Stop hiding behind excuses and start being real. Or she’ll never look at you the same way again.”

Paige nodded, a mixture of determination and defeat swirling in her chest. She didn’t know if she could fix everything, but at least now she knew what she had to do.

“I will,” she promised.

Kate finally gave her a pointed look, but this time it was almost warm, as though she was letting her guard down just enough. “You better. For both of your sakes.”

Paige turned to leave, but just before she reached the door, she glanced back at Kate. 

“Thanks.”

Kate gave a half-smile, shrugging. “Yeah, yeah. Go get your shit together, Bueckers. You’ve got one shot at this. Don’t blow it.”

Paige stepped out into the cool air, her mind a whirlwind of everything Kate had said. She wasn’t sure if she could pull this off. She wasn’t even sure if Blake would let her. But she had to try.

Because Kate was right. If she didn’t try now, she might never get the chance again.

Paige sat in the quiet of her apartment, the light from her phone screen casting a faint glow on her face. She scrolled through her messages, her finger hovering over names she’d let linger too long. Girls she’d met at bars. Girls who didn’t know her—didn’t know the real her.

Her thumb hovered over one name, then another. She stared at the screen, wondering why she was even doing this. It wasn’t just about her anymore. It wasn’t even about her career, her image, or how the world saw her.

It was Blake.

She needed to fix this, fix herself, not for anyone else but for Blake. For them.

She hit the first name—blocked. Then 

another. And another.

The satisfying click of each name disappearing from her screen made her stomach twist, though it wasn’t out of relief. It felt more like a hollow victory, one that wouldn’t fix anything.

Couldn’t fix anything.

She had spent so long hiding behind distractions—hookups, one-night stands, empty promises. She thought it would help numb the weight of everything she had done. But all it did was push her further into herself, further away from the person she wanted to be.

The person she used to be. The person Blakelyn had loved.

But now?

Now Blake probably didn’t even care. Or worse, she probably thought Paige had completely lost herself in the chaos. Paige couldn’t blame her. She’d been selfish, running from her feelings, pushing Blake away the second things got too real.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of the haze. A message from Lou.

Lou: How’s the soul-searching going?

Paige stared at the message for a moment before she typed back.

Paige: Not sure if I even know who I am anymore.

She sighed, setting the phone down. For the first time in a long time, she felt something—something raw and unguarded. She had pushed so much away, thinking it would make things easier. But the harder she tried to outrun her feelings, the more they just came rushing back.

And Blake? She was out there—somewhere, living her life. Probably better off without Paige. No messy past. No painful memories. No girl who still couldn’t figure out how to love the way she was supposed to.

The thought of Blake, of how her smile used to make everything feel like it might actually be okay, made Paige’s chest tighten. Could Blake even look at her now? Could she see past all the mistakes and wanther again?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Paige closed her eyes, letting the weight of it all settle into her bones. She didn’t know if Blake would ever let her back in. But she had to try. She had to. Even if it was just for herself. Even if it was just so she could finally be the person Blake deserved.

She picked up her phone again, stared at the screen, and then pressed send on her reply to Lou.

Paige: I’m gonna make it right. For me. And for her.

The words didn’t fix anything, didn’t make her feel better. But for the first time in 

months, they felt like the start of something. 

A small step. A decision.

And that was all she had for now.

-

Blake hadn’t expected Kate to say that.

“Paige asked about you,” Kate said casually, like she didn’t just set fire to the calm Blake had worked so hard to build.

Blakelyn blinked. “Paige?” Blushing slightly.

“Blakelyn Cove Harper! Are you blushing?” Kate teases

Blake hits show her slightly 

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why do you sound surprised?”

Blake’s laugh was short, dry. “Because the last I heard, Paige was… everywhere. With everyone. Not exactly asking about me.”

She hated how bitter it sounded. Like she hadn’t moved on. Like she hadn’t told herself a hundred times that Paige was just a memory now. A very hot, messy memory, but still.

Kate didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Blake leaned back in her seat, her fingers tightening around her cup. “She promised she’d carry me with her,” she murmured. 

It wasn’t like she stopped loving her. That was the problem. Blake had tried. Lord knows she’d tried. But love didn’t just leave because someone hurt you. It lingered. It echoed.

“She’s different now,” Kate said quietly. “Not out partying. Not hooking up. She’s… working on herself.”

Blake looked away, the war in her chest tightening. She wanted to believe that. Part of her did believe it. But belief didn’t mean trust. And trust? That was something Paige had shattered.

“I don’t know if I’m willing,” Blake whispered, more to herself than anyone. “I don’t know if I can be.”

Blake kept things steady.

Wake up. Coffee. Work. Laugh at Kate’s awful playlist choices. Go home. Sleep. 

Repeat.

It was easier that way—predictable. Clean. No room for what-ifs or ghosts from the past. She’d built this quiet rhythm to keep herself sane. To keep herself safe.

But of course, Paige had a way of slipping into cracks Blake didn’t know were still open.

It started small—just a name lingering in the back of her mind. Paige. Then it grew. A memory here. A laugh there. That stupid grin that always came after Paige said something reckless and charming and impossible to ignore. She even caught herself watching Paige’s games sometimes.

Blake shook her head one morning while she buttered her toast, like she could physically shove the thought out. But it stayed. God, it lingered.

All because Kate had said one thing.

“She asked about you.”

That was it. No details. No context. Just enough to plant the seed and leave Blake wondering.

Why?

Why now?

Was she supposed to believe Paige cared again? After all the mess? After leaving her behind like she hadn’t mattered?

Was she really willing to walk toward that same girl who once promised to carry her, only to drop her in the middle of her storm?

Blake rubbed at her temple and let out a breath.

No, she thought.

Maybe.

She didn’t know. And that? That was the worst part.

Because everything else in her life was steady.

Except Paige.

Paige was still the one thing that made her heart feel anything but.

Blake knew she needed a distraction.

So, when Kate dragged her out one Friday night, she went—mostly because Kate’s relentless enthusiasm made it impossible to say no. And because, at this point, sitting at home alone with her thoughts was becoming unbearable.

The bar was crowded, the music loud, the chatter all around her a dull hum. Blake felt that familiar pull to hide away in her own little corner, but Kate was already leading her toward the group, dragging her into the mix.

“Come on! You’ve gotta meet Grayson,” Kate said, practically bouncing with excitement.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Grayson?”

“He’s been in town for a few weeks. Really nice guy. Funny, too.” Kate’s smile was knowing. “I think you’ll like him.”

Grayson was cute. Not exactly her type—but cute enough. He had dark hair, a smile that came easily, and a laugh that made people want to be around him. Blake found herself smiling a little more than usual. He was easy to talk to, lighthearted, the kind of guy who didn’t try too hard but still made you feel like he cared.

“You’re quiet,” Grayson said, handing her a drink. “Are you sure you’re enjoying this?”

Blake chuckled, taking a sip. “I’m just a little out of practice with the whole social thing.”

“I get that,” he said with a grin. “I’m kind of the same way. I can’t do the whole ‘over-the-top’ party thing. I’d rather just—” He paused, looking around, and leaned in a little closer. “—talk. Actually connect, you know?”

She looked at him. Maybe she could let herself get distracted, let herself enjoy this moment. Grayson was kind. He was warm. And he made her feel like she wasn’t the only one who sometimes wanted more than just noise and chaos.

But still.

As she listened to him talk, laughed at his jokes, she couldn’t help but feel it. That lingering ache. That pull. That hollow space where Paige used to be.

Grayson wasn’t her. He wasn’t the girl who made her heart race with a single glance. He wasn’t the one who’d promised, only to break her heart wide open.

And no matter how easy Grayson was to talk to, how cute he was, how much fun they had—he wasn’t Paige.

He couldn’t fill the emptiness she still carried around.

The night dragged on, and Blake found herself distracted by the way Grayson’s hand brushed against hers, the way he laughed, the way he seemed genuinely interested in her. But every time she looked away—at the lights, at the crowd, or even just in a moment of silence—her mind drifted right back to that one name: Paige.

And Blake knew she wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for anyone else.

Because she wasn’t done with Paige yet. Even if she was trying to be.

Blake wasn’t used to this—her life feeling alive again, like it had a spark she hadn’t seen in years. Between work, hanging out with Kate, and her odd but growing connection to Grayson, she found herself smiling more. Laughing more. Talking more, even.

But there was still a quiet, stubborn part of her heart that wouldn’t let go. And that part of her heart had a name: Paige.

It started with a text. It was simple, just a reminder of how small the world really was.

Kate had forwarded her a message one morning. It was a group text, part of a casual thread from some mutual friends. 

They were planning a weekend hangout, something low-key, just a few people meeting at a park for a barbecue.

Blake didn’t think much of it at first—until she saw the name in the list of attendees. 

Paige.

It took her a full minute to let the name settle in, to ignore the sudden thudding in her chest. Paige. She hadn’t heard from her in months. Not since she left. Not since everything fell apart.

The text didn’t say much. Just the usual details—time, place, maybe a few jokes about who was bringing what. But there it was, hidden between the words: Paige would be there.

Blake stared at the screen. Her first instinct was to delete it, ignore it, pretend like it wasn’t even there. But then her thumb hovered over the message.

She couldn’t erase it. Not yet. Not when it felt like the universe was nudging her back toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

“You okay?” Kate’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Blake glanced up, locking eyes with her. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. She didn’t even know what she was feeling.

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Is it about the barbecue thing?”

Blake nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Yeah. Paige’s name is on the list.”

