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yothatshitgas · 1 day ago

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Goliath

Pairing: Paige x Azzi Word Count: 2.8k Note: This started out as a one-shot based on Goliath by Jessie Reyez, then I crashed out after the inability to write more than 800 words so I think I lost the plot? Either way, this is just lover girl Paige. I haven't written in ages, and this is the very first time I'd ever written pazzi. I just needed an outlet for my lover girl Paige agenda. Obviously a work of fiction. And Don’t forget to vote.

The morning sun filtered in through the blinds, casting bright warm stripes across my face and coaxing me out of one of the better nights of sleep I’d had since settling in Dallas. It was the kind of rest I hadn’t realized I’d been crazing, one that was familiar. My body felt sore, a dull ache in my arm from being used as a makeshift pillow, my back damp from the extra heat pressed so closely beside me. But none of it mattered. Not even the faint cramp in my lower back from staying in one position too long that was sure to haunt me during practice later.

Because she was here.

Azzi.

I turned my head to the right. Slowly, careful not to shift the mattress too much. Azzi was still asleep, breathing steady, the curve of her brow soft in the morning light. Her hand rested across my stomach, loose but possessive, an addicting feeling I’ve never gotten used to even after all these years. I let out a quiet breath and moved with practiced caution, easing my arm free from under her head. She stirred just a bit, let out a soft groan but didn’t wake. I tucked a pillow beneath her neck, adjusting the angle until it cradled her just right. Sitting up, I propped myself back on my hands and let my gaze linger on her for a few more seconds. Admittedly, a lot longer than I meant to.

I reached over slowly, brushing back a loose curl behind her ear with the gentlest touch I could manage. My fingers stayed, trailing the delicate curve of her jaw then down - over the corner of her lips, the rise and fall of her throat, the slope of her shoulder where the blanket began to slip away. I pulled back eventually, practicing the kind of restraint loving Azzi required sometimes. Having to hold back even when everything in me wanted to stay in that quiet forever.

The kind of silence that only lived in mornings like this. One untouched by the world, suspended in time just long enough to feel sacred. A stillness settled over the room, gentle and absolute, as if even the universe knew better than to interfere.

It was just us.

Just me, sitting here, watching the girl I’ve been hopelessly, irrevocably in love with since I was seventeen. Something in my chest ached with how much I wanted to preserve this peace. Guard it. Wrap it in layers of myself and keep it from ever being touched by the crueler edgers of the world. I would have given anything, every part of me was willing to trade whatever it took if it meant she got to wake up like this every day. Safe, unbothered and so damn beautiful it almost didn’t feel fair.

In the middle of my quiet admiration, Azzi began to stir. Her brows knit together in that sleepy, endearing way she always did when waking up too early. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, slow and instinctive. I couldn’t stop the grin that formed at my lips when her gaze found mine, bleary but warm and then, she smiled too, just a little.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I said softly.

“Hi,” she murmured, her voice still tangled with sleep. She reached out lazily, draping her arm across my lap, her weight warm and ground. I could already feel her starting to slip back to sleep, but she blinked up at me one more time, “how was your sleep?”

“Good,” I replied, brushing my thumb along her forearm, “it’s different with you here.”

She hummed, eyes falling shut again, “different good, I hope,” she joked.

“Always,” I replied, wrapping my fingers around hers, lifting our hands gently to my lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

I glanced over at the nightstand, tapping my phone screen to check the time - 7:02 AM. Azzi’s flight was in four hours. Practice in six. Just a handful of hours left with her before we’d be separated for a whole month. A full, brutal, fucking month. The weight of that reality settling over my chest like wet cement.

Moving slowly, careful not to wake her again, I slipped out of bed and made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. The water helped, but only slightly. It didn’t wash away the heaviness that came with knowing we were on borrowed time. When I stepped back out, toweling off my hair, Azzi was awake. She sat upright on the bed, legs still tangled in the sheets, one shoulder bare where the blanket had slipped down. Her eyes, lidded and lazy, found me instantly.

“You look warm,” she murmured, voice raspy and low, “and damp.”

“I showered,” I said with a smirk, stepping closer, “that’s usually what happens.”

She gave me a tired smile and held her arms out wordlessly. I didn’t hesitate. I moved to the edge of the bed and as soon as I was within reach, she looped her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek against my stomach. Her skin was cool against mine, the contrast enough to make me still for a second.

