#versus just REALIZING THINGS at the end

[kumomist]

intense insane staring into the distance and still crying over north no2

[cowboymusings]

14x13 Lebanon and "I have a family". 14x13 Lebanon and Dean quietly defying John, defining himself outside of John and his ideals is the most important thing ever actually.

In a more beautiful world, we would have more flashbacks to preseries/stanford era dean accidentally stumbling upon things that he loves or that have a have a profound impact on him and enjoying them, having them blow him away, only to step back and reject them. Because ultimately, at this time, he's still John Winchester's son. We would see more of Dean explicitly tired of what the job keeps him from, not just the terms of the job or the lifestyle he partakes in. More of Dean and the things he pretends don't have a profound psyche (Rhonda Hurley and the panties; the endless references he makes to queer media like his life depends on it). In a more beautiful world, we would have more 'I have a family' moments in Dean going back and reclaiming the things preseries Dean rejected and allowing himself to be affected without guilt or shame bearing down on him.

[navybrat817]

Game Nights

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Game nights in the tower are unpredictable.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Humor, mentions of violence, the team loves trolling on John, kissing, implied smut, team bonding (kind of), Thunderbolts spoilers, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Silly headcanon set in the same world as Not Exactly a Secret and part of my Tower Shenanigans. I'm not at all sorry. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Game nights typically take place on Saturdays since Fridays are reserved for movie night. Snacks and drinks are a must, but there is a drink maximum, so things don’t get too crazy or emotional. 

Bucky purposely gets John the generic brand when it’s his turn to go snack shopping and tells him to deal with it since the quality is just as good. Everyone else gets the name brand of whatever they want. 

There's a huge board with all of your names and the games listed. The tally marks are in various colors, and sometimes names are erased and replaced with affectionate nicknames. 

When John demanded to know who changed his name to “the man with a punchable face”, Bob was ready to confess, but Bucky took the blame, followed by Yelena, you, and Ava. It was a real “I'm Spartacus!” moment. 

Anyone caught cheating is on clean-up duty. You and Bucky have both cheated on the same night so you could clean up together. 

There are occasional tournaments complete with medals and trophies. The gang insisted that participation ribbons were not allowed, but you found a funny last place trophy that you had to get and everyone agreed.

The gang tries to switch it up between classic games, video games, and children's games to keep things interesting. No matter what you play there is a level of competitiveness. 

You try not to rub it in when you win a game, but you will have a subtle smirk on your face when you catch Bucky’s eye. Alexei, on the other hand, loves to yell, “In your face!” while doing air thrusts and Yelena has come close to banning her dad from game nights because of it.

If it’s girls versus boys, the girls win almost every time. The boys can't figure out how, but it might have something to do with John and Alexei both trying to be the leader, Bucky being done, and Bob just wanting to have fun. 

Bucky picks you for any game that requires a partner or teammate outside of girls versus boys, even if there is someone better suited. He doesn't care because he always wants you by his side. 

Bucky also picks two-player games for the two of you to play while the rest of the gang plays something else. Yelena often does the same thing with Bob. 

Weapons aren't allowed. That rule should've been enforced from the beginning, but John insisted after Bucky threatened to stab him during a game of Uno. 

To be fair, John kept playing Draw 4 cards and everyone knew it was a dick move. Even John knew it. 

Bucky will switch to Russian when he gets frustrated or really into a game. He didn't realize it until Yelena and Alexei replied in Russian. 

Hide-and-Seek is banned. Ava kept phasing out of her hiding spots, and you and Bucky got caught fooling around in the coat closet. 

Truth or Dare is also banned. Too personal with the questions when it was meant to be a fun night and Ava kept daring you and Bucky to kiss each other, which you did.

Bob got nervous the first time you all played Among Us, but Yelena assured him it would be fun. It ended with a chair flipped over, which is considerably tame.

Bob also goes into any shooting game prepared to lose because look who he’s playing with? He still has fun with it.

You once sweet talked Bucky into playing Dance Dance Revolution and he did well, surprising no one. So did Yelena and Ava, and not a single one of them cracked a smile while they danced.

John takes Pictionary way too seriously, and you threatened to break the easel and stab him when he raised his voice at Bob. Bucky fell in love with you a little bit more. 

Ava encouraged you to flash Bucky once when he was winning at Mario Kart. You did and he looked, but he still managed to win. 

Yelena argues with Alexei during Jenga. She doesn't need him to tell her which block to move or distract her. 

You and Bucky always end up choosing each other's cards during Cards Against Humanity. You just get each other, and you love getting a laugh out of him every time he reads your card. 

Alexei insists that karaoke should be considered a game and he always wants to sing first, which embarrasses Yelena. He once serenaded you and Bucky because, well, he’s one of your biggest supporters. 

Card games are tense and Yelena usually ends up with the most money by the end of them. She prefers Poker to Blackjack. 

Bob was so happy the first time he won Clue that he almost cried. Everyone hugged him, knowing he never got the chance to have fun game nights growing up. 

John recently made a casual comment about wanting to play games like these with his kid. No one gave him a hard time because everyone could see how much he longed for it. 

Some game nights end with yelling and broken furniture, but more often than not they end with smiles, laughter, and a sense of normalcy. It’s a nice change of pace from some of the horrors you’ve faced, and a great way to bond. 

But Bucky will still find a way to stab John if he can if only to keep him on his toes. 

BAHAHA. What do we think? Any other games? What other shenanigans do we think they get up to in and out of game nights? Let me know! Love and thanks for reading.

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bucketbueckers]

COME AROUND

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content: language, kinda angsty (but with a happy ending because above all else, i am my own target audience), friends to lovers to exes to lovers, too many gatsby references, teenage awkardness, hopkins!p, sexuality, generational fumble from paige, mental health, slight injury, painfully long

wc: 27.0k synopsis: You were always a little tender-hearted. That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige Bueckers. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige was magnetic, and she loved you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Eventually, you’d have to come to terms with the realization that the both of you were growing up far too fast and that there were many lessons still left to be learned, although you never thought that moment of reckoning would come in the fashion that it did. Despite losing your way over the years, the beautiful thing about life is that you always find your way back home. notes: kinda funny that i thought this was gonna be like 5-6k words long...lol sike 😍 last night's game actually killed me but what do i actually know about basketball. i just work here. this fic came to me in a fever dream and was not planned out at all, is poorly proof-read, and at the end of the day i dont actually know if its good or not cause im sick of reading it. also. please let me know how we feel about the sexuality/process of coming out. i tried to make it as authentic as possible (i did NOT feel like writing homophobia, paige and reader got enough shit going on in this one shot) but lowkey...idk how it works. crazy lore drop but when i realized i liked girls i said "ok" and went on with my day and then eventually got outed to my family so like..oh well. i think that's it though but as always let me know what y'all think and pls pls enjoy 🫶

tags: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @avvwritesstufff @surferandskater5

You were always a little tender hearted — or so you’ve been told. Your heart lives perpetually on your sleeve, bared, bleeding, beating persistently regardless of the way it breaks under the slightest pressure. You’re a patchwork of criss-crossing bandages, an amalgamation of stitches and sutures; nevertheless, you still find the bravery to love and open up your heart in spite of it all. You wouldn’t say that you let people walk all over you. You’re outspoken and proud of it, opinionated and driven. In the same breath, you’re sensitive and trusting – perhaps to a fault, but that’s just who you are.

You don’t think this is a character flaw. Yes, you get hurt, but that’s inevitable. You like to think that if people like you stopped putting love and compassion into the world, then it would all go to shit eventually. You like to think that there is someone out there who will see your effort for what it is and care enough to protect your heart as if it were their own. Platonically, romantically, you didn’t particularly mind – you wanted to forge genuine connections with people. You wanted to love in whatever form that came to be. So, yes. You get hurt. Yes, it would be easier for you to not care so much at all, but if people gave up so quickly, then how would we grow? How can we expect to glean something from the world if it was a depleted resource?

Hopkins, Minnesota, was a quaint little city, but it was where you grew up. Elementary and middle school was… well, elementary and middle school. You learned a lot about yourself, about others, and made a few close friends that have stuck by you for years. Then high school came around and things shifted. Your classmates were confusing mixtures of self-absorbed and altruistic, trying too hard to be one thing or the other, and it was this strange imbalance between finding who you’re supposed to be versus staying true to what you’ve known. It’s that weird thing called growing up, and sure, everyone does it – in a literal sense as they grow older physically, but also as they change their minds and learn new things about the world and themselves, although growing up in high school is just so daunting. It’s like you’re supposed to have all of the right answers, right now, which is scary because you don’t even have the right answers for algebra yet you’re supposed to make life-altering decisions about the person you are?

You digress, though. Freshman year is decent. You get into a steady rhythm, join a couple of clubs that will look good on college applications, and you make a few new friends, ones that feel a little more like you despite the ones you’ve been holding onto since kindergarten. Sophomore year is full of changes, yet again.

But junior year? They weren’t lying when they said it would be the hardest year of high school. You were taking a few AP classes and a dual enrollment class or two to round it out, but despite that, junior year comes with a lot more internal realizations. You weren’t a sports person by any means, but Paige Bueckers soon became a name you were intimately familiar with. She’d led her team pretty far into the playoffs during sophomore year although they ultimately fell short. There was something about her that was magnetic and you wanted to know more, see more. She was a freshman phenom, a generational player.

And when you mention this to your friends, trying to screw up the courage to attend one of the Hopkins girls’ games, you’re adamant that this new shift has nothing to do with the six foot, blonde guard with whom you share a fourth period AP Lit class with. Sure, Paige is ridiculously pretty (even though you’re 100% straight), charming, and she has a way of drawing everyone in. You’d just like to be her friend and that’s all there is to it. You don’t stare at her as your literature teacher rambles on about whatever classic book you’re reading – you don’t remember if it’s To Kill a Mockingbird or The Great Gatsby, but as long as Paige is sitting one row in front and two chairs to the right of you, there probably isn’t a chance that you’ll find it in you to care.

Then, around late October, it’s time for group projects and you’re just hoping you’re not paired with someone who doesn’t want to do the work. When your teacher rattles off your name, pausing once to glance at the rest of the roster, and calling out Paige as your partner, you aren’t entirely sure if this is something you want to celebrate or dread. You look up from your open book, The Great Gatsby, although you’ve read this dozens of times already, and you find that Paige is already turning back to look at you. Her face is a mix of easygoing confidence and gentle kindness all wrapped up in a radiant smile that makes your heart drop out of your ass.

Your classmates shuffle around and she slides into the desk seat next to yours, her knees bumping awkwardly on the sides, but she hardly pays it any mind as she introduces herself to you, as if she isn’t the most famous seventeen-year-old you’ve ever sat next to. You figure that her introduction is more out of humility than anything else. It’s probably daunting to be her, intimidating to bear the weight of countless expectations on shoulders that are barely broad enough to fill out her jersey. You give her your name and she repeats it back to you slowly, testing the pronunciation on her tongue, and grinning when you nod, ignoring the blush that creeps up on your neck.

“A’ight,” Paige says, rubbing her hands together in a way that looks corny as hell, but you can’t help but be amused by it, “What do you think?”

The prompt on the board is simple – by AP Lit standards, at least. Explain the symbolism of the green light. Common interpretations think of the light as a representation of Gatsby’s love for Daisy, the American Dream, or money. Do you believe any of these interpretations (or an interpretation of your own) reflect the themes of the story and Gatsby, or do you believe the narrator, Nick Carraway, has unreliably pushed his own thoughts and interpretations onto Gatsby? How does the green light tie into the broader themes of Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship? Your project must be in the form of a PowerPoint presentation…

You stop reading as the rest of the prompt goes into the rubric. “You first,” you tell Paige, smiling when she huffs dramatically.

“I think it’s supposed to represent Gatsby’s feelings for Daisy,” Paige states. “I mean, it’s constant, like Gatsby’s been in love with Daisy for years. Even before he went off to war. And he’s always starin’ at it at night. I do think Nick is putting his own thoughts into it. Like, by sayin’ Gatsby believes in the ‘orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.’ I’on even know what that means.” You can’t help but laugh at this, drawing a grin from Paige. “But you know what I mean, right? He fell in love with this girl before he went off to war, years pass and he’s alive but she’s married to another dude and he’s rich and lonely and I guess he’s close to her, but they ain’t really that close – I feel like that light just, you know, reminds him that she’s there.” Paige’s voice gets quieter the more she rambles, and when she catches the soft attentiveness in your features, she scratches the back of her neck, shy.

You smile at her. “You know, I wouldn’t have expected that kind of analysis from you,” you admit.

“Bro, what?” she exclaims, choking on a laugh as you dissolve into giggles. “I see how it is. It’s ‘cause I’m supposed to be a dumb jock, right?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks hurting from the strength of your smile. “No. I mean, like what you said about the light reminding him that she’s there. I always thought I was the only one who interpreted it that way, too.” Paige’s gaze softens as she takes in your explanation. “I feel like Gatsby is trapped in two different times – the past, where he loved her, and the present, where he still loves her but can’t have her. The light simultaneously reminds him of what he’s lost but also what he could have, you know?” Paige nods, encouraging you to go on. “There’s a distance between them, literally, but I think Gatsby feels like Daisy is still within reach. That his dreams are still within reach. I don’t think he realizes he’s chasing a dream from five years ago, or that Daisy eventually moves on as Nick watches Daisy fall in and out of love with Gatsby.”

“That is…really depressing,” Paige says, which makes you laugh again, but the way she’s gazing at you makes you feel as though she’s seeing you in a different light.

You shrug a shoulder, trying to not think too hard about the way her blue eyes sparkle. “I cried over this book a couple of times. I’m kind of a professional now.”

“Now that’s somethin’ I’d expect from you,” Paige teases.

“Okay, jerk!” you gasp indignantly. “You don’t even know me. What makes you so sure of that?”

Paige hums, pretending to think about something, but her expression is undeniably smug. “Call it intuition. How about you let me get to know you and I’ll let you know if it’s true?”

Oh. You were definitely not expecting that one. Your heart thrums a little at the implication, but it softens ever so slightly because you can clearly make out the earnestness reflected in her eyes, the realization that despite the grandeur and the fame and the talent beyond her years, Paige is still human.

“Well,” you say in a manner that you hope is supposed to be coy, “we’re stuck together now for this project. Getting to know me is a little inevitable.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Paige asks, her lips tugging into a teasing smirk, one that makes you feel exasperated – in a good way. “And what happens after the project? You still gonna let me hang around and annoy you?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, hating the way your pulse races, although you ignore it. “We’ll see if I still like you by then,” you say, which makes her smirk turn into a smile that’s a little more tender, less cocky.

“I can work with that,” she promises. And with that, the both of you start outlining your project. Paige throws in a comment here and there that makes you laugh, keeping the mood light as you work. At the end of the period, you punch your number into her phone, dutifully ignoring the grin on her face and the blush on yours. She texts you immediately after just to be sure, but she texts you during your next class to complain about how boring her history teacher is, too. Conversation comes easy with Paige. It’s like she just knows – knows you – and you’re not sure if that should scare you or excite you. Despite not knowing why your budding friendship with Paige feels so different, you just know that it feels right, and that was good enough for you.

Your last class of the day is a study hall and you’re sitting at a table in the back with two of your friends, Mack and Serena. You can all but feel the mood shift when you recount your day. The mere mention of Paige is enough for your friends to jump on the defensive.

“You need to stay away from her,” Mack says, her tone serious. You frown, glancing at Serena for some help, but she only shifts uncomfortably, finding her online work a lot more appealing than this conversation. “Paige is someone who’s gonna break your heart, okay?”

“It’s not even like that–”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Mack states firmly. “It wasn’t like that when Izy left, was it?”

Despite yourself, your expression sours, and Mack reclines as though she’s made her point. You suppose she has. Izy was your best friend. The two of you were attached at the hip since kindergarten, but in freshman year, she found a new group of friends. She had a lot more in common with them than she did with you – or so it seemed – and she didn’t necessarily cut you off, but it probably would have been easier if she did. The two of you talked sparingly, plans always seemed to fall through, and the loss of that friendship hurt just as much as a break up would.

“Or ‘he-who-shall-not-be-named,’” Serena adds unhelpfully, because all it does is twist your heart again. He who shall not be named, or more colloquially known as Logan, was your first boyfriend. Granted, you only dated him for about three months in the eighth grade, but the break up turned your world upside down. He was your first something. That wasn’t anything to scoff at and he wasn’t kind in the aftermath, so it’s not really your fault for feeling impossibly upset about it. Maybe there was just something about you that made it difficult for people to want to stick around, but maybe there was something about you that managed to pick wrong every time.

“Those are different,” you argue. You can’t help the way your voice wavers, and you feel angry at yourself all over again for getting upset about this. “I was friends with Izy for ten years and Logan was my first boyfriend. They meant something to me.”