Kate’s lips parted, probably about to say something comforting or logical. But then she paused. “Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Blake bit her lip. "I don’t know. But... it’s not like I can just pretend she doesn’t exist."

"No," Kate agreed softly. “But you don’t have to rush into anything. If you want to go, go. If not... well, you’ve got options. You’ve got time.”

Blake nodded. Time. She had time. She always had time to do things on her terms. But when it came to Paige, time felt like a slow burn. A ticking clock she didn’t quite know how to reset.

Grayson, who’d been quiet for the last few minutes, looked at Blake curiously. “Everything alright Blakers?”

Blakers.

It didn’t sound right coming from his mouth. Everyone else has always called her Blake or Blakelyn. Besides when Paige would jokingly call her that. In correlation to the lakers of course. Of course they both had to be basketball fans.

Blake turned to him, realizing he had been 

quietly watching the whole exchange. She smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Grayson’s eyes softened. “If you need to talk or distract yourself, you know I’m here.”

His words were kind, and part of her appreciated the gesture, the quiet offer of a distraction. But the pull, that ache she couldn’t shake—it wasn’t something 

Grayson could fix. He didn’t know Paige. He didn’t know the history, the weight of everything that still hung between them.

Blake took a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension that was starting to build. 

"Thanks, Grayson," she said quietly. "I’m just... figuring things out.”

And deep down, she knew the truth: she wasn’t just figuring things out. She was trying to decide if she was finally ready to face what had been left unresolved.

The question wasn’t if she could go on with her life without Paige. It was whether she was brave enough to let the past and the future coexist, even if it meant getting closer to a pain she hadn’t been ready to face.

-

Paige wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she saw the barbecue invite, but it definitely wasn’t this. She thought she’d moved past this—past seeing Blake at events like these, past the weight of what was still unresolved between them. But here she was, sitting on a picnic bench in the warm late afternoon sun, trying to pretend she wasn’t dying inside.

She was supposed to be here to reconnect with friends, to prove she was getting her life back together. And yet, as soon as she arrived, her gaze found Blake like a magnet pulling her in. She looked... different. But good. Her presence was quieter now, more collected. She was smiling at something a guy had just said, the type of smile that Paige remembered well—the one that had always been so effortless, yet so completely genuine.

Blake was laughing. Not at Paige’s expense. Not in a way that made Paige feel small. It was a real laugh, the kind that reminded Paige of who Blake had been to her before everything shattered.

Paige’s heart twisted in her chest. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the plate of food in front of her, but it wasn’t working. That nagging feeling—the one she’d learned to bury so many times before—was back. She hated seeing Blake with someone else. She hated it more than she’d ever admit.

“Who’s the guy?” Paige asked Kate, sitting next to her on the bench, sipping from her drink. She had followed Kate’s gaze and was looking at Blake, too.

Paige’s stomach churned.

“Grayson.” Kate said. “Blake’s been hanging out with him for a while now.”

Paige felt a sharp pang in her chest. Grayson. She didn’t even know why it bothered her this much, but it did. The thought of someone else making Blake laugh the way she used to—it felt like a punch.

When Blake finally looked up and caught Paige’s eye, something flickered between them. It was brief, but Paige felt it, like a silent acknowledgment of everything they hadn’t said to each other.

Blake walked over after a few moments, Grayson following close behind. The air between them was thick, charged. Paige couldn’t shake the feeling that Blake’s eyes were searching hers, looking for something, maybe expecting something. But Paige didn’t know what to say. What could she say after everything?

“Hey,” Blake said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “Paige.”

Paige swallowed, trying to keep her cool. “Hey.”

Grayson, looking a little unsure of the tension, gave a small wave. “I’ll grab us some drinks,” he said, turning to head toward the cooler.

Blake watched him go, then turned back to Paige. The silence between them felt heavy. 

“So… how’ve you been?”

Paige wanted to laugh at the question. How had she been? A mess, really. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she just nodded, forcing a smile. “Good. Getting there.”

“Yeah?” Blake raised an eyebrow, like she wasn’t sure if she believed it. “You don’t look like it.”

The words stung more than Paige expected. She didn’t know why they did, but they did. It was like Blake saw right through her, like she always had.

“I’ve been… figuring things out,” Paige said, trying to sound casual.

Blake nodded, her expression unreadable. Then, her gaze drifted to Grayson, who was chatting with some friends. “Who’s the guy? Boyfriend?”

Paige felt a sharp edge to the question, something pointed that she couldn’t quite place. She knew she wasn’t asking because she was genuinely curious. It was something else. Something deeper.

“Not my boyfriend,” Kate said, her voice colder than she meant it to be. She almost regretted it the second it left her mouth. Not my boyfriend. Why did that sound so defensive?

Blake’s eyes flashed for a split second, a flicker of something—hurt, maybe?—before she masked it with a neutral expression. 

“Right.”

The conversation didn’t go anywhere after that. Neither of them seemed to know how to bridge the gap that had been left between them. Eventually, Blake excused herself, saying something about needing to catch up with Kate, and walked off.

Paige felt a heaviness settle over her. She hadn’t meant to make it awkward, but somehow, everything between them felt awkward now. She had hurt Blake. She knew that. She’d been the one to end things. She’d been the one to walk away, telling herself it was for the best, that long distance was too hard, that it was easier to move on.

But now... now she wasn’t sure about any of it. Not anymore.

The rest of the evening blurred. People talked, laughed, drank. Paige tried to keep herself busy, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that every time she looked up, Blake was somewhere else in her line of sight. 

Every time their gazes met across the crowd, it was like the whole world stopped for a split second.

Paige couldn’t ignore it. That ache in her chest, that constant, gnawing feeling that she still loved Blake. That she never stopped loving Blake.

But she’d messed up. 

She had.

She had broken up with Blake because she couldn’t handle the thought of long-distance. She’d told herself it was better this way. Easier. But now, as she watched Blake interact with Grayson, she realized how hollow that excuse had been. How stupid it had been to think breaking up would make it easier.

Paige’s head swam with those old memories, of promises made and broken. Of her lying to herself, telling herself she was fine, that she didn’t need Blake, that it wasn’t worth fighting for anymore.

But it was.

She reached for another drink, feeling the sting of the alcohol burn her throat. She needed something to dull the ache, to shut up that part of her brain that kept begging her to fix everything.

“Paige, hey, you good?”

She looked up to see Kate standing in front of her, looking concerned. Paige tried to smile but failed. The room was spinning. She was already tipsy, but she didn’t care.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, reaching for another drink. “I just need a little more... distraction.”

Kate frowned, but didn’t argue. “If you say so. But don’t go overboard, okay?”

But Paige wasn’t listening anymore. She was too deep in it. Too deep in the mess she’d made.

The night wore on, and Paige found herself leaning against the side of the house, a bit unsteady on her feet. She was drunker than she’d intended to be, but the numbness felt better than the heartache. She was just about to grab another drink when she realized she couldn’t stand for much longer.

She stumbled, and suddenly—like it was fate—Blake was there, standing in front of her, concern in her eyes.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Blake said, her voice soft but firm.

Paige tried to steady herself, but the world tilted again. She felt the alcohol creeping into her bloodstream, making everything hazy. “I’m fine,” Paige slurred. “Just need to... be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Blake said quietly, her hand reaching out to steady Paige. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but it wasn’t even a real protest. This wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t know if she could be around Blake without saying things. She was too drunk. Too lost in the moment.

Blake’s hand was warm on her arm, guiding her gently. Paige felt like her heart was beating out of her chest—more than it had all night. More than it had in years.

“Blake,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I... I messed up. I—"

But Blake just shook her head, guiding her toward the car. "We’ll talk later, okay? You need to rest."

But they both knew. This wasn’t about just needing rest. This was about everything Paige had been running from for so long.

And now, maybe, for the first time, Paige wasn’t sure she could keep running anymore.

Paige’s head throbbed as she slowly woke up, the remnants of the night still swirling in her mind, fuzzy and disorienting. Her mouth was dry, her body sluggish as she tried to sit up. She winced, feeling the sharp ache of a hangover, the kind that made her wonder if she’d made a mistake not stopping after the first drink.

The room was dim, the sunlight creeping in through the blinds, but it didn’t feel like morning yet. It felt like she was still stuck in the haze of the night before, still trying to sort through the mess she’d created.

And then, as her blurry eyes cleared, she saw it.

A note. Tucked beneath the edge of a coffee cup on the counter. It was familiar. Too familiar.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat as she reached for the note, the handwriting instantly recognizable. Blake’s. Even though she hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever, Blake’s words still felt like a balm to her soul. Like a piece of home she’d lost and didn’t know how badly she’d missed until right now.

She unfolded the note carefully:

“We’ll talk. Take some medicine, that hangover is gonna kill you! - Blakers”

Blakers.

It was simple. A little too simple for what was hanging between them. But still, just seeing her nickname on the paper—Blakers—had a rush of emotion flooding over Paige. Her chest tightened. That familiar pang of longing gripped her, and for a moment, she could almost hear Blake’s voice in her head, teasing her as she had done when they were together.

It had been so long since Blake had left her little encouragement notes. Back then, before big games, before important moments, she’d always leave Paige something—words of support, always just enough to remind Paige she was there, rooting for her. Always just enough to make her feel like she was someone worth believing in.

Back then, Blake had been her rock. Her girl. Her Blakelyn.