“You ok?” I asked, resting one hand on the back of her head, the other trailing gently down her spine.

She nodded, her arms tightening around me, “I’m trying to pretend we have the whole day.”

I hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “we can do that,” I assured, “after we get some food in you.”

“Babe,” Azzi called from the kitchen, her voice echoing slightly as she rifled through the fridge and then the pantry, “you have literally nothing to eat.”

I laughed as I stepped out of the bedroom, still toweling off my hair, “that’s what I have DoorDash for,” I called back.

She turned to face me, one hand on her hip, the other holding a box of already stale cereal, “no,” she said firmly, “there is no way I’m leaving Dallas knowing you’ve got nothing but hot sauce and ice cream cones in your fridge. We’re going grocery shopping. Today.”

“The ice cream is for you,” I reminded her, crossing the room until I was close enough to slip my hands around her waist, “Come on, I can live off takeout and junk food. I will and have.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but clearly trying not to smile, “we’re going to Target.”

“Two days wasn’t enough,” Azzi said quietly, her voice slicing through the soft hum of our shared playlist, the only thing filling the silence in the car until now.

I glanced over at her. She was staring out the passenger side window, her expression unreadable. Without much thought, I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers and resting them on my lap. My thumb moved slowly over her knuckles. But I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t. Because what was there to say? She was right.

Two days wasn’t even close to enough.

Not after spending nearly every day of the last four years orbiting each other’s lives. Sometimes side by side, sometimes at the opposite ends of the court or country, but always finding our way back. Through practices and games, missed calls and red-eye flights, late night FaceTimes and half-slept mornings, there had always been something solid beneath our feet. Something certain.

But now? There was no familiar ground. Just distance. 1,693 miles, to be exact.

Azzi is flying back to Virginia to see her family, then head straight to Storrs for summer training. And I’d be starting my first pro season. The dream I’d chased since I was a kid had finally arrived, but now that it was here, it felt more like a wall than a door. A beautiful, brutal wall that stood between me and the only place that ever felt like home: her.

“Hey,” I said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “We’ll meet up in Minnesota, spend time with family there and maybe,” I glanced over at her, trying to read the stillness in her face, “maybe you could fly to Atlanta with us after? You said you’re free that whole week, right?”

Azzi nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the road. But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. I could feel the weight of everything she was carrying in the tight line of her jaw, the way her lips were pressed together just a little too firmly. She was holding back a floor of thoughts, of feelings and barely keeping them contained.

As we rolled to a stop at a red light, I gently released her hand, only to reach over with the same care I always gave her when she was on the edge of unraveling. My fingers found her chin, light as a breath and I turned her toward me.

“Az,” I said, voice low and steady, “I love you.”

She blinked once, grounding herself in the moment. Her eyes searched mine, “I know,” she whispered, “I love you, too.”

The light turned green, but I didn’t drive right away. I leaned in just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, “now,” I said, forcing a smile through the emotion tightening my throat, “let's get some groceries, eat and give you time to pack the entire wardrobe you somehow fit into my apartment.”

She let out a breathy laugh, one soft and familiar, “it was a backpack, baby.”

“Add three of my hoodies,” I teased, “hoodies that I know you’re stealing.”

“Borrowing,” she said, side-eyeing me with a smirk, “and if you really loved me, you wouldn’t call it stealing.”

“If you really love, you’d leave one behind.”

“No promises,” she replied, resting her head back against the seat.

Azzi and I strolled through the isles, shopping cart half-empty and I slowly came to terms with the fact that I genuinely didn’t know how to cook anything besides breakfast. The revelation wasn’t new to Azzi, just frustrating. She gave me a dramatic sigh when I blankly stared at a box of pasta and asked, “do I need a strainer for this?”

So, in the end, we grabbed a carton of eggs, some bread and a handful of random seasonings Azzi deemed “bare minimum kitchen essentials.” She tossed in garlic powder, chili flakes, and this tiny glass jar of smoked paprika.

“You don’t need to know what it does,” she said, dropping it into the cart, “just trust me.”

Then, as if we hadn't wasted enough time, she tugged on my sleeve and announced, “we’re going to the book section.”

Of course we are.

We spent at least twenty minutes there, drifting slowly through the book aisle while Azzi ran her fingers along the spines. She moved with a quiet reverence, pausing every few seconds to pull one out and flip through the first few pages, then slide it back with a nod like it passed some kind of test only she understood.

She pointed out the ones she’d already read, apparently half the aisle. I recognized a few, some of which I’d bought for her and the rest were books that she proudly displayed on the shelf we built together for her room. I nodded along, trying my best to keep up. Each book came with an enthusiastic plot summary, full of dramatic gasps, over-the-top hand gestures and the kind of energy you couldn’t fake. Her eyes lit up with every title she recognized, and every time she smiled wide, that perfect little dimple appeared. I just stood there, watching her light up over paperbacks and plot twists, thinking how the hell did I get this lucky.

We left the store nearly an hour later with maybe twenty dollars worth of items. It wasn’t exactly a productive grocery run, but neither of us seemed to mind. Afterward, we stopped at a cozy breakfast spot tucked between a record store and a vintage boutique, the kind of place that Azzi always gravitated toward. We split pancakes and eggs, stole bites off each other’s plates and lingered over coffee we didn’t really need.

When we got back to my apartment, the weight of reality started to settle in again.

Azzi pulled her backpack out and began to pack, just a couple of outfits suited for the relentless Dallas heat, a toiletry bag and one of my hoodies already folded on top. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her move around the room. There was a rhythm to it, but it was slower than usual. She was giving herself extra seconds with each item, stalling in that way people do when they clearly don’t want something to end. Folding her shorts more carefully than needed. Pausing to double-check zippers. I recognized the rhythm, I’d done the same thing once or twice before. Delaying the inevitable goodbye that has already begun.

Azzi finished packing and closed her bag with a heavy sigh. I stood from the bed without saying anything and crossed the room, lowering myself onto the floor behind her. Settling in close, I slid my legs on either side of hers, pulling her gently into me until her back rested against my chest. My arms wrapped around her waist and dipped my head, pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder where the strap of her tank top had slipped slightly.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I whispered, my lips brushing the curve of her ear, “but in three weeks, we’re going to be together again.”

Azzi didn’t speak right away, but I felt her body soften under my touch. Her hands moved, searching for mine and when her fingers found them resting on her stomach, she laced them together. I held her tighter, the words still bubbling up in my chest.

“I genuinely don’t know what I did to deserve you, Az,” I said, my voice quieter, more raw, “but Imma spend every day proving I do. I’ll keep showing up. Keep loving you the best way I know how.”

And God knew I would for as long as she lets me. For as long as she’ll have me.

The drive to the terminal felt both impossibly short and unbearably long. I parked in the departures lane, parked the car and sat there for a second, my hands still on the wheel, not quite ready to let the moment move forward. Beside me, Azzi shifted slightly, unbuckling her seatbelt with a soft click.

“Paige,” she whispered, barely audible over the sound of engines and suitcase wheels rolling past on the curb outside, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this part.”

“Me neither,” I let out a soft laugh, opening the door and stepping out.

I opened the back door, grabbing her backpack and slinging one strap over my shoulder. Then I walked around the car to her side, pulling the door open before she even reached for the handle. Azzi stepped out slowly, before I could say a word, she stepped right into my space. No hesitation. Her arms slid around my waist and mine wrapped around just above her shoulders.

“Three weeks,” she whispered.

“Three.”

She hummed, “I guess, a little peace and quiet is needed from time to time,” she let out a soft laugh, muffled into my skin.

Her breath tickled against me, and I couldn’t help but smile, “whatever,” I said, “like you’re not gonna call me the second your plane lands.”

“I will,” she admitted, pulling back just enough to look up at me, “but don’t act like you wouldn’t throw the biggest fit if I didn’t.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of needs,” I grinned.

I took the first step back, I reached for her backpack and held it out to her. She took it with a soft smile. Then I leaned in, one hand cradling the side of her face and I kissed her. Slow. Full. I took my time, as if I needed any more to memorize the shape of her lips. The way she always leaned in just a little closer before letting go.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

Azzi stepped back slowly, then turned toward the terminal, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked back, just once. A small glance over her shoulder, her hand lifting in a gentle wave. A final goodbye. A silent I’ll see you soon.

I stood there, watching her walk away until the crowd swallowed her up. At that moment, the countdown began. Already ticking down to the next time I could hold her again.

#pazzi #pazzi fics

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