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10 Moments That Led Me Back to You: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: If there's typos I'm sorry lol hope you enjoy

word count: 4.5k

The Championship Game

Song: “Let Me Go” – Daniel Caesar

Four Years Post Break-Up

The confetti was falling too quickly.

Like the ceiling had split and everything Paige was meant to feel had poured out: happiness and relief and pride — all in one. Her arms were slick with champagne. Her vision clouded by camera flashes. And somewhere behind her the crowd erupted in that way that always made her feel alive.

But tonight, it simply made her feel… off.

She had won. The trophy was real. The scoreboard’s numbers still glowed: 78–74. The kind of victory people remember. The type they would replay on SportsCenter, cutting to slo-mo and adding some dramatic background music. Her name would have lit up the highlight reels. Analysts would describe it as a career-defining performance.

And yet.

Her eyes looked out of instinct… not at the crowd, not at her teammates, and not at the scoreboard.

The tunnel.

There.

Azzi stood just at edge barely visible in the shadows. Hands loose at her sides. Shoulders high, chin steady. Watching.

And when Paige’s eyes settled on her — Azzi smiled.

Not a pity smile. Not a polite one, either.

It was real. Soft. Even a little proud.

And somehow, that was worse.

Did she just… Paige thought to herself. Even if Azzi had looked wounded, or hurt, or jealous, or just passive.. Paige could stomach the ache in her chest.

But this… this graceful complicity in her victory, in who Paige had become, it cracked something open.

Because deep down, Paige wasn’t at all certain she’d ever actually smiled like that at Azzi’s wins. Which made her feel like she didn’t deserve the smile she’d just received even more.

“Yo!” KK’s voice suddenly rang out, interrupting the moment. “Get up here and take this damn picture of me before I start happy crying and forget!”

Laughter. Champagne. Lights flashing. Paige blinked her way back to it, pulling her focus from the tunnel.

When she turned around — Azzi was no longer there.

And when she stepped off the court, Paige allowed herself to exhale.

But that did nothing to make things easier.

Putting an arm around teammates and posing like a celebrity, she hoisted the trophy above her head, surrounded by teammates and cameras. All that cheering, as if they’d just scaled a mountain.

But all she could think about was the girl who stood at the bottom of it and still smiled like she had built it.

Her voice echoed in her mind, “I wanted to be there for it: the chaos, the late nights, the big wins. I wanted all of it with you.”

In this moment Paige began to feel the weight of what that really meant.

Flashback: Four Years Prior to The Championship Game

They had just won a national title together for the first time since the two began playing together it was their senior year in college.

The buzzer sounded and everyone rushed the arena floor.

A roar erupted through the arena like a wave crashing over them. White and blue confetti exploded from the rafters in slow-motion bursts. Somewhere in the chaos of it all, Azzi dropped her water bottle mid-celebration, bolted across the court, and jumped straight into Paige’s arms.

Paige caught her with ease, instinctively. Azzi’s arms locked around her neck. Legs around her waist. Neither of them could stop smiling.

Paige’s heart thudded like she was still mid-game, adrenaline still roaring through her blood. She could feel Azzi’s laugh in her chest more than she heard it.

“We did it,” Azzi breathed into her ear. “We freaking did it.”

Paige squeezed her tighter, spinning them once just for the hell of it. “Hell yeah we did.”

Cameras caught the moment. So did half of Twitter. But neither of them cared. Not in that moment.

Their teammates surged toward them — bodies colliding in one giant tangle of limbs and tears and wooohoos — and Paige finally set Azzi down. They were swarmed, jerseys pulled, cheeks kissed, champagne bottle passed between hands too young to care about rules.

Someone — maybe KK — hoisted the trophy over her head. Jana and Nika grabbed Azzi and danced like maniacs while Ice tried to organize a team photo that never quite happened.

But even surrounded by noise and flashbulbs, Paige couldn’t stop looking at her.

Azzi. the girl who always had her full attention no matter the occasion.

She looked back and caught Paige watching.

“What?” Azzi mouthed with a half-laugh, still breathless.

Paige shook her head. “Nothing. Just…”

Azzi walked over, grabbed her hand, laced their fingers together.

They had won a national title.

But this? This was the part Paige would remember.

Eventually, they were herded into the locker room for press and cool-down, but no one was really calming down. Coaches cried. Trainers high-fived. Reporters stuck mics in their faces like they were ready to turn joy into headlines.