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. God, she missed her. She missed everything about her. Blake was still the one who had known her better than anyone else. She could feel it in her bones, even now. That ache in her chest was proof. That deep, gnawing feeling that she had let go of something that was too important, something that she hadn’t been willing to fully commit to when she had the chance.

Blake had always been there—always the constant in Paige’s life, even when Paige hadn’t deserved it. Blake had stood by her through thick and thin, believed in her when she hadn’t even believed in herself. She was everything Paige had ever wanted, even if Paige had tried so hard to convince herself otherwise.

And now?

Now, Paige couldn’t pretend she didn’t need her.

But the question was: Could she get Blake back? Was it even possible after everything she’d done?

Her eyes drifted to the note again, the words hanging in the air. We’ll talk. That little promise. That tiny thread of hope.

She felt herself holding onto it like a lifeline. Blake hadn’t closed the door entirely. There was still something left between them. Maybe it was fragile, maybe it was broken, but it was there.

Paige took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as the weight of everything settled over her. 

She had to get Blake back.

She couldn’t let go of her—of them—so easily. Not when every part of her was still so desperately in love with her.

But what would it take? Could she really make things right? Was Blake still willing to take the risk after everything Paige had done?

She closed her eyes, letting the throbbing in her head mix with the rawness in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do, or how to fix this. But she knew one thing: she wasn’t going to give up on Blake. Not now. Not when there was a chance—however slim—that she could get her back.

[blairwbb]

Paige Bueckers you are so loved. you deserve everything you’ve worked for #5.

[blairwbb]

UConn winning the natty is a high I never wanna come down from

[blairwbb]

my HEART. she deserves this so much. Paige Bueckers you are EVERYTHIING.

[blairwbb]

Spring into summer

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Fem!oc

Summary: Paige and Adrielle never had an easy relationship. But either one of them never thought they could actually end. But when they do and Adrielle moves on to someone new. Can they find their way back to eachother.

A/N: This could be multiple parts? I don’t. Sorta based on ‘Spring into summer’ By Lizzy McAlpine 

“I’m always forever running back to you”

-

Adrielle never thought she’d be free of Paige Bueckers. Not truly. Not in the way she needed to be.

They had done it all—the screaming matches, the late-night apologies, the breakups that never really stuck. But this time, she was gone. For good. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

UConn had been her fresh start. No more walking on eggshells, no more losing herself in Paige’s shadow. No more love that felt like drowning. Her friends didn’t have to worry about her anymore. She wasn’t exhausted from crying over the same cycle of broken promises. She was happy. 

Finally.

And someone new was in her life. Someone who didn’t make her question her worth or feel like she was in a never-ending war. 

Things were easy now, light in a way they had never been with Paige.

But UConn wasn’t big enough to keep her away forever.

The first time she saw Paige again, it was across the gym, just a glimpse of blonde hair and piercing blue eyes before she turned away like she hadn’t noticed. Like her heart hadn’t just skipped a beat. Like she didn’t still know the scent of Paige’s cologne or the exact way she chewed her bottom lip when she was deep in thought.

Adrielle ignored it. She was done with Paige. She had to be.

But then came the call.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, the screen glowing in the darkness of her dorm room. 

No Caller ID.

Her stomach tightened.

She shouldn’t answer. She knew better. But her fingers moved before she could stop herself, and she pressed the phone to her ear.

She didn’t say anything. Just held her breath.

Then—

"I miss you."

Paige.

Adrielle closed her eyes, willing herself to hang up. To let this be the moment she proved, once and for all, that she was done.

But her silence must have given her away because Paige’s voice came again, softer this time, almost pleading.

"I know I messed up. But I can’t—” A sharp inhale. “I can’t let you go, Adri.”

Adrielle swallowed, her throat tight.

She should hang up.

She should.

But she didn’t.

Adrielle should have hung up.

She should have pressed end the second Paige’s voice wrapped around her like a ghost, dragging her back to a place she had barely escaped. But instead, she sat there in the dark, phone pressed against her ear, heart pounding like it still belonged to Paige.

“I don’t—” Her voice caught. She forced herself to be steady. “I don’t know why you’re calling me.”

A beat of silence. Then a breath—sharp, frustrated. The kind of breath that used to mean Paige was about to say something she shouldn’t.

“You do,” Paige said, voice low, edged with something unreadable.

Adrielle clenched her jaw. She refused to let Paige’s voice sink into her bones the way it always did. “No,” she lied. “I don’t.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. It was bitter, broken. “You can’t even say it, can you?”

Adrielle squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into her palm.

Say what? That Paige still had a hold on her? That despite everything—despite the toxic cycle, the fights, the nights spent waiting for a love that never came the way she needed—despite all of it, a part of her still wanted to hear this voice?

No.

She wouldn’t give Paige that. Not again.

“I’ve moved on.” The words were sharp, cutting through the static between them. She said them for herself as much as for Paige. “I’m happy now.”

Paige didn’t respond at first. Just silence, thick and heavy.

Then, finally—

"He doesn’t love you like I do."

Adrielle’s breath caught in her throat.

And there it was.

That familiar, reckless pull. The way Paige always knew exactly where to hit.

“He treats me better,” Adrielle shot back, but it didn’t land the way she wanted it to. Her voice wasn’t as strong as it should have been.

Paige exhaled sharply, and Adrielle could picture it—her running a hand through her hair, jaw clenched, eyes burning in that way that always made Adrielle weak.

"Tell me you don’t miss me," Paige said, quiet but firm. "Say it, and I’ll leave you alone."

Adrielle opened her mouth. The words 

should have been easy.

But nothing came out.

Because the truth—the awful, gut-

wrenching truth—was that she did miss her.

And Paige knew it.

So she did what any sensible person would do and hung up. Not because she didn’t miss Paige because she did. She missed her so much it hurt. But because she couldn’t go through it again.

The arguments, the screaming, the lying. Crying till she threw up, her roommates having to force her to eat. She couldn’t do it all again.

Adrielle’s life without Paige was simple. Easy 

in a way she never thought love could be.

She woke up without a pit in her stomach, without scanning her phone for missed calls or unread messages that determined the kind of day she would have. She went to bed without the weight of an argument pressing on her chest, replaying every word, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing, wondering if Paige would come back this time.

There was no more crying in parking lots, no more screaming into pillows because loving someone shouldn’t hurt that much.

Now, things were different.

Now, she had him.

Casen wasn’t Paige. But that was the point.

He was steady, safe. He didn’t leave her guessing, didn’t make her feel like she had to fight just to be enough. He texted her good morning before she even thought to check her phone. He showed up when he said he would. When they argued—because of course, all couples argued—it wasn’t a battlefield. There were no low blows, no weeks of silence, no wondering if this was the time he’d finally leave.

And when he told her he loved her, it wasn’t through gritted teeth or between gasps of desperation. It was soft, steady, like a fact that didn’t need proving.

It was enough.

So why did it still feel like something was missing?

Adrielle hated herself for even thinking it. What more could she want? What more should she want? Love wasn’t supposed to be chaos. It wasn’t supposed to be war.

But late at night, when she lay beside Casen, his arm wrapped loosely around her waist, she sometimes caught herself staring at the ceiling, her mind drifting somewhere else.

To someone else.

To late nights driving aimlessly with Paige, music blasting, her hand resting on Adrielle’s thigh like she belonged there. To whispered I love yous that never felt like enough but still made her heart pound like they meant something. To the kind of love that burned, that wrecked her, that made her feel alive.

She had left Paige for a reason. She knew that.

But the worst part?

Paige had been right.

Aaron didn’t love her like she did.

-

Paige never thought it would get this bad.

She always believed that no matter how many times they broke, no matter how ugly it got, Adrielle would never reallyleave. That somehow, some way, they would always find their way back.

But Adrielle was gone. And worse—she had moved on.

Paige told herself she didn’t care. That she could do the same.

So she distracted herself.

With alcohol. With parties. With girls whose names she didn’t bother remembering. Girls who kissed her like they meant it, who laughed at her jokes, who pressed up against her in a way that should have made her forget.

But they weren’t her.

None of them were Adrielle.

And no amount of drinking, no amount of meaningless hookups, could fill the gaping hole Adrielle left behind.

Paige had never been good at dealing with pain. She had always drowned it—on the court, in a bottle, in someone else’s touch. But this? This was different. This was a slow kind of agony, the kind that settled in her bones and refused to leave.

She saw Adrielle everywhere. At practice, in the stands, in the way a song played in a store and sent a knife straight through her chest.

But the worst part?

She saw her with him.

Caysen.

The guy who got to have Adrielle without the mess, without the damage, without the fire that burned too hot, too bright, until it consumed them both.

He got the version of her Paige never could. The one that wasn’t exhausted from fighting, the one who didn’t have to wonder if love was supposed to hurt.

And Paige hated him for it.

Hated how easy it looked. Hated how Adrielle smiled at him like he had saved her.

But mostly, she hated herself.

For not being enough.

For loving Adrielle so much it made it hard to breathe.

For wanting her back, even when she knew she didn’t deserve her.

So she took another drink. Let another girl pull her close. Let herself pretend, for a few hours, that she wasn’t completely falling apart.

Paige had been locked in all night. Every shot, every pass, every move—it was all fueled by the fire burning inside her.

UConn vs. USC. One of the biggest games of the season. The kind of game she lived for. And she was playing like she had something to prove. Like she was trying to outrun the storm inside her.

And then the timeout happened.

As she walked toward the bench, towel slung around her neck, she let her eyes drift to the stands—just for a second. Just to take it all in.