“Sure,” Mack concedes. “But you felt a lot for them. Watching you work through that heartbreak…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been hurt by a lot of ignorant people, and, yeah, you always get back up at the end of the day, but I know it weighs on you.” Mack pauses, finding her thoughts as you stare imploringly at her. “People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You know as soon as she gets an offer, she’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not gonna look back. She’s destined for something a little greater than Hopkins.”

You swallow thickly, Mack’s words hitting you harder than she probably intended. Part of you knows that she’s right. Paige is only a junior but she’s a top prospect coming out of high school. She’s going to go to a great college for basketball. UConn, South Carolina, Notre Dame – one of the dynasties. You’re sure she’d get an offer to stay home and attend the University of Minnesota, but you also know that she’s worth a lot more than Minnesota. The other part of you, the part more connected to that bleeding heart of yours, doesn’t want to listen to Mack. It holds out hope that you wouldn’t be just another part of Paige’s past – maybe you could be part of her future.

Mack glances up at you again, studying your expression, and she softens. “Hey,” she says, gathering your attention. “I’m not gonna make a choice for you. If you wanna be her friend…go for it. I just want you to be careful who you show your heart to. Some people take it for granted.”

You nod carefully, appreciative of the way she looks out for you, and the two of you return to your work. Only moments later, your phone buzzes on the table. A notification from Paige lights up on your screen, then two, and you smile despite yourself and open your messages. You text her back, already pushing your conversation with Mack and Serena to the back of your mind, and you hardly notice their concerned glances as you respond.

Your project isn’t due until mid-December, the Friday before winter break, but you and Paige spend nearly every other day together when she doesn’t have practice. It’s a steady rhythm for the two of you: sitting through your literature class together, exchanging teasing glances and text messages when your teacher isn’t looking, complaining about the other classes you don’t share with each other, and finding yourselves at one or the other’s house to work on your project or simply enjoy each other’s company. You’ll admit that the two of you don’t get much work done most days, instead filling the time with pointless conversations about nothing but mean everything. Hours with Paige feels like mere minutes and you don’t part until a parent texts about dinner and you have to go your separate ways.

She invites you out to one of her games. It’s on a Friday night, and at first, you want to decline, hearing Mack’s words swirl through your brain once more. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You don’t want to have to share Paige’s attention, which is a realization that shocks you to your core. It’s dangerously possessive and honestly, it flusters you a little. You’d never been so territorial over a friend’s time like you have been with Paige. Perhaps territorial isn’t even the right word. You have no claim over Paige, nor does she have any claim over you. You don’t like girls and you don’t like her in that way, even if that disjointed flutter in your chest makes you wonder otherwise. You don’t.

Paige seems to read your expression perfectly. That’s a new thing, too. You have been friends for less than a month, although it feels like you’ve known her forever. You know her favorite color, the women she grew up idolizing, the larger-than-life dreams that you know she’s going to make come true because Paige is nothing if not a girl who works hard and believes in herself. You know the messier parts of Paige, her parent’s divorce, her unyielding faith, and the uncharacteristically insecure “I like girls. Does that change anything with us?” that she’d whispered over the phone one night (your heart had raced and you felt warmth creep up your cheeks; you didn’t know what that meant, but you wholeheartedly meant it when you promised her that it wouldn’t change anything).

“You won’t even know I’m there,” you say to Paige, referring back to the game, and her brows furrow in a stupefied confusion. “Are you, like, aware of how many people go to your games?”

Paige rolls her eyes, but the action lacks any real heat as a smile spreads across her face, slow and insufferable in that way only Paige is capable of. “If you’re in the stands, I’m not gonna care about anyone else,” she promises, which makes your heart skip a beat. “I want you there.”

You didn’t really need much convincing after that, so on Friday night, you find yourself in the student section. You’re not even sure who the Royals are playing – probably a district rival – but the one thing you’re sure of is that Paige oozes with confidence, an easy grin on her face as she warms up on the court. She’s chatting with one of her teammates, although her eyes scan the gym imperceptibly. Then, her eyes are sliding across your figure, taking in your – her – Hopkins basketball hoodie that she forced you to wear, showcasing her last name and her number on the back of it, and her grin softens as she waves at you.

That night, Paige plays like she has a point to prove. She’s unguardable from the three-point line, demanding in the paint like she’s prime Lebron James, and she slices through the other teams defense seamlessly as she makes near impossible passes to her wide open teammates. Paige is full of energy, a searing combination of adrenaline and pure love for the game, but the trait that truly captures your attention is the unfiltered cockiness. Off the court, Paige is humble, although you’re still trying to figure out if that’s truly who she is or if it’s her protecting herself from all of the eyes that are on her constantly. But on the court? Paige plays like she’s the best player in the state (which she is) and she plays like she knows she’s the best player in the state (she knows she is). The only word that comes to mind is menace. Paige isn’t a dick, but when she sinks a three, she throws up three fingers as she back pedals for defense. When she landed an impossible buzzer beater to send off the first half, she’d glanced down at her arm, tapping on her wrist as if she were wearing a watch. Then, late in the third quarter, when she stole the ball from an opposing player and took it across the court for the easiest layup of her life and stole the ball again when the other team was trying to inbound it (she scored on that one, too), her celebration was directed at you. She pointed at you in the crowd, a grin on her face and pride in her eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her, shaking your head as the warmth spread through your body.

Seeing Paige play in person is like seeing her in a different light, and honestly, you feel like you know her a little better now. You feel more drawn to her. She offers to walk you home after the game. At first, you want to decline. She just played out of her mind and lead her team to a blowout win against whoever the fuck and your mom is just a call away. Paige insists, reminding you that your houses really aren’t that far apart, and you suppose you can’t really argue against that one.

She keeps you entertained the entire walk back, cracking jokes and recounting some of her favorite plays from the game, and when her knuckles brush against yours as she rambles, you find that you really don’t mind that spark of electricity that runs up your spine at the contact. She tests the waters, pressing closer and closer until finally, she links her pinky with yours under the streetlight; you smile at her, something that’s simultaneously soft and welcoming and laced with the sudden realization about yourself that you’d been putting off the entire time you’d known Paige. You liked her. She glances over at you, mid sentence with a content smile on her face. When she registers the fact that you’ve been staring at her, she stutters, fumbling over her words, and you can’t help your laughter as she blushes bright pink.

It should probably scare you a lot more than it does. Liking a girl is scary and daunting but liking Paige, your best friend, feels like something new entirely. You remember Mack’s words again. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. As quickly as they’d popped into your brain, you push them to the back of your mind. Mack doesn’t know Paige like you. That much you’re sure of. And if you get hurt in the process of trying to live and experience things for the first time and giving your heart out to someone, then so be it; you were used to it by now, but the gentleness of Paige’s gaze under the moonlight feels like she’s promising that she wouldn’t hurt you.

The two of you pause at your doorstep. You can hear the gentle thrum of crickets, the drag of the wind across grass and leaves. Paige stands tall over you, her expression soft as she gazes down at you with what seems like a flicker of hope – for what, you’re not sure. The air between you feels charged, electric, like you’re opposite ends of a magnet and it’s only a matter of time before you fall into each other entirely.

“So,” she murmurs, cocking a wry smile at you. The usual sharp edges of her confidence has rounded out, enveloping you both in a sort of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the most confusing and best way possible.

“So,” you agree, drawing a quiet huff of laughter from Paige, who runs the flat of her palm across her jaw, contemplative. You give her the space to find her words – she’s done the same for you many times; she was usually the talker between the two of you, but you’ve come to find that she’s an amazing listener, too. A beat passes and she doesn’t say anything, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and that’s when you decide to step in. “You played great tonight,” you admit.

Paige blinks, as if she’d forgotten all about the basketball game she spent your entire walk home rambling about. Her brows relax, her smile turning bashful, and you can clearly see the humble pride in her eyes, illuminated by porchlight. “You were there,” she says. “Had to show out.” You roll your eyes fondly, your heart thundering in your chest. “Does this mean you’ll come to more of my games?”

You pause, pretending to think about it, but you’re sure the smile on your face gives you away as you respond, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Paige sighs, playfully exasperated, and you give in easily. “I’ll be there. I had to make sure you were actually good at this basketball thing.”

“My biggest cheerleader,” she mumbles dryly. The sheer excitement and relief on her face betrays her words and her tone and you can��t help but laugh.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you say. Your voice is hardly a whisper, but it seems to echo in this little bubble of space that the two of you have created.

“I – yeah, I mean, of course,” Paige stammers. She clears her throat, exhaling a long, deep breath, and you’re certain the fondness shows on your face as you stare at her. Paige quirks a smile, slightly embarrassed. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not!” you exclaim, laughing for real now, which just makes Paige dissolve into laughter of her own. Soon enough, your giggles die down, and you’re both staring at each other with soft, captured smiles. The awkwardness of the moment melts away into something lighter; briefly, you wonder if she’d been standing this close the entire time – you can feel the warmth of her body as she stands mere inches away from you. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move, and neither do you. You don’t shy away when her fingers tentatively brush across your waist, her body eclipsing yours, and the both of you are slowly inching towards each other, breaths mingling when your front door bursts open and your little brother pops his head out with a shout of your name. You and Paige scramble away from each other, feeling like you’ve been caught red-handed.

“Get inside!” you hiss at your little brother, not awaiting his response as you push him back inside, closing the door and leaning against it. Part of you feels like crawling into a hole and never coming out of it. Your gaze returns to Paige, who’s staring at you with a mix of amusement, embarrassment, and a whole lot of affection. You sigh, feeling both resigned and like you’d been cheated out of something, and you press your forehead into the door to curb the awkwardness. “Sorry,” you say, knowing full well why you’re apologizing but also understanding that acknowledging the need to apologize is the same as acknowledging the fact that you and Paige were about to do something that would drastically change the course of your friendship.

“S’okay,” Paige says earnestly. You lift your head to meet her gaze, hoping that she’s not just saying it to make you feel better about yourself, but you find nothing but honesty in her features. Her hand brushes against yours once more, a gentle smile on her face. “I’ll text you when I’m home, yeah?”

You nod, exhaling again, mustering up a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes due to the overwhelming embarrassment. “Yeah. Night, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she says again, her expression soft, and this time, she does leave, her hands buried in her pockets. You swear she glances back at you but it’s too dark to tell for sure. Tentatively, you make your way inside, unwilling to meet your brother’s eyes. It’s not until you’re getting changed for bed that you realize you’re still wearing the hoodie she’d given to you.

You pull it off slowly, carefully, like it’s a prized possession. To you, it may as well be. After what transpired on your front porch only moments ago – or what almost transpired on your front porch, the fact that you’re in possession of her hoodie feels strangely intimate to you. It feels right, too, which is probably more concerning, but you don’t have time to dwell on it as your phone lights up with a message from Paige, then another one. Both texts are simple with the first one reading “Home” and the second one bidding you one last goodnight with a heart emoji. You respond in kind, and when your eyes find her hoodie again, you can’t help the fond, lingering smile that spreads across your face.

You and Paige don’t talk about the almost-kiss on your front porch the morning after. You don’t talk about it the day after that, or on Monday morning when she meets you in the parking lot at school. In fact, the both of you pretend like it didn’t happen at all. It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You start to wonder if it even happened at all – if it wasn’t for your brain conjuring images of Paige so close to you, her hand splayed on your waist, you would be sure that you had imagined it.

So, while the two of you don’t talk about it, you do a lot of thinking about it, probably enough for the both of you. You have a lot of new things to consider, such as the fact you almost kissed your best friend (and the fact that you wanted to kiss your best friend), the fact that you have feelings for your best friend, and the fact that you have feelings for your best friend who is a girl. There’s nothing wrong with girls liking girls. That wasn’t your concern. The situation as a whole is just new and unexpected and you don’t have a lot of the answers you’ve been searching for – like do you even like like girls or do you just like like Paige? Do you only like girls or do you like boys, too? You and Logan were thirteen. You’re not much older now, but at that age, it’s difficult to determine if you actually liked anyone in a sense that wasn’t completely platonic or if you were just trying to pretend that you did so you could fit in with everyone else.

You’re fine with the sexuality crisis – for now. You have bigger things to worry about, like being attracted to your best friend. You were no expert by any means, but you were smart enough to know that having feelings for your best friend was generally a pretty terrible idea. For starters, you’re not even sure if Paige likes you back. You’re sure that she’d be cool enough to remain your friend after rejecting you, but you’re not sure if you’d be able to handle the embarrassment of going from friends to extremely awkward friends. On the other hand, there is a chance she wouldn’t want to associate with you, either. The one thing you’re certain of is that you could not handle losing Paige – as a friend or otherwise. In essence, you’re stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

The more that you think about your predicament, the more you realize. A week later, you’re overthinking yours and Paige’s most recent hangout. You’d gone over to her house to “work on the project,” but that had actually turned into Paige flopping onto her bed dramatically and complaining about being sore from practice. Somehow, that meant she wouldn’t be able to contribute, and somehow, that meant the two of you would just have to binge the entire High School Musical series. You spent hours curled into Paige’s side on her bed, her hand tracing patterns onto your shoulder as the movie played on, but you didn’t really pay any mind to Travis or Danielle or whoever the main characters were. Paige was intoxicating, casual in the way she held you, and you sat through the entire movie keenly aware of the way her body pressed into yours and the scent of her cologne on her neck – but you’re getting off track. A new fear about your situation has manifested and despite Paige being the one initially worried that her liking girls would make things uncomfortable for the two of you, you’re now the one wondering if your sexuality is a reason for discomfort.

You worry that you’re the one taking advantage of your friendship. Are you overstepping friendship boundaries just because you’re incredibly close with Paige, or is there a subconscious belief that just because Paige likes girls, too, that means you can invade her personal space like they don’t matter? You worry that you’re making her uncomfortable and she’s just too polite to say anything about it. However, you also understand the fact that just because Paige likes girls doesn’t mean she likes you. That’s simultaneously a source of relief and dread. Relief because honestly, nothing has to change between the two of you. Dread because as time goes on, your feelings for Paige only get stronger, and you’d really like it if she liked you, too.

You decide to put your impending mental breakdown on the back burner. You have actual problems to worry about now, such as the due date of your project that’s quickly closing in. Your literature teacher was usually pretty lenient, but the project was still worth a huge chunk of your grade and you’re sure Paige would kill you herself if receiving a bad score on the project meant she wouldn’t be academically eligible to play basketball. The two of you make a conscious effort to lock in during the last week of the project, a little crunched for time as you’d spent so much of your “project time” talking for hours and watching movies. Granted, Paige ends up shouldering a lot more of the work as time passes on although you do your best to help out in between daydreams about her hand on your waist again.

On Thursday, the night before the project is due and two days before winter break, things seem to reach their tipping point.

You and Paige are basically finished with the project – you were proofreading and scanning your PowerPoint for academic content and ensuring your sentences made any bit of sense. Paige was pressed into your side, “quality checking the designs” as she’d said, but you just thought she was full of shit. She’s unnaturally quiet as the two of you work, until she shifts, her legs stretching out next to yours. “Think the only thing this project’s taught me is that this book is depressing as shit,” she says to you once you click over to the slide titled Gatsby and Daisy: Doomed by Time.

You hum, glancing over at her. She’s swamped in an oversized hoodie but looks impossibly comfortable as she reclines on your bed. “Alright,” you say, “I’ll bite. Why?”

She flips onto her side, explaining, “Literally everything was working against them. Time, society, people. Gatsby and Daisy were the epitome of right person, wrong time and there was nothin’ they could do to, like, get around that, you know? He went off to war, she got married, and he missed his shot ‘cause time keeps movin’. Daisy chose stability over love – Tom’s rich and can provide for her. But Gatsby was rich too. I’on get it.”

“Well,” you murmur, “wealth is not usually a good replacement for actual love.”

“You don’t think Gatsby loved Daisy?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t love her. I’m saying he doesn’t love the version of Daisy that actually exists,” you explain. Paige gazes at you, a furrow in her brow like she’s realizing something new — about you, about herself, you can’t be sure. “He’s so obsessed with this idealized version of her from way back when and he just doesn’t understand that’s not really who she is anymore. I feel like that’s kinda the point of the green light, too.” As you think about your next words, your voice drops to a near whisper, your throat tightening with a sudden, unrestrained emotion that you can’t quite keep at bay. You meet her eyes, your stare unwavering, hoping that she can read between the lines. “Physically, the light is far away, right? It’s out of reach. But also – it’s a light. It’s impossible to hold. It’s a lesson about the impossibility of desire, that some dreams cost too much.”