Paige gave her best “locked in” answers. Talked about leadership, composure, tempo. But her eyes kept drifting sideways.

Azzi, sitting next to her, legs bouncing, still wearing her Champions hat. Their shoulders brushed every time someone walked behind them. Paige tried not to reach for her.

Once the chaos thinned and the reporters trickled out, Paige stood up and nodded toward the showers. Azzi gave a smallest nod back and followed.

Except they didn’t go to the showers. Not right away.

They snuck down the tunnel to the auxiliary locker room — the one nobody used anymore. It was half-lit, kind of dusty, and smelled faintly like sports tape and sweat.

Azzi tugged Paige inside and shut the door.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Just stood there, letting the quiet fill the cracks. Letting adrenaline wear off. Letting their hands find each other again.

Azzi sat on the bench first, tugging Paige gently to sit between her legs. Paige leaned back against her chest and exhaled for the first time all night.

“Is it weird that I feel sad?” Azzi whispered into her shoulder.

Paige turned to look at her.

“Not at all.”

Azzi rested her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “We’re never going to be this version of us again.”

The words sank like stones in water.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have plans. They talked about the league. About getting drafted. About ending up in the same city somehow. But nothing was promised. Not anymore.

Paige twisted slightly to look at her. “We’ll play together again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Azzi’s smile was soft. Disbelieving, maybe. “You don’t get to promise me that.”

“I know,” Paige said. “But I’m going to anyway.”

They kissed. Quiet, tired, smiling into each other like the world hadn’t started moving again yet.

Later that night, long after the trophy was locked away and the arena swept clean they snuck back into the gym. Paige turned on just one court light, the amber glow casting long shadows across the hardwood.

They laid flat on their backs, center court, just staring at the ceiling that showered them in celebration just hours ago.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Azzi said, staring up at the rafters.

Paige reached for her hand. “That’s how you know it is.”

They didn’t sleep. Not really. Just rested there. Dreaming with their eyes open.

Because back then?

Back then, forever still felt possible.

Azzi was still tracing the edge of her piece of the net she cut with one fingertip, legs crossed at the ankles. Paige laid next to her with the full net around her neck and her hand resting — just barely — beside Azzi’s.

“Do you think we’ll remember this the same way?” Azzi asked.

Paige stared up at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “I mean… ten years from now. When this all feels like a different life. Do you think I’ll remember your face the same way? The confetti? This gym? Or will I just… I don’t know….”

Paige turned to face her fully. “You’ll remember.”

Azzi gave a small, private smile. “You sound sure.”

“I am.” Paige tucked a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “Because I’m gonna remind you.”

They stayed in that echoey gym a few minutes longer stealing one last breath of that version of their lives. One last second before drafts and deadlines and distance. Before everything turned real.

And when they finally did rise, Paige looked back once more.

Azzi caught her doing it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige said. “Just making sure I don’t forget.”

Flash Forward: The Championship Game

The arena had settled down at last.

The confetti cannons had gone empty. The crowd had funneled out.

But Paige was still there.

She emerged back out onto the hardwood.

She walked to center court.

Paused.

And then sat down, cross-legged, hands on the floor as if in need of grounding.

This was supposed to be the everything.

A title. A legacy. Her name in the news again.

And it did feel like everything. But it also didn’t.

She gazed at empty rows of seats where, hours before, the crowd had cheered her name. Where she’d embraced teammates, coaches, even that one assistant G.M. she had thought always hated her.

But it wasn’t until now — in this quiet — that the weight of it all landed.

“I said we wouldn’t forget this,” she murmured under her breath, the words mumbled but certain, as if they had been curled in the back of her mouth for years. “I told you I’d remind you.”

She threw her head back toward the scoreboard. The similar spot she’d fixated on after the Natty. The similar spot they’d laughed under, kissed under, dreamed of futures under.

“And I meant it.”

Her voice broke, but she pressed on.

“This is not how it was meant to be,” she whispered. “Not without you by my side.”

She could still see it — Azzi observing from that tunnel, caught in a frame Paige couldn’t erase from her memory. The way she’d smiled, not polite or pitying, but real. Pride and heartbreak in the same impossible look of yours.

It did more harm than any loss Paige had ever suffered, that smile.

Because it meant Azzi still looked towards her.

And she didn’t know where to go with that.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights upon arriving back in her room.

