saylorsuniverse - Tumblr blog

saylorsuniverse · 4 months ago

Text

INFRUNAMI --- nika muhl

summary: your best friend, nika muhl, has been harboring a secret longtime crush on you, but you’re too blind to see that she’s right in front of you to ever give her a chance.

Warnings: pining (?), dead parent (sorry guys), errr slowburn, lots of slowburn, but that’s it… i think

author’s note: CAUSE I WAS BLIND TO SEE THAT YOU WERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. wow i actually kind of fell off towards the end with this one but idrc it’s done with so please just like it 🙂‍↕️

words: 8.6k

—

Your first day of university was a mess — literally.

It began with you waking up half an hour late for a class on the opposite side of campus. Then, you got lost and wandered into the wrong lecture hall, one packed with fourth year computational analysis students who definitely noticed you didn’t belong. After your humiliating, drastically late entrance to your biology lecture, you realized you left your notebook behind in your haste to leave, and your laptop was dead. By noon, your feet ached, your stomach growled, and you were seriously considering dropping out before the week was over to save whatever dignity you had left.

That’s when it happened — someone rounded the corner too quickly and collided into you. A cold shock spread across your chest as the contents of the cup drenched your once white shirt. The bitter scent of coffee now enveloped you, and the fabric now clung to your skin, sticky and stained.

Today was a mess. Literally.

You staggered back, staring down at your white shirt — now a soft coffee brown, clinging cold against your chest.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You snapped, heat rising in your face. “Do you even look where you’re going, or do you just—”

“I—I’m sorry,” the girl stammered, her voice gentle and laced with a distinct accent you couldn’t quite place.

You froze with your next words of harsh language caught in your throat.

She stood there holding the empty cup like it had detonated in her hands. Tall, composed, and unexpectedly apologetic. Her eyes were wide, brows knit together in genuine concern and sincerity.

You were still fuming—soaked, freezing, and humiliated—but suddenly, yelling didn’t seem so urgent. Not at a girl who was clearly a foreigner. Not when she looked at you like that, with wide, puppy-like eyes tinged with shame. Not when her apology actually sounded sincere.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s not like this day could get any worse anyway. I think I’ve officially checked off every box on the ‘worst first day of college’ list.”

She let out a breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing just enough for you to notice how tense she’d been. “I really didn’t see you,” she said, her accent clearer now—Eastern European, maybe? “I’m an idiot. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You glanced down at your shirt again. Still wet. Still cold. Still embarrassing. But somehow, you weren’t angry anymore. “Join the club,” you said with a small, exhausted laugh. “Late, distracted, mildly ruining people’s lives... I’m president.”

That got a smile out of her—just a small one, but it softened her whole face. Then, without a word, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You caught the UConn women’s basketball team logo on the sleeve.

“Here. I hope this helps,” she said, her voice soft and a little uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure how you’d take the gesture. “And, if it’s not too much, let me buy you a coffee to make up for... this.”

You stood there for a moment, surprised by her sudden kindness. The jacket was warm, thick with the smell of fresh fabric and a faint hint of sweat, the kind you might expect from someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. It was too big on you, but that somehow made it feel like she was offering a shield from the mess of your day.

"I’m Nika," she added quickly, her eyes darting nervously. "Please let me make up to you for this.”

You didn’t know it then, standing in iced coffee and wearing a too big UConn jacket, but that mess of a moment was the beginning of everything.

It started with one coffee—just one, because she insisted. Then it turned into two. The coffees became casual hallway greetings, which slowly morphed into late-night walks after study sessions, shared playlists, “friendly” party dates, and post-game hugs that lingered just a second too long. Somehow, without you even noticing, Nika had become your person.

When your dad passed away suddenly on a random Tuesday at the end of February of your sophomore year, Nika was the one who bought your plane ticket back home – no hesitation, no questions asked.

She showed up at your dorm the night before you left, hoodie half-zipped, her hair still damp from the showers after practice. You barely managed to pack—clothes strewn from your dresser to your suitcase, a pile of shoes collecting at the foot of your bed, your eyes red, puffy, and brimming with tears. She did it for you. Folded your clothes, tucked in a charger, reminded you to bring that sweatshirt your dad always complimented.

And when you finally returned—eyes tired, heart heavier than it had ever been—she was waiting outside baggage claim. Hood up, no makeup, holding your favorite energy drink and a croissant from that little French bakery you’d been insistent she try. And beside all of that, the kind of silence only someone who really knows you can offer.

That night, she slept on the floor beside your bed.

You didn’t ask her to. You never had to. Nika always knew when you needed her—sometimes from just a glance.

She stayed up while you cried yourself dry. She emailed your professors when you couldn’t even open your laptop, even went so far as to ask the headmaster directly if you could get more time off from your midterms.

She let you hold her hand during the funeral, her thumb tracing soft, steady circles into your palm—grounding you when you felt like floating away.

Nika didn’t try to fix anything.

She didn’t push you to talk. She didn’t drag you out for a walk, like she usually would.

She just stayed. And somehow, that was enough.

It was late – well past midnight – and the two of you were curled up on the couch in your childhood living room, the glow of the TV flickering softly while some old sappy rom com movie played on mute.

You were mid-ramble, half-laughing, half-sentimental, recounting story after story about your dad like they were your favorite bedtime tales.

“He swore he was the best fisherman this side of the Atlantic,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “Like, you’d think he was hauling in marlins with his bare hands the way he talked about it.”

Nika smiled, chin propped on her fist, eyes locked on you. “Was he actually any good?”

You snorted. “God, no. The biggest thing he ever caught was, like, a three-kilo bass. And even then, it flopped out of the net before we got a picture. He claimed the fish sabotaged him on purpose.”

Nika chuckled, soft and real, and you couldn’t help but smile wider.

It wasn’t just the sound – it was the way her whole face softened, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the small shake of her head like she couldn’t believe you. Her laughter filled the space between you like warm light, like something sacred yet familiar.

She tucked her legs under her on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, and looked at you like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. The lamp behind her glowed gold against the curve of her cheekbone, catching the faintest shimmer in her eyes – like she was trying not to cry or trying not to say something she wasn’t ready to yet.

You noticed, then, how close you were sitting. How your knees almost touched. How easy it felt, like she’d always belonged here – curled up in your childhood living room, laughing at your dad’s fishing stories like she’d live them too.

And maybe, in a way, she had.

“I think he just liked the quiet,” you said after a pause, voice gentler now. “Being out there, the water, the stillness. I didn’t get it back then, but I do now.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward – never awkward with Nika. Just quiet enough to let the memory linger, to allow the both of you to bask in it.

Then she nudged your socked foot with hers. “You talk about him like he’s still here.”

“He kind of is.”

Nika didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to, of course. Instead, she just looked at you like she was memorizing the shape of your smile.

And you thought, not for the first time, but he would’ve loved her.