Paige is quiet for a few beats, her eyes searching yours. You have always been intentional with your words. That was one of the things she knew to be true about you. Now, she seems to fully recognize your words for what they are — a confession for what you’re otherwise too afraid to say out loud. You’ve given her an out. She could sit here and wax poetic about the same topics and themes you’ve been debating over the last two months, about whether or not Gatsby truly loved Daisy, if the feelings Daisy had for Gatsby were worth giving up her life of comfort and peace, if Gatsby were worth it. Her hand brushes your waist again, her fingertips light against the skin of your navel where your sweatshirt has ridden up, and the jolt of electricity that courses through your veins reminds you of just how risky this whole thing was. You’ve all but given Paige your heart on a silver platter, perhaps too foolish or naive in the way you always search for more, more, more. Maybe you’re asking her for too much. You know she’s leaving Hopkins the first chance she gets. All of that is pushed to the back of your mind when her gaze traces your figure. 

Finally, she speaks. “I don’t think it’s too far away,” she says, understanding exactly what you were trying to say. “Not for you.” Her words ease the tension in your shoulders, her thumb brushing against your skin reassuringly. Her voice is firm, full of conviction, like she’s never been more sure of anything else before. She pauses, your eyes locked together, and her features soften ever so slightly. “Not for us.”

You quirk a small, relieved smile, relishing in the way Paige’s face relaxes, too. “You don’t think it’s impossible?” You don’t say the quiet part out loud – the “You don’t think we’re impossible?”

But Paige knows you. You’ve given more to her  than you’ve ever given to anyone in the past, friend or otherwise, and she doesn’t hesitate. “No.” Her hand settles fully on your waist now, squeezing you gently. “And even if it was… you’re worth it.” She smiles softly, her expression vulnerable and trusting despite the fact that she’s opening herself up to get hurt, too. You’re beginning to realize that the chance of getting hurt is just a risk everyone takes.

You can’t help the entire way your face softens at her confession. You realize that subconsciously, she’d said the very words you’d been hoping to hear for some time now although you never had the vocabulary to tell yourself that – that you never had the vocabulary to tell her that. But you watch the way she studies you, the way she swallows her nerves, and you begin to understand that maybe she doesn’t have the vocabulary, either, but she’s trying her best regardless. This is something that the both of you are doing for the first time; granted, you had one previous relationship, but this new thing between you and Paige feels a whole lot different. She’s the first person you think you actually consciously had feelings for, the first girl, and despite your relief and excitement, that reminder is enough to make you clam up.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly, and you pull your laptop between the two of you. “Well, we should probably get this finished,” you say with the grace of an elephant tromping through weeds. You click over to the next slide. “Does this look fine to you?”

Paige goes oddly silent, her brows furrowing in confusion and disbelief. “Uh, what?” she says.

“I said does this–”

“No, I heard you,” Paige interrupts. When you don’t meet her eyes, she sighs, exasperated, and closes the lid on your laptop, pushing it to the foot of your bed despite your protests. Then, her hand is sliding around your waist again, resting on the small of your back and pulling you onto your side so you come face to face. Your mouth clamps shut; the heat of Paige’s gaze feels like it’s enough to pick you apart, to melt you entirely, and you know well enough by now that you’re not getting out of this conversation without explaining yourself to her. “Why’d you freak out?” Paige’s voice softens, tinged with an anxious embarrassment as she adds, “I thought we — did I say too much? Do you not…?”

Instantly, you feel guilt all over. You didn’t realize how bad the situation sounded before now, with you changing the topic uncomfortably after Paige basically told you she liked you. “No, I—” You falter, your words failing you, but Paige stares at you with a hopeful patience. “I’ve never… done this before,” you confess. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever liked.”

Realization dawns on Paige’s face. “Oh,” she says, a mixture of relief and understanding lacing her tone. 

“Yeah,” you agree, a vulnerable smile quirking on your lips. “It’s new. A little scary. I really like you but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“S’okay,” Paige murmurs. Her hand finds yours. “I really like you, too. We can figure it out together.” Her breath catches, eyes widening just a bit. “I mean, if that’s somethin’ you’d want. No pressure.”

You laugh, eyes twinkling as Paige’s cheeks flush pink. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you tease her. 

Paige huffs, flopping dramatically onto her other side and putting her back to you. “Goodbye!” 

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your cheeks but you do stop laughing. You reach out, resting your hand tentatively over her bicep as you hook your chin over her shoulder. “Hey, come on,” you say. “I can’t be the only one who has to be vulnerable.” You can nearly visualize Paige’s eye roll, but she does shift again, meeting your eyes. “I’d like that. Figuring this out with you, I mean.”

Her eyes light up, a slow smile dragging across her face. You don’t even think she’s consciously aware of how happy she looks. “You’re for real?”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Yes, Paige, I’m for real.”

“Good,” she states, beaming.

“Now can we finish our project?”

Paige groans dramatically, rolling over again until she’s sprawled out over you. She hitches one of her obnoxiously long legs across yours, looping an arm around your waist and making herself at home like she’s done this hundreds of times. You can’t stop the flutter in your chest, smiling despite yourself. “Do we gotta?”

“Do you gotta pass AP Lit?” you retort. 

That prompts a sigh from Paige, who untangles herself from you to reach for the laptop she’d pushed haphazardly to the foot of the bed. You miss her warmth immediately, but she’s not gone for long before she’s leaning back against your headboard, your thighs pressed together. She doesn’t make any move to turn it back on, her eyes finding yours instead. You look at her curiously.

“I just want you to know I’m serious about this,” she says honestly, taking you by surprise. “About us.” You soften. “I know a lot of people have hurt you. I’on wanna be one of them. You’re my best friend, you know? I care about you. So…let’s take this slow for now, lemme know how you’re feelin’, yeah?”

You nod, smiling gently and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Same goes for you,” you say, leaning into her a little. She presses herself into your body, her chin brushing against your temple as she nods her head. 

“Promise,” she murmurs. 

And with that vow lingering in the air, the two of you share private, almost starstruck grins and get back to work. Once you finally call it quits fifteen minutes later and you submit your project, Paige is all too content to push your laptop to the side again as she wraps an arm around you fully and begins her scroll through Netflix despite the fact that you know the two of you will be watching High School Musical sooner rather than later. You grin to yourself when she does eventually put it on, not fighting the way your cheeks burn when she absentmindedly plays with your fingers or the way your heart races when she shifts to get comfortable, your legs tangling together. 

As you watch the movie, Paige’s words circulate on repeat in your brain. A lot of people have hurt you. I don’t want to be one of them. You know better than anyone that getting hurt is just another part of life. Despite yourself, you can’t help but believe her, confident that no matter what, your heart will be safe in her hands. You don’t think much of Mack’s warning, of Paige’s celebrity, of just how young the two of you are to be making these kinds of promises. You’re not thinking of the future at all. Your happiness clouds your judgement, and whether you realize it or not, you and Paige are operating on borrowed time. 

Things with Paige are great. Scratch that, they’re nothing short of amazing. The two of you spend the entirety of winter break attached at the hip, splitting your time between your house where you drink copious amounts of hot chocolate and binge silly Christmas movies and her house where you and Drew, her little brother, gang up on her in snowball fights. She whines about the fact it’s two on one, but you point out the fact she’s got an arm like a quarterback and it’s only fair. She only really understands what you mean by that when she launches a snowball at you hard enough to bruise your side, which cuts your snow day short. Paige apologizes profusely, much to your amusement, and she insists on “nursing you back to health” which, in retrospect, seems to have been a clever ploy to get you away from her family and into her arms in the comfort of her room — not that you really needed much convincing for that. 

Sometimes, your days are spent in the park, when Paige gets too restless being inside and wants to play basketball. The two of you shovel away enough snow to reveal the three point line and you rebound for Paige as she shoots. She only manages to get a couple of shots in before her hands get too cold and she starts complaining that the only way to warm them back up is if you’ll hold them. You oblige, you always do, endlessly endeared by her (mostly because you can always spot her gloves hanging out of her back pocket).

The park becomes a place of comfort for the two of you. It’s late December in Minnesota so you almost always have the park to yourselves. You’re able to talk freely without either of your annoying little brothers constantly barging in or worrying about your parents catching you. Paige is out to her family and the Bueckers support her wholeheartedly. You’re not out to your parents yet. You know they wouldn’t particularly mind, either; if anything, they’d probably just implement a really strict open door policy, but it’s still all really new to you. You like Paige. A lot. You fall for her more and more everyday. She’s goofy, sweet (even when she’s teasing you or getting on your nerves), confident, and she always knows how to make you laugh. She’s attentive and she listens. Liking Paige is something you’ve accepted, but you can’t help but be scared of the fact that you don’t really know anything about yourself. 

You can’t figure out if you like girls or if you just like Paige. You can’t look at anyone that’s not her and before her, you’d never even looked twice at another girl. Sure, you always averted your eyes when you passed Victoria’s Secret in the mall and you were really obsessed with Shego from Kim Possible and Starfire from Teen Titans, which could mean nothing. You can’t figure out if you like boys, either, if Logan was a one time thing or if you’d just confused yourself because you wanted to fit in. You don’t know if you’re a lesbian, or if you’re bisexual, something in between or nothing at all. You should be fine with knowing that you like Paige. People always say you don’t have to label it, but labeling means that you know and that it’s real and you can’t help but think that because you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re doing it wrong or you’re just faking it all.

So you don’t tell your parents. You’re still trying to make sense of it all and you tell Paige as much, honestly a little fearful of her rejection. Part of you feels like you’re leading her on because you can’t give her a straight (no pun intended) answer.

“You don’t gotta have it figured out right now,” she tells you a few days after Christmas. The two of you are back in the park, savoring the peace in the emptiness as you sit side by side on the swings, swaying gently.

You groan a little. “I hate when people say that,” you respond. “I feel like I should know.”

Her eyes find you, warm and patient despite the chill and the fact you’ve been going back and forth on this for days now with you stressing out and Paige being endlessly reassuring about it. “Maybe you do know and you just can’t, like, put it into words?” she offers, drawing your attention. “Sexuality is a spectrum. It doesn’t have to be difficult. You don’t gotta look back on your life for evidence to prove it or whatever. Just be you.”

You fall silent, her words hitting home, and you hate the fact that you’ve been losing your mind over this and all it really took to find some clarity was a conversation with Paige on a swing. Maybe she was right. She usually is about things like this. But you can’t help but feel like you’re missing something. You were the type of person who needed a reason or an explanation for everything. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you rush out, barely registering the raise of Paige’s eyebrows. “I know we said slow. I can do that. But I really like you, like really really like you, and that’s all I’m certain of. I don’t know everything else and I feel like I should because you know everything else—”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, but you keep rambling.

“—but I like you. You’re sweet and you’re kind and you understand me when I don’t understand myself. You always make me feel secure and I hate that this is so confusing!”

Her gloved hand slides into your hoodie pocket. Her fingers tangle with yours, calming a tremor you hadn’t realized you were harboring. She murmurs your name, pulling your gaze to hers, and she squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” she instructs. You do, calming the incessant thrum of your heart. “There we go.” When you’re feeling a little more stable, she continues. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I don’t wanna mess up with you,” you confess, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders when it’s out.

“You won’t,” she promises. “We agreed we’d figure it out, remember? And even if you do mess up, it’s not gonna change how I feel about you. I like you, like really really like you.” This makes you laugh, your breath steaming in the air. “That’s what matters. You like me. I like you. You don’t need to explain why you feel a way and you can’t fake how you feel. I know you.” The expression on Paige’s face is unbelievably fond and you can’t help yourself when you smile, your cheeks heating up. “See?” Paige says with a grin, poking your cheek. “Can’t fake that blush, ma.”

“You’re impossible,” you huff, pushing her hand away, unable to curb your grin. But your rejection does little to stop Paige. Her hands find your sides, tickling you, and you immediately begin squirming in the midst of your giggles. “Paige! You are so annoying—!”

You lose your balance on the swing and you fall off, tumbling safely to the bed of snow beneath you with a slight oof sound. Paige follows you down, the both of you smiling as you try to catch your breaths. She wipes a tear off your cheek that had slipped out in your fits of laughter and it’s only then that you register your position. She’s straddling you, the beanie on her head lopsided from your scuffle, but the joy on her face is radiant despite the blush on her cheeks — whether it’s from the cold or her feelings for you, you don’t know, and when her hand lingers on her cheek, her expression softening, you find that you don’t care. “Paige,” you murmur. You feel your heart slamming against your ribcage, but for different reasons now. 

“Can I kiss you?” she blurts. Judging by the way her face contorts, it seems that she hadn’t expected to say that out loud, but you’re nodding, hands reaching up to grip the collar of her coat and you bring her down to your level. 

When your lips meet, you feel warm all over, like you’re not laying in the snow with Paige’s legs bracketing your thighs. It’s tentative, uncoordinated, and it’s clear that neither of you really know what you’re doing, but it’s your first kiss and it’s with Paige and it’s nothing short of perfect. Your lips move against hers slowly, her hands gentle on your cheeks. Your grip on her coat loosens, wrapping around her neck and pulling her a little closer to you. Her nose brushes against yours and you gasp from the chill of it, which causes her to sigh against you. You’re not really sure who’s leading, but for once, your brain is blissfully quiet; your heart pounds, feeling nothing but a nervous excitement and unfiltered adoration.

You break away for air. Your breaths mingle, clouds of steam fogging between you two and Paige grins down at you, her expression full of fondness and something electric that makes you want to drag her back down again. So you do, your hands a little more insistent this time, and she responds eagerly. Despite the intensity, Paige is unbelievably gentle and each and every press of her lips against yours is sweet. And it’s corny, but your brain feels a little clearer after having Paige’s lips on yours, like you no longer have to search for answers. Like she’s the answer.

She pulls away, her forehead against yours, and you press a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her eyes open slowly, a blush and a smile simultaneously appearing on her face in response. “What was that for?” she asks.

You smile, shrugging a little in response. “It felt right,” you respond, which only seems to make her smile grow. “Someone once told me I don’t always have to have an explanation.”

Paige huffs out a quiet laugh, her eyes crinkling in amusement and fondness. “They sound really smart,” she jokes. 

Your hand finds her cheek, your thumb stroking her dimple. “She is,” you say seriously. Paige’s expression softens, leaning into your touch. “She’s the best person I know.”

“I bet she thinks the same about you,” Paige whispers. 

Despite yourself, you grin, connecting your lips again. The chill nips at your cheeks but the weight of Paige on top of you grounds you, her warmth stabilizing and comforting, and you know in your heart that you’re doing something right.

New Year’s comes and goes and before you know it, school is starting back up in January. Between you and Paige, a lot of things stay the same. She still drives you to school in the morning, often stopping by Dunkin’ and buying you your favorite coffee. On days she doesn’t have practice, she’ll either drive you home or take you to her place where you either work on homework together (although you don’t get much done, most of the time) or binge television together. Paige has you invested in Grey’s Anatomy now, but the two of you have promised to not watch it without the other.

On the other hand, some things do change. Paige walks you to all of your classes now, even when hers aren’t anywhere near yours. Arguing with her was useless, so you learned to suck it up. She kisses you in the empty hallways, something chaste and sweet and sneaky that leaves you wanting more – that was a new thing. Before her, you never realized how nice kissing can be. You’re sure it’s mostly because you’re super into her regardless, but there’s also something about the casual intimacy that you fall for each and every time. She’s gentle and considerate and you’re just so hopelessly attracted to her that you really should have known that kissing her for the first time would alter your brain chemistry. For now, the two of you are content to appreciate the peace and the privacy that you have. Neither of you tell your friends or your family, though you’re sure Mack and Serena are starting to have their suspicions. They’ve asked you a few times, and while you’re not a very good liar, they seem to accept your rejections as they are and they don’t push any further.

Although you do have one, teensy-tiny problem. Paige hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about that, but there is a lingering nervousness and you’re a little hesitant to ask her about it without sounding obsessive or clingy or insecure. In mid-December, you established that you liked each other, although neither of you really did much about that until you kissed in late-December after Christmas. Did kissing her mean the two of you were dating now? Since then, the two of you have kissed a lot. It reminds you of the scene from Glee where Brittany says, ‘Sex isn’t dating. If it was, Santana and I would be dating,’ and granted, while having sex and just kissing are two different things, you’re starting to feel a little worried by the fact that you and Paige are conventionally girlfriends but not technically.

You convince yourself that maybe you and Paige were just being mature about it. High school relationships have almost redefined what dating actually means. You can’t just ask someone to be your boyfriend or girlfriend and then start the ‘dating period’ per se. You should probably do the ‘dating period’ first and then make it official once you’ve figured out if you’re compatible. You and Paige, however, have been friends for a little over three months, been in this weird ‘dating’ phase for a little less than one month of that time, and by now you’re pretty certain that you and Paige are very compatible. She’s your best friend. But you really want to make it official with her. You’re just not sure how or if she’s on the same page yet.