The celebratory noise of the evening still felt present in her body — every photo taken, every hand she’d shaken, every teammate she’d clung to as if somehow they could transfer the moment to themselves and make it permanent.

Her phone held 7% charge and was buried at the bottom of her duffel bag. She left it there. The texts would wait, didn’t matter whoever they were from — reporters, agents, the group chats that were blowing up with “🏆” emojis.

Paige lowered herself at the edge of her hotel bed and stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

The hands that gripped the trophy.

The same hands that gripped around Azzi’s waist in post-game scrimmages. That used to line her spine during half-asleep mornings in college apartments.

She let out a breath — sharp, quick, and not entirely steady.

“I won,” she mumbled to the empty room.

Then again, a little louder. “I fucking won.”

She reached for the mini fridge, snatched an outrageously overpriced hotel water bottle, cracked it open and took a sip as though it were tequila. Burned just the same.

And then she laughed.

For this was the moment, wasn’t it?

The kind every player fantasized about. The championship. The glory. The spotlight.

But all she could think of was Azzi’s face in the tunnel. That half-smile. That soft nod. That look that said I’m proud of you but we used to share this.

Paige threw herself on the bed, arm covering her eyes, and held the pain in for a second.

What does it mean to win everything and yet feel like you still lost?

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

Paige sat up slowly, dragged herself off the bed like her limbs weighed double, and reached for her phone out of her duffel. It had just enough battery left to flicker back on, screen flooding with texts and missed calls.

KK: YOOOOOOOO 🏆🏆🏆

Jana: You’re a damn legend. Just cried watching it.

Nika: ok but did anyone else catch how Azzi was LOOKING at her in the tunnel 👀👀

She closed the thread before she could spiral again. Tapped over to YouTube. Typed in: WNBA Finals Press Conference.

The video was already up.

She skipped the intros, the coach’s speech, the stat breakdowns. Then paused — frame frozen on Azzi, sitting in front of a microphone in her jersey, hair pulled back, expression unreadable but composed.

She pressed play.

“I’m proud of our team,” Azzi began, her voice steady, if a little softer than normal. “We fought. We made it a game. That’s all you can ask for.”

“Was it weird watching Paige celebrating on the other side of the court?” a reporter off camera asked.

Azzi paused.

Just a second too long.

Then: “No,” she said. “She earned that moment. Every bit of it.”

Another pause. Then she smiled. Just barely. “We’ve been dreaming this for a long time together. And whether I was the one standing next to her tonight… I’m still proud it came true.”

For a beat she looked downward, then upward at the cameras, adding, more softly now:

“I’ve been her number one fan from the start. That part hasn’t changed.”

The room grew silent.

Paige blinked hard. She put her phone down facedown on the bed as if it had just wronged her.

Azzi’s tone was casual, there was no sneer in his voice. No sarcasm. Precisely the soft sincerity that made it worse.

And that was the thing about Azzi she never said anything just to say it.

If she said she was proud … she was proud.

And if she meant it…

Paige did not know how one was meant to sleep.

Not after she had heard that voice one more time.

Not with that half-smile that was permanently etched in her brain like a photograph she didn’t know how to stop staring at.

The hotel room was quiet now. Too quiet. After the game the buzz had fallen to the only kind of silence that came after the adrenaline wore off and reality crept back in.

Paige, legs aching, sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone was in her hand. The clip of the press conference still resonated in her mind.

I’ve been her number one fan.... That part hasn’t changed.

She knew she shouldn’t. Knew she should have resisted the urge to let her fingers linger over Azzi’s name like that. But there it was — Azzi, pinned at the top of her messages, untouched for months.

She opened the thread. Nothing but air between them. Paige looked at the flashing line, the blank space waiting.

She typed something.

Saw the press conference.... You didn’t have to say that, but I’m glad you did. I

She backspaced. All of it.

Then tried again.

I know it wasn’t your night, but I just … I’m proud of you too. I hope you know that.

She stared at it.

Too soft? Too late? Too obvious?

So she typed one more time plain and simply stating: I saw the interview.

It was 4:07 a.m. at that point — the hour that made everything feel more fragile than it actually was.

And she sighed, let the screen dim in her hand, thumb hovering over Send but not pushing it. She fell asleep like that — phone pressed against her chest, message glowing in the dark.

The next morning when she blinked awake. She narrowed her eyes, and dazed, felt her phone vibrate against her stomach. She fumbled for it, and then—

Delivered.

