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bueckersstuff · 1 day ago

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HER NEW OBSESSION

Part I Part II Part III Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

The soft glow of your bedside lamp bathes the room in warm hues, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Paige lies beside you, her blonde hair fanned out over your pillow, her blue eyes tracing the contours of your face with a lazy sort of fascination. Her fingers ghost over your arm, drawing invisible patterns on your skin, the sensation light enough to send a ripple of shivers through you.

"You're staring," you tease, your lips curling into a smirk as you turn onto your side, facing her fully.

"M'not," Paige murmurs, though the small grin tugging at her lips betrays her. "Just admiring the view."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. This—whatever it is—has been going on for days, maybe even weeks now. Nights spent tangled in each other's arms, limbs draped over one another like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It's a silent routine neither of you have acknowledged out loud, but neither of you has dared to stop it, either.

Paige shifts closer, pressing against you until there's hardly any space left between your bodies. Her hand slides up your arm, tracing over your shoulder before settling at the base of your neck. "You’re warm," she mumbles, tucking her head under your chin like she belongs there.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her without hesitation. "And you’re clingy."

"Shut up, you love it," she shoots back, her breath fanning against your collarbone.

You do. You really do.

Her fingers play with the hem of your hoodie—her hoodie, technically, but she had tossed it over to you one night, and it somehow became yours. Now, it smells like the two of you, a mixture of her perfume and your detergent, an unspoken claim neither of you address.

Paige lifts her head slightly, her nose brushing against your jaw. "I should sleep, practice tomorrow."

"Then sleep. No one’s stopping you."

She exhales a quiet laugh before nudging her forehead against yours, her lips just a breath away. "You make it kinda hard when you're this close."

You don’t move, don’t pull back. Instead, you let your fingers trace slow circles against her back, committing the feel of her to memory. "Sounds like a you problem."

Paige hums, her fingers now threading through your hair, her touch slow and deliberate. "You're such a pain."

"And yet, here you are."

She doesn’t argue. Instead, she presses the softest, laziest kiss to the corner of your mouth, a touch so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all. But then she sighs, burrowing into you again, her grip around you tightening like she’s afraid to let go.

Neither of you speak. The silence between you is comfortable, weighted with something neither of you is brave enough to name. For now, it's enough to just exist like this—like two lovesick fools tangled in the sheets, living in a moment that neither of you dares to define.

You’re curled up on the couch, tucked into Paige’s side, your legs draped over hers as the soft glow of the TV flickers in the dimly lit dorm room. A movie plays, some overly romantic love story about a celebrity falling in love with a regular girl. You’re barely paying attention to the plot—too caught up in the way Paige absentmindedly traces her fingers along your arm, her touch featherlight yet electrifying.

This has been your reality for weeks now. Late nights tangled up together, stolen kisses in the quiet of your dorm, whispered words meant for no one else’s ears. No labels. No questions. Just the warmth of her presence and the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in a world that constantly demands her attention.

Your head rests against her shoulder as you exhale softly, watching the couple on screen navigate their love against the backdrop of fame. There’s a moment of quiet vulnerability between them, the kind that makes you ache for something you can’t quite name. Without thinking, the words slip from your lips.

“I think I’d want something like that… just, you know, a normal life. Something simple. Growing old with someone without the whole world watching.”

You don’t notice the way Paige’s fingers pause against your skin, how her body tenses just slightly before she forces herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, she feels something crack within her—a sharp, undeniable realization settling into her chest like a weight she can’t shake off.

She looks at you. Really looks at you. The way your eyes soften when you talk about the future, the way you absentmindedly play with the hem of your sleeve, so unaware of the silent war raging inside her.

Because she knows.

She knows she can’t give you that.

She knows that no matter how much she wants you—how much she’s grown addicted to your presence, to your laugh, to the way you fit so perfectly against her—she will never be able to give you the quiet, simple life you deserve. Her world is loud, relentless, and unforgiving. It demands too much, takes too much. It’s anything but normal. And you? You deserve normal. You deserve steady, safe, and certain.