That was her first mistake.

Because there she was.

Adrielle.

And she wasn’t alone.

Caysen sat beside her, his arm slung casually over the back of her seat, leaning in just close enough to make Paige’s stomach churn. Adrielle was laughing at something he said, her head tilting slightly, that easy smile on her lips—the one that used to be hers.

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the arena.

Paige turned back toward the court, heart pounding, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She couldn’t let this get to her. Not now.

But the second the game resumed, everything fell apart.

Her first shot clanked off the rim.

Then the next.

A lazy pass turned into a turnover.

The ball was stolen right out of her hands.

She was unraveling, and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think about anything other than Adrielle sitting in the stands, happy, whole, without her.

She barely heard the coach calling her name until a sub was already waiting at the scorer’s table.

"Paige!" The sharpness in his voice cut through her haze. "What the hell is going on out there?"

She didn’t have an answer.

Because she knew what was wrong. She knew exactly why her body wasn’t cooperating, why her mind was a thousand miles away from the court.

She was still holding onto something that wasn’t hers anymore.

And maybe… maybe it was time to face it.

Adrielle wasn’t coming back. Not now. Not like this.

Not until she became someone worth coming back to.

No more distractions. No more numbing herself with bad habits and empty promises. 

No more running to people who didn’t matter just to forget the one who did.

She needed to work on herself before she even thought about chasing Adrielle again.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige felt something other than desperation.

She felt ready.

Paige had spent so long running—from the pain, from the truth, from herself. But not 

anymore.

She couldn’t keep living like this, caught in a loop of self-destruction, waiting for a love she had already ruined. If she ever wanted a chance at getting Adrielle back—not that she even deserved to think about that right now—she had to become someone better. 

Someone whole.

And that started with facing the mess she had made.

She cut the drinking first. No more drowning in liquor, no more empty bottles at 2 AM, hoping they’d erase Adrielle from her mind. It wasn’t easy. The nights felt longer. The weight of her thoughts felt heavier without the dull blur of alcohol. But she faced them anyway.

Then, she stopped chasing distractions. No more meaningless hookups. No more desperate attempts to fill the void Adrielle left behind. The girls who used to be an easy escape didn’t seem so tempting anymore—not when she knew she’d wake up the next morning feeling worse than before.

Instead, she poured everything into the one thing that had never let her down—basketball.

Morning runs before the sun rose. Extra drills after practice, when everyone else had already gone home. Lifting, shooting, running, pushing herself until her body ached and her mind was too exhausted to do anything but be present.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t playing to forget. She was playing to be better.

And it wasn’t just about the game.

She started talking to people—really talking. Her teammates, her coaches, even a therapist. She hated the idea at first, sitting in an office and saying out loud all the things she had spent years burying. But when she finally let the words spill out—about Adrielle, about the pain, about the way she had sabotaged the only good thing she ever had—she felt lighter.

She had spent so much time thinking she was beyond fixing. That she was too broken, too damaged, too Paige to be anything different. But now, for the first time in a long time, she was proving herself wrong.

Maybe she and Adrielle weren’t meant to be together right now. Maybe they never would be again.

But if that was the case, she at least wanted 

to be someone she could respect. Someone Adrielle could respect.

And that meant doing the work—whether 

Adrielle ever saw it or not.

-

Adrielle wasn’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was in the quiet moments, when she and Caysen sat across from each other at dinner and had nothing left to say. Or maybe it was in the way he kissed her—soft, steady, the way love should feel, but never quite enough to make her stomach flip.

Or maybe it was when she started hearing Paige’s name again.

It had been months since she let herself think about her, months since she forced herself to move on. Paige had been a storm, an all-consuming fire that burned too hot. And Adrielle had found peace in Caysen. She had found stability.

But lately, stability felt a lot like settling.

The cracks in her relationship were small at first. She ignored them, told herself that love wasn’t supposed to be fireworks all the time. That it wasn’t supposed to be like it was with Paige—intense, reckless, painful.

But then she started hearing things.

From mutual friends. From teammates. From people who still lingered in both their 

worlds.

"Paige has been different lately."

"She’s not drinking like she used to."

"She cut off all those random girls."

"I think she’s really trying this time."

At first, Adrielle had laughed it off. Paige had always known how to put on a show. How to pretend she was fine, how to make it seem like she had changed—right before she pulled Adrielle back in and shattered her all over again.

But the more she heard, the harder it was to ignore.

Because this time, no one was saying Paige was doing it for her.

She was just… doing it.

And that was what scared Adrielle the most.

Because what did it mean?

Was Paige finally becoming the person Adrielle had begged her to be? The one who didn’t need alcohol to cope, who didn’t need meaningless hookups to distract herself from her own damage? The one who could actually love Adrielle the way she deserved?

And if that was true…

Then why did it take losing her for Paige to finally figure it out?

She sat with that thought for days, letting it eat at her in ways she didn’t want to admit.

Meanwhile, her relationship with Caysen continued to crack. The easy, simple love she once clung to suddenly felt suffocating. Like she was trying to force herself into a life that wasn’t really hers.

Because no matter how hard she tried—no matter how much she told herself that she had moved on, that she was happy—Paige was still there.

Lingering.

And Adrielle wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.

Adrielle told herself she wasn’t paying attention.

That it didn’t matter. That Paige could be a completely different person now, and it wouldn’t change anything. She had a boyfriend. A good one. She had left the past behind.

But then she saw her.

The party was loud, bodies packed into the dimly lit house, music shaking the floor beneath her feet. It wasn’t usually her scene, but Caysen had dragged her here, promising it would be fun.

She wasn’t expecting her to be here.

Paige stood on the other side of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. But it wasn’t just thatshe was here. It was how she was here.

She wasn’t drinking. No beer in her hand, no bottle tilted back as she tried to drown out the world.

And there was no girl.

No one clinging to her arm, no one whispering in her ear, no one filling the space Adrielle had once occupied.

It was just Paige. Alone.

And when their eyes met—just for a second—it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge each other beyond that fleeting glance.

Like strangers.

And somehow, that was worse than all the fights, all the screaming matches, all the heartbreak.

Because if they weren’t fighting, if they weren’t breaking apart over and over again, then what were they?

Nothing?

Adrielle forced herself to look away, turning back toward Caysen, who had been talking to some friends. But the moment she did, she noticed it—the way his jaw had tightened, the way his grip on his cup was just a little too tight.

He had seen it.

And she knew, right then, that it was coming.

The argument didn’t happen right away. It simmered beneath the surface for the rest of the night, unspoken but there,thickening the air between them.

It wasn’t until they got back to her dorm that it exploded.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” Caysen’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.

Adrielle froze, mid-motion of pulling off her jacket. “What?”

“Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

She turned to face him, arms crossing over her chest. “Caysen, I didn’t even talk to her.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow worse. “I saw the way you looked at each other. Hell, I feltit.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to say something, but nothing came out.

Because what was she supposed to say?

That he was wrong?

That she had completely moved on?

That seeing Paige tonight hadn’t shaken something inside her, something she had been trying to bury for months?

The silence was enough of an answer.

Caysen let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re still holding on to her.” He shook his head, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near her. “And here I was, thinking I was enough.”

Adrielle’s chest tightened. “You are enough.”

“Then why does it feel like I’ve been competing with her this entire time?” His voice cracked, and the sound of it nearly 

shattered her.

Because she had no answer.

Because maybe… maybe he wasn’t wrong.

Maybe she had been clinging to something that wasn’t fair to either of them.

Maybe she had been holding onto him just to prove to herself that she could. That she had moved on. That she had finally broken

Adrielle had been spiraling all week.

She told herself it was just the stress of school, of basketball, of life. But deep down, 

she knew the truth.

She was still in love with Paige.

No matter how much she fought it, no matter how much she had tried to bury it beneath her relationship with Caysen, the truth was suffocating her now. Because love like that didn’t just disappear. It lingered. It clung to her like smoke from a fire she thought she had put out.

And after the argument with Caysen, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

She needed air.

So she went for a walk. Just to clear her head, just to stop thinking for a moment.

And then she ran into her.

Paige was coming out of the gym, hoodie pulled over her head, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She almost didn’t notice Adrielle at first. But then their eyes met, and for a second, neither of them moved.

It was different this time. Not like at the party. Not just a passing glance before pretending the other didn’t exist.

This time, Paige hesitated. Then, slowly, she took a step forward.

Adrielle’s heart pounded. She should walk away. She should pretend she hadn’t seen her.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed.

And for the first time in months, they talked.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice softer than Adrielle remembered. Like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it.

“Hey.”

A pause. Not tense. Just… heavy.

“You looked good out there today,” Paige said finally, nodding toward the gym. “Saw some of your drills.”

Adrielle let out a small, breathy laugh. “You spying on me now?”

Paige smirked, and for a second, it felt like nothing had changed. “Nah, just happened to be there.” A pause. Then, quieter, “I always notice you.”

Adrielle’s chest tightened. She should say something, should brush past it. But instead, she found herself studying Paige—the way her eyes looked clearer, the way there wasn’t a hint of alcohol on her breath, the way she carried herself now, like she wasn’t drowning anymore.

“I heard you’ve been doing better,” she said carefully.

Paige nodded, exhaling. “Trying to.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was… something else. 

Something Adrielle wasn’t sure she was ready to name.

“I—I’m proud of you,” she admitted, the words feeling foreign on her tongue but true 

in her heart. “I know it’s not easy.”