Your dad would’ve seen the way Nika listened to your ramblings the same way he used to, the way her presence was so steady without being overbearing. He would’ve noticed the softness in her eyes, how she made your grief feel a little less sharp. She’d have fit into the rhythms of your family like she’d always belonged there – because, in some way, she had.

For a second, you closed your eyes, imagining it: your dad’s big, warm laugh, echoing through the house as Nika teased him about his fishing skills with that easy, teasing tone she used with everyone.

He would’ve loved her.

For that one fleeting moment, it felt like home wasn’t just this old couch or the smell of your mom’s cookies in the kitchen. It was this – you and Nika, talking about ghosts and bass and everything in between.

The following weeks slipped into a quiet rhythm, one that felt almost like a secret the two of you shared. You and Nika found yourselves slipping into these comfortable silences together more and more. In between late-night talks about everything and nothing, and those moments of laughter when you made fun of each other’s weirdest habits, something deeper was taking root. It wasn’t obvious, not yet—but it was there, nestled beneath the surface, like the steady pulse of something waiting to bloom.

Like the time Nika showed up at your dorm with a bag full of mismatched socks she'd stolen from the laundry room, daring you to try and make an outfit work out of them. Or when you spent an entire Saturday afternoon teaching her how to bake your dad’s infamous chocolate chip cookies, the ones he swore could cure anything. You ended up with flour all over your kitchen and dough stuck to your hair, but it didn’t matter. You were together, laughing over how none of the cookies had turned out even close to edible.

There were more nights like that—quiet ones, where you both stayed up late just talking, sharing stories about your families, about who you were when you were younger, before college and before any of this. You never had to explain why you did the things you did or why certain memories lingered with you longer than others. She understood—just like she always did.

And for someone who never begged for anything – never even dared to ask twice – Nika always begged you to come watch a game. It became the one exception to her “no begging” rule.

You’d always waved her off with a laugh, claiming basketball just wasn’t your thing. You didn’t understand the rules, the fouls, the constant whistle-blowing, or how she managed to stay so calm under so much pressure. But every now and then, she’d drop another hint – “It’s a home game, you won’t even have to walk far!” Or, “We’re playing a big team tonight… would love to see you there because everyone else will be.” It was subtle, and it always came with that soft, almost shy smile of hers – the one you’d started to recognize as her version of hope.

So, one night, you went. No warning, no heads up. You just showed up.

You found a seat near the middle of the bleachers, heart weirdly anxious, wondering if she’d even notice you in the crowd of white, navy blue, and grey. But she did – of course she did.

The moment she stepped out on the court and caught your eye, you saw it – that flash of surprise, that quiet spark of something deeper flickering in her expression before she masked it behind her unusual focus.

For the first time, you got it. Not the game necessarily – you still weren’t entirely sure what a double dribble was or a travel – but the way people moved for each other on that court. The trust. The rhythm. The fire. The way Nika played was sharp, unrelenting, impossible to look away from. That night, you finally understood what mattered to her. And why it might’ve always been more than just the game.

After the game, you tried to slip out quietly, but it was impossible to miss the way people swarmed toward the edge of the court – phones out, jerseys in hand, calling her name like she was some kind of celebrity.

And apparently, she was.

You always knew Nika had a massive Instagram following—you’d seen the numbers, seen the comments flooding in whenever she posted even the most casual selfie. You’d noticed the way people made googly eyes at her in the hallways, how other students suddenly stood a little taller or flipped their hair when she walked past.

But you never really got it. Not until now.

Not until you saw the crowd waiting for her after the game—eager hands holding out phones and posters, people calling her name like they knew her, like she belonged to them in some way.

It was strange seeing her like that. Not because she didn’t deserve it—she did, and then some—but because to you, she’d always just been Nika. The girl who stole mismatched socks from the laundry room just to make you laugh. The girl who memorized your coffee order by heart and always knew when you needed space and when you didn’t. The girl who once burned every single batch of your dad’s cookie recipe and still swore they tasted fine.

And now here she was—this campus icon with sweat-slicked hair and a grin that could start a riot—signing shoes, jerseys, posters… even someone’s forehead, like it was just another Tuesday.

You watched as she smiled patiently through photo after photo, soaking in the spotlight like she was born for it. This wasn’t the lowkey girl who had spilled coffee on you once or cried laughing when flour exploded in your kitchen. This was Nika Mühl, UConn’s Secretary of Defense. Golden girl. Game-changer. And suddenly, you realized: maybe you’d only ever known one version of her.

When she finally broke away from the crowd and jogged toward you, cheeks flushed and hair stuck to her forehead, she looked more alive than you’d ever seen her. You raised an eyebrow.

“So, you’re some big-time basketball hotshot, huh?” you teased, arms crossed. “That was… kind of impressive. I guess.”

She smirked. “Kind of?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I could do all that. With my eyes closed, actually.”

She blinked. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Give me a ball and five minutes and I’ll outscore you easily. Might even dunk on you, Lebron James style.”

That made her laugh – full, loud, and way too amused. “Alright, alright. You talk a lot for someone who looks like she's never touched a basketball in her life. Let alone see a court.”

You nudged her side. “Take me to court then. Prove me wrong.”

And she did prove you wrong.

Somehow, that night ended with the two of you at an empty outdoor court lit only by flickering floodlights and moonlight. The air was cool and quiet, your laughter echoing as she passed you the ball and watched you completely miss the rim – twice.

“Well,” Nika said, trying and failing to hide her grin, “I see we’ve got a future draft pick on our hands.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Okay, rude. That one slipped.”

“That one?” she teased, jogging after the ball as it bounced off into the dark. You’re shooting like the hoop personally offended you.”

“Maybe it did,” you called, breathless with laughter. “Maybe I’m more of a… defensive player.”

“You just airballed a layup.”

“I slipped!”

“Sure,” she said, dribbling lazily back toward you. “Or maybe you’re just intimidated by my greatness.”

You scoffed. “Please. I let you win.”

“You didn’t score once, even when I was just standing there like a statue.”

You stared at her, hand outstretched. “Ball.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, spinning it once on her finger just to be annoying before tossing it your way. “Alright, Steph Curry. Show me what you got.”

You took the ball, squared up, and launched it with every bit of determination you had in you… only for it to hit the backboard with a loud clunk and bounce halfway across the court.

You both froze. Then she cracked up.

You glared at her, trying not to laugh yourself. “I’m warming up.”

“Yeah?” she managed through her giggles. “Need a few more games? A training camp, maybe? A miracle?”

You tried to look offended, but her laughter was contagious. The kind that made your chest ache a little—not from embarrassment, but from something warmer, softer.

When she finally caught her breath, she nudged your shoulder gently. “You’re not good at basketball,” she said, still smiling. “But you’re fun.”

Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing, but you masked it with a roll of your eyes. “Thank you. But I am good at basketball.”

Nika raised a brow. “Sure. Prove it.”

You grinned. “Rematch?”