Making it official with Paige also means making it official to your parents. That thought doesn’t intimidate you as much as it used to. You’re a lot more comfortable in your sexuality now. You’re pretty much head over heels for Paige, you like girls, and you couldn’t care less about boys. Whether that makes you a lesbian or Paige-sexual as Paige had cracked herself up calling it is a discussion for another day. You’re secure in the fact that Paige’s parents aren’t going to care, that your parents won’t mind, either, and that your classmates are worried more about themselves than whoever you of all people are dating. Being out just means you don’t have to stress about sneaking around or if someone’s going to walk into the girl’s bathroom when you’re making out with Paige. Not that you make out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, because that would just be kind of insane. But hypothetically if you were making out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, then you wouldn’t have to be scared of getting caught by a classmate. Hypothetically.

The first Friday night home game after winter break is one that you were looking forward to. You knew the Royals were playing a weaker team, so you were excited to see Paige show out, especially after getting to witness first-hand a lot of the effort she’d put into honing her skills over the break. She gave you a ride to school, forced you into her hoodie (yes, the one with her jersey number and her last name on the back and yes, you didn’t really need to be convinced, but you really liked the warmth of her hands on your skin as she helped you into it), and kissed you over the center console of her stepmom’s SUV. It was enough to short circuit your brain. You didn’t need to see her expression to know the reaction she’d elicited from you had made her incredibly smug, but you could visualize it all the same as she made her way to the locker room with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Paige Bueckers was going to be the death of you. That much you were sure of.

She’s pure electricity that night. You knew the game was going to be a blowout, but this was next level. If you weren’t so distracted by Paige and the way she was slicing through their defense, you would probably feel bad for the other team. She was putting up insane numbers – 15 points in the first quarter alone, six assists – but she was doing her thing on defense, too. She was clamping the offense, forcing their shots to bounce harmlessly off the rim, and late in the second quarter, she even had a clean block that ricocheted off of the offense and awarded the Royals with the ball. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. Judging by the glances she’d shoot your way anytime they’d line up for free throws, you’re positive that she knew of your evident distraction, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be ashamed by it. Watching Paige play was a source of pride for you. She was so good at it and she works so hard everyday to show up and show out. It honestly makes you a little emotional in a good way. You’re just proud of her, of her successes. You admire her dedication and her love for the spot, the care she puts in day in and day out to be the best.

Once the game ends, you make your way out of the crowded gym and out to her mom’s SUV, starting the ignition and settling into the passenger seat. You knew that Paige would have a long line of people to greet and that she was adamant about showering before getting anywhere near you after a game. As much as you would love to see her and hang out right after, the both of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get in a word edgewise. This arrangement, however, did have its positives. The two of you cherished the time you got to spend alone without dozens of eyes on you and you appreciated being able to speak freely. You pull out your phone, scrolling through social media as you wait for Paige.

She doesn’t keep you waiting too long. You spot her walking your direction, bag slung over her shoulder again and her hair thrown up in a loose bun. She’s illuminated by the streetlight but you know well enough by now that the glow on her face is from the sweetness of the win. You smile, your heart thrumming a kind of anticipation that only Paige has ever been able to draw from you. She opens the driver’s side door, sliding in with a happy grin, and tosses her bag into the backseat before she’s leaning over the center console with a murmured greeting, planting an easy kiss on your cheek. You don’t fight the heat on your cheeks, your smile growing bigger when her hand finds yours.

“Good game, superstar,” you tease, relishing in the bashful smile that overtakes her face.

“Thank you,” she says. She gives your hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes finding yours. “There was a pretty girl in the stands. I had to show out for her.”

“Oh?” you ask, feigning curiosity. “Where is she? Not just anyone captures the Paige Bueckers’s eye.”

Paige grins at you again, mischievous and wicked and fond all at the same time. “She’s right where she needs to be,” she retorts, which makes your smile soften into something more tender. “You’re right, though. She’s not just anyone. She’s kind, and funny, and smart, and she’s got this heart of gold. And she’s got this smile that makes you weak in the knees and she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

“Get a grip,” you say, trying to regain your dignity and trying to ignore the blush on your cheeks to the best of your ability. Judging by the way Paige’s smile turns smug, you don’t think it’s working. “You know I like you. You don’t have to woo me.”

“I do,” Paige insists, finally giving you a moment of reprieve when she puts the vehicle in drive and begins making her way out of the parking lot. Once the two of you became friendly and you started showing up to more of her games, a trip out to Dairy Queen became your post-game tradition. She’d buy the two of you a blizzard and she’d park in a quiet, empty lot while you chatted for what felt like minutes but would quickly turn into hours. You know the night’s only over when your spoon hits the bottom of your cup and Paige starts losing her filter. Now, it’s something that you look forward to. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Romance is lifelong, baby. You don’t stop once you got the girl.”

You can’t stop your sudden laughter, amused by her antics. “You got the girl?”

She shoots you an indignant look. “Don’t play. You know I got it like that. I’m all romantical and shit.”

“Total lady killer,” you deadpan. “I’m swooning.”

“You will be,” she agrees. “You make fun of me now but you keep on comin’ back. You just can’t resist Paige Buckets.”

“Maybe I just feel bad for you.” Paige huffs at this, but a smile is quirking on her face. “And nobody calls you Paige Buckets.”

“I do,” she retorts. “Which makes it real. I think therefore I am. That’s Shakespeare.”

“It’s not – you know what? Sure,” you snort, knowing full well that the two of you will sit here for hours arguing about it. “Don’t quit basketball.”

Paige smirks at you as she pulls into the Dairy Queen drive-thru. “Never,” she affirms, only looking away from you when the speaker crackles to life. Paige rattles off your orders (knowing yours by heart, which doesn’t make you feel a little soft) and pulls forward when requested. You make light small talk while you wait for your ice creams and Paige pays – as always; you’d tried once and she confiscated your card until she dropped you off at your house. Then she’s driving off in search of the parking lot you always chill at, her ice cream in the cup holder, her hands firmly on the wheel and eyes on the road. You feed her bites of yours when she stops at red lights, the sheer domesticity of it all feeling so right.

When the vehicle is safely in park, she moves the seat back a few inches, stretching out her legs as one of her playlists echoes through the speakers, a mix of The Weeknd, Brent Faiyaz, and Bryson Tiller. The energy in the car, mellowed out and calmer, still sparks with a sort of electricity that always encompasses you and Paige. Her smiles feel a little looser, more purposeful, and her eyes linger on your face when she looks at you. You talk about everything and nothing, recounting the game and Paige’s insane plays, the homework you’ve neglected to make the most of this time with her, and the date she was taking you on tomorrow night. You’re both nearing the bottoms of your cups, spoons scraping against plastic, and with a soft smile, she offers you the last bite of hers. Her thumb swipes at your bottom lip to clean a bit of ice cream that had run astray. It makes your heart beat a little faster. Paige always had this uncanny ability to make you nervous, to make all of your neurons fire at the same time. You came to the realization long ago that you were hopelessly attracted to her, but it’s times like these that remind you of just how magnetic she is.

The two of you have been here for over an hour now. A glance at the clock tells you that it’s nearing midnight. It always surprises you how easy it is to pass time with Paige. You know that it’s time for the both of you to start making your way home, but Paige doesn’t make any move to shift the car into gear, and you honestly don’t want the moment to end either. You also know that Paige is reaching the end of her sensibilities, her laughs a little brighter and delirious, her fingers restless in how they twist the ring on your thumb.

“You okay?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something that’s keeping her here, if she needs you to drive home or if there’s something else weighing on her. She meets your eyes, a tender smile on her face, her expression soft and sleepy and enamored.

“I’m perfect,” she whispers. “Can we just…sit here a little longer?” The last part is even quieter, if that was at all possible, and you nod. Her fingers tangle with yours fully. And then she starts rambling. “‘M really glad Mr. Mattson partnered us up for that project,” she admits. “It brought me to you. I’on know if I woulda had the courage to talk to you otherwise.”

You giggle, a little in disbelief. “You, nervous?” you repeat. “No way.”

Paige nods emphatically, completely serious. “Yes way. You’re…you’re beautiful, you know that? Like scary beautiful. Like make a girl get super rich during Prohibition, build a mansion, and yearn for you from afar beautiful.”

She grins at you as you roll your eyes. “You are so full of it.”

“And yet,” she murmurs, her thumb rubbing soothing circles across your knuckles, “you put up with me, anyway.” You nod, conceding, and she continues. “Point is, you kinda make me nervous. In a good way. I just… I feel like I need to impress you and do right by you. Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is you make me be the best version of myself. And I, you know, I really like doing this with you.”

You smile softly and squeeze her hand. “I like doing this with you, too,” you admit, drawing a smile from Paige.

Then, she’s shifting in her seat, angling her body towards yours, and her face is pensive, like she’s debating with herself internally. You almost ask her if she’s okay but her next words steal the very breath from your lungs. “Will you be my girlfriend?” she says, and your jaw drops slightly, unsure if you’ve even heard her correctly. Then, she’s sighing, clearing her throat and trying again. “I mean, can I be your girlfriend?” The clarification does little to calm the thumping of your heart. The words get stuck in your throat, emotions swirling through you. Excitement. Relief. Anticipation. An overwhelming amount of affection. Paige seems to mistake your stunned silence for rejection because she starts rambling again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I had this whole thing planned out and it was supposed to be really romantic. I was gonna ask you at dinner tomorrow, like I already called the restaurant and I was gonna get you a slice of cheesecake because you hate the other kind of cake and it was gonna have the, you know, the question on it and I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you, and–”

You curl your fingers in the fabric of her hoodie and you pull her across the center console,  shutting her up with a kiss. She relaxes instantly, melting into your embrace as her hands find your hips, trying to minimize the space between your bodies. She breaks away, huffing because the center console is in her fucking way, and before you know it, she’s lifting you by your waist and drops you on her lap, kissing you again with a different kind of urgency that’s equal parts relief, gratitude, and so much unrestrained fondness. You wrap your arms around her neck, trying to angle your kiss so you can regain some control because her pace and intensity is honestly making you a little dizzy.

When you run out of air, you plant both of your hands on her chest, pulling away from her with considerable difficulty. You have to stop yourself from kissing her again because you know you’re not going to get another word out. You lean back, smiling when you take in the unmistakable shine in her eyes, the dopey grin on her lips. Your noses brush when you finally respond with a simple, “Yes.”

“Yeah?” she repeats, her arms looping around your waist to hold you a little closer to her body. She looks up at you, her happiness evident, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning in to plant one more lingering kiss to her mouth, humming an affirmative. “Knew you’d say yes. I’m irresistible.”

You pull away from her to laugh in disbelief. “Okay, I see how you’re forgetting the whole ‘I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you’ business. Which, by the way, I wanna see, but you’re so lucky you’re cute because you’re kind of a loser.”

“Loser?” she exclaims, indignant. “Nah, that’s actually crazy!”

“No! Like, you’re this badass athlete and you just dropped like 40 points–”

“43,” she cuts in.

“–40 points tonight and you’re over here nervous about asking me to be your girlfriend–”

“I wanted it to be perfect! It was gonna be perfect but you looked so pretty and I couldn’t wait!”

“Babe,” you say, laughing under your breath, your expression fond as you cup her cheeks, drawing her eyes up to yours. “It’s perfect because it’s us, okay? Us, cramped in your mom’s Honda Pilot, our half melted Dairy Queen and your freaky ass R&B.”

“S’not freaky,” she huffs, but you don’t pay her any mind.

“This was perfect,” you reiterate, your voice softening. Paige exhales under you, taking your words to heart. “Being with you is perfect. But is the cheesecake still on the table for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Paige says, a furrow in her brow. “Just pretend to be surprised when it comes out.” You hum against her again, kissing her cheek, and she squeezes your waist a little, her voice suddenly a lot more nervous. “Uh, what does this mean for us? I mean…like our parents?”

You’re surprised by how calm you are by the question. You play with the stray hairs at the back of her neck, shrugging an unbothered shoulder. “You wanna tell them?” you ask her.

“I wanna do what you want,” she deflects.

“I want you to answer my question,” you retort.

Paige rolls her eyes, amused. “I would…like to be out. With them, at least. I’on wanna hide forever…but I know this is still kinda new for you. And we don’t have to do nothin’ serious at school, either. Seriously. Whatever you want.” Her hands are warm as they slip under your – her – hoodie, and the touch makes you feel more grounded.

“We can tell them tomorrow?” you offer, hesitant, but when Paige’s face lights up, you know you’ve made the right choice. “As for school, I think I wanna enjoy this while it’s still ours, you know? Just us. I wouldn’t mind being public eventually but I do mind the attention. I guess what I mean is we can be out but I don’t want everyone in our business.”

“Private, not a secret?” she asks, and you nod, relieved because she understands exactly what you were trying to say. “That works for me. And we can tell our parents tomorrow before we go out? Together?”

“Together,” you confirm, a smile lighting up your features.

She leans in to kiss you again, her own smile growing against your lips. Her nose brushes yours when she draws back enough to speak. “Just want you,” she promises. “Nothing else matters to me. Other people, the internet, nothing. Just lemme know how you’re feeling and we’ll handle it, okay?”

“Promise,” you swear. Paige grins at you again, drawing you in for a hug. You sit there in her arms for a while before you find your way back to the passenger seat and she drives the two of you back home.

She bids you a goodnight in the car, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before you stand on your porch to unlock the door. She doesn’t drive off until you’re safely inside. When you’re finally in your room, you don’t take the hoodie off, comforted by Paige’s scent encompassing you, and you fall asleep with an unshakable happiness in your heart and a smile on your face.

(The next day, you and Paige tell your parents, officially. You start with the Bueckers’ first and it goes as well as you were expecting. You and your girlfriend sat them down, explaining, we’re dating and we’re very happy. Moe gave the two of you comforting smiles, but Bob cleared his throat and admitted, “Uh…yeah, we saw you kiss on the Ring doorbell.” You wanted to crawl into a hole and die, to be honest, but Moe and Bob pulled the both of you into hugs and promised that as long as you and Paige were safe and happy, then they were happy for you.

Then, it was time for your family, and you were a little nervous. Granted, they had no idea that you liked girls, let alone would date one. Their reaction was basically the same as the Bueckers’, informing you that they had their suspicions since you and Paige were glued at the hip and that your little brother told them that he was pretty sure he almost saw the two of you kiss almost a month and a half ago. That was objectively worse than the Bueckers’ catching you on the ring doorbell. You were correct in assuming they’d make you keep your door open when Paige is over. And judging by the slightly horrified expression on Paige’s face when your dad finishes talking to her in private, you’re pretty sure he gave her the shovel talk of the century.

And, just so it’s absolutely clear, the date that Paige takes you on that evening is the best date you’ve ever been on – so far. She brings you flowers, pulls your chair out for you, and enchants you all night long with easy conversation. When the waitress brings out your slice of cheesecake with Will you be my girlfriend? written in strawberry puree, you sell your surprise and performance so well that the waitress brings out a second slice, chocolate flavored just for Paige. You’re sure that the night couldn’t get any better, but before she drops you off at home, she reads that damn letter to you and you can’t stop the happy tears. She kisses you goodnight, her expression adoring, and you know that you have the best girlfriend in the world.)

The rest of junior year passes in a blur. You’re the happiest you’ve been in your entire life, your grades are phenomenal, and Paige leads her team to a blowout state championship win. As if that wasn’t electrifying enough, she signed with the University of Connecticut the week after the tournament ended on April 19th. Your girlfriend was officially a Husky and would bleed blue for her college career. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmingly proud of her – playing for UConn has been her life goal, hoping to cement her name as one of the greats next to Sue Bird, Diana Taurasi, Maya Moore. While you couldn’t get into UConn with as much ease as she did, UConn would be the first school you submitted your application for once October rolled around. You weren’t sure who was more excited – you or Paige – at the prospect of going to college together, but what you did know was that you couldn’t wait to cheer her on as she took the world by storm.

With the harder parts of the school year long gone, the time for prom came around in late April. Paige secured your tickets as soon as they went on sale and was dead set on making it the best night of your life. She prom-posed to you with what was possibly the cheesiest sign in the world: it was decorated with lopsided basketballs (although you appreciated the fact that Paige made her sign completely homemade) and read ‘Together, we’re a slam dunk. Take a shot at prom with me?’ and there was no way in hell you’d ever say no to something like that. It took you less than four hours to find the perfect dress, although you spent a week with Paige travelling from mall to boutique to find the perfect thing for her to wear. Dress shopping with Paige proved to be a difficult task, especially for someone who seemed to hate dresses as much as she did. When you suggested she just wear a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, she nearly lost her mind in the middle of the store.

“What kind of date wears jeans and a shirt to prom?” she’d exclaimed, rifling through the dress racks, beginning to ramble. “No, ‘cause that actually pisses me off. Like, you see all these girls walkin’ around in these pretty dresses, make up done to the nines, and their boyfriends can’t even be bothered to iron their shirts?”