Paige’s gaze flickered, like she wasn’t expecting that. Like she didn’t think she deserved it. “Thanks,” she murmured. “It’s… different this time. I’m not just doing it to prove something. I’m doing it for me.”

That was what hit Adrielle the hardest.

Because for so long, Paige had been trying to fix things between them without fixing herself first. But now? Now she wasn’t just saying the right words. She was living them.

And for the first time in a long time, Adrielle didn’t feel anger, or pain, or exhaustion.

She just felt Paige.

The girl she had loved. The girl she still did love, whether she wanted to or not.

But what did that mean?

Because love had never been their problem. They had always had that.

It was everything else that had broken them.

So as they stood there, looking at each other like they were both realizing something they weren’t ready to say out loud, Adrielle asked herself the only question that mattered.

Was love ever going to be enough?

The conversation started innocently enough.

Caysen had been quieter than usual over the past few days, and Adrielle could feel the tension building between them. The cracks that had started to show weeks ago were now impossible to ignore.

They were sitting in her dorm room, a familiar spot that had always felt like home

—until now. Caysen was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes focused on the floor like he was trying to decide if this was something he should even bring up.

Adrielle could feel the weight of the silence. She had been expecting this.

"Adrielle," Caysen finally said, voice softer than usual but still carrying that edge she couldn’t ignore, "Are you really okay with all this?"

She frowned, not sure what he meant. 

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I don’t know. Something feels off. Like you’re not all here anymore."

Her heart sank. She had been trying to bury her feelings, trying to focus on him, on their relationship. But the truth was impossible to ignore now.

"I’m here," she said quietly, though she knew her words were hollow.

Caysen didn’t seem convinced. "I’ve seen the way you look at her." He didn’t need to say her name, and Adrielle didn’t need to hear it to know who he was talking about. 

Paige.

Her stomach twisted. "Caysen, I’m with you. I am here."

But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t enough. Not anymore.

"You’re not," he said, shaking his head. "You haven’t been. Every time you see Paige, it’s like you’re a different person. It’s in the way you talk about her, the way your eyes light up when you say her name, even when you try to pretend you’re over it."

Adrielle swallowed hard, trying to fight back the guilt. "It’s not like that. I care about you, Caysen. I do."

He stepped closer now, his voice softer, but still heavy with the truth he couldn’t deny. "I know you do. But it’s not just about caring. You were never really over her, were you?"

The question hung in the air, and Adrielle felt the truth crashing down on her. She had tried. She had tried so hard to move on. But Paige had always been there, in the back of her mind, in every fight, in every moment when she and Caysen weren’t quite connecting.

No matter how much she wanted to deny it, there was still a part of her that belonged to Paige.

"I wasn’t," she admitted quietly. "I thought I could be. I thought I could move on. But I was never really over her. Not completely."

Caysen’s eyes softened, but the hurt was still there. "I knew it. I could tell. I’m not mad at you, Adrielle. I just… I don’t want to keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. You deserve to be happy, and I deserve to be with someone who is fully here. Someone who’s not still holding on to their past."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. She knew it was coming, knew it was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered, tears threatening to fall.

"I know," he said, his voice low but steady. "But sometimes, it’s better to let go, you 

know? For both of us."

There was a long silence between them. They were standing there, not really looking at each other, just feeling the weight of everything that had led them to this moment.

Adrielle nodded slowly, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah. I know."

"I want you to be happy, Adrielle," Caysen said, his voice soft but genuine. "I want you to figure out what you really want. If that’s me, I’ll be here. But if it’s not… if it’s her... you need to let me go."

Adrielle’s chest tightened as she realized what that meant. They had loved each other, but in the end, love wasn’t enough to fix what was broken.

"I think I’ve already let you go," she said quietly, the weight of her own words sinking in. "I think I knew it, even before tonight."

Caysen exhaled deeply, the tension easing from his shoulders as he gave her a small, sad smile. "Then we’re both just trying to figure out what comes next."

Adrielle nodded, a bittersweet smile of her own tugging at her lips. "Yeah."

They stood there for a moment longer, neither of them knowing how to walk away from what they had shared. But in the end, it was clear. There was no more pretending.

And as Caysen left her dorm room, the door closing gently behind him, Adrielle felt the heaviness of their breakup settle over her. It was calm, quiet, the kind of ending that felt like it had been coming for a long time.

But even as she stood there, alone, she couldn’t shake the thought that she had just let go of the one person who had loved her—while her heart was still with someone else.

And she didn’t know if she was ready for what that meant yet.

-

Paige couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Ever since that night outside the gym, Adrielle had been stuck in her mind like a song she couldn’t turn off. It wasn’t just that she had seen her—it was the way they had talked. Not fought. Not thrown blame back and forth like weapons.

Just talked.

It was the first time in a long time that it hadn’t felt impossible between them.

And that was dangerous.

Because Adrielle still had a boyfriend according to Paige’s knowledge.

Paige had told herself that over and over again, forcing it into her brain like some kind of mantra. She wasn’t going to mess with that. She wasn’t going to be the reason 

Adrielle’s relationship fell apart.

But then she heard things.

Little pieces of information slipping through mutual friends, whispers of something cracking beneath the surface.

"They’ve been fighting a lot lately."

"I don’t know, man, it just seems like she’s not happy anymore."

"I wouldn’t be surprised if they broke up soon."

And that was when Paige felt it.

That flicker of hope. That tiny, dangerous voice in the back of her mind asking: Could there be a chance?

She didn’t want to be happy about Adrielle’s relationship failing. That wasn’t who she was anymore. She wasn’t the same selfish, impulsive girl who would have stormed in and torn things apart just to get what she wanted.

But the idea of Adrielle being free again?

The idea of them having another shot—this time, without the same toxic cycles?

Paige wanted that.

And maybe, just maybe, Adrielle did too.

But she couldn’t rush it. Couldn’t push.

If there was going to be a second chance, it had to be real. It had to be on Adrielle’s terms, not just because Paige wanted it.

So she waited.

For now.

Paige wasn’t sure why she had ended up at Ted’s. but tonight, she just needed to be somewhere that felt different, somewhere she could forget the tension in her chest. 

The lingering thought of Adrielle.

It was only supposed to be a quick drink, something to pass the time. But the second she walked in, the weight of her emotions followed her like a shadow. She ordered a drink, tucked herself in a corner, and tried to pretend she wasn’t thinking about her.

That was until a familiar figure slid into the seat next to her.

Adrielle.

The instant Adrielle sat down, a small, almost guilty smile tugged at Paige’s lips. It was like they’d never been apart.

"Didn’t think I’d run into you here," Paige said, her voice surprisingly calm, even though her heart was pounding.

Adrielle glanced at her, the same quiet surprise in her eyes. "Yeah, not my usual spot" she replied. "But... I guess I needed a change of scenery."

The words hung there, but they didn’t feel heavy like they used to. They felt like… relief.

"I’m not interrupting, am I?" Adrielle asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink.

Paige shook her head. "Not at all. I was just... thinking."

"About?"

Paige shrugged. "About a lot of things." She paused, scanning the bar, but not really seeing anything. "And about how weird it feels to run into you here."

Adrielle laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, and Paige couldn’t help but smile at it. It felt like they were picking up exactly where they left off.

For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like they were walking on broken glass, each step carefully measured to avoid the sharp edges of their past.

"Funny," Adrielle said, her voice quieter now, "I feel the same way. But... I don’t know, I’m glad I ran into you."

Paige’s heart skipped a beat at that. "Yeah?" She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Adrielle nodded, her eyes meeting Paige’s. There was something different in her gaze. Softer. No walls. No guard up. Just... her.

"Yeah," Adrielle said, her voice steady. "I’ve missed this. Talking to you. It’s easy, you know? It’s like... we’ve known each other forever."

Paige’s chest tightened at the realization. "We have, haven’t we?" she murmured. "Feels like nothing’s really changed."

They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind of silence that only comes with people who know each other too well. It was... peaceful. After all the chaos, all the drama, this quiet felt like something they had been starved of.

Adrielle broke the silence first, her eyes still fixed on Paige. "Where’s your girlfriend tonight?"

Paige blinked at the sudden question, feeling a little caught off guard. "What?" she asked, half-smiling in confusion.

Adrielle tilted her head slightly, like she was genuinely curious. "You know... I saw you with that girl a couple of weeks ago. Thought maybe you’d bring her tonight."

Paige’s smile faltered, but only for a second. She exhaled slowly, then shrugged. "No one like that anymore."

Adrielle didn’t press, just nodded like she understood.

"And you?" Paige asked, almost instinctively, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "Where’s your boyfriend?"

The question felt too heavy, too direct, but she had to ask it. She couldn’t help herself. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the way they had been tangled together for so long.

Adrielle hesitated for a moment, her lips pressing together as she looked away briefly. "We broke up," she said quietly, like the words were still settling in her mind. "A few days ago."

Paige’s heart skipped, a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite identify swirling inside her. "I’m sorry," she said softly, though she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for the breakup or for the mess that had once been their own relationship.

Adrielle smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile. "It’s okay," she said, her tone light, though her eyes held a trace of sadness. "It was... time. It wasn’t working anymore."

Paige nodded, the weight of those words hanging in the air. "You deserve to be with someone who makes you feel right," she said quietly. "Someone who’s there when you need them, without the games."