Paige shot up, wide-eyed. “No, no, no—”

Her glasses were nowhere to be found. She clicked into the thread, desperate for a miracle. But it was already there:

Azzi: I’m glad you saw it. And I meant every word. Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Her hands didn’t move. Her heart did.

The message blinked at her like it was staring into her soul.

She read it again.

I’m glad you saw it.

And I meant every word.

Paige stared.

Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Paige watched the screen as if it might disappear if she blinked too hard.

Magic. And that, always, is what she had wanted to be. Not just good, not just successful — unforgettable. The type of player who left ghosts of herself out on the court long after the final buzzer. And Azzi had stated it as a fact. As if she hadn’t just played against her, hadn’t just lost to her. Like she actually saw her, the way she used to, the way she did before everything had gotten so complicated.

Her chest constricted — the ache that only came after every mention of Azzi.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. Not after a win like this. Not after that kind of night.

She dropped the phone onto her stomach, staring at the ceiling. The hotel room was as foreign as ever. Sterile. A little too cold. A little too quiet.

Outside the city was beginning to stir. Except Paige wasn’t prepared to enter it quite yet.

But she remained there — cocooned in too many blankets, and wrapped in the sort of emotion that made her feel both exceedingly heavy and hollow all at once. Her heart was doing that thing. The stupid thing. The one where it hoped. Just a little. Just enough to make it worse.

She thought about replying.

She tried to think of something real to say but nothing felt like it would land right...

Instead, she turned off her phone and set it aside.

No more rewrites. Not yet.

Flashback: The Morning After The National Championship

Paige started to rise first – not because of the morning light, but because Azzi, beside her, shifted, arms tightening in that sleepy-half-possessive way she always got when she felt Paige moving.

Paige stilled.

She didn’t want to shatter it — this moment, this silence, this impossibly fragile peace.

Azzi’s curls were a soft cloud resting against her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s collarbone. A leg draped lazily across her hips. Their fingers were still entangled from the previous evening.

It had been a blur — the win, the champagne, the screaming teammates waving the trophy high above their heads as confetti rained all around them. A national title. A dream fulfilled.

And yet this — this was what Paige already knew she would remember.

The aftermath. The stillness. The way Azzi had led her home by the hand as if it was a reflex.

Azzi muttered something into her skin, his voice hoarse and sleepy. “Mmm… what time is it?”

Paige grinned, not even bothering to open her eyes. An emoji for “too early for anything but you.”

Azzi laughed softly, “Gross. That’s such a line.”

Paige nudged her with her knee. “Don’t pretend you don't love it.”

Azzi raised her head, eyes barely open. “I do. Which is annoying.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

Paige wrapped an arm more tightly around Azzi’s waist. She felt… safe. Full. As if she had won something larger than a title.

Azzi turned onto her side and, supporting herself on one elbow, looked up. “You know that was our last college game, right?”

Paige looked at her then. Really looked. “I know.”

They stared at each other in of silence. Not heavy — just… aware.

“You think we’ll play on the same team again?” Azzi inquired, half teasing.

“Yes.” Paige didn’t hesitate at all. “Yeah. We will. We’ll find our way back.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”

Paige blinked. It seemed that the room had grown smaller. More fragile.

“It’s a deal,” she said, and she meant it in that moment.

Azzi studied her. Smiled. “Okay then.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, and her fingers lingered. “You seemed really happy out there.”

“I was,” Paige said. “But I’m happier here.”

And she meant that too.

But what she didn’t know — not yet — was just how quickly happiness can be buried under pressure.

In the coming weeks, everything would change.

The noise of draft buzz would become louder. The lights would become brighter. Folks would start throwing around “legacy” and “generational talent.” And in the times when she wasn’t doing interviews and making appearances and taking meetings with agents, Paige would start to think about whether there was even space for both love and greatness — or whether one must be given up for the other.

And that’s when the fear would spring back in.

Not of losing Azzi.

But of not being enough for her and the life that was being put in front of Paige.

For what should she do, but the only thing that she thought she could control.

She’d start pulling away from.

One unread message at a time.

One missed dinner.

One silent night.

Until the girl whom she held in her arms now — the one to whom she promised she’d find her way back — was that same girl she let walk away without a word.

And somehow, that would be the most regretful thing of them all.

Flash Forward: The Morning After The Championship Game

When Paige regained consciousness, she had a headache and the name Azzi wouldn't disappear from her memory easily.