She stepped back, dribbling the ball between her legs, eyes gleaming. “Loser buys post-game coffee tomorrow morning.”

You smirked. “You’re on.”

It was stupid. It was fun. And somewhere between you chasing the ball and her showing you how to dribble without bouncing it off your foot, you realized something had shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once. But it was there—right under the surface, in the way her hand lingered on your waist when she tried to show you the right form, in the way your eyes caught and held a little too long under the buzz of the lights.

And when you finally flopped onto the court floor, breathless and grinning, she lay down beside you and whispered, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

You turned your head toward her, the stars blurred in your peripheral vision. “Thanks for letting me see your world.”

You didn’t talk about that night again. Not because it was strange or uncomfortable, but because it didn’t need words. Some moments just stayed suspended in memory, like a snapshot only the two of you knew how to look at.

But life moved on – like it always does.

The semester picked up speed. Papers piled up. Practice schedules got tighter, especially with March Madness on the horizon for Nika. Your part-time job at the ice cream shop started demanding more of your weekends. Somewhere between closing shifts and early morning labs, you and Nika started spending less time together. Not on purpose. Not in a way that sparked a fight or falling out. Just enough to notice.

Enough to feel it when the silence between texts stretched a little longer, when a missed FaceTime became a pattern. You’d come over to her dorm to find her asleep on the couch, laptop still playing, practice notes spread across her chest like armor. You’d pull the blanket over her head and wish you could pause the world just long enough to sit beside her again like before.

Then, at some point during your junior year, you noticed Nika becoming increasingly more homesick.

It was subtle at first. A sigh when she scrolled through old photos. A soft smile when her sister’s name popped up on her phone. But you knew Nika. You knew the way her energy shifted, the way her voice carried a little differently when her heart was somewhere else. You tried to bridge the distance with the little things. You brought her pastries from the Croatian bakery an hour away, even if they were never quite right to her. You learned how to say “good morning” in her language. You watched YouTube videos of her hometown, just so you’d have something to talk about when she brought it up. But it never felt like enough.

Then, you picked up extra shifts at the local ice cream shop to cover rent and textbooks and whatever else college kept throwing at you. You were always exhausted, sticky with sugar syrup and smelling like waffle cones. Texts went unanswered. Calls missed. Plans postponed.

Nika noticed.

She never said it outright, but it was there—in the shorter replies, the fading smiles, the way her voice sounded just a little tighter when she’d say, “You’re working again?”

You hated that look on her face—the quiet disappointment. The way it made your stomach knot and your chest ache. But what could you do? You were trying your best. That had to count for something.

And then it was her birthday.

You remembered last year—how she’d dragged you to the beach even though it was freezing, wrapped you both in a single towel, and made you promise to always spend her birthday together, no matter what.

This year, she barely looked at you when you showed up at her dorm.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

You bit back a sigh. “I know I’ve been distant, but just… come with me.”

She rolled her eyes and stood anyway. “If this is a sad attempt to make up for ignoring me, I swear—”

And then she stepped into the apartment lobby. And froze.

Her mom stood there with her arms wide open, her dad fumbling with a bouquet of tulips, and her little sister waving with both hands, wearing a “Happy Birthday, Nika!!” t-shirt that was definitely your idea.

She turned to you, wide-eyed and speechless for the first time in maybe ever. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You flew them in?”

You nodded. “Used every paycheck. And some student loan money I probably shouldn’t have touched.”

She didn’t say anything at first—just stepped forward into her dad’s arms, burying her face into his shoulder as he hugged her so tightly it looked like he might never let go. Her mom was crying. Her sister was laughing, tugging at the hem of Nika’s sweatshirt.

You stood off to the side, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you missed a hug like that.

Your chest tightened as you watched them sway together, soft words exchanged in Croatian, her dad smoothing her hair back like she was still his little girl. Something about it gutted you. You couldn’t help but think of your dad. How his hugs were always too tight, how he always smelled like sunscreen and coffee, how he’d tease you for crying during animated movies—and how you’d give anything just to feel that once more.

You didn’t realize your eyes were glassy until Nika’s dad turned to you.

“Thank you,” he said, accent thick but warm. “For taking care of our Nika.”

Your throat closed. You managed a smile, but it was shaky.

Because you hadn’t been taking care of Nika.

If anything, she had taken care of you—when you were falling apart, when you couldn’t speak, when the world felt too loud or too quiet. When grief lived in your chest like a second heartbeat. She was the one who knew how to anchor you, to bring you back. She was the one who stayed.

“I try,” you whispered. “But I think she does a better job at that than me.”

He smiled again, like he understood something you hadn’t said out loud.

Later that night, when the cake had been cut and the apartment had quieted into soft music and the scent of leftover frosting, you slipped out onto the balcony for a moment alone.

You didn’t hear her come out—just felt her shoulder bump into yours as she slid into the chair beside you.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

“Hey.”

She looked out over the city lights, then back at you. “You really flew them in.”

You nodded. “Had to bribe your sister with candy and airport snacks.”

Nika smiled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

A beat passed.

“You’re still the best part of my birthday,” she added, softer now.

You turned toward her, and in the half-dark, you saw the sincerity in her eyes. The way they crinkled when she smiled, the way she looked at you like you mattered. Like she’d been waiting to say that all night.

Your heart swelled in your chest—warm and heavy and full.

“Don’t forget that when I inevitably ignore you again because I picked up another closing shift,” you said, grinning.

“Oh, I will absolutely hold this over your head forever,” she teased. “You’ll never know peace.”

You laughed, and so did she—and in that moment, everything felt right again.

That night on the balcony stuck with you.

Maybe because it felt like a turning point—like all the tension from the past few months had cracked open and been replaced by something softer, steadier. You started carving out more time. Showing up again. Not just with grand gestures, but in the small ways that mattered most.

And she met you there—like always.

You went back to movie nights and late-night drives and leaving each other notes in textbooks you forgot to return. You showed up to more games, even started learning what a pick-and-roll was (kind of). Nika still teased you for cheering five seconds too late, but she never stopped looking for you in the stands.

Time moved differently after that.

Suddenly, you were both seniors. Somehow, inexplicably, the final year. Yet, at the same time, your lives had become so interwoven, it was hard to remember what things were like before she spilled coffee on you that first day. And now? Now, she has a drawer in your apartment. A toothbrush in your bathroom. A mug she claimed as hers every time she used it for coffee. She wasn’t just a part of your life – she’d quietly, seamlessly folded into it. Still, something had shifted.

It was in the way she watched you sometimes when you weren’t looking. In the way her hand lingered too long on your back during hugs. In the way she'd start to say something, then stop herself with a breathy, "Never mind."

One night, after her game, you found her alone in the locker room, lacing and unlacing her sneakers with a faraway look on her face.

“You good?” you asked, settling beside her.

She nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But then she added, “Have you ever thought about how different things might be next year?”

You blinked. “Like after graduation?”

“Yeah. Like… you in a different city. Me playing overseas maybe. Us, not…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to yours. “Not like this.”

You smiled softly. “I try not to think that far ahead.”

“Me neither,” she said. But it came out like a lie.

There was a pause. Then she nudged your knee with hers, and it was like exhaling after holding your breath.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “Wherever we end up, you’re stuck with me.”

She laughed, but there was something glassy in her eyes. “I better be.”

Soon, classes were harder. Futures felt closer. The air around campus buzzed with goodbyes that hadn't even been said yet. Everyone kept talking about what's next, where they'll go, what they'll become. You tried not to think about the ticking clock—but it was always there, echoing under everything.

Basketball got more serious, too.

Nika was in it—deeper than ever. Her practices went longer, her sleep got shorter, and every conversation seemed to circle back to film study or recovery or the pressure of making it count. She wasn’t just UConn’s “secretary of defense” anymore. She was a senior. A two-time Big East defensive player of the year. A legacy in motion.

And you were watching it happen from the front row when March Madness rolled around that final year—cheering the loudest, holding your breath when she hit the court, catching her eye just before every tipoff. Sometimes, she'd smirk. A little secret passed between you like always.

But even then, something in the air started to shift.

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

Just... deeper. Closer. More.

Like the edges of your friendship had started to blur into something else. Something unspoken, stretched taut between quiet glances, tired hugs, and the way she never quite let go of your hand during long walks back to your apartment.

You didn’t know what it meant yet.

And then came the Final Four.

The loss hit her harder than you expected. You had seen her take on challenges before—seen her shake off pain, both physical and emotional. But this was different. There was no bouncing back from this. Not right away, at least.

The silence in the apartment felt heavy, thicker than usual. The game had ended hours ago, but Nika hadn’t said much since. You could feel the weight of it in the air between you. You knew she was trying to hold it together, but you could tell—deep down, it was more than just a loss on the court. It was a dream that had slipped through her fingers.

You hadn’t said anything either, not at first. You just let the quiet linger, trying to give her the space she needed to process, even though you felt like you could barely breathe through the thick tension.

Nika was sitting at the edge of the couch, knees drawn to her chest, looking out the window. The city lights blurred in her reflection, her face pale and tired, a faint sheen of sweat still on her skin from the game. Her UConn jersey—usually so vibrant—looked like it had aged ten years in one night.

"Hey," you said, breaking the silence, your voice softer than usual.

She didn’t turn to look at you. "I should’ve played better," she murmured, her words low, like they were scraping out from the back of her throat. "We should’ve won. We could’ve…"

You moved to sit beside her, close but not too close. She didn’t push you away, but she didn’t invite you in either. You just sat there for a moment, letting the hum of the city fill the gap.

"Hey," you said again, this time touching her arm gently. "You were incredible. All of you were. One game doesn’t change that."

Her eyes flicked toward you, but she still didn’t speak. Her gaze was distant, unfocused. She looked... defeated, in a way that made your heart ache.

"Can we just... sit for a while?" she asked, her voice quieter this time, like it had lost some of its usual fire.

You nodded, settling down beside her, not saying a word as the minutes passed. The moonlight drifted through the window, casting a soft glow on her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her, the way her profile looked so fragile in that moment—like she wasn’t the powerhouse athlete you saw every game, but just a girl who had poured her heart into something, and it wasn’t enough.

"I should’ve been able to do more," she finally whispered, more to herself than to you.

"Nika," you started, your voice steady but filled with the weight of everything unsaid. "You’ve already done more than enough. For this team. For yourself. For me."

She shook her head slightly, the faintest hint of frustration creeping into her features. "It’s not just about the team. It’s… I let everyone down."

"No," you said firmly, reaching over to take her hand. "You didn’t let anyone down. You gave everything. And that’s enough."

Her fingers curled around yours, but she didn’t pull you closer. She just stayed there, quiet, letting the moments pass. You could feel the faint tremble in her hand, and your chest tightened.

After a while, she sighed deeply, leaning back against the couch. "I just wanted to give them a championship. I wanted it so badly."

You didn’t have the right words to fix it—hell, you weren’t even sure if there were any words that could make it better. But you squeezed her hand, offering the only thing you could: your presence.

"Whatever you need," you whispered. "I’m here."

She nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a moment, and for the first time that night, she leaned into you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close, and she didn’t pull away. It wasn’t about winning or losing anymore—it was about being there for each other.

And in that moment, you realized you’d always been there for each other. Through all the highs, all the lows, all the unsaid things.

The days after the Final Four were heavy.

Nika didn’t bounce back the way she usually did. The loss lingered like a bruise—tender, invisible, always there. You watched her move through campus like a ghost in sneakers, smiling for cameras, thanking fans, doing everything that was expected of her. But you knew better. You saw the silence in her eyes when the noise faded. The way she lingered in the gym even longer now, pushing her body past the point of exhaustion, like if she could just work hard enough, maybe the ache would go away.

People started asking questions almost immediately. Was she coming back? Using her fifth year? Making one last run at the title? And for a while, even she didn’t have the answer.

You caught her staring out your window one night, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie drawn tight over her head. The city lights cast her in silver, and you didn’t have to ask what was on her mind.

“I always thought we’d win it all,” she said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself. “That it would all feel... worth it.”

“It was worth it,” you said.

But she just shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I gave too much. And now—if I don’t stay—what does that make me?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one she’d believe, anyway.

Because the truth was, she was already being pulled in a hundred different directions. Agents. Media. Draft boards. Seattle, Indiana, Chicago—everyone had her name on their radar. You knew the WNBA had been a dream since she was a kid, but dreams came with pressure. With decisions. With the terrifying possibility that the next step might be the wrong one.

When she finally announced her decision—foregoing her final year of eligibility and entering the WNBA Draft—it wasn’t flashy. Just a post. A black-and-white photo and a caption that read:

"Grateful for everything. Ready for what’s next." —Nika Mühl

You texted her three seconds after it went live: “You okay?” And she replied: “No. But I will be.”

And then came draft night.

Her name was called in the second round by the Seattle Storm, and the room erupted.

You’d never seen her look more stunned—eyes wide, mouth slightly open like reality hadn’t quite caught up to her yet. People crowded around her, hugging, crying, cheering. She held the Storm jersey in her hands like it might disappear if she blinked.

When her eyes finally found you across the room, it was like a breath released. She mouthed, “Come here,” and you didn’t hesitate.

The afterparty was loud, glittering with celebration. There was music, drinks, speeches, photos—so many photos. Nika floated from group to group, gracious and radiant, but you could tell the weight hadn’t lifted. Not really.

You found her alone near the balcony later, a glass of champagne untouched in her hand.

“You should be inside,” you said. “People are looking for you.”

“I know.” She exhaled slowly, staring out at the city skyline. “I just... needed a minute.”