Adrielle’s gaze softened, and she looked at Paige with something like a knowing smile. "And you? Are you looking for someone like that too?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige paused, feeling the question land deeper than she was ready for. Her heart was racing again, but this time, she didn’t feel the usual rush of panic or uncertainty. Instead, there was a steady pull she couldn’t ignore.

"I don’t know," she said after a moment. "Maybe I’m just trying to figure myself out first. But I’m... getting there."

And then, as if the past was finally far enough behind them, the conversation flowed again. It was easy. Comfortable.

They didn’t talk about the past. Not the mistakes, not the heartbreak. They didn’t need to. It was like the space between them had been erased, the walls they had built up over months of pain had finally crumbled away.

They didn’t need to mention what had happened before—because right now, this was enough. This conversation, this moment, was all that mattered.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like they were right where they were supposed to be. Together.

Just two people who still, deep down, loved each other.

[blairwbb]

Blowing smoke

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem!oc summary: Vienna is starting her first year at UConn and as expected she’s she’s her ex Paige Bueckers everywhere. Paige has built a name for herself at UConn as someone who’s dominating the court but also is known on campus for getting with a bunch of girls. Vienna and Paige are something that are never over tho. A/N: This is loosely based on ‘Blowing smoke’ by Gracie Abrams!

-

It didn’t take long for me to see her.

Paige Bueckers was everywhere.

I saw her name in headlines, heard it in conversations I wasn’t a part of. Her face was on posters, on screens, in the excited whispers of girls who didn’t know better. I caught glimpses of her on campus, the way people turned their heads when she walked by—too confident, too careless, too untouchable.

And then there were the girls.

Different faces, same story. They clung to her arm at parties, giggled when she whispered something in their ear, looking at her like she was some kind of dream. Like she wasn’t going to disappear the second she got what she wanted.

They didn’t know her.

Not like I did.

They didn’t know that she hated strawberries but ate them anyway because her mom used to cut them up for her as a kid. They didn’t know that she always double-knotted her laces before a game or that she mumbled in her sleep when she was too tired to fight it.

They didn’t know that before she became this version of herself—the campus legend, the one-and-done, the girl who never stayed—she used to stay with me.

But that was a long time ago.

And now? Now she barely even looked at me. Or maybe she did, but it never lasted long enough for me to be sure. I wasn’t sure which was worse—the fact that she didn’t seem to care I was here, or the fact that I still cared at all.

It’s not like we ended on bad terms. At least, that’s what I told myself.

There was no screaming, no accusations, no dramatic goodbye. Just quiet understanding, the kind that comes when two people want different things but still care too much to tear each other apart on the way out. Paige had dreams too big for where we were, and I—I guess I didn’t want to stand in the way of them.

So I let her go.

And now, watching her from a distance, I wondered if she even remembered the way we were. If she ever thought about late-night drives with no destination, about sitting on my dorm floor eating cold pizza after a game, about all the moments that made us us.

Because I did.

I remembered the way she used to look at me like I was something rare, something worth holding onto. The way she would find my hand in the dark, even when she was half-asleep. The way she used to tell me, soft and certain, "You’re my favorite person."

But that was before.

Before she became the Paige everyone here knew—the one who left before the sheets cooled, the one who didn’t do second chances. Before I was just another face in the crowd, watching her live a life that didn’t seem to have space for me anymore.

But we didn’t end on bad terms.

So why did it still feel like I lost her?

Being on campus felt like stepping into a story I already knew the ending to.

I saw Paige everywhere. In hallways, on the court. Her name was in every conversation, her face on every screen. People spoke about her like she was more myth than person, the kind of legend that belonged to everyone and no one at the same time.

I couldn’t escape it.

It was in the way the cafeteria TVs replayed her highlights, the way girls whispered about her at the tables next to me, giggling over who had caught her attention last. It was in the way the campus seemed to shift around her, how people moved when she walked into a room—some with admiration, some with envy, but all of them aware.

And then there was the worst part.

The moments when our paths crossed, and for a second—just a second—her eyes would flicker toward me. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Not long enough to mean anything. Just long enough to remind me that she saw me too.

And maybe that was the hardest part of all.

Knowing that I wasn’t invisible to her.

Just irrelevant.

-

You’re coming, no excuses," Leila said, linking her arm through mine as we walked across campus. "You’ve been avoiding every party since the semester started, and I won’t allow it any longer. It’s unhealthy."

I sighed, tugging my jacket tighter around myself. "I haven’t been avoiding them."

Leila shot me a knowing look. "Oh, really? Because every time I mention one, you suddenly have an assignment due, a headache, or a deep, spiritual need to reorganize your closet."

She wasn’t wrong.

But she also didn’t know the real reason.

Still, I let her pull me along, promising myself that it would be fine. It was just a party. Just music, drinks, people. Just a few hours of pretending I didn’t feel like a ghost on this campus, walking through a past no one else could see.

Except I should’ve known better.

Because the moment we stepped inside, I felt it.

The shift in energy, the way heads turned just slightly toward the doorway on the other side of the room. The unmistakable pull of someone who didn’t just enter a space—they owned it.

Paige

She was leaning against the kitchen counter, some girl draped over her shoulder, whispering something in her ear. Whatever it was made Paige smirk, her dimple flashing as she took a slow sip from her drink.

I knew that smirk.

I knew the girl she was pretending to be.

But the worst part? The part that made my stomach twist?

When her gaze flickered toward me—just for a second—and then slid right past me like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just another body in the crowd.

Like she didn’t know me at all.

And I should’ve expected it. I should’ve been prepared. But nothing could’ve braced me for the sharp sting of it. The way her indifference cut deeper than anything else could have.

Because once upon a time, Paige Bueckers had looked at me like I was the only person in the room.

And now?

Now I was nothing.

-

I felt her before I saw her.

It was like my body knew before my brain did, a shift in the air, a feeling I hadn’t let myself sit with in too long. Then I turned my head, and there she was.

Vienna.

She looked the same. No—she looked better. Like time had only sharpened the things about her that used to drive me insane in the best ways. The curve of her lips, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way she held herself, like she was trying not to take up too much space but still managed to be the most noticeable person in the room to me.

And for a second—just a second—I let myself feel it. The pull. The ache. The regret.

Then I forced it all down.

I turned away before she could catch me staring, let my arm rest around the girl next to me, let my smirk come easy—like I hadn’t just felt my chest cave in at the sight of her.

I’d gotten good at distractions.

That’s all these girls were. All they had ever been. A way to fill the silence, to keep my hands busy, to keep my mind from circling back to the only person I had ever really wanted. Because the truth was, I had never stopped thinking about Vienna. Not once.

At the time, ending it felt like the right thing. We both told ourselves it was for the best. That we were chasing different futures, that love wasn’t always enough. And I let her walk away.

But I never stopped regretting it. Never stopped wishing I had fought harder.

Now she was here, on the same campus, breathing the same air, standing in the same room. And instead of crossing it, instead of saying her name, I was doing 

what I did best—pretending.

Pretending I didn’t see her.

Pretending it didn’t kill me to act like she was just another stranger.

Pretending that every girl I had been with since wasn’t just a poor substitute for the only one I ever really gave a damn about.

I had gotten good at avoiding her.

Campus wasn’t small, but somehow, Vienna was everywhere. I knew the places she liked to go, the routes she took, the coffee shop she always stopped at before her morning classes. It was muscle memory, really—knowing her, knowing how to stay just far enough away.

Because I didn’t trust myself.

Not around her. Not with the way my chest got tight every time I caught a glimpse of her in the distance. Not with the words that burned the back of my throat every time I thought about what I should’ve said that night.

She probably hated me now.

I wouldn’t blame her. After all, she had seen it—me, the girls, the act I played so damn well. And maybe that was the worst part. Knowing she had seen firsthand just how easily I could make someone else feel like they mattered, even when none of them ever really did.

So I kept my distance.

Until I couldn’t.

I wasn’t even supposed to be in this lecture. A schedule change, some mix-up with the athletic department—I didn’t ask too many questions. Just showed up, found an empty seat, and pulled my hoodie up like maybe it could shield me from whatever new headache the universe was about to throw my way.

Then I looked up.

And there she was.

Vienna.

Sitting two rows ahead, her back straight, her beautiful brownish with a red hair falling over one shoulder. She hadn’t noticed me yet, hadn’t turned my way. But I felt it anyway—that familiar squeeze in my chest, the immediate urge to get up, to leave, to go anywhere else before she could look at me and remind me of everything I had tried so hard to forget.

But then, like she could sense me—like she knew—she turned.

And for the first time in a long time, I had nowhere to hide.

Of course.

Of course the professor had to pair us up.

I sat there, gripping my pen so tight it might snap in half, trying to act like my heart wasn’t doing something stupid in my chest. Vienna barely reacted. Just gave a small nod when our names were called together, like this was any other random assignment with any other random classmate.

But I wasn’t just any classmate. And she sure as hell wasn’t just anyone to me.

Still, I played along.

“Guess we’re stuck together,” I said, flashing her my signature smirk as we settled at a table. “Hope you remember how to tolerate 

me.”

Vienna barely looked up from her notebook. 

“It’s a group project, Paige. Not life or death.”

The way she said my name—it hit me like a punch to the ribs. I had gotten used to hearing it from other girls, but not like this. Not from her.

I cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, but you can admit it… you missed my charm.”

That got me a reaction, at least. A tiny huff of laughter, barely there, but enough to make something inside me loosen. God, I missed this. The easy back-and-forth, the way she used to roll her eyes at me but always, always had that small smile playing at her lips.

For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Until I pushed too far.

“So…” I started, tapping my pen against the table. “We gonna talk about it?”

Vienna finally looked at me, and there was something colder in her gaze now. “Talk about what?”

“You know what.” I tried to keep my voice light, teasing, like this was just another joke between us. But it wasn’t. Not to me. “Us. That night. Everything.”

Vienna exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Paige.”

I leaned in, dropping the act, just for a second. “Come on, V. Don’t you think—”

“No.”

The word was final. No room for negotiation, no softness left in her expression. She straightened in her chair, flipping open her textbook like I hadn’t just tried to crack open the past we never really closed.

“We have work to do,” she said simply.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But weirdly enough, the project itself? That came easy.

We fell into a rhythm without even trying. Filling in the gaps of each other’s sentences, bouncing ideas back and forth, finishing each other’s thoughts like we had never spent any time apart.

Maybe we weren’t good at talking about what happened.

But this?

We were still good at this.

Good at being… something. Maybe not what we were, maybe not what I wanted, but something.

And for now, I’d take it.

-

This was not what I wanted.

When I walked into this lecture, the last thing I expected was to be stuck at a table with Paige Bueckers, forced to spend hours working on some pointless project together. It was already hard enough avoiding her on campus, pretending I didn’t notice the way people talked about her, the way she moved through this place like she owned it.

But now, here we were.

And I hated to admit it… but I missed this.

The effortless way we worked together, how easy it was to fall back into a rhythm. I didn’t have to explain things twice—she always caught on fast, filling in the blanks before I even had to say them. It reminded me of late-night study sessions in my dorm, the way she used to dramatically sigh about how “School is trying to ruin my basketball career, V.” before somehow pulling out a perfect grade anyway.

I had missed this. I had missed her.

And that realization pissed me off.

So when Paige made some cocky comment—something about how she “bet we’re the smartest pair in this class”—the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“Yeah, I’m sure all those late nights have really strengthened your critical thinking skills.”

It was stupid. It was petty. And it was absolutely about something else.

Paige raised a brow, her smirk almost instant. “Late nights?” she echoed, tilting her head. “Sounds like you’ve been keeping tabs on me, V.”

I clenched my jaw. Damn it. That’s exactly what I didn’t want—to give her any reason to think I cared.

I shook my head, forcing a shrug. “I don’t have to keep tabs. Half the campus has seen the rotation.”

Paige laughed—an easy, relaxed sound that shouldn’t have made my stomach twist the way it did. “You jealous?”

I scoffed, flipping a page in my notebook. “Not in the slightest.”

That was a lie.

Because as much as I didn’t want to, I did care.

I cared that I wasn’t the one she was sneaking off with at parties, that I wasn’t the one she was whispering to in dimly lit corners. I cared that she had moved on so easily—while I was still sitting here, pretending like seeing her didn’t hurt.

But I wasn’t about to let her know that.

So instead, I focused on the project, ignored the heat creeping up my neck, and acted like Paige Bueckers was just another person I had to tolerate.

Even though we both knew that was never true.

The thing about working with Paige was that it didn’t matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t matter how many times I convinced myself I was fine, that I didn’t care.

Because every time I caught a glimpse of her in the corner of my eye, every time her laugh—so easy, so familiar—rang out across the table, the truth slapped me in the face.

I still wanted her.

God, I still wanted her.

But I couldn’t let her know that.

So instead, I buried myself in the project, flipping through pages, jotting down notes, pretending I didn’t feel the way her presence wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t want. The air between us hummed with this... tension. It wasn’t quite anger, not anymore. It wasn’t quite the sweet connection we had before things fell apart. It was something else. Something I didn’t have a name for, but I felt it—lingering like smoke.

Paige didn’t make it any easier.

She kept leaning in just a little too close when we worked together. Her shoulder brushing against mine when she reached for a textbook, her knee nudging mine under the table like it was nothing. I had to remind myself to breathe, to ignore the way my pulse sped up when she smiled at me in that way—like I was the only one in the room, even if I knew damn well I wasn’t.

“I think this is the one,” Paige said, pointing to something on the page we were both supposed to be looking at.

Her hand lingered just a little too long near mine. I could feel the heat from her fingers even though they weren’t touching me. My heart skipped a beat, and I had to force myself to look down, focus on the words, the sound numbers.

But then she laughed again.

"What's so funny?" I asked, not really caring, but trying to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, just remembering the stupid stuff we used to do when we worked on these together,” Paige said, leaning back in her chair, her eyes glinting with something too familiar. "Like when you'd get mad because I’d always finish the project before you, and you’d have to stay up all night to catch up."

Her words felt like a punch to the gut. I didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not when it still felt like my heart was in pieces from the last time we said goodbye.

“I didn’t get mad,” I said, trying to sound dismissive.

Paige raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “Sure you didn’t. But you always did.”

Her proximity was unbearable. My chest tightened, and I hated how much I wanted to remember those moments with her—how much I missed them. How much I missed her.

But I couldn’t let myself do that. I couldn’t go back to the girl who let Paige slip away without a fight. I was done being that girl.

“So what now?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound casual. “You finish this early, then go flirt with some random girl again?”

The words were out before I could stop them again, sharp and biting. Stupid. I instantly regretted it the second they left my mouth, but Paige didn’t flinch.

She just leaned back, crossing her arms, and looked at me with a smirk. "Still keeping tabs, huh?"

I hated how easy it was for her to twist the knife. To make me feel like I was the one holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore.

“I’m not keeping tabs,” I shot back, turning away from her. “Just making sure you don’t screw up another project.”

But the tension wasn’t gone. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface, like we were dancing around something we both knew we couldn’t ignore forever.

We were both good at pretending. But eventually, pretending would stop working.

It was strange, how easily we slipped into a sort of... routine.

Not quite friends, not quite anything, but somehow, we ended up spending more time together than I cared to admit. The project was done, but we still found ourselves meeting up between classes, working on random assignments or just talking—more often than not, about nothing in particular. And it wasn’t so bad.

Not at first, anyway.

We would talk about the most ridiculous things—who had the worst class schedule, which cafeteria served the best fries (the answer was always the same: none of them), who was dating who, and the latest gossip. It was easy. It was... safe.

But then there were moments, moments that didn’t fit, moments when the air between us would feel heavy, like there was something else lurking in the space between us.

Like that time, when we ended up at the coffee shop late one evening after the sun had set, the place almost empty except for a few students scattered around studying. Paige was running her finger around the rim of her cup, looking thoughtful for once, her usual bravado toned down to something quieter.

It threw me off.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to break the silence, trying to sound normal, trying to keep it light.

She met my eyes then, and for a second, I thought I saw something flicker in her gaze. Something... too familiar. Something I couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, letting out a breath. “Just... a lot on my mind.”

I didn’t press her. I never did, anymore. If she wanted to talk, she would.

But it made me wonder.

What did Paige think about us? About this—whatever this was?

I had to admit, even though I kept my distance, kept the walls high and thick between us, there were moments where I felt myself inching closer. She didn’t ask for anything, didn’t try to make me explain why I had pulled away so completely. She just... accepted it. And sometimes, that was all I needed.

But then there were times, like tonight, when I’d catch her looking at me in a way that made my chest tighten, and I had to wonder—did she still miss me?

Was this our version of moving on?

I shifted in my seat, trying to hide how my thoughts were spiraling, pretending that I wasn’t falling into old habits, pretending that I wasn’t letting her back in.

“Your life’s a mess, isn’t it?” I said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

Paige chuckled, the sound a little dry. “Well, I’m not exactly winning any awards for best choices lately.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

She grinned, but there was something else behind it, something softer. “I don’t know, V. I think I’m figuring it out. Maybe.”

The way she said it, like she didn’t believe it herself—like she was still trying to convince herself that she wasn’t the mess—made something in my chest crack. She was trying.

And I...

I had never stopped caring.

“Just don’t screw it up,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Paige looked at me, something flashing in her eyes—some mixture of confusion and something else I couldn’t name. “Screw what up?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my cool. “You know. Your whole life.”

She stared at me for a moment, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might say something else—something more. But she didn’t.

Instead, she let out a quiet laugh. “Noted. I’ll try my best, V.”

And for a moment, everything was okay again.

But deep down, I knew. I couldn’t keep pretending. I couldn’t keep acting like I was fine with how things were, with how we were.

Because I missed her. I missed us. And sooner or later, it was going to break through.

-

It was supposed to be a distraction.

Another night, another party. Another girl hanging off my arm, laughing at my jokes, whispering in my ear. Another round of drinks, another attempt to fill the empty spaces with something, anything, to keep my mind from wandering back to Vienna.

But tonight felt different. The music was louder, the laughter a little sharper, the room spinning in a way that made me want to close my eyes and forget the world.

I barely even noticed the girl next to me anymore. The way she kept touching my arm, leaning into me, trying to catch my attention—it was all background noise.

And then, like some cruel twist of fate, I looked across the room.

Vienna.

She was standing there, talking to a group of people, her posture so effortless, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her hair falling just right, her eyes lighting up when she laughed. The way she moved through the crowd—like she belonged there, like she always had.

And suddenly, it was all too clear.

I was still in love with her.

Completely. Utterly.

I had tried so hard to bury it. To let these other girls take the space Vienna used to occupy in my mind. I had told myself that it didn’t matter, that I was over it. But in this moment, with the music pounding in my chest and the weight of my own feelings pressing in from all sides, I knew. I knew it had never stopped.

It wasn’t the girls who were distracting me. 

It wasn’t the parties or the casual hookups. 

It was her.

I watched Vienna for a moment longer, the knot in my stomach tightening, the realization hitting harder than I expected. She was out there, living her life, probably moving on from me in ways I hadn’t even begun to comprehend. But I was still here, holding onto the past like it was some kind of anchor, and the other girls were nothing more than a way to keep me from drowning in it.

I had let her go once. I had convinced 

myself  it was for the best, that we were better off apart.

But now?

Now, it felt like I had lost her completely.

“Paige?”

The voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to find the girl next to me looking at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

I hadn’t even noticed she was speaking.

“Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah. Just—uh, just a little distracted.”

Her hand lingered on my arm, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything except the undeniable pull of Vienna across the room, that ache I had been trying to ignore.

And that’s when it hit me.

I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep pretending these other girls meant anything 

when all I wanted was her.

When all I ever wanted was Vienna.

I turned away from the girl beside me, my heart hammering in my chest as I took a step toward the exit, my mind racing, my thoughts a blur of regret and desperation.

I wasn’t going to let her slip away again. Not this time.

But as I stepped out into the night, I realized—I wasn’t even sure she’d want me back.

And that was the hardest pill to swallow.

I had to try.

That’s what I kept telling myself. That was the mantra I repeated over and over again as I found myself doing little things, trying to worm my way back into Vienna’s life. I wasn’t expecting a grand gesture, not after everything that had happened between us, but I figured maybe—maybe—if I could prove that I wasn’t the same person I was when we ended, she’d start to see me differently.

So I did the small stuff. I showed up at places I knew she'd be—like that quiet coffee shop we used to frequent, pretending to read a textbook, hoping she'd walk by. Or casually mentioning in conversation with her friends how I had joined a study group for our next big test, just to make sure Vienna knew I wasn’t out every weekend getting drunk and flirting with anyone who moved.

I wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all myself.

But still, I tried. I figured if I just kept at it, eventually she’d crack. Eventually, I could win her back.

But then I saw it.

I was at some random party, one of those nights where I went because I told myself it was easier to be distracted by the noise and chaos than to deal with the growing weight of the feelings I had for Vienna. And there she was—talking to some guy from a frat.

I had seen him around campus, heard his name tossed around a few times. Some cocky, confident guy who had clearly caught Vienna’s attention.

It should’ve been nothing. I should’ve looked away, kept my distance like I had been doing for months. But I didn’t.

I watched them.

I couldn’t help it. The way he was standing a little too close to her, the way she was laughing at something he said, a smile on her face that wasn’t mine.

A stupid, ugly feeling crawled up my throat.

Jealousy.

I wanted to march up to them, pull Vienna away, and remind her that I was the one who knew her. I was the one who used to make her laugh like that. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because I knew how much I had messed up, how much I had let her slip through my fingers.

Instead, I stayed where I was, pretending to be fine. Pretending I didn’t care.

But I felt it. I felt the ache deep in my chest as I watched them, as Vienna gave him a little more attention than I could stand. The same feeling that used to burn when I’d see her with someone else, the same feeling I’d buried under layers of indifference and distractions.

I could feel myself pulling away again, but this time, it wasn’t because I was running from her. It was because I was scared of what I might do if I didn’t. I couldn’t fall back into those same patterns—the same desperate, messy patterns I used to drag myself through when I couldn’t have her.

So, I stood there, staring at her. At them.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel the urge to rush over, to claim her, to fight for her the 

way I used to.

I knew now that I had to stop.

I had to let her go.

But god, that was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

-

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

That was the mantra I repeated in my head every time he smiled at me, every time his hand brushed against mine or when he leaned in a little too close while we talked. He was a nice guy, the kind of guy who had his life together. He knew how to make me laugh. He was easy to talk to. And yet…

Every time I caught myself letting him get a little too close, I couldn't stop my mind from drifting back to her.

Paige.

I hated how often her name slipped into my thoughts, how every time he touched me, I compared it to how Paige used to. How her fingers felt when they brushed against my skin, how her laugh sounded when it was just the two of us. It was like I couldn't stop chasing something that wasn't even real anymore.

But I played along, because that’s what I was supposed to do. This was what moving on was supposed to look like, right? Dating, going out with other people, not thinking about the past.

And yet, every time I saw him laugh or talk to me, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was missing. It wasn’t the guy I was talking to—it was the ghost of something else.

The rumors about Paige started circulating too. I heard whispers that she wasn’t going out with other girls anymore, that she wasn’t getting caught up in the usual flings like she had in the past. And for some reason, that stuck with me.

Could it have anything to do with me?

Could she... could Paige still care?

I tried not to think about it. I had to focus on the present, on myself, on moving forward. But late one night, when the alcohol buzzed in my veins and the world seemed just a little softer, I found myself pulling out my phone.

I didn’t think about it too hard. I didn’t weigh the consequences. I just… called.

The phone rang, my heart hammering in my chest. What was I doing? This was stupid. But I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know.

When she picked up, her voice was groggy, but familiar.

“V?” Paige’s voice sounded so surprised. I could hear her shift in bed, probably rubbing her eyes, waking up to the sudden call.

“I—shit, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I stammered, immediately regretting it. But the words were out. The emotions that had been building, all the months of confusion and want, all those stupid, quiet feelings that never quite went away, were suddenly pouring out of me.

“I— I just needed to talk. I’ve been thinking about…”

“Vienna…”

She stopped me before I could finish, and for a moment, I heard a deep breath from her side of the phone. “I’m coming to get you,” she said, the tone of her voice gentle but firm. “Where are you?”

My mind was racing, but somehow, I was relieved. I didn’t know what I expected, but I knew I needed her.

“I’m—uh, I’m at a party, by the frat house,” I slurred, feeling embarrassed but too far gone to care.

“I’ll be there soon,” Paige said. The call ended before I could say anything else.

It wasn’t long before she showed up, her car pulling into the lot, headlights cutting through the dark. And there she was, standing in front of me, looking the same as always. The same soft smile, the same Paige. She looked at me for a moment—eyes searching, studying me like she was trying to figure out if I was the same person she used to know.

I didn't wait. I just let her take me back to her place, no questions asked, no hesitation.

When we got inside, the tension between us was palpable, the air thick with all the things we had never said. I could barely form a sentence. My thoughts were swirling, a jumble of confusion and longing. But I didn’t care. I just needed to feel something real again.

Paige set me down on the couch, and for a long moment, we just looked at each other. She seemed... hesitant. Almost nervous.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, her voice soft but insistent.

“I’ve missed you,” I said before I could stop myself. The words came out in a rush, but they were true. I had missed her. I had missed everything about her.

Paige’s eyes softened, the usual guarded look in them melting away. For a split second, I thought she was going to say something, maybe tell me it was too late, or that she had moved on. But instead, she sat beside me, her hand lightly brushing against mine.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, the words quiet but raw. “More than I can say.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the emotions finally spilling over, but the words came tumbling out. "I thought you were done with me," I admitted, voice shaking just slightly. "I thought maybe you didn’t care anymore."

Paige’s eyes darkened, her hand brushing my cheek. “I never stopped caring,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The next morning, the light streaming in through the window made everything feel more real. I had to face it. Paige hadn’t just kissed me out of some drunken haze; she had kissed me because we both felt something we couldn’t ignore.

We weren’t done.

I watched her as she moved around the room, grabbing coffee, and I realized—she wasn’t just someone from my past anymore. She was still here, and maybe this was our chance to fix everything we broke.

It wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing ever was. But in that moment, I knew I had to try. I couldn’t keep running from what was always meant to be.

It felt like everything finally clicked.

After months of uncertainty, of wondering if I’d made a mistake by walking away from Paige the way I did, things were starting to fall into place. It wasn’t perfect—no, it was so much better than that.

We were back together. Officially. Not in the secretive, hesitant way we used to be. We didn’t need to hide or pretend anymore. Paige had made it clear, over and over again, that she wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t running from me. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to let myself believe it.

“I never stopped loving you,” she told me one night, her voice quiet but unwavering as we lay in her bed, the world outside falling silent.

The words felt like they’d been waiting to be said for a long time, like everything that had built up between us was finally coming to the surface. Her lips brushed against mine, slow and certain, as if she was marking this moment as something real.

“I never stopped loving you either,” I whispered back, my heart racing, knowing there was nothing left to hold back.

We had figured it out, in our own messy way. 

We had found our rhythm again—together, without the distance, without the old fears that had kept us apart for so long.

And it was great.

Better than great.

It was epic.

I was right there at every one of Paige’s games, cheering her on like I always had. I had been her biggest fan from the start, but this time, it was different. This time, I was standing in the crowd, knowing that she was mine, and I was hers. Every basket she made felt like a victory for both of us. Every cheer from the stands was just another reminder of how far we had come.

It wasn’t just that we were together. It was how we made each other better. How we had pushed each other to grow, to fight for what we wanted, and to stop letting our pasts define us.

Paige was out there, dominating on the court like she always did, but now, she had something else behind her—something more than just the adrenaline and the competition. She had me. And I had her. And there was nothing we couldn’t do together.

“I’m proud of you,” I said to her after one of her games, pulling her in for a kiss that made the world disappear.

Paige smiled against my lips. “I’m proud of you too, V. For sticking around.”

“I never planned on going anywhere,” I whispered, holding her close.

And for the first time, I realized—I hadn’t.

We were more than just the sum of our parts. We were a team. An epic one.

And nothing would ever tear us apart again.