Her phone remained in her grip, the screen black, the battery barely clinging to life. Still in her sweats. Makeup barely washed off. Eyes gritty from the sleep, or maybe the crying, she had done between scrolling through highlights and the trying not to text her again.

Paige read it again. And again.

She hated how much she still was affected by words sent from the curly headed girl — how they cracked something in her chest that had long stopped aching. How they brought her straight back to the last time she won something big … and didn’t wake up alone that time.

The weight of memory pulled her down, like an anchor.

That morning, 4 years ago, she’d woken up to Azzi’s breath on her skin, arms knotted, legs warm beneath college blankets that smelled like detergent and comfort and everything she’d believed would last forever.

The future, back then, was shared trophies and shared apartments and arguing about on who got the better pregame playlist.

She’d promised Azzi back then that there would be more. More wins. More shared seasons. More them.

Now?

Now she was waking up with a phone shoved into her cheek and a text she didn’t earn flashing across her screen. A silent offering from someone she had wounded, someone she still could not manage to stop needing — no matter how many seasons came between them.

Paige turned over on her side, snuggling the blankets closer.

She wanted to say something. To ultimately say it out loud — to say that she was wrong about it. That she chose wrong. That it wasn’t merely about the game, or the pressure, or the timing.

That it was fear.

Pure, blinding terror of being unsure she could hold it all, all of it at the same time — the love, the ambition, the promise of everything that she’d assumed she needed to become.

But the words would not come out of her mouth. Still too big. Still too late.

So she murmured the only thing she was capable of in the silence.

“I miss you.”

To the ceiling. To the silence. To no one.

To her phone screen, which was dark, Azzi’s name just barely still glowing.

It didn’t respond.

And neither did she.

Now — Seven Years After the Break-Up

Here I am watching the WNBA Finals.

We didn’t make it this year...

But you did.

And God, you looked good out there.

It’s like seeing who I always knew you were supposed to be. Sharp. Confident. Unshakable.

They all see it now, the entire arena, but I saw it first.

And perhaps that’s why it hurts so much.

Because there you are out chasing the dream — the one I convinced myself I left you for…

I’m here.

Staring at this blank note.

Thinking of every single thing I should have done differently that day racing back to the front of my brain.

I’d been telling myself for years that I couldn’t have it all.

And maybe that was true.

But what I know now is this:

If I could go back…

Maybe if I could do one thing differently…

It would’ve been actually saying all the things I wish I would’ve said to you. So I’m typing it out now.

3. The Championship Game

I had imagined winning would feel different.

It wasn't worse, just… quieter.

Last time, there was yelling. Champagne. Confetti in my hair, your arms around me, a promise that we’d find our way back to that court together.

And I believed it.

My chest still hurts to think of how sure I was.

We were kids. Stupid, and filled with adrenaline, and the idea of forever.

I told you we’d be back for this.

I would have promised you anything that night.

And then I did. But then I broke all of those promises one by one in the weeks following navigating life with fear rather than intention.

Now here I am.

Same trophy on my shelf. Other hands helped me lift it up.

But there you were — this time not on the court, but in the tunnel. Still watching. Still showing up. Still beaming at me as if I didn’t break that version of you that used to leap into my arms and kiss me like the whole world had finally come into focus.

You could’ve looked away.

Could’ve given me nothing.

But you didn’t.

And somehow… that hurt worse.

Because secretly, in some small, unwound place in me, I still wanted you to be angry. Still wanted it to not be so easy for you to stand there, clapping and saying nice things into a mic like I didn’t gut us from the inside out. I wanted you to let me go.

But of course you were kind. You always are.

Your press conference made my stomach turn — not because of what you said, but everything I didn’t deserve to hear.

“...her number one fan...”

How do you keep showing up for someone who keeps choosing everything else first?

I was lying there in my hotel bed, trying to type something, anything in reply — something worthy — and all I could come up with was “I saw the interview.”

Real poetic, right?

I didn’t even hit send.

Until, I practically slipped into a dream, and my thumb twitched in my sleep, and destiny took care of it for me.

And you? You responded as if you had been waiting.

Like I never kept you waiting.

I didn’t know what to do with that then.

I still don’t know what to do with you now.

So instead I will write it down.

Because I need to write it even if I don’t know how to say it out loud yet.

You were my favorite win.

And my worst loss.

And no matter how many trophies get put in my hands, there will always be a part of me, a part buried deep within me, that wished I would’ve just held your hand instead.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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