Paige swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to look back at the screen, pretending like your words didn’t just shake her to her core. She wants to tell you, wants to explain why she suddenly feels like running away, why the thought of wanting you so much scares the hell out of her. But she can’t. Because the truth is, she’s a coward.

So instead, she tightens her arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple, as if that can make up for the words she’ll never say.

And for now, you don’t question it.

The change is subtle at first. Small enough that you don’t think much of it. Paige starts coming home later than usual, her schedule stretching into the night. At first, she tells you it’s just extra practice—Coach is pushing them harder, she says. You don’t question it. You know how serious she is about basketball, and it’s not like she hasn’t stayed late before.

But then, it happens again. And again.

One night, you’re lying in bed, waiting for her like you always do. But tonight, the silence stretches. You check the time. Midnight. You don’t remember the last time she got home this late. You fight to keep your eyes open, but exhaustion takes over before you hear the door.

At some point, you realize you’re falling asleep before she even gets back. The sound of her key in the lock, her bag dropping onto the floor—those little things that used to signal her arrival—aren’t waking you up anymore. You’re already deep in sleep by the time she returns, and when you wake up, she’s already gone again.

You’re not sure when she got back, but her side of the bed is untouched. She must’ve crashed in her own room. Your stomach twists, but you push the thought away.

It’s like you’re moving in opposite directions, barely catching each other in passing. You try not to think too much of it.

Then the weekends change, too. Saturdays used to mean lazy mornings tangled in bed, stealing kisses between half-asleep conversations, making breakfast together even if neither of you knew what you were doing. But now, Paige has plans. You don’t know what kind, exactly—she just says she’s busy. And she doesn’t offer more than that.

“Where are you headed?” you ask one Saturday, sitting in the couch as she throws on a hoodie. The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting patterns across her face, but she doesn’t look at you.

“Just out,” she says vaguely, tying the laces of her sneakers. “Gotta get some things done.”

You wait for her to say more. To give you something. But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” you say quietly, watching as she grabs her phone and tucks it into her pocket.

She hesitates at the door, just for a second. Then she leaves.

You stare at the empty space she left behind, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

At first, you make excuses for her. Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe the season is taking a toll on her. Maybe she just needs some space. But the doubt seeps in like a slow drip, filling the spaces where certainty used to be.

One evening, you casually ask again, "Are you staying late at the gym again?"

She barely glances up from her phone. "Yeah, something like that."

Something like that.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, pretending you don’t notice how distant she sounds. Pretending it doesn’t feel like she’s slipping away, one late night at a time.

The dorm, once your shared little world, felt colder. She was distant. Conversations were clipped, forced. The warmth in her voice when she said your name had disappeared, replaced by indifference. The weight of Paige's absence settles heavier with each passing day. The routine you once had—lazy mornings tangled in sheets, whispered jokes before class, her hand instinctively finding yours without a second thought—has become a distant memory. Now, it’s replaced by silence, cold and suffocating, wrapping around the dorm like an unwelcome ghost.

She comes home late. So late that you don’t even wait up anymore, your body giving up before your heart does. Sometimes you hear her, the shuffle of sneakers against the floor, the zip of a duffle bag, the sound of a shower turning on. But you don’t move. You don’t greet her. And she doesn’t greet you either.

Then came the rumors.

At first, you ignored them. It wasn’t uncommon for people to talk about Paige—her popularity, her presence. But the whispers were relentless. They carried weight. The flings were back. You heard about them from passing conversations, from girls giggling about how Paige had been seen with someone new. It wasn’t just one name being thrown around—it was multiple. The stories were different, but the theme was the same.

Paige Bueckers was back to her old ways.

Still, you refused to believe it. Not without proof. Not without her telling you herself.

Then you saw them.

Faint, but there—marks on her neck when she came home late one night, barely acknowledging you before shutting herself in her room. You heard the flirtatious lilt in her voice when she was on the phone. She didn’t even bother lowering her tone anymore, as if she didn’t care if you heard or not.

And yet, she never said a word to you. No explanation. No confrontation. Just distance.

And it hurt.

More than it should have.

One night, when she finally came home, you couldn't take it anymore.

"Paige."

She paused, her hand still on the doorknob to her room. "What?"

"Where have you been?" Your voice comes out small, but the weight behind it is anything but.

Paige doesn't even look at you. "Out."

"Out where?"

A pause. Then, "Does it matter?"

Your chest tightens. "Yeah, it kinda does."

She scoffs, rubbing a hand over her face. "You don’t own me."

That one stings. But you push past it. "I never said I did. But you just... you disappeared. You won’t even look at me anymore."

She stays quiet, jaw clenched.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly. "You know what’s funny? I didn’t believe any of the rumors. I thought, 'No, she would tell me. She wouldn’t do this to me. Not like this.'" Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it.

Paige finally looks at you, something unreadable in her eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," you whisper. "Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me you’re not..." You swallow hard. "That you haven’t just been—been running around with random girls again like none of this meant anything."

Paige’s expression flickers for just a second—guilt, regret, something deeper—but it’s gone just as fast.

She hardens, turns away. "I never promised you anything."

"Are you seeing someone?" Your voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the weight behind your words.

She didn't answer immediately. Just looked back at you, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. "Does it matter?"

It was like a slap to the face. "Does it—" You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "Of course it matters. After everything—"

"We don’t have labels," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "You knew that."

Your stomach twisted. "That’s not the point, Paige. I—" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t care about labels. I care about you. And I don’t understand why you're—why you're doing this."

She clenched her jaw, looking past you instead of at you. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs.

She stands, moving toward the bathroom, signaling that the conversation is over. But you can’t let it end like this. Not like this.

"Was any of it real?" The words come out choked, barely above a whisper.

Paige freezes in the doorway. Her back is to you, but you see the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her fingers twitch at her sides. For a moment, you think she’s going to say something—something that will fix this, something that will bring you back. But she doesn’t.

She walks in. The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left there, sitting in the dark, realizing that maybe—just maybe—you were the only one who thought this was real.

You don't know when it started—this gnawing feeling of inadequacy, of doubt creeping into your bones like a slow-moving poison. Maybe it had been there for a while, festering beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to seep into your thoughts. But now, it consumed you.

It wasn't just Paige's absence anymore. It was everything that came with it.

You tried not to care. You really did. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw her. The way she used to be with you, the way she made you feel like the center of her world, even if you never put a label on it. And then the intrusive thoughts followed.

Were you not good enough?

Had it been nothing to her?

Had you just been another name on a long list, another brief distraction before she moved on to the next?

You started comparing yourself to the girls in the rumors.

Were they prettier?

More exciting?

Was there something you lacked, something you failed to give her?

You wondered if, when she was with them, she thought about you at all. If she even remembered the way she used to hold you close like you were something precious.

It drove you insane, the not knowing. The lingering questions, the way your mind refused to give you peace.

So when the big game came, and the victory party followed, you made a decision.

You had to see it for yourself.

Had to put your questions to rest.

Had to stop this stupid, reckless hope that maybe, just maybe, Paige wasn’t doing what everyone said she was doing.

And if the rumors were true… if you saw it with your own eyes…

Then maybe, finally, you could let her go.

The pub is alive with flashing lights and bass-heavy music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Bodies sway, pressed together in an intoxicating rhythm, but your focus is razor-sharp.

You scan the room, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and something more dangerous—something close to dread. Then, like a nightmare brought to life, you see her.

Paige.

Surrounded. Girls draped over her, touching her, laughing, leaning in too close. And she—she’s letting them. Entertaining them. Smirking when one whispers something into her ear, leaning into another’s touch. Paige is in her element, basking in their attention like none of it matters. Like you don’t matter.

And then, as if she feels your eyes burning into her, she looks up.

Your gazes lock. For a moment, time seems to slow, the music a dull thrum in the background. You wait—hope—for something to flicker in her eyes. A sign of guilt, recognition, regret. But there’s nothing.

Paige holds your stare with a stoic expression, unreadable, detached. Like she doesn’t even know you.

A knife to the gut would have hurt less.

You almost crumble right there, almost let the tears spill in front of all these strangers. But pride keeps you standing, keeps you breathing through the ache clawing at your chest. Paige sees the flicker of pain in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly before you force them shut.

But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

You turn away first. If she wants to pretend you don’t exist, then fine. Two can play that game.

You push your way through the crowd toward the bar, ordering the strongest drink they have. You down half of it in one go, desperate to erase the sight of her from your mind. You focus on the burn in your throat, on the blur of people moving around you. Anything but her.

Until someone steps into your space.

“Been watching you all night,” a voice slurs, hot breath brushing against your ear. A guy, taller than you, his grin lazy and overconfident. He leans in, too close, fingers ghosting over your wrist. “You alone?”

Irritation flares in your gut. “Not interested.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he coaxes, his grip tightening slightly. “Just one dance, sweetheart.”

Your jaw clenches as you try to yank your arm free. “I said no.”

The guy clicks his tongue, still holding on, still pushing. “You’re real pretty when you’re mad, you know that?”

Before you can shove him away, a new presence cuts in—solid, imposing.

A voice colder than ice. “Let. Go.”

Paige.

The moment Paige stepped between you and the guy, the entire party seemed to pause. The look on her face was murderous, eyes dark and sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The guy, clearly drunk and emboldened by whatever liquid courage he had consumed, barely registered the threat at first.

"The fuck are you doing?" Paige’s voice was low, dangerous.

The guy scoffs, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “Relax, I was just talking to her.”

Paige doesn’t blink. “You were harassing her.”

“It’s not that serious—”

“Try touching her again,” Paige interrupts, voice quiet but deadly. “See what happens.”

The guy falters. Paige doesn’t break eye contact, her entire stance daring him to make another move. Finally, with a muttered curse, the guy raises his hands in surrender and disappears into the crowd.

Silence lingers between you. The pub moves on as if nothing happened, but everything inside you is trembling. Paige’s gaze shifts from where the guy disappeared to you, and suddenly, all that ice and fury is directed your way.

You took a sharp breath, shaking off the momentary shock. "I don’t need you to save me."

Paige finally turned to you, expression unreadable. "Then what the fuck are you doing here?" she shot back.

Your stomach twisted. "What the fuck am I doing here?" you echoed, incredulous, feeling something snap inside you. "Are you serious right now?"

Paige exhaled through her nose, as if already tired of this conversation. "You don’t belong in places like this."

That set you off. "Oh, but you do? Right. Because this is your scene, isn’t it? You and your little… fan club."

Something flickered in Paige’s eyes, but she didn’t react the way you wanted her to. She just tilted her head, crossing her arms. "I don’t know what you want from me."

"I want to know what the hell happened!" Your voice cracked despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "I want to know what I did wrong, why you suddenly started acting like I don’t exist, why I had to hear about your flings from random people instead of from you! Why you keep pushing me away like I was nothing!"

Paige’s expression hardened. "I never promised you anything."

Your breath caught in your throat.

The words landed like a physical blow.

She had never said those words before. She had never needed to.

"Wow." Your voice was hollow now, the anger drained and replaced by something far more devastating. "So that’s it, then? You don’t give a shit about me?"

Paige exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I—"

"Paige, what the fuck?" Another voice cut in, and suddenly, Azzi was stepping between the two of you, eyes flicking from your devastated expression to Paige’s clenched jaw. "What the hell is going on here?"

KK was standing a few feet away too, watching with a disapproving look that made Paige’s shoulders tense.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to laugh, though it sounded broken. "Nothing. There’s nothing going on. Right, Paige?" You turned to her, daring her to correct you.

She didn’t.

KK didn’t wait for Paige to answer before grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you away. "C’mon, let’s get you home."

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t.

The last thing you saw before turning away was Paige, standing there, watching you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. But it didn’t matter anymore.

That night, you vented everything to KK, voice cracking as you let out weeks’ worth of bottled-up emotions. She didn’t say much, just listened, holding you when your body shook from trying to suppress your sobs.

When sleep finally came, it wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy and suffocating, filled with the weight of unspoken words and all the things you wished you never felt for Paige Bueckers.

KK went back to the pub. She had seen Paige in all kinds of moods—pissed, cocky, exhausted, even heartbreakingly vulnerable—but this? This was different.

She watched as Paige stood at the bar, gripping her drink like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. Her jaw clenched, her eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t anything good either. Azzi stood beside her, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

“What the hell was that?” Azzi demanded. “That was low, even for you.”

Paige didn't respond at first. She just stared at the rim of her glass, like the whiskey swirling inside could somehow answer for her. Azzi sighed in frustration, shaking her head.

“We actually thought you were getting better these past weeks,” Azzi said, her voice quieter, like she was still trying to understand. “We thought maybe it had something to do with her. And then you pull this? You acted like she was nothing to you.”

That finally got Paige to react. Her grip on the glass tightened. Her head dropped for a second, her expression unreadable, and then she did something neither of them expected—she asked, voice rough and hesitant, “Did she cry?”

KK and Azzi froze.

KK recovered first, eyes narrowing. “Why do you care?”

Paige let out a slow exhale, tilting her head back as if trying to keep something from spilling out. “Just tell me.”

KK hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, she did.”

Something flickered in Paige’s expression—guilt, pain, regret. It was all there for just a second before she forced herself back into that indifferent mask she’d perfected over the years. But KK and Azzi had known her too long, had seen too much. They weren’t fooled.

Azzi shook her head in disbelief. “Paige, what are you doing?”

Paige swallowed hard, still not looking at them. “Making her stay away.”

Azzi scoffed. “That’s bullshit. You want her. You need her. We all see it.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Wanting something doesn’t mean you should have it.”

KK frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paige finally turned to them, her blue eyes clouded with something heavier than she could put into words. “I heard her that night. We were just watching some random movie, and she said it. Just like that. This little comment about wanting a normal life, growing old with someone without all the chaos. She didn’t even know I was looking at her.” Paige let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. “And that’s when I knew.”

Azzi watched her carefully. “Knew what?”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “That I can never give her that. My life isn’t normal. It never will be. I’m about to enter the draft soon. Everything is only going to get more complicated from here. I’ll be traveling nonstop, constantly in the public eye, surrounded by people who only want a piece of me. She deserves more than that. More than me.”

KK and Azzi exchanged a look. For the first time, they saw past Paige’s usual walls, past the cocky bravado and recklessness. This wasn’t just Paige running away because she was scared. This was Paige believing she wasn’t enough, that she would ruin something good before it even had the chance to become something real.

Azzi’s voice was softer this time. “Then why don't you explain it to her?”

Paige hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t do explanations. And she’ll end up hating me anyway if she sticks around long enough.” She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face. “It’s better this way.”

KK’s voice softened. “Is it?”

Paige clenched her jaw. “It has to be.”

Azzi shook her head. “The sad thing is, you might actually be right. If you can’t give her what she wants, maybe she is better off.”

Paige flinched, like the words physically hurt her, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

KK studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Then why does it look like it’s killing you?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just finished her drink and signaled the bartender for another.

The morning after the disastrous night at the pub, you wake up feeling like you barely slept at all. Your head is heavy, your chest is worse, and the sting of last night still lingers like an open wound. But nothing could have prepared you for what you see when you check your email.

Subject: Housing Reassignment Notice

Your stomach drops before you even open it. Hands trembling, you click on the message, scanning the words that don’t make sense.

You have been reassigned to your original dormitory, effective immediately. Please visit the housing office to complete the transition process.

What the hell?

You stare at the screen, blinking rapidly. That—That can’t be right. You never requested a reassignment. You love your dorm. Sure, the past few weeks have been rough, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to move. Frantic, you click ‘Reply’ and type out a message, your fingers shaking over the keyboard.

“This must be a mistake. I never requested a reassignment. Can you confirm why this is happening? Did someone transfer out?”

You hit send, heart pounding in your chest. A response comes back almost immediately, making you flinch.

“The request was made by Paige Bueckers. Given the nature of the request, the housing office approved the change.”

Your breath catches. Your entire body goes cold.

Paige.

You read the words over and over again, but they don’t change. Paige requested this. Paige went out of her way to make sure you were removed from the dorm you shared.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

What the hell is going on?

You knew she had been distant. You knew she had been cold, cruel even. But this? This is something else. This isn’t just pushing you away—this is cutting you out completely. And you don’t even know why.

Tears burn in your eyes as the full weight of it crashes down on you. After everything—after all the nights spent in quiet, unspoken tension, after all the moments you thought maybe, just maybe, she felt something too—this is how it ends?

It’s like last night wasn’t enough. Like humiliating you in front of everyone wasn’t enough. Now she wants to erase you completely. And the worst part is, you have no idea why.

You don’t know what you did to make Paige Bueckers hate you so much.

And that’s what hurts the most.

That evening, Paige finally came home from practice, sweat still clinging to her skin, exhaustion in the way she carried herself. But when she saw you standing there, arms crossed, waiting for her, something shifted in her expression.

She knew what was coming.

“You really went out of your way to kick me out, huh?” you asked, voice sharp.

Paige barely reacted. She set her bag down and exhaled. “It’s for the best.”

“For the best?” you echoed, stepping closer. “For who, Paige? Because it sure as hell isn’t for me.”

Paige ran a hand through her damp hair, looking anywhere but at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ll move on. It’s better this way.”

“Better how?” Your voice cracked. “You won’t even explain anything! One second, we were—” You stopped yourself before you said something you couldn’t take back. “And then suddenly, you’re treating me like a complete stranger. Like I don’t exist.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “That’s exactly why you need to go.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. “Why?” you asked, softer this time. “What did I do to make you act like this?”

Paige sighed heavily, shaking her head. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the problem.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Paige finally looked at you, and for a fleeting second, there was something raw in her expression. Something vulnerable. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold, indifferent mask she’d been wearing for weeks.

“This conversation is over,” she muttered before turning toward her room.

You watched her disappear behind the door, the sound of it closing like the final nail in the coffin.

Something inside you snapped.

You stormed into your room and grabbed your suitcase, throwing your belongings inside with reckless urgency. You refused to cry. You refused to let her have that power over you. If Paige wanted you gone, then fine—you wouldn’t waste another second in a place where you weren’t wanted.

You just needed to get through one last night.

You left your packed bag by the door and walked to the kitchen for a bottle of water. As you twisted off the cap, a loud crash came from Paige’s room.

You froze.

Then another bang. A thud. Something heavy slamming against the wall. Like she's wreaking havoc inside her room.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you thought about checking on her. But then you hesitated. Maybe she was just rearranging things. Or maybe it was one of her late-night hookups. Maybe it was nothing.

You clenched your jaw and forced yourself to walk away.

Whatever it was, it didn’t concern you anymore.

Tomorrow morning, you would be gone. And this time, you wouldn’t look back.

You barely slept that night. Every time you drifted off, something pulled you back awake—the weight of knowing it was your last night here, the anger simmering in your chest, the hollow ache of something you couldn’t name.

And the shadow.

It would appear outside your door, a dark silhouette cast against the dim hallway light. You knew exactly who it was. You didn’t have to open the door to confirm it. Paige.

She never knocked. Never said a word. Just stood there for a few minutes before walking away, only to return an hour or two later. Like she was stuck in some endless loop, pacing outside your door, restless, conflicted, but never stepping inside.

You refused to acknowledge it. You were done with her games, done trying to figure out what the hell went on in that head of hers. If she had something to say, she should have said it. But no—Paige only knew how to push and pull, to keep you close enough to feel but far enough to never hold. And you were tired. Exhausted, really.

By morning, you didn’t even bother checking if she was there. You packed up the last of your things, took a final look around the dorm that had been more of a battlefield than a home, and left.

Paige wasn’t in sight. Maybe she was sleeping soundly, unconcerned, unaffected. Must be nice.

You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head as you stepped out into the cold morning air. No hesitation, no second-guessing. You weren’t looking back. You had a new dorm, a new start.

And this time, Paige Bueckers wouldn’t be a part of it.

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