You stood beside her in the silence, letting the cool night air settle over your shoulders. She finally glanced your way.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” she asked, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you looked at her—really looked. At the proud line of her shoulders, the flicker of fear she was trying to hide, the way her fingers tightened slightly around the glass like she needed something to anchor her.

“I think,” you said carefully, “you’ve spent four years giving every piece of yourself to something you love. And now you’re just choosing to keep loving it—on your terms.”

Her eyes shimmered with something between gratitude and exhaustion.

“You’re gonna be great in Seattle,” you added. “But if you ever want to come back and lose to a real basketball player, I’ll still be here.”

That earned you a real laugh. Soft. Tired. Genuine.

Nika didn’t say anything at first. Her gaze flicked down to the glass in her hand, then up toward the crowded room behind you—music, laughter, cameras flashing. All of it too loud for something this delicate.

“I should offer my congratulations to the other players,” she murmured, already stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

She hesitated—like maybe she wanted to stay. Like there was still something to say. But the moment passed, and then she was gone, weaving back into the celebration with a practiced kind of ease.

You leaned against the railing, trying not to overthink the thud in your chest.

“Hey.” Paige’s voice cut in, low and casual, as she joined you on the balcony, drink in hand.

You didn’t turn at first. Just nodded. “Hey.”

“She’s gonna do great,” Paige said, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“I know,” you answered quietly. “I just... it’s all happening so fast. She’ll be in a new environment. New team. New people. I don’t know.” You paused, feeling the heat of something you didn’t want to name rise in your throat. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Paige said, amused. “It’s textbook.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Textbook?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Classic pining.”

You blinked. “I’m not—”

“Relax,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m not judging. Just saying... she’s not going to date anyone in Seattle, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You blinked again, slower this time. “I wasn’t worried about—”

Paige tilted her head knowingly. “She’s been celibate for you for practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.”

You nearly choked on air. “What?!”

“She didn’t say it like that,” Paige added with a chuckle. “But I mean... come on. We’ve all seen it. It’s always been you.”

You stared at her, heartbeat ticking up, unsure what to do with that kind of information. The kind that makes your stomach flip and your thoughts spiral.

Paige looked at you, face softening just a little. “She’s not leaving you behind. She just hasn’t figured out how to say she wants you to come with her.”

And with that, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze and walked back inside, leaving you alone with the quiet and a thousand words still stuck in your throat.

You didn’t go back inside. Not yet.

The air outside was cool, but your skin was hot—flushed with the weight of everything that had just been handed to you in one offhand comment from Paige Bueckers. A joke, technically. Just a nudge.

But it cracked something wide open.

She’s been celibate for you practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, like maybe if you stayed still long enough, the truth would settle. But it didn’t. It rose. Tangled and relentless and aching.

Because the truth wasn’t sudden.

It had been there—quiet and steady, hiding in plain sight. In the softness of Nika’s voice when she said your name. In how she always remembered the small things, like which brand of tea you liked when you were sick or how your dad used to hum classic rock in the kitchen.

You’d built a thousand memories together. Shared holidays and heartbreaks and stupid little Tuesday mornings. You’d joked, clung to each other, fought like sisters and loved like—what?

Friends?

You’d called it that. For years, you’d called it friendship. But now you were wondering if that word had been too small all along.

It wasn’t just Paige’s words.

It was the look on Nika’s face before she walked away—like something inside her had given up on being quiet. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Like she’d already said everything in the way she loved you, and she was done waiting for you to notice.

And god, you hated yourself at that moment. Because you had noticed. Just not clearly. Not fully.

You were so wrapped up in the rhythm of it—the shared routines, the laughs, the way she always showed up when no one else did—that you hadn’t stopped to question why it felt so permanent. Why it felt like you couldn’t imagine anything mattering more than her.

You’d been blind.

Not in a dramatic way. Just in the everyday kind. The way someone gets used to the sun rising and forgets it’s a miracle every morning. The way something constant can feel invisible until the moment it’s slipping away.

You hadn’t seen her. Not really. Not for what she was trying to be to you—not just the best friend, not just the late-night baking partner or sideline smile before tipoff. She’d been offering her heart in all the ways she knew how. And you’d held it, oblivious, like it was just something friends did.

It hit you all at once: you’d been in love with her for years.

Not in fireworks. Not in sweeping moments or grand gestures.

But in the way your day never started right until you heard her voice. In the way her hoodie was still the one you reached for when everything felt too heavy. In the way every version of your future had her laugh somewhere in it.

And now she was leaving for Seattle. A new team. A new world. Without you.

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t scared of her success—you were so proud of her it hurt—but the thought of her smiling like that at someone else, of some other girl knowing the feel of her arms in a crowd or the way she whispered dumb jokes under her breath when she was nervous. That thought gutted you. Because that had been yours. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to always be yours.

You pressed your fingers to your lips, like they were holding back a truth you weren’t ready to say out loud.

But maybe it was time.

Time to stop calling it something safe. Time to be brave the way she’d always been for you. Because Nika Mühl had loved you in all the quietest ways. And maybe it was time to finally say it back.

You found her near the bar, cheeks flushed, drink in hand, spinning a half-empty glass between her fingers. The party had swelled—music pulsing, laughter rising in waves—but she stood still in the middle of it, like a pause in the chaos. Her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“There you are,” she said, voice a little slurred, a little softer than usual. “I was looking.”

You offered her a steadying arm, and she leaned into it without hesitation.

“Think you’ve had enough,” you said, managing a smile.

“Think I’ve earned it,” she mumbled, but let you guide her toward the door.

The cab ride was quiet—just the low hum of the engine and Nika’s head resting on your shoulder. You kept staring out the window, hoping the blur of streetlights could silence the noise in your chest. But it didn’t. Not even close.

Your apartment was dark when you unlocked the door, familiar in its stillness. You helped her out of her heels and guided her to the couch, where she dropped down with a groan.

“You’re so serious,” she muttered suddenly, peering up at you. “Why are you being so… serious?”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head. “You’ve got that faraway look again. Like you’re here, but not really.”

You tried to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she said, too quick. “You always do this. You disappear inside your head and pretend you’re fine.”

“Nika…”

She sat up straighter, brows furrowed despite the haze in her eyes. “Is it Seattle? Are you scared I’ll leave and forget you or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “God, no. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

She looked at you then—really looked at you. The kind of look she only gave when she was reading between the lines. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, like she was steadying herself against whatever was coming.

“Then what is it?” she asked, softer now. “Because it feels like there’s something you’re not saying. And I don’t want to leave with you keeping whatever this is bottled up.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Because how do you say, “I’ve been in love with you for years and I didn’t even realize it until someone else said it out loud?”

How do you confess to mistaking a burning house for a warm fireplace?

Your hands clenched at your sides. “I talked to Paige tonight.”

Nika blinked. “Okay?”

“She said something. About you. About… us.” You couldn’t meet her eyes, not yet. “She said you’ve been… waiting. That you haven’t been with anyone because—because of me.”

Silence stretched between you.

And then, quietly, “She talks too much.” You looked up. Nika wasn’t angry. Just… exposed. Her smile faltered. “I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

Your heart thundered. “Is it true?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood, wobbled slightly, and steadied herself on the armrest. “Why do you think I’ve been around this long, huh?” she said with a tired laugh. “You think I show up for everyone when they’re sick with their favorite soup and stupid flowers from the farmer’s market?”

You stared. “You brought me dahlias because I said once—”

“That your dad used to get them for your mom when she had bad days,” she finished. “I remember. I remember everything about you.”

You felt like your ribs were too tight for your lungs. “I thought it was just… you being you,” you whispered.

“It was me being me,” she said. “But only with you.” And that broke something.

“I didn’t know,” you breathed. “I was so close to it, I couldn’t see. I was blind to everything because you’ve always been right in front of me and I never let myself think it could be more. Not really.”

Her eyes softened. “And now?”

“Now I can’t stop thinking about it,” you said, voice cracking. “About you. About all of it. I keep going back to every moment—every time you stayed, every time you held me, every time I should’ve said something. I think I’ve loved you this whole time and I just… I didn’t know what to call it.”

Nika moved closer, like the space between you was unbearable. “You don’t have to call it anything. Just tell me it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you whispered. “God, it’s real.”

And then she kissed you—gently, as if testing whether the world would collapse or settle into place. It settled.

You didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

The kiss wasn’t urgent—it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t about making up for lost time. It was about everything that had always been there, finally surfacing. Gentle. Certain. Familiar in the most unfamiliar way.

Her forehead touched yours as your breaths mingled, the room too quiet and too loud all at once.

Nika smiled first—barely, just the smallest curve of her lips—and whispered, “Took us long enough.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes still closed. “Yeah.” And then it was quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that asks for conversation. The kind that only happens when there’s nothing left to prove. Just two people, sitting in the soft, golden aftermath of something that’s been waiting to happen for a long, long time.

Nika leaned her head on your shoulder. Her hand found yours, fingers interlacing like they’d done it a thousand times—only now it felt new. Earned.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said after a while, voice low. “I know we’re moving into new chapters and states and time zones and all of it, but I don’t want to wonder ‘what if’ anymore.”

You squeezed her hand. “Me neither.”

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Outside, the city buzzed in celebration and motion—but in that quiet apartment, time bent. Softened. Paused.

You tilted your head toward her and whispered, “Stay here tonight.”

She was already pulling the blanket off the back of the couch. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”And so you stayed. Not just in the room, or in the moment, but in it—this new, fragile beginning. A truth long buried, finally unearthed. You didn’t talk about what tomorrow meant. You didn’t need to. Not yet. Because for the first time in years, the silence between you didn’t hold distance. It held everything.

You awoke the next morning on your couch with no Nika next to you.

The throw blanket had slipped halfway to the floor. A dull ache in your curled neck from the angle you'd fallen asleep in, but none of that compared to the flicker of panic that sparked in your chest when your hand reached out and met only empty cushion.

Then, soft clicking, the low hum of something brewing, a faint curse in Croatian coming from the kitchen.

You moved on instinct, rounding the corner too fast — too fast for Nika to react.

"Shit—!" she yelped as one of the two mugs she was holding tilted too far, coffee sloshing over the side. Her socks slipped a little on the wooden floor, and for a second, it felt like time bent in on itself.

You froze in the doorway. She did, too.

And suddenly, you were nineteen again. First week of freshman year. A too-fast turn, a cup of coffee spilled across your shirt, and a girl with an accent and a laugh that made your whole world sound softer.

"You scared the hell out of me," Nika said, still clutching the cups like they were fragile cargo. She was wearing your old hoodie, the one that had your high school logo fading across the chest. Her hair was a little messy, eyes still sleepy. She looked like morning, yet still grinning through the mess. "Déjà vu?"

You laughed, stepping forward to grab a rag off the counter. "You just have a thing for spilling coffee on me, huh?"

She passed you a mug — less full now, but still warm — and for a second, you just stood there, facing her across the same floor where your friendship had once started as a simple accident.

Except now it wasn't just friendship.

Now, it was all the in-betweens. The almosts. The years of laughter and late-night talks and cookies and confessionsl All the things you never had the words for, finally spoken.

Nika glanced down at her once white socks now soaked in coffee, then back at you, something awe like flickering in her eyes. "I think I loved you even then."

You swallowed. The coffee burned your throat in the best way, but not in the way that you planted a kiss on Nika's lips. "I think I was too blind to see it — literally."

She smiled at that, soft and knowing, both taking sips as you leaned against the counter beside her and let the quiet settle in.

And there, in the messy kitchen with the morning sun bleeding through the windows, you felt it.

Not a confession. Not a climax. Just a continuation of everything that had always been right in front of you.

#uconn wbb #uconn huskies #sports #nika muhl #wlw #paige bueckers #nika mühl #seattle storm #wnba basketball #fluff #wnba x reader #nika x reader #nika muhl smut #paige bueckers uconn

301 notes · View notes

saylorsuniverse · 5 months ago

Text

RED-HANDED --- nika muhl

summary: you and nika muhl are neighbors who constantly get on each other’s nerves, from loud music to indoor basketball games due to your paper thin walls. but, when you’re stuck in an elevator with her, the undeniable tension between the two of you finally breaks.

warnings: kind of public makeout sesh (sluts)

author's note: ty to @nikamewing for posting this request because i honestly had sm fun writing it. title came from shaggy's "it wasn't me" which has nothinggg to do with the story but fuck it's so catchy. Errrrrr, yeah, sorry it’s rushed because i have class in 4 hours and i am also multitasking an assignment right now. Ok bye.

word count: 3.4k

–

You don’t know when or how it started, but somewhere along the way, your neighbor had become your personal nemesis—and you were certain the feeling was mutual.

The first time you properly met Nika was the night you knocked on her door, doing your best to stay civil as you asked if she could please keep the noise down. Between the blaring music and the shrill bursts of laughter, you were convinced you’d go deaf before midnight.

She opened the door with a smirk, like she’d been waiting for this moment—like she’d rehearsed it. Her hair was in a perfectly disheveled messy bun, and her silk pajamas looked far too luxurious for someone causing such chaos. She leaned casually against the doorframe, one brow arched like she was already bored of you.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you,” you began, forcing your tone into something that resembled polite, “but I was wondering if you could keep it down a bit?”

You tried to peek past her into the apartment. A group of tall girls stared back at you, mid-laugh, drinks in hand.

“I’m trying to study for my chemical analysis exam,” you continued, “but between the music, the laughter, and—whatever game it is you’re playing—I’d really appreciate a little peace and quiet.”

“Oh? Was it too loud for you?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Sorry, I just thought a little sound of life might be refreshing for you.”

You blinked. Was that a dig? It sure felt like one.

You repeated your request, this time with a tight-lipped smile that said, don’t push me. She promised to turn it down—but, of course, she didn’t. Needless to say, you didn’t do so well on your exam the next morning, and you blamed it on your wonderful next-door neighbor.

It didn’t take long for the petty games to start.

You left a passive-aggressive sticky note on her door after she let her garbage bag sit in the hallway for two days. The next day, you found it stuck to your door—with your spelling corrected in red Sharpie and a little note telling you to work on your handwriting.

Nika started playing Europop at exactly 6:57 a.m. every Saturday—just loud enough to jolt you awake but not loud enough to file a noise complaint. You retaliated by vacuuming your floor and firing up the blender for a smoothie at midnight.

It took less than five minutes.

There was a furious knock, and when you opened the door, there stood Nika—hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, and fury in her eyes. She launched into a full-blown rant, switching between English and what you assumed was Croatian, hands flailing dramatically as she accused you of ruining her “very essential beauty rest.”

“You think this is normal behavior?” she snapped, gesturing wildly toward your blender still humming behind you. “It’s midnight! People sleep at midnight!”

You crossed your arms, utterly unfazed. “Oh? I thought the sound of life might be refreshing for you.”

That earned you a glare sharp enough to slice glass. And maybe—just maybe—a twitch of a smile.

“Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite,” you called after her, just before she slammed her door shut.

Exactly one week later, you came home to find your doormat missing. Relocated, actually. It was now sitting in front of Nika’s door, flipped upside down like it had always belonged there.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at it like it might explode. It wasn’t even a nice mat—just something you grabbed on sale at Target. But seeing it in front of her door, like it had been claimed in some silent, smug victory, made your jaw tighten.

You took a slow breath, telling yourself not to overreact. It’s just a mat. Just a petty, passive-aggressive power move by a woman who clearly had too much time and not enough hobbies. Still, your fingers itched to knock on her door and ask if she wanted to borrow your toothbrush too.

Or maybe just set the whole hallway on fire. You hadn’t decided yet.

You stared at the mat for another beat, then marched over and knocked on her door—sharp, deliberate, not even pretending to be polite. Nika answered after a few seconds, like she’d been waiting for you. She was in leggings and an oversized tee, hair damp from a shower, face bare and smug.

“Oh,” she said, blinking innocently. “Did you lose something again?”

You gave her a deadpan look. “Cute move. What was it this time—boredom? A dare?”

She leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes dancing. “It was crooked. I thought I’d rescue it from your tragic design choices.”

“Uh-huh.” You tilted your head. “Well, if you’re in the mood to rearrange other people’s things, I can always return the favor. Want me to start with your trash bin or your Spotify playlist?”

Her smirk faltered—just for a second.

You stepped forward, grabbed the mat without breaking eye contact, and flipped it back the right way before tucking it under your arm.

“Touch my stuff again,” you said quietly, “and I’ll start charging rent.”

She just grinned, but you saw the shift—something sharper, more curious behind the smug exterior.

“Noted,” she said.

You turned and walked back to your door, letting it shut with the kind of calm finality that said game on.

Nika managed to tick you off in ways you thought were unimaginable.

It was the little things—the sharp-edged comments, the calculated annoyances, the way she never took things too far but always just far enough to make your blood boil. The way she’d always show up at the most inconvenient times—whether it was blasting her Europop at seven in the morning or parking in your spot with a wink and a, “Oops, sorry!”

Her casual smirk had started to mean something now. Something personal. And it was wearing thin.

It wasn’t that you wanted to hate her. Really, you didn’t. But when every exchange with her felt like a battle for the smallest shred of peace, it was hard to ignore the irritation building inside you.

So, you thought about it. Long and hard. You considered your options. You could ignore it all and pretend like you didn’t care, but you were already annoyed just thinking about it. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that you did care. And maybe—just maybe—it was time to push back.

You weren’t plotting anything insidious. No, that would be too much effort. But you could be clever, crafty... and leave your mark.

That night, you put your plan into motion. You weren’t going to overdo it. Nothing outrageous. Just a little thing that would nudge her ego.

You’d found the perfect doormat online. Bright, pastel-colored, with glittery letters spelling out “Live, Laugh, Love”—the most obnoxious, basic thing you could find. You knew it would make her lose it.

You waited for the perfect opportunity. Late Friday night, after you knew she’d be out for drinks, you grabbed the mat and swapped it out with hers. Then, you added a little touch of your own: A small handwritten note on her door: “Thanks for the style inspo! Thought I’d return the favor <3”

You added a heart just to seal the deal, feeling a small sense of glee as you stuck it to her front door. Then, you went back inside, made a cup of tea, and waited.

The hours ticked by. Around 1:03 a.m., you heard the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking against the floor, followed by a frustrated exhale.

You peeked out your peephole just in time to catch Nika’s reaction.

She stood in front of her door for a few seconds, staring at the mat with wide eyes. Then, you heard it—a strangled laugh and a string of curses in Croatian.

You didn’t even need to see her face to know what that meant. You felt a small victory bubbling up inside you. You relished in your win because, suddenly, the loud music stopped. There was no obnoxious laughter echoing through the walls, no more welcome mats being relocated. The silence was almost too sweet. Then, everything started up again like it never stopped in the first place.

There was the time she stole your package.

Well, not stole, but she signed for it when it was clearly addressed to you, then took her sweet time “forgetting” to give it back. You had to knock on her door three times before she finally handed over the box with a smile like she’d just done you a favor.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “I was wondering who ordered the self-care face masks and vibrator combo. Thought maybe you were finally taking some initiative.”

You didn’t even blink. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. If I was desperate, I’d come knock on your door.”

The smile dropped from her face for half a second. Half a second. But you saw it.

And then, one Thursday night, everything changed.

You’d spent an hour getting ready for a date—something fancy, someone new. You would never consider yourself a narcissist, but you had to admit it: you looked too good just for one measly date that if it didn’t land you anywhere, you would start a riot. After grabbing your keys and putting on one last swipe of lipstick, you stepped out and made your way to the elevator – only to find Nika standing there as well.

Of course.

She was in gym shorts and a hoodie, earbuds slung around her neck, a smug half-smile playing on her lips as she took one look at you and said, “Big plans?”

You didn’t even dignify her with a response. You just turned to face the door, praying it would hurry up and get to the ground floor before she started talking again.

But the universe, as always, had other plans.

With a lurch and a groan, the elevator shuddered to a stop. You both froze. The lights flickered. Then silence.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, pressing the emergency button. Nothing.

Beside you, Nika snorted. “Guess the universe decided this date of yours isn’t worth it.”

You turned to her, ready to snap—but stopped short when you saw the look on her face. It wasn’t smug. Not really. It was something else. Something unreadable.

Maybe it was the closeness. The fact that the elevator was just a little too small, and she was just a little too close. Or maybe it was the months of tension finally bubbling over.

Either way, your breath caught.

And for once, she didn’t say anything clever. She just stared at you.

You stared back.You both stood there, the air thick with the kind of silence that felt like it was charged with electricity. Nika’s gaze lingered on you, just a little too intense, a little too long. You could feel the heat of her proximity—her breath, faint and warm against the air. It made your pulse spike, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a windstorm.

The elevator creaked again, jolting both of you slightly. You shook your head, trying to shake off the weird tension that had settled between you two.

“So,” you said, finally breaking the silence. “What now?”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms casually as if the situation didn’t faze her in the slightest. “Guess we wait. Maybe talk about all the things you never wanted to say.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “What would we even talk about? Your playlist? Your collection of obnoxious doormats?”

She smirked, clearly amused. “You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care,’ you sure seem to care a lot.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Whatever. Not like it matters now. We’re stuck here. Again, thanks for that.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer. “Oh, please. Don’t blame me for your bad timing. I was just minding my business, and here we are, both of us trapped in this tiny box.”

The proximity was getting uncomfortable. You could practically feel the heat radiating off her. The space was small enough that every movement of hers felt exaggerated, every shift of her weight more pronounced.

“I don’t need your sympathy, Nika,” you muttered, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that you could smell her—vanilla and citrus, a combination so distinctly her.

“I’m not offering it,” she shot back, but there was something in her tone that suggested she was a little more invested in this situation than she let on. “Just stating the obvious.”

You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall and folding your arms, trying to regain some composure. The elevator wasn’t moving, and there was no sign of help. You could feel the minutes stretch out, each one heavier than the last.

“Don’t suppose you have any ideas on how to get this thing moving, do you?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness that had started to settle in your chest.

“Not really. I’m more of a ‘deal with the chaos as it comes’ kind of person.” Nika's lips curled into a knowing smile. “But you? You like to have a plan. Always trying to control the situation. Like with our little friendly neighborly feud.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but barely. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

Nika shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe. But it’s kind of obvious. You spend all your time trying to fix things, trying to make everything neat and predictable. Like when you knocked on my door about the noise or tried to control the entire hallway with your passive-aggressive notes. It’s cute, really.”

Your heart skipped, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to not let her bait you into another back-and-forth. “I’m just asking for some peace and quiet. Not sure why that’s such a problem for you.”

Her eyes sparkled with that infuriating mixture of amusement and challenge. “It’s not a problem. I just don’t get why you’re so obsessed with controlling everything around you. Maybe you should let go, for once. Just let things... unfold.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to push down the frustration rising inside you. “I don’t need to let go,” you replied coolly. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve always known.”

Nika tilted her head, studying you in that way she did, like she was trying to peel back all the layers of your carefully constructed exterior. “I don’t know. Seems like you’re trying to manage everything except what’s really going on. You’re not fooling me, you know.”

Your chest tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You didn’t mean to sound defensive, but the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Nika leaned in a little closer, her voice lower now, like she was telling you a secret only the two of you shared. “I’m not blind, you know. You can’t hide it from me. There’s something going on here. Between us. And you’re pretending like it’s just some... rivalry, some game. But I don’t think it is.” Her gaze locked onto yours, intensity flickering in her eyes.

Your breath hitched, caught in the rawness of her words, and suddenly, the air between you felt different. The space that had always been filled with annoyance, competition, and petty little jabs seemed... thinner now. More fragile. For the first time, you didn’t have a sharp retort. No witty comebacks or perfectly timed insults.

Instead, all you could do was stare at her, heart pounding, trying to make sense of the knot forming in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Nika had a point. And it terrified you more than anything.

The silence stretched between the two of you, coated in thick tension and something unspoken. The air felt heavier, the distance between you and her was too small, too charged, too energized. Your eyes flicker from hers then to her lips, just for a quick second, before you quickly looked away.

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you – it definitely wasn’t liquid courage from the one measly little shot you pregamed as you were getting ready – but you suddenly closed the space between her in one swift motion, your lips crashing onto hers.

Nika wasn’t surprised or startled. Instead of pushing you away and yelling at you in that stupid language of hers that you always found so oddly attractive – as much as you hate to admit that to yourself –, she pulled you closer to her body. Arms wrapping around you, she lifted you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around her waist. Your back collides with the cool metal of the elevator wall as Nika moves from your lips to your neck, placing heated kisses to your pulse point as your hands desperately pull her closer to you.

Nika murmurs something inaudible to you against your skin, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. Mouth moving from your neck down to your collarbone, she stops where your cleavage was and glances up at you. Despite the elevator being filled with dim light, you could make out the little smirk on her face and her dark eyes filled with burning desire – for you.

You liked to pride yourself on your decorum, to keep things cordial and professional. But with the way Nika was looking at you and the slightly growing slick building in your core, you could care less if anyone walked in on you both right now with Nika holding you in this position.

Your lips pressed onto hers again, but with more desperation this time. Your hands brought her face closer to yours as you slipped your tongue into her mouth. The taste of your mint flavor gum earned you a small groan from the brunette, her hand ghosting over the skin of your breasts.

Suddenly, the elevator jerked. The lights flickered on, and the door nearly exposed the two of you in a heated mess to the entire lobby floor. The tension between you thickened, a crackling current in the air. For a split second, it felt like time held its breath, just waiting to see if either of you would make the first move.

You both stood frozen, not quite touching, but closer than you'd ever been. Your pulse quickened, and you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, her presence all-encompassing in the cramped space. Her eyes flickered down to your lips, a glance that sent a shiver through you.

Nika's breath hitched just slightly, her eyes darting to the door, and then back to you, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “maybe the universe is telling me to stop messing with you... or maybe it’s telling me to mess with you more.”

The space between you seemed to shrink, and for a moment, it felt like you were both teetering on the edge of something much more than the usual back-and-forth. Then, with that wicked glint in her eyes, she leaned in a little closer, her voice turning more suggestive.

“Bet you wanna go on that date, huh?” she asked, her words dripping with a challenge, a dare that hung in the air, heavy and tantalizing.

You felt a rush of heat surge through you, but instead of the usual retort, a wave of clarity washed over you. The push and pull of your rivalry had gone on long enough. This was different.

Without thinking, you reached for the button to close the doors, your finger pressing it firmly. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing the two of you inside. You turned toward her, feeling the weight of her gaze on you.

Instead of responding to her comment with more teasing or biting words, you simply met her eyes, your voice steady but carrying that hint of something more.

“Your place or mine?” you asked, the words slipping out almost casually—but the weight of them, the heat in the air, told a very different story.

Nika's smirk faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing with intrigue, like she was testing the waters to see if this was a bluff.

She took a small step closer, almost daring you with that same spark in her eyes, and whispered, “We’ll see who can keep up.”

#wlw #sports #nika muhl #wlw nsft #seattle storm #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #nika mühl #paige bueckers

46 notes · View notes