“I want you to be comfortable,” you said to her. “What you’re wearing won’t matter to me. You know that.”

She huffed, pulling a black dress off the rack and holding it to her torso, glancing in the mirror with a pensive expression. “It matters to me. I can’t be caught dead next to you lookin’ like an idiot.”

“Well…” you trailed off, much to her chagrin, and she pouted at you dramatically as you laughed. “Get that one,” you advised. “It won’t be super tight on you so you’ll have some breathing room. And I like the way your arms will look in it.” When she tried it on, you walked in on her in the dressing room flexing in the mirror, and, well, you were right.

With the dress debacle out of the way, that meant you had to consider other factors, like your matching corsages and dinner beforehand. Those were slightly less intimidating decisions to make. Paige knew next to nothing about flowers and her only demand was “they have to look nice,” so you found the corsages. You weren’t paying for dinner and Paige knew your likes and dislikes like the back of her hand, so she handled the reservations and promised she wouldn’t dirty Moe’s SUV if the two of you could borrow it for the night. All that was left was prom itself and considering it would be your first and you don’t get another junior prom, you were incredibly excited for it.

Dinner was nice – it would have been hard to fuck up since Paige chose a restaurant she knew you liked and it was hard to not enjoy your time with her anyhow. She serenaded you as she drove, belting Keyshia Cole’s Love like she was a contestant on The Voice. And, sure, it was incredibly off-key and her voice cracked during the vocal flips on “I found,” but you couldn’t help your endearment for her. Making you laugh was one of the things she was a master at. You arrived at the school in good spirits, turned in your tickets without an issue, and entered the gym with high hopes.

The music is thumping, echoing throughout the gym. You can feel the bass in the floor and your body almost immediately vibrates from the noise. Paige curses lightly under her breath, her hand finding yours with a wince, and she glances at you curiously, a simple you okay? visible in her eyes. You nod and she leads you over to the drink table where she gives the two-liter soda bottle a cursory sniff before pouring it in a red solo cup for you. You remember hearing that last year’s prom got cancelled early because someone spiked the punch bowl, which is why they shifted to pouring directly from plastic bottles, but you could never be too sure and you appreciated Paige for her protectiveness.

As you drink, you take in the decorations. The student council was tasked with setting everything up – deciding on the theme, ordering the decorations, putting them up. As you glance around the packed gym, your eyes taking in the streamers and the lights (you pretend that you don’t notice a section of lights that have already been ripped down), you determine that you really can’t tell what the prom theme is supposed to be. A girl and her date pass by you in a 20s flapper dress and a wrinkled button up with Timbs, of all shoes; then you’re passed by a girl wearing polka dots and her date in a graphic t-shirt. You’re getting a lot of mixed signals right now.

“Wanna dance?” Paige asks you and you nod, throwing your cup away, allowing your girlfriend to lead you to an emptier section of the gym. For a while, you’re not really sure what’s playing until the bass drop is over and you realize it’s some remixed version of Zedd’s Clarity. You glance around, watching people dance. There’s a group of students towards the front of the gym near the DJ stand jumping up and down like it’s a mosh pit. There’s another section of people bobbing their heads and moving stiffly. To your right, there’s a group swaying, their phones raised as they capture the moment.

“This is not what I thought prom would be,” you comment off-handedly to Paige, who’s halfheartedly shimmying. 

She shrugs a shoulder, reaching out for your hands with a smile and pulling you closer to her, making sure to leave room for Jesus, as she’d once joked. “We can make our own fun,” she yells over the thump of the music. She drags you into an awkward, uncoordinated and off-rhythm shimmy-dance-shake thing, but her smile is infectious enough that you’re throwing all caution to the wind as you allow her to lead you. You laugh along with her for the remainder of the song before you’re joined by a few of her teammates and their dates. Paige introduces you and together, the small group of you dance to a few more songs. You take a few group photos in varying poses, then find some snacks, and you burn another half hour dancing before the pain in your feet gets to be too much and the music starts giving you a headache.

You don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you have to admit that prom is a weird mix of overwhelming and lackluster. It’s a lot better with friends, though; the short period of time you spent with Paige’s teammates was invigorating but there’s just not a lot to do that’s not eating, dancing, taking photos, or watching people try to dance. You intertwine your fingers with Paige’s, drawing her attention and whispering in her ear about needing air. She nods, leading you towards the door and snagging another drink for you on the way out. The cool breeze and the peace does wonders for you.

“I’on wanna ruin your night,” Paige begins, a little sheepish, “but was this kinda…”

“Lame?” you supply, watching the relief spread across Paige’s face.

“Yeah,” she agrees. You offer her a sip of the soda and she takes it gratefully, holding onto the cup for you as you toe off your heels, lowering yourself to the sidewalk and taking a seat. You stretch out your legs, sighing when the pressure in your feet is alleviated. “Wanna get Dairy Queen after this?”

You groan, leaning your head onto hers as she wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Like you even have to ask,” you murmur, appreciative of the peace. Paige chuckles, her thumb rubbing against your shoulder. The two of you sit there for a while soaking it all in before the music inside dies down. You can hear the echo of the DJ as he tells everyone to partner up for the slow dance. Paige sets your cup on the ground, removing her arm and standing up. You glance at her as she extends her hand for you to take.

“May I have this dance?” she asks, and you laugh, unable to say no. You allow her to pull you to your feet as the opening notes of Taylor Swift’s Crazier bleed through the gym walls. She navigates you both to the grass, your feet bare against the cool ground, and she wraps her arms around your waist as yours go around her neck.

I'd never gone with the wind, just let it flow

Let it take me where it wants to go

The two of you sway, the sound of chirping crickets serving as the perfect background to the gentle hum of the music through the walls. Her hands are warm on your side, her chin pressed to the top of your head, your face cradled gently against her chest. If you were being honest, this is probably the most content you’ve been since dinner – being alone with Paige has a way of cheering you up.

I was trying to fly, but I couldn't find wings

But you came along and you changed everything

Paige starts humming the lyrics, the vibrations of her voice soothing you as you follow her lead. Your fingers smooth some of the flyaway strands at the back of her neck, hands mapping the expanse of her toned shoulders, content to just feel her and relish in this tender, unexpecting intimacy.

You lift my feet off the ground

You spin me around

You make me crazier, crazier

It’s then that you’re hit with a gentle realization, the lyrics resonating with you. You and Paige have been together for close to four months at this point, although it feels closer to five months since you admitted your feelings to her back in late December. Every day since then has been full of nothing but pure enjoyment, a whole lot of care, and some of the best times of your life. Paige has this way of always making you smile, even when the day gets hard, this way of making you feel so appreciated and cared for. You’re young and you really weren’t expecting her to come into your life the way she did, but you really can’t deny this overflow of emotion that you feel when she’s around. You know exactly why you feel this way.

You lift your head off her chest, your hands resting on the tops of her shoulders as you pull back far enough to look her in the eye. She gazes at you curiously, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips, and you can’t help your smile as you kiss her tenderly. She responds, pulling you flush against her, and you know that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“What was that for?” she whispers, an enamored little grin on her face, cheeks bright with a blush.

You don’t hesitate. “I just love you,” you confess.

You expect her to freeze up. You expect her jaw to go slack, to ask you to repeat what you said. Love wasn’t something you should just drop so casually – the both of you knew that. But Paige’s smile only grows, a lone dimple popping out as her eyes shine under the streetlight. She cups your cheeks in her hands and leans down to kiss you again. It’s soft, barely-there brushes that you can still feel in your heart; her lips ask you a simple question that you can���t help but answer. You lean into it, into the love that has built between the two of you over the months you’ve been together and the months you’ll be together in the future, into the shared promise of I’m yours.

“I love you,” Paige whispers, punctuating her words with a squeeze. “So much.”

You smile against her lips, letting her pull you back in. The music fades into nothing, your focus entirely on Paige, on the way her lips move against yours, the way her hands cradle your face, the way she loves you. You’ve given your heart over to her completely and she cherishes it like it’s her own. Sometimes, there are things you’re just born knowing, and right now, you know that everything in your life has led you to being here now, to being Paige’s. You couldn’t think of anything better than that.

SENIOR YEAR – 2019-2020

Senior year is the beginning of the end.

You and Paige spend summer break attached at the hip, but not overbearingly so. You’d gotten a part-time job mostly to make some extra money and to make your resume look a little better, so you were occupied by that four days a week. Paige, on the other hand, was spending extra time in the gym and running drills with private trainers and coaches. She was committed to one of the best colleges in the country for basketball – summer was not the time to be slacking off. It was the time for her to get better, stronger, faster; if you wanted to celebrate with the best, you had to be the best, and Paige turned that pressure into motivation.

Above all else, you still made time for each other, even when she was exhausted from practicing and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die because food service sucks (seriously, you were a cashier – what makes people think you of all people fucked up their food? Your job was to hit buttons and ask if they wanted fries with that). At the heart of it, you and Paige were each other’s remedies. You were a source of peace, comfort, and relaxation. Honestly, much of the time the two of you shared over the summer was spent napping, but you weren’t going to complain. You were busy and she was busy and you’d take whatever you could get, even if that meant being the big spoon every other night.

Things weren’t harder by any means. They weren’t any easier, but they were just different. You had to get used to managing your time, learn how to effectively maintain a relationship when the only time you really get to see each other is once or twice a week (and when Paige is snoring for most of it). You’d argue that this is just making the two of you stronger. The two of you would only be busier in college. Now is the time for growing up and realizing that you couldn’t reasonably spend every waking moment together, as much as you would like to. You were fine, Paige was fine, the two of you communicated, and you were very happy.

Well, there was one slight issue.

Following Paige’s commitment, your Instagram messages and comments had been blowing up. It started small. There were joking comments (or so you’d hoped) with messages of ‘You better not distract Paige next season!’ and their variations. It all ramped up from there. Trolls accusing you of only dating Paige because she’d become a millionaire once she’s in college, accusing you of keeping her out of the gym. Someone even said that UConn wouldn’t win a national championship anytime soon considering their starting point guard would be too busy playing the part of a doting girlfriend.

You won’t lie. All of the comments and the messages were really heavy. Here you were, barely 18 and you had crazy fans of varying age levels all in your business and saying awful things. There were comments you wouldn’t even dream of repeating. You talked to Paige about it and she’d held you as you cried. It was less of the content, but it was more about the spam and the constant onslaught and the amount of people tearing you down for no good reason. Paige posted on her socials requesting for people to leave you alone. While there was an outcry of support from the kinder folk, you’d somehow gotten even more harassment in your messages. You eventually caved and privated all of your accounts, scrubbing the nasty comments and trying to go about your life.

The damage had already been done.

Senior year was supposed to be your best year thus far, yet everything was bleak. It was nowhere close to the academic rigor of your junior year, but you were taking a few more dual enrollment classes and a lone AP, which means you were spending a lot more of your time studying so your grades wouldn’t slip. You ended up having to drop one of your clubs, too. You were less upset about that one considering it wasn’t doing a lot for you anyways. The fact that everything started piling up and you had to make all of these ultimatums was weighing on you.

Paige was incredibly busy, too. Coming off of a championship win from the year before, her coach was determined to get them back there again this year. Practices were longer, more grueling, and as if those weren’t enough, Paige was spending more time in the gym alone to get shots in and run drills, like she had something to prove. Maybe she did. She needed to show that she wasn’t an overrated high school player, that Geno Auriemma didn’t make a mistake in recruiting her. She needed to prove that she has what it takes to go from a high school championship contending team to a collegiate championship contending team. Combined with her own classwork, she was running out of time to devote to you, so the two of you were honestly just stuck.

The time you did get to spend with one another never felt like it was enough. You tried your best to fit in dates that had nothing to do with school or basketball, just the two of you. You loved each other. You would go through worse things than this, and you were dedicated to making it work, damn it. You communicated – or tried to, at least. You could tell Paige was under a lot of pressure, you knew her well enough by now. Anytime you brought it up, she’d always say that she’s just tired or that she needs to lock in because the pressure is only going to increase when she’s in college. You tried to help, but you just didn’t know how, and you were terrified of pushing her too far. She didn’t need you to be this clingy, obsessed girlfriend who can’t function without her, and maybe you were worried about becoming too much, too. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when you go from being all over each other in junior year to whatever the fuck this is now. You have to remind yourself that you and Paige need the space to be your own people. You’re changing, she’s changing, and you can’t hold onto a past version of her – if you force her to be something she’s not, you’ll just lose her, and that’s not something you can stomach. So you take her word for it, letting her be her own person, even if it feels like you’re still losing a battle you could never have won in the first place.

Growing up is hard, isn’t it? 

And it’s weird – because it’s not like everything is bad. There’s a lot of good times, too. Paige still drives you home after her games, making sure to stop at Dairy Queen, making sure to fit in some time at that parking lot just to chat with you. Sometimes it gets a little heavy when she’s a few hours past delirious and her kisses become a little more insistent, sloppier against your skin and you both have to remember to chill out because your first time is not about to be in the backseat of her stepmom’s Honda Pilot. She still smiles at you like you’re her everything, because you are. It’s hard, but she moves mountains to make time for you, even if that just means spending the night at your house and in your arms and you do nothing but sleep because you’re both just exhausted from life.

You still wear her hoodie, the one with her number and her name on the back and the one that’s starting to smell like the perfect blend of the two of you. You leave your clothes at her house and she leaves hers at yours. You and Paige integrate so seamlessly into each other’s lives that the slow-forming rift between the two of you is unexpected when it eventually cracks, sending the two of you tumbling into a bottomless chasm. Somehow, you miss it entirely — the fractures, the shifting of tectonic plates. Maybe the hard truth is you don’t miss it at all, but you ignore it in hopes that you can patch up the lacerations. 

But that rift doesn’t actualize for another few months, for for now — you’re fine. Unknowing of what’s ahead of you, too busy and too in love to focus on anything but the present. 

The holidays are a much needed reprieve. Thanksgiving and Christmas back to back means your classwork finally lessens and Paige isn’t spending every waking moment in the gym. That doesn’t mean that she didn’t try to spend every waking moment in the gym, though. On the very first day of Thanksgiving break, you could feel her shifting around in your bed at an hour that was definitely not appropriate. She was apologetic for waking you up and said that she just wanted to get some shots in before the local rec teams took over the courts. You weren’t having any of it. Half-asleep, you’d dragged her back into bed with you, climbing on top of her and resting your head on her chest, murmuring nonsense about missing her. The details are fuzzy, but you do remember waking up some hours later after the sun finally rose and Paige was still in bed with you, her arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Spending so much uninterrupted time over break reminded you why you fell in love with Paige in the first place. It wasn’t like you were starved of reminders while you were both in school – she texted you good morning (although this was anywhere from 5-6am) and she texted you good night (anywhere from 12-1am); the knowledge that you were the first and the last thing on her mind made your heart race. She walked you to and from your classes, carried your bag for you, but it was that time outside of school that you were truly missing with her.

When you brush your teeth together in the morning, she flicks water at you teasingly and wipes the foam off your lip when you miss a spot. She’ll sit atop the counter and watch as you do your skincare or your makeup with an enamored look on her face. Most days, she allows you to do her mascara or apply some new skin cream on her face, although the latter usually ends with Paige whining about how it burns and you reminding her that just means it’s working. You spend time with each other’s family, you go on dates, open presents at each other’s house, and a few days after Christmas, she takes you back to the park where you’d shared your first kiss. It’s not your one year anniversary since Paige was, ugh, a gentlewoman and “courted” you (well, as well as high schoolers can “court”) prior to making it official, but it’s close enough for you. The realization that you’ve shared your life with Paige for a year fills you with an indescribable emotion and all you really know is you can’t wait to share more and more years with her.

After New Year’s, everything shifts again. You get busy with school and Paige locks back in for basketball. Her team has been undefeated the entire year and they’re on the right track to make it back to the championship, which seems to ignite a fire under her. She spends her time in the gym, practicing and practicing and practicing. You can tell it’s wearing on her. Her texts become sparse and you often find yourself making your way to the gym at night just so you can drive her home. When you ask why she’s burning herself out like this, her response is always a variation of I need to be better or We’re so close – I can’t let the team down but you know her. You know she’s not telling you the complete truth and that kills you.

What had you done so wrong that Paige doesn’t trust you with her feelings anymore? What had you done so wrong that you’ve forced her into locking herself in the gym until her fingers bleed and her feet blister? Perhaps if you were a little more online, you’d understand why. Between the trolls and your mass amounts of homework, you hardly had the time for Instagram. You don’t see the comments under Paige’s posts, claiming you’d just be a distraction in college. You don’t see the comments arguing that Paige’s uncharacteristic performance in a recent game is your fault.

It’s in mid-February that you grow tired of the overthinking and the ache that’s made its home in your chest. It’s nearing midnight but you can’t sleep. You’ve been staring at Paige’s location on the Find My map for nearly four hours now – she’s been on the court ever since practice ended. You tried to give her space. You didn’t want to be overbearing. You know that she’s under pressure but God you just wanted her to confide in you, to feel more like a girlfriend rather than an afterthought. So, you slide on a pair of shoes, tucking your keys into your pocket and you begin the quick walk to the park.

You hear the rhythmic bouncing of the ball before you see Paige. You hear the dribble, the swish of the net, the clang of the rim. The basketball rolls towards you and you pick it up, coming face to face with Paige, whose face is a picture of surprise.

“Hey,” she says softly. You pause to take in her appearance. She’s dressed in a pair of athletic shoes, ball shorts and a loose tank top. She’s soaked in sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead and her eyes a wild mix of exhaustion and pure determination. Your heart constricts in your chest. Why is she doing this to herself? “What are you doing here?”

“It’s late,” you say, quirking an unamused smile. “Almost midnight. Couldn’t really sleep without knowing if my girlfriend was alive or not.”

She stares at you like she’s trying to read your expression. A slow wave of realization rolls over her and she sucks in a deep breath, knowing she’s in trouble. “I’m okay,” she says but you know she’s not. “Just–”

“‘Just trying to get some shots up,’” you interrupt. “‘Just wanna be prepared for the championship.’” Paige’s jaw ticks and she runs a frustrated hand across her jaw. You soften a little, knowing that you’re not the only one with shit going on. That consideration would get you in trouble one day, but you don’t really care right now. “Can we talk? Please?”

“I need to–”

“Paige,” you breathe out, your voice firm despite the way it cracks. You feel the tears prick at your eyes and you can’t help but feel frustrated at yourself for getting emotional. “Please stop running away from me,” you beg.

She looks like she’s about to argue again, although she thinks better of it, nodding her head and taking a seat on the bench where her bag rests. You sit next to hear, placing the basketball on the other side of you. Paige is silent, her hands folded together and her brows drawn in. You speak first. “I’m worried about you.” That draws her attention, confusion and guilt and hurt lining her expression, but you swallow, continuing. “I hardly see you outside of school and you spend every waking moment with a ball in your hand. I know you think that you need to work harder or train harder, but it’s killing you, Paige. You say you’re fine and I wanna believe that but we’ve been dating for a year now. I know you better than that. This is wearing you down and I just don’t understand why you can’t be honest with me about why you’re doing this to yourself.”

The distant chirp of the crickets is all you can hear. Then, she heaves a shuddering sigh. “I’m not good enough for this,” she confesses in a murmur. “That’s what everyone says. I’m overrated. That Coach Auriemma shoulda recruited someone else – someone better, faster, stronger, taller. Basketball is my future but lately it just feels like that’s another thing I have to prove to people who watch me from behind a screen. There’s so many people relying on me, watching me, investing in me and I can’t – I can’t let them down. I can’t lose. I am so fucking afraid of losing that I forget how to win.”

“Paige,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to hold hers. She intertwines your fingers so tightly that it hurts your hand. You don’t care. “You are so much more than what people have to say about you, okay? Isn’t that what you told me?”

She huffs, something akin to amusement, but there’s no enjoyment in her expression. “You didn’t sign up for that,” she retorts. “They were hurting you ‘cause of me.”

“No one signs up to be an online punching bag,” you state. “Least of all you. You don’t deserve that.” She shakes her head, disbelieving. You lean into her, trying to ground her, and she shivers against you. “You know it’s not true, right? There is no one better, or stronger, or faster than you. Maybe taller, but I love you the way you are.” That’s enough to draw a real laugh from her and you squeeze her hand. “Listen to me. Geno didn’t recruit you because of your strength or your speed or whatever else. Geno recruited you because he knew you had the heart of a Husky and because he knew you had what it takes. And – I know it’s hard, but sometimes you’re going to lose. What’s important is picking yourself up afterward and doing it all over again. Win or lose, you’re always gonna have me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that?”

“I do,” she murmurs. “And I’d do the same for you.” Her words sound more like a grave realization more than a reassurance, but you don’t catch it. You don’t notice the solemn look on her face, the way she looks like she’s coming to terms with something difficult. You don’t notice the determination that reads something like I’m going to win another state championship this year and prove everyone wrong.

“Come home?” you plead. Paige nods slowly, collecting her gear almost robotically, but she presses a kiss to your lips and all you feel an overwhelming amount of relief. Everything will be okay, you tell yourself. This was just a small bump in the road.

Wishful thinking.

Paige’s state championship gets cancelled due to a global pandemic.

She’d been in such high spirits, excited at the prospect of competing, of taking home the trophy one more time before she went off for college. In March, everything shut down. You were out of school for what you believed to be an extended spring break, but the rest of the year was cancelled entirely. The state championship game was quick to follow. You weren’t expecting Paige to take the news as bad as she did.

Your texts go unanswered, again. You know she’s stuck in her house, which was always a recipe for disaster for her. Paige gets too restless, too impatient, always itching to be moving. You let a day go by of radio silence. Two days. By the third, you’re beginning to lose your mind. You simply weren’t built for online education and your little brother makes focusing impossible. On the fourth day, you send another message to Paige, which ultimately gets left on read.

You show up to her house, tired of being iced out like this, of being treated like you’re something disposable when Paige is upset. Bob lets you in, grinning, and you wave at Drew as you walk upstairs, your footsteps echoing like your heartbeat in your ribcage. You knock on Paige’s door, not getting a response, but you walk in anyways.

Her room is a mess. Clothes are strewn about, one of her comforters lying on the ground. You nearly trip over a loose basketball but your eyes lock on her – lying in bed with an almost catatonic expression on her face. Maybe the aftermath is your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Paige wasn’t in the best headspace. While you were her girlfriend, showing up to her room invited while she’s spiraling would make her meltdown make sense. The ensuing argument is a blur.

Paige is frantic, her hands gesturing wildly as she chokes back sobs, exclaiming confessions of “I’m nothing without that championship,” or “I can’t handle this anymore.” It’s the first time you’ve actually been a little fearful – not of her, but for her. You knew the pressure was getting to her and you just let her deal with it instead of intervening. You were too scared to upset her and now the both of you are paying the price of your insecurity.

You tried to comfort her, but it was like something shifted. She told you to go home. That you were too much right now and that it’s obvious at this point that you’re only going to get hurt if you stay with me. You were willing to ignore her words even if they were like knives to your heart, but what truly destroyed was how she flinched away from your touch like it was burning oil. Go home, she’d said again. I don’t need you here. I can’t keep hurting you like this.

Maybe showing up in the first place was a mistake, but so was leaving her. You walked back to your house with tears in your eyes, wondering how you fucked up so bad.

The next day, Paige shows up at your doorstep with flowers. You couldn’t ignore the hurt in your heart and you didn’t want to forgive her so easily, but it was hard to stay upset with her. No matter how mad you were, you were still in love with her. She apologized, describing how the championship cancellation and the lockdown and the pressure was making her go insane. She acknowledged those wrongs didn’t make a right and she’d spend the rest of her life making it up to you. You didn’t want to fight, or argue, or hurt anymore, so you wrapped her in your arms as the both of you cried. You had a lengthy conversation full of more apologies, and foolishly, you’d thought the worst of it was over. It wouldn’t come until much later.

Miraculously, you still have graduation that month although everyone has to wear masks and you have to sit five feet apart on the football field. You and Paige graduate with honors, you take photos, and your combined families have a huge dinner at the Bueckers’s household. That evening, right before you say grace, your phone lights up with an email from the UConn admissions team.

You got in.

As your families cheer, your eyes are too full of tears to notice the expression of pure dread on Paige's face as you throw your arms around her neck. It feels like everything is finally going your way. You and Paige would be going to college together. It would be easier – it has to be. You didn’t really care about what anyone had to say about the two of you. You had Paige and that was enough for you.

You go to bed that night blissfully and ignorantly happy. Two weeks pass and that’s finally when the worst happens.

You feel your phone’s vibration before you hear its ringtone.

Groggily, you open your eyes, hands blindly fumbling through your sheets and under your pillow as you try to locate your device. At first, you think it’s your alarm waking you up for class, but remembering the fact that you’ve just graduated two weeks ago hits you like a sack of bricks. There will be no more morning alarms, not until you’re in Storrs, Connecticut and starting the fall semester. You also realize it’s far too dark outside to be morning, so the ringing of your phone can only mean one thing.

“Hello?” you answer without looking at the caller ID, knowing that it was Paige on the other end. You couldn’t think of anyone who would call you at 1:55 in the morning. The fact that Paige is calling you at 1:55 in the morning, however, is a cause for concern. She had an early flight around 8am – summer practices and conditioning were already starting up for the Huskies, as well as other freshman athlete orientations.

“Hey,” Paige says. Her voice is quiet on the other end of the line, tight and weak like she’s fighting to stay composed. Immediately, your heartbeat picks up, fearing for the worst. “I’m at your front door. Can I – can you come down please? I need to talk to you.”

“I’m on my way,” you respond, already throwing your blanket off of your legs and leaving your room. “Are you okay?”

Paige is oddly silent for a few beats. Your socked feet thump lightly against the stairs as you make your way down, your pulse racing like you’d just ran a marathon. Her name falls from your lips in a murmur and she heaves a shuddering sigh from the other end of the phone. “Please,” she begs, “just come outside.”

“Okay,” you promise, and the line goes dead as you unlock your front door, opening it to reveal Paige standing on your front porch. She’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and crocs like she’d made the last minute decision to show up to your house. Her shirt is rumpled, the UConn logo emblazoned on it – one she’d gotten from her official visit however long ago. Her hair is disheveled, too, pulled up into a loose ponytail with loose strands at the front. And her face. You’ve never seen Paige look so miserable before, but what truly shocks you is the guilt clouding her eyes, the frown on her lips. “Hey.” Your voice is quiet, opening the door wide enough for her to come in. Paige merely shakes her head, her hand finding your wrist as she guides you onto the front porch. The door clicks shut behind the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Under the porchlight, her features come into focus. Her expression is downcast, eyes red as if she’d been crying, shoulders high and tense with some monumental weight bearing down on them. You know she has a lot going on – the two of you have talked about as much. She was the number one high school recruit and she’s been committed to one of, if not the best college for women’s basketball. There’s a lot of pressure on her to live up to those expectations, to be the best in the game. You also know Paige hasn’t been the same since the beginning of the year, but she’d assured you that it was just exhaustion and the need to lock in. When you come face to face with her, you’re wracked with a near insurmountable quantity of guilt – why hadn’t you tried harder to get her to open up?

“I’m sorry,” is what Paige says. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your mind conjures up thousands of reasons why Paige could be apologizing to you at two in the fucking morning. “I know this timing is super fucked up and this is such a shitty thing to do to but I can’t get on that plane later and not –” Paige’s words trail off, the sound getting stuck in her throat.

You blink, feeling the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes, the tightness in your chest. Part of you knows exactly where this is going, but the other part of you refuses to consider it. “Not what, Paige?”

Her hands fidget nervously with the hem of her shirt. She throws her head back, suddenly finding the roof of your porch very interesting as she takes a deep breath. “I don’t –” her voice cracks before finally, she meets your eyes, guilt and dread and something that looks strangely like atonement filling her irises. “I don’t think we’re gonna work out,” she says. Your heart all but drops out of your ass and onto the ground, but she keeps rambling in that Paige-esque way that you’ve spent months falling in love with. “We’re not gonna work out in college. I have basketball, and you – you have so many great things ahead of you. You have dreams and aspirations and I can’t…I can’t let you lose sight of those if you stay with me. I love you, so much, but we’re just gonna keep hurting each other if we keep trying to mend something that’s just gonna keep on breaking.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Something ugly twists in your gut, something that feels like a painful mix of despair, desperation, and a deep-rooted anger you’d never realized you’d been harboring. You weren’t an angry person. Sensitive, sure. You were understanding and kind. Never angry. “Why do you get to decide that?” you manage, your voice rough with emotion. Your voice rises in pitch as you continue. “Why do you get to decide that we can’t be fixed? What–”

“We’ve been tryin’ to fix this for months,” Paige points out hoarsely, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Because you’re not trying!” you exclaim, arms flying out. Paige flinches, but you don’t stop. “You just – you keep pulling away from me and I don’t know why but I can’t do this on my own, Paige. And when I ask you always say you’re just tired or you’re just busy but I know you. I know you and I know that you weren’t giving us your all and I still trusted you because fuck, I just wanted you! I would never make you choose between me or basketball but I’d like to at least be considered once in a while.”

“It’s not like that,” Paige argues. “I’ve done nothing but consider you–”

“Bullshit.”

Her face falls. “See?” she murmurs, laughing a little despite the hurt in her expression. “We’d never work out in college. We can’t even do this right.”

You seethe. “Because you’re trying to break up with me when we can fix this.”

“I’m trying to break up with you because I can’t fucking protect you!” Paige cries. Her words hit you like a truck and you clamp your mouth shut as she wipes her eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I can’t protect you when we’re both at UConn. Do you even know what they’re saying online? They’re saying I can’t hoop because I’m too busy playing house with my girlfriend. They’re saying that her girlfriend is trying to leech off of her success, that you’re ruining my life, that my girlfriend needs to leave me alone. Everyday I’ve worked harder to get stronger, faster, better, just so there wouldn’t be anything about me they could use to hurt you but they always find something to say. I can’t protect you from that when you’re with me. I can’t let them ruin your life because you love me. You have so much ahead of you and they’ll tear you down. I can’t bear that.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you say, but even you know that’s a lie. You take in the look on Paige’s face, the commiseration, the resolution. Your anger melts away into sheer desperation when you begin to fully realize the gravity of your situation. It feels like your entire life is slipping from your fingertips and you’re running out of time to do something about it. “Paige…” You hate the way she flinches at her name.

“Please,” she begs again. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Just let me do this for us and we can both try to be happy.”

You don’t mention how there won’t be an us if you let her walk away now, but you do step forward, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as you plead, “Don’t do this to us.” A tear slips down your cheek and Paige shudders as she wipes it away with the pad of her thumb, an inexplicable amount of guilt in her eyes. “We can fix this, okay? I swear. I promise you won’t even know I’m there. I won’t say anything and I’ll watch your games online – whatever it takes, I’ll do it, Paige; just don’t fucking do this to us.”

She murmurs your name, her face falling as she brushes your hair out of your face, but you’re shaking your head, pressing on. “Just give us some time. Please. We can work this out. I don’t want anything but you. And…and – last year, you said nothing else mattered, right? What everyone else thought, what the media thought. We can be private again, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” she whispers, voice broken. “You don’t deserve to be hidden away. I can’t do that to you. It’ll kill us before we even got a chance otherwise.”

Your lip wobbles as you say, “You’re killing us now, Paige.”

She nods, a tear of her own falling, and she wipes it away before you can even raise your hand. “I know. But at least it’s on our terms and not theirs.” You shake your head, fingers tightening in her shirt, and Paige crumbles. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling her into your chest as your body heaves with sobs, your tears soaking her shirt. You can hear the tremble in her voice as she fights for her composure. “I’m sorry. Being with me will just hurt you more. I can’t put you through that,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were the only one trying. I thought it would change things but it didn’t. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t save us.”

The irony makes you ache – Paige killing you just to save you. Deep down, you know she’s right. Your social media have been private for months now, but there’s nothing you wouldn’t do just so you could keep Paige. But right now? All you’re truly able to process is the heartbreak, the way the criss-crossing bandages fall off, the way the stitches and the sutures come undone, revealing a festering, open wound that after all this time, you’ve never been able to repair. No matter what, it always comes back to this – your heart on the ground, stomped out and bleeding and ruined. You just never thought Paige would be the one to crush it under her heel.

You’re tender-hearted. You always have been.  That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige is magnetic, and she loves you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Now you’re faced with the ugly realization that maybe you should have listened, that when they told you ‘She’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not going to look back’, they were right. Despite it all, you’re naive enough to say that you’d go through with it all over again. You love Paige. You would give up a lot of things in the world if only you could keep her, but her decision is made and it’s time for you to make yours.

That’s why you forgive her. You sniffle, trying your best to compose yourself as her hand rubs soothing, apologetic circles on your back. “It’s okay,” you manage, your voice impossibly soft and broken down.

“It’s not,” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking.

“It will have to be.” You feel her nod at that, her arms tightening a little, like she’s trying to savor this last moment with you before it’s gone forever. You do, too, pressing your head against her chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of her heart that you’ve spent hours memorizing the cadence of. You’ve spent so many months of your life learning everything there was to know about Paige Bueckers – her favorite color, her dreams, the parts of her that she keeps hidden. You wish you didn’t know what she looked like when she was walking away but you should have known that you and her were doomed by time from the very beginning.

You don’t want to let her go. Eventually, you have to, and looking at her face makes you want to cry and beg all over again. Her hands find your cheeks as she kisses you one last time. You can taste the salt on her lips, hear her shuddering breath, feel her forehead as it presses against yours gently. You know this kiss is more of a goodbye than it is a gesture of affection. That’s enough to make the ache in your chest return tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. It doesn’t do anything to fix what’s broken. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you promise. You hate those words because you know they’re true – Paige has just broken your heart on your front doorstep and despite it all, you still love her and you always will.

She releases you, her hands trailing down your arms, trying to commit you to memory. Then, her hands leave your skin entirely and she takes a step back. “Guess this is goodbye.”

You bury your hands in your pockets, knowing that if you don’t do something with them, you’ll try fighting for her again. “Guess it is.”

She stares at you for a long while before nodding, her final goodbye a soft murmur under her breath. You watch her go as she walks down the sidewalk, her figure illuminated by the streetlights. It feels strangely like reaching for a light, something you’ll never be able to physically grasp. It’s like watching your entire future crumble in the blink of an eye, like reminding yourself that some dreams are too costly and that sometimes, desire is impossible. Right person, wrong time.

Your lip trembles as you walk back inside, locking the door behind you. When you turn to head back upstairs and go back to bed, hoping that this is all some kind of fucked up fever dream, you find your mother waiting for you, worry etched on her face. That’s when you crumble again, sagging into her confused arms and sobbing.

“She’s gone,” you manage to get out in between heaving sobs. Your mom understands instantly, hushing you and smoothing out your hair, rocking you back and forth as you cry. You’ve hurt a lot, but never like this. You want this terrible feeling to go away but you know this is a loss that’s going to stick with you for a while.

Later that night, when you’re sure you’ve cried all you could, you lie in bed bundled in Paige’s hoodie despite the heat. On the UConn application portal, you only hesitate a little bit before you click on the Cancel Enrollment button. Then, you navigate over to the University of Minnesota application portal, hesitating a lot longer before clicking on the Confirm Enrollment button. You power your phone off entirely, unwilling to spend the night staring at the picture of you and Paige on your home screen. All you feel is a devastating emptiness and this time, you’re fully on your own now and there’s no one else to help you pick up the pieces.

FRESHMAN & SOPHOMORE YEAR – 2020-2022

To no one’s surprise, you absolutely hate the University of Minnesota. There were a lot of reasons why it wasn’t your first choice. The program it offered for your degree wasn’t the greatest. You hated the dorms. You hated campus life, too. UConn had a lot of things that UMN didn’t. A better sports scene, better programs, your ex-girlfriend who you’re still hung up on, everything. You knew you’d be just as miserable at UConn if you’d gone there, too. Paige was everywhere. The freshman phenom who could truly do it all. The work she’d put into becoming better had paid off and it led to her having an electrifying first season.

Even though your heart ached, you couldn’t help but be proud of her. She was doing everything she said she was gonna do. She’s breaking records and making a name for herself – you’d just wished you could be there for it.

It’s almost pathetic how you’re unable to get over her. You stay off of social media but the knowledge that she’s just one text message away fucks with your brain more than you’d like to admit. It reminds you all too much of Gatsby and Daisy and that stupid project the two of you partnered for in AP Lit, only you’re some weird inverted version of them. Paige is the one with the riches, the grandeur, the mansion, yet she’s the one with the green light on the dock. You spend hours gazing out and hoping that she’s looking back at you, too. You’re the one who wishes you could go back into the past where you were still together, even though Gatsby’s story taught you that you’re only yearning for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You’re Gatsby, unable to move on, unable to fully come to terms with the fact that your dream wasn’t truly attainable, that you desired for too much and you couldn’t reach it.

There’s a scary thought in the back of your head that sounds like you just weren’t worth it. Gatsby’s story also taught you that Daisy’s feelings for Gatsby weren’t worth losing her social status, her life of comfort. Were you not worth it? You would have gone to hell and stayed if only to keep Paige, but perhaps that’s just something you need to work on.

So, you do. You find yourself a therapist in Minneapolis. You’ve been unhappy for a while now, but it’s also become increasingly obvious that you need to work on setting boundaries and unlearning emotional attachments that have done nothing but hurt you. You fall in love (romantically or platonically) far too quick, too easily, and you’re too forgiving. You were told from the start that you should be taking care of your heart and you suppose it’s better late than never.

Your therapist is an older lady who has seen some shit and been through some shit. She’s blunt and honest and exactly what you need. She tells you that you can protect yourself and still give to the world, to others. She also tells you that if you’re so unhappy at UMN that you should probably transfer. You put that piece of advice on the backburner because you’ve barely been here for a semester. Maybe you’ll have more fun and make new friends come spring. Maybe everything will turn around if you give yourself the chance to grow and be happy without constantly looking over your shoulder, hoping to see familiar blue eyes and that teasing smile you’ve all but memorized.

(Spoiler: you don’t.)

The spring semester of your freshman year rolls around and you’re honestly burned out. Your first semester was rough and you had a straight C average, which was quite the culture shock after being a straight A student throughout highschool. You try to show up to all of your classes, but registering for an 8am was honestly the worst decision of your life. You miss a few, your grades remain horribly consistent (more C’s!), and you can’t hold onto anymore friends, not for lack of trying. Your clubs fall through and nothing feels right about UMN. Sure, you’re close to home and you visit your parents twice a month, but UMN isn’t home at all. You know that there’s a piece of you in Connecticut somewhere.

Therapy is helping a lot, though. Fixing yourself emotionally is really taxing, but you’re making progress, and that’s good enough for now. Although it takes a couple of weeks, you manage to make a friend in one of your classes and you study together often. Her name is Krista. She’s a pre-med biology major and quite possibly the smartest person you’ve met in your semester and a half at UMN. She introduces you to some of her friends, too – an assortment of med-school hopefuls and the lone English major. Slowly but surely, UMN doesn’t feel as lonely and your grades start improving.

Eventually, the heartbreak starts to ache a little less. Seeing Paige’s picture plastered everywhere doesn’t hurt as much. You tune in for some of the UConn games during March Madness to cheer her on. It will probably take you a long time to be fully over Paige, but you’re at least mostly over the hurt. You reach out to a couple of your mutual friends just to see how she’s doing. Maybe you’ll regret that decision one day. Maybe not. Hearing that she’s doing okay settles your heart some. That turns into weekly check-ins. It’s something.

You and Paige were friends for a long time before you made it official. You’re not mourning the loss of a relationship, but you’re mourning your best friend, too. Nobody ever told you how devastating it was to go from sharing everything with someone to watching their life in pictures. Part of you wonders if she’s doing the same as you, if she even thinks about you like that, if she thinks about you at all or if she regrets the decision she’d made.

Your first year at UMN is nothing special. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your head that urges you to transfer. If you’re not fully happy after a year, then you’re not going to be happy this year. You think about the friends you’ve made – Krista and the others. Something about them just isn’t right. You may never have the vocabulary to explain it, but no matter how nice and welcoming they are, you still feel like an outsider looking in. Things aren’t all that bad, you tell yourself. Your grades are better and honestly, maybe this is just life. You aren’t always going to have a bunch of best friends. So, you decide to stay at UMN.

(How many bad decisions can one person possibly make before you start getting concerned?)

Sophomore year isn’t any better. It doesn’t suck, but you’re still unhappy. You’re surviving, not living. You start going home every weekend rather than the twice a month schedule you’d originally planned on. Being back in Hopkins reminds you of simpler times. It reminds you of late night Dairy Queen runs, of chatting in an empty parking lot, of that time Paige accidentally honked the horn in her stepmom’s SUV when she tried to pull you onto her lap. Hopkins reminds you of your junior prom, where you and Paige slow danced to Taylor Swift outside the gym, where you told her that you loved her for the first time and she told you that she did, too. Hopkins reminds you of happiness.

In December that year, your mutual friend — Amaya Battle — informs you that Paige fractured her tibial plateau and tore her lateral meniscus. None of that sounded good, but you felt like shit once Krista explained what that all meant. That injury would bench Paige for a couple of months. Despite the time, you still knew Paige well enough to know that she’s not happy about that. You open a long abandoned text thread with her, your last message reading happy birthday! and hers reading Thank you, and begin to draft out a new message. Saying that you’re sorry doesn’t feel like enough, but anything else feels like too much. You settle on simply expressing your condolences and you let her know that you’re praying for her. You’re not surprised when you don’t receive anything more than another “Thank you” in return.

Spring semester is long and uneventful. You still tune in for some of Paige’s games, but once finals are said and done and you’re not feeling any differently, you know that it’s time to move on. You apply as a transfer student for UConn.

JUNIOR YEAR – 2022-2023

You get accepted into UConn. Reading the Welcome to UConn Nation email feels as good as it did the first time you opened it surrounded by your family. It feels like coming home all over again. The break in between semesters feels painfully short and far too long at the same time, but before you know it, you’re moving into your dorm on campus, laughing along with your new roommate Livya like you’ve been friends forever. She helps you get settled in. Then she shows you around campus, pointing out all of the best study spots and the best dining halls. You meet up with a couple of her friends for lunch and it’s like everything just clicks. You know in your heart that this is where you’re supposed to be.

The news, however, comes to you in the form of an ESPN headline rather than a text from your mutual friend. Paige had torn her ACL nearly a week ago playing a game of pick up. Your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but feel terrible for Paige. This was supposed to be her healthy season back after her previous injury in December, but here she is on the bench again, healing from an injury she didn’t deserve to get. You feel the strangest sense of deja vu when you message Paige again, extending your condolences, but what you’re not expecting is the phone call from her that comes a few seconds later.

It rings once and all you can do is stare at it, jaw on the ground. On the second ring, your thumb hovers over the answer button. And on the third ring, you commit to it, bringing your phone to your ear. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as you greet Paige. “Hey.”

Her voice is soft when she responds. “Hey.” It’s a little rough around the edges, mature, but there’s a lingering tenseness to it like she’s trying to keep herself together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to call,” you admit.

“Me neither,” she agrees.

You sit in silence for a few moments before you shift, clearing your throat. There’s so many things you want to say to her, but you know this moment is too fragile, too new. You know you’re not talking to the same girl you once knew. She’s changed. She’s older and she’s wiser and she knows what she wants now. You don’t know how to say what you want to say, although it’s evident that Paige is a little lost, too. “How, um…how are you?” you say finally.

The noise she makes on the other line sounds a little amused. “Well,” she murmurs. “At least it’s not both knees, right?”

You can’t help the choked laugh that draws from you. “God,” you say. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at that.”

“Nah, s’okay,” she promises. You can hear the slight smile in her voice. “I missed that.”

Your heart thumps against your ribcage. “Missed what?” you ask, but you know what she means.

“Your laugh,” she confirms. “Still the same as it once was.”

You hum. “We’re not the same,” you say softly. “We’ve grown up.”

“Have we?” she asks. You swallow. “We’re older. Learned a lot. Doesn’t mean we’ve changed. Just evolved.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

“Pikachu evolves into Raichu but he’s still Pikachu, isn’t he?”

Despite yourself, you grin. “And you’re still an idiot.”

That makes her laugh. “C’mon,” she drawls. “I got a bum knee and you’re making fun of me?”

“Some things never change.”

“They don’t,” Paige agrees. “Heard you transferred to UConn?”

“I did. UMN wasn’t right for me. It didn’t feel like home.”

“It does here?”

You don’t hesitate when you respond. “Yeah. It does.”

The line falls silent again. You can hear the sound of Paige breathing on the other end. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says finally. Your grin melts into something a little more tender. “Do you wanna come to my dorm? We can catch up.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” she concedes. “But I’m injured and I just spent two years missin’ you and I wanna see you.”

You should feel embarrassed at how little it takes to convince you. Before you realize the words coming out of your mouth, you’re saying, “Send me the address.” She does. Paige’s dorm isn’t too far away from yours. “I’ll be there in ten.”

When you do arrive, the girl who answers the door is not Paige. It’s Azzi Fudd. She knows you by name, offering you a gentle smile and pointing you down the hall to where Paige’s room is. You thank her, your heart caught in your throat, and you make your way through the apartment. You knock and you enter.

Paige glances up immediately as you walk in, her face softening immediately. She’s sprawled out across her bed, her knee secured in a heavy brace and propped up in a pillow. She’s wearing a loose pair of shorts and a long-sleeved UConn shirt. The first thing you notice is how different she is. Her time on the court and in the gym has treated her well. Her shoulders fill out her sweatshirt, muscles taut against the fabric. She’s bulked up and she scraped her old ponytail for a slick back bun, although the ‘slick back’ part is messy, strands flying haphazardly. Her eyes are disarmingly blue, not like that’s changed from the last time you saw her, and her smile is just as you remember. It’s enough to soften you instantly.

“Hey,” she says as you close the door behind you.

“Hi, P,” you murmur. Her face shifts, taking you in, and you know she’s cataloging everything that’s different about you, too. You wear your hair in a new style and the way you carry yourself is unlike the way you carried yourself in high school. It’s not confidence, it’s surety, more you. Behind the curiosity, you can see the lingering guilt, the realization that she broke your heart two years ago yet you still dropped everything to come and see her because she’s injured. You glance around the room, breaking your eye contact, scanning the basketball posters, album covers, and pictures of her and her teammates strewn about. Her comforter is purple, which makes you smile. Some things truly never change. “Nice room.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you fight a wince because of how awkward it sounds.

“Clean, right?” she jokes, drawing a short laugh from you – you’d always teased her for being messy, often having to motivate her to pick up her room. Her dorm is clean, but obviously lived-in as evidenced by the jacket slung over the arm of a gaming chair and a water bottle or two on the nightstand and the desk. “Nice hoodie.”

It’s only then that you glance down and your face flushes when you realize what you’re wearing. HOPKINS is emblazoned on the front, the number 1 below it. You don’t need to turn it around to know you have BUECKERS stitched on the back. Your eyes find her face again, noting that she’s not upset about it. She’s a little amused, if anything, although there’s something softer in her expression. You shrug a little. “Wasn’t brave enough to get rid of it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Her voice is a soft murmur. You meet her eyes, sharing a soft smile. Then, she clears her throat, shifting, and she nods to the spot next to her. “Come talk?” she requests.

You open your mouth, ready to decline. You know that if you fell into these patterns with Paige again, then you’d truly never get over her. Part of you wonders if you want to get over her in the first place, but you know you can’t put yourself through this again if she’s not in it for the long haul. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” she asks softly, her voice catching in her throat. “I just…don’t wanna be alone right now.”

You’re moving before she even finishes her sentence. She moves the blankets for you as you kick off your shoes, sliding in next to her like it’s second nature. When you do, you’re enveloped by her, the scent of her cologne, her body wash, that same brand of shampoo she’s been using since she was seventeen. You can feel the warmth of her body so close to yours and your breath hitches. You can hear the stutter in her breathing, too, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s missed you in the way you’ve missed her. Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to hold you, like she’s reminding herself she doesn’t really have that right anymore.

“So…” she starts. “Why’d you transfer? Really?”

You sigh. “I couldn’t really find my place at UMN. I struggled in my classes for a while and I had so much trouble making friends. I found a group, but it always felt like I was a plus one. My psychologist and my parents told me to transfer. Even Drew told me to transfer.”

She cracks a small, surprised smile. “You talk to Drew?”

“Our parents still talk, you know,” you say, nudging her, listening to her laughter. “Plus, Drew and my brother are like best friends.” You pause for a moment, twisting the ring on your finger, and hesitantly, you admit, “Drew told me I should transfer to UConn specifically. For you.”

“For me?” Her voice is pitched, her expression unreadable, and you nod.

“Yeah. He said we were happier before the break up.”

Paige chuckles, rolling her eyes. “He’s such a little shit.”

“I wonder where he gets it from?” At that, Paige half-heartedly shoves you, but there’s no force or malice behind it as you laugh. “But I didn’t transfer for you.”

“Of course not.” Her expression betrays her feigned nonchalance, like she thinks you’re full of shit.

“I didn’t!”

“Okay,” she says insufferably and you shake your head. “I, uh…I’m sorry for how I ended things.”

Your smile drops instantly, features softening. “Paige,” you murmur, but she ignores your words entirely. 

“I’ve thought about it for two years,” she admits, “and every day I wish I could go back in time and undo it. I thought I was protecting you but all I did was hurt us both. In the end, it didn’t even change shit. That’s the fucked up part.” She scoffs a little. “And here we are. I broke your heart yet you text me on my birthday, reach out when I injure myself, drop everything to come see me ‘cause my knee’s fucked? Why?”

You swallow thickly, not really needing to think about your response. “It’s you,” you whisper. You hear her breath catch, see the tears welling up in her eyes again. It’s always gonna be you, is the part that goes unsaid, but you wonder if Paige understands it all the same. “I would watch your games sometimes,” you confess. Paige makes a noise that sounds like it’s in between a sigh and a whimper, like hearing you speak is hurting her. You continue anyways, needing to get it off of your chest. “I’d watch your games and I’d cheer you on and wonder what it would be like if you didn’t change your mind, if I was sitting courtside like we’d always talked about. I’d probably be wearing this fucking hoodie or maybe you’d give me some of your UConn gear. Every week, I would talk to Amaya Battle just to ask how you were, and –” Paige interrupts you with a soft whisper of your name, but you shake your head, feeling the long restrained tears drop. “I missed you and all I wanted was you. You were so close yet so far – impossible and out of reach.”

“Not impossible,” she says firmly, her voice rough with tears. Instantly, you’re transported back nearly four years ago when she’d uttered words not too dissimilar. I don’t think it’s out of reach. Not for you. Not for us. “Never impossible. Not you, not me, not us.”

A tear slips down your cheek and she wipes it away. The brush of her finger against your skin, no matter how small, is pure electricity in your veins and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason now. “Aren’t we?” you ask, your eyes on hers. They’re alarmingly blue, brightened by the pool of tears that’s found home in them. You can’t help the way your feelings come rushing back. You were always going to be in love with Paige Bueckers. That’s not a feeling that goes away overnight or even two years after breaking up with her. She’s ruined you for anyone else and you can’t even be mad about it. “We’re different. You’re different.”

“Not different,” she argues, desperation lacing her tone as she squeezes your hands in between her own. “Evolved. I’m still me.”

“That’s the scary part,” you say. It’s scary because you know you’ll never be able to say no to her. You love her too much for that, and deep down, you also there’s nothing more right than you and her.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Her thumb finds your cheek again, clearing the wetness, and your lip trembles when you look at her.  Paige’s expression is unguarded, a clear promise reflected in her eyes. If this all went to shit, you wouldn’t have the energy or the resources to pick your heart up again, but what are you if not brave despite the ache? What if it’s different this time, if you and Paige have grown, not changed, and you’re better for each other? You know better now than to make those same mistakes. You know Paige well enough to know she means what she says. So maybe you’re a fool, or you’re naive, or too trusting for your own good, but you can’t help but believe Paige. “A lot of people have hurt you. I was one of them,” she continues, uncomfortably vulnerable as she swallows. “I will never forgive myself for that but somehow, you did. Whatever it takes, I’ll prove to you that you didn’t make the wrong choice like I did. Give me time and the chance and I’ll show you. I swear.”

Your heart knows your decision long before your brain has made it. That’s just how you work. You nod at her, watching utter relief and gratitude seep through her features, and honestly, when you look back at it, you’re not completely sure who leans in first. But what you do know is that you’re tangling your fingers in her sweatshirt, pulling her impossibly close as you initiate the kiss, something intense and deep and desperate and everything you’ve been wishing for over the past two years. You know it’s a bad idea, doing this out of order, yet you can’t bring yourself to care because Paige shudders against your lips, her hands finding your hips and dragging you impossibly closer. You’re cautious of her knee, trying to minimize the amount of space between your bodies, and you loop your arms around her neck when you pull away to trail your lips down her jaw, the column of her throat. She tilts her head back, granting you more space, and you don’t sober up until you feel one of her tears fall against your cheek.

You pull away from her immediately, feeling as though you’d been submerged in an ice bath. Paige must not register that she’s crying because she chases after you with a noise of dissatisfaction, her hands pressing into your sides. You push her away gently, smiling despite yourself, brushing her tears away with your knuckle. “Maybe we should, um… not make out when we’re crying and emotional?” you suggest.

Paige clears her throat, leaning away from you with great difficulty. “Yeah,” she agrees quickly. “Probably for the best.” You can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes from your mouth. Paige’s lips quirk up, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “We’re okay?” she asks, a little hesitant.

“We will be,” you assure her, not missing the way her face lights up. “But we should probably…”

“Slow down?” Paige finishes.

You nod. “Yeah. Be friends first. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“I can work with that,” she murmurs, her words a direct echo of the first promise she’d ever made to you.

You smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. You breathe a little easier knowing that you’re still you and Paige is still Paige – you’re not the same, but you’re something a little better, more improved, and you have the knowledge to take better care of each other’s hearts this time around. You and Paige have grown up and matured. You lost your way for a while but as you lay in bed next to her like no time has passed at all, you know somewhere deep inside of your body that this is where you’re truly meant to be.

(You and Paige do commit to slow. You know each other like the back of your hands and the love is still there, but you’re determined to do this right this time. So, you keep things friendly, strengthening the connection between the two of you – she introduces you to her teammates, helps you study while she’s out for the season. In turn, you help her with her rehab and you motivate her on the days that feel more bleak.

When the both of you go back home for Thanksgiving break, both of your families are ecstatic to see that you’re “back together” and you don’t think anyone believes the two of you when you say you’re just taking it slow for now. Your little brothers tease you, your dads share knowing glances, and your mothers smile like they know exactly where this is going.

However, when the two of you return to Minnesota for winter break, Paige takes you to the park that the two of you used to spend your time at, leading you to the swings. You talk about anything and everything and nothing, content to just enjoy the moment, but when Paige asks you to be her girlfriend officially – again, but second time’s the charm, right? – you truly have no choice but to say no, kissing her gently as the Minnesotan snow falls around the two of you.

You’re home now.)

[lovableapocalypse]

scar tissue

dr. jack abbot x female!resident!reader

wc: 2k

summary: an unexpected patient arrives in the er and turmoil arises

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mentions of injuries and medical procedures, mentions of alcohol abuse aka reader has a shitty alcoholic dad who yells, mentions of brief sexual content but nothing explicit (mdni!), power dynamic in relationship/reader is a 3rd year resident jack is an attending, unspecified age gap, wrote this at 4am

a/n: this is soooo inspired by greys specifically the scenes where meredith's mom is a patient at sgh and then the mark and lexie (deleted?) scene of them after the shooting. i struggled a lot with the ending of this one so sorry if it sucks lol. hope you like and enjoy and thank you guys for all the love

Tonight’s shift hadn’t been too wild, but you would never risk speaking the words aloud. Jinxing the remaining 3 hours would only ruin the night you’d had so far. 

A few random cases had come through and one drunk driver who was already stable and moved up to the ICU. One of the more chill night shifts you’d had in a while. 

Glancing up from your seat at the nurse’s station, you watch him move from South 15 to the curtain over- checking on patients. 

Your cheeks heat unprofessionally and unintentionally at the sight of him. A habit you needed to kick soon for you worked with the man 4 nights a week. That, and your flustered appearance was becoming more obvious than you’d realized. 

Dr. Abbot has been your attending for over 2 years now. Starting as an intern on an emergency med rotation and thrown to the night shift due to scheduling conflicts- you found yourself working closely under the army vet. 

His dynamic teaching and advantageous reassurance drew you to the emergency department. Deadset on surgery, you completely pivoted after working with the doctor. Declaring your specialty, you were now well into your third year of residency in the pit. 

You felt confident when you worked under Abbot. He gave you the room to make decisions and he trusted your opinions- only stepping in to assist during especially challenging moments. 

He glanced at you as his eyes passed over the board above your head. You shifted your gaze away, crumbling under the slightest look from him. 

This was new. This nervousness. You had always thought Abbot was attractive, harboring a small crush, but he was your superior and that was a boundary you would never feel comfortable crossing. 

Or so you thought. 

It happened 11 days ago. Not that you were counting. 

Your shifts had aligned that week to where you had three days off in a row, a rare occurrence. 

Since residency had put your social life on the back burner you took the opportunity to call up a couple of friends and go out.

By some means of the universe, you had ended up at the same bar as Jack that night. How you ended up in the back of his car was a blur. Skirt bunched around your waist, hips thrusting roughly into yours, hands pulling and grasping at anything they could touch, his mouth whispering dirty words and kissing soft desperate kisses against your skin. 

It was the heat of the moment. That’s what you kept telling yourself. It was a one-time thing. A mistake that wouldn’t happen again. Despite how much you secretly wanted it to. 

So you glanced away. You kept it professional. You avoided him like the plague and spent as little time as you could in his presence.  

You even traded a day shift with McKay to get a night away from him. You didn’t feel guilty or ashamed, you just didn’t want Jack to treat you differently. To see you differently. 

The calm of the ED was short-lived as the charge nurse shouted out, “Incoming ped versus vehicle. 3 minutes.”

You stood from the desk and Jack stepped out of the room he was in. You reached for gloves and moved much slower than you should’ve. 

The ambulance doors opened in a rush and the paramedics pushed in the patient on a stretcher. You were focused on snapping on your gloves. One tore as you pulled it on and you cursed under your breath, reaching for another. You listened to the paramedics as you grabbed a new one. 

“Male. 64. Was hit by a driver. Multiple femoral fractures and a blood alcohol level higher than I’ve ever seen.” The paramedic huffed and the patient slurred aggressively in response. 

You glanced up, approaching the stretcher, and your heart fell out of your chest. Your throat closed up on instinct. The patient was spewing nonsense but his demeanor was obvious. He was angry and drunk. And he was your father. 

Abbot calls out your last name, voice sharper than normal as he motions for your frozen self to come help. To do your job.

You don’t move. Your heart races uncomfortably. You hadn’t seen your dad in a few weeks. He was a drunk who had treated you like the biggest regret of his life from as far back as you could remember. 

You avoided him and only checked in on him every once and a while. Mostly to see if he was still alive. 

Even in his drunken state, your father recognized the last name Jack had spoken. The one you shared with him. 

Your father stopped squirming enough to glance up, directly at you. 

“Look who it is.” His sneer was exaggerated and he threw his head back on the gurney. 

Abbot’s brows furrowed and he looked between the man and you. 

“You know this guy?” He spoke as they moved the gurney to the trauma bay. 

The nurses tried to ask for his name and information but your father was shouting nonsense- mostly about giving him drugs to stop the pain. 

You swallow harshly and follow into Trauma 2. 

You feel like you’re in a dream. Watching your worst childhood memories clash with reality. 

“I need your help here.” Jack snaps at you, his eyes searching yours.

They’re already working. Moving your dad to the bed, cutting his clothes. And you’re useless. Watching and trying not to break down.

Your dad shouts and you flinch involuntarily. He yells at the nurse for morphine. Jack is frustrated at your lack of help, but more so concerned about your behavior. 

Your dad’s head snaps up and he glares right at you. “I’m talking to you! Give me something for the fucking pain-” His words are a jumble, but you understand him loud and clear. 

“Sir-” The nurse starts and your dad shouts over her. 

He keeps his head up, his gaze and words directed at you. 

“Do you know him?” Abbot repeats his question from earlier, harsher this time as he works over the chaos. 

Your dad answers for you unintentionally, shouting your name, “Give me something here. I’m your father for fuck’s sake!”

The room falls quiet for a beat and your stomach twists. 

“This is your dad?” Abbot’s eyebrows meet his forehead. 

“Is he an addict?” The nurse asks you. 

“Only alcohol. That I know of.” Your voice is a whisper. 

Abbot sighs harshly and the nurse moves to give your dad a stronger painkiller. 

“Right, get her out of here and send in Ellis, please.” Jack nods to another nurse. 

She grips your arm softly and you watch as your father finally stops shouting and lays his head back in a morphine-induced haze.

The nurse squeezes your arm and sits you in a chair before rushing off to get the other resident. 

You watch numbly as Ellis goes into the bay. You don’t know how long you stare at the wall for, your mind seeming to shut off. 

You hear Shen’s voice behind you and it sounds like he’s asking you a question but you’re not registering anything. 

Your stomach lurches violently and you stand, walking to the ambulance bay doors. 

They slide open and Shen calls out to you. 

You stagger to the bushes and the contents of your stomach come up. 

You cough and wipe your mouth, catching your breath. 

You grip the wall, needing something to stabilize your influx of emotions. 

His voice comes from behind you after a moment. 

“You okay?”

You turn to him and nod. 

He stands across the bay, hands on his hips. He’s unconvinced. 

He approaches you carefully, like a wounded animal, and you hate it. 

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” You call back. 

You turn away from him and run a hand over your hair, gasping for a breath. 

His hand finds your elbow in a gentle grip and you glance his way. He doesn’t say anything. He just grabs your arm and slowly moves you to the curb outside the building. 

He sits you down and moves beside you, his knee brushing yours. 

Your eyes well up despite your best efforts. Your breath wracks and your head sags. 

You wipe at your tears as they begin to fall and try to hide your face in your shoulder. You feel his arm come around you, wrapping you in warmth. 

“You’re okay.” His voice is so steady and reassuring that you almost believe him. 

You nod, but the tears keep falling. 

“I’m sorry.”

You feel his head shake beside you. “Don’t apologize.”

Tears stream down your face and his arm squeezes you closer. You let your head fall to his shoulder and let his comfort consume you. 

Processing what just happened, you let Abbot ease your emotional toll. You feel his lips brush your hairline and your eyes squeeze shut. 

Sniffling, you sit upright again. Abbot’s hand stays on you, sliding down to rest on your back. 

“I didn’t know what to do. Or why I reacted like that. I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting to see him. Not here.” You wipe a stray tear away as you try to explain yourself. 

“From what I witnessed, your reaction tells me there’s a whole other story to your relationship with that man. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You’re a good doctor, but everyone has their limits. Things that hit close to home- or things that come from home.”

He sends you a sympathetic look and you nod at his words.

“I can’t have my best resident freezing up again. Or avoiding me. Which I know you’re doing by the way.” He raises a knowing brow.

The sigh that escapes you is full of embarrassment and nerves. 

“I don’t want to talk about it-”

“About the fact that we slept together or that your dad is an abusive drunk?”

“Jack.” 

“Either topic is up for debate.” His lips rise slightly and you can’t help but shake your head at his persistence. 

“I want to forget it ever happened. All of it.”

It’s silent for a moment and at his lack of response you turn your head to look at him. 

His words are quiet, “If that’s really what you want, I’ll never bring it up again. But if it’s not, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care deeply for you. In a way that I definitely shouldn’t.”

His words are a punch to the gut. A reality check.

“You do?”

He nods, “Have for a while now.” 

He reaches up to brush a rouge hair off your forehead and you lean into the touch. 

“I do too. I care about you.”

His smile is small, “I figured.”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringe. 

He shakes his head, “You’re just easy to read sometimes.”

“It’s inappropriate. Us.” You state the obvious, though you know the words are a useless feat. 

“Very.” Jack huffs a laugh.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. 

After a moment you speak up again, “Is my dad okay?”

“He will be. He needs surgery, but he’ll live.”

You nod. 

Jack runs his hand up your back, his lips meeting your head. He stands slowly, reaching down to grasp your hand. He pulls you to your feet gently. 

“You don’t have to see him, but if you want to I can go with you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods and starts back towards the automatic doors. 

“Jack.” You call. 

He turns, eyebrows raised in question. 

You step closer to him and repeat the sentiment. 

“I’ll look after you.” He squeezes your hand and moves back inside. 

He drives you home that night. And many more nights after that. Your dynamic changes. While still supportive and professional, it’s deeper and fervent- your relationship building a whole new layer of trust. You loved him and it was easy. No more glancing away or avoidant behaviors. You let Jack into every aspect of your life and he cherished it- nurtured it. 

He was everything you needed and more. You accepted each other in whole, scar tissue and all. 

[aakaneeee]

Love is presented in many ways throughout Alien Stage: For Mizi and Sua, it's codependent, romantic to a worrying extent. For Ivan and Till, it's one sided, unrequited, and painful.

And for Hyuna and Luka, it's a curse.

Not only a curse, but one that haunts them. Jacob once told Hyuna to "Forgive yourself", which, to her, was misplaced. She could have forgiven herself. It was Luka who she couldn't forgive. But, in the end, she couldn't fulfill the legacy. She couldn't forgive herself for loving Luka. She couldn't forgive Luka for killing who she loved. And so, what did she do? She passed on the legacy.

The words "Forgive yourself" didn't help her. They built who she was, but in the worst possible way. She couldn't take his words, because she didn't consider herself the culprit, but the one she resented.

She told this curse, "Forgive yourself" again. She told them to Luka, sentence that almost sounded mocking on her lips. She couldn't have died before because she had to keep moving forward, but now, the pressure wasn't on her shoulders anymore.

She loves Luka, of course she does. But she cannot possibly forgive him. She knows he doesn't realize the suffering he inflicts. It's ironic, he's so unbearably smart, solving puzzles in a matter of seconds, but he doesn't know how to take in the real world, and the feelings of the ones around him, the most important 'puzzle' of them all. So, she gives him the biggest dilemma of his life. It's harsh, cruel, messed up in every sense. It's the puzzle she knew he could never solve, because she herself, who knew humanity, couldn't. Hyuna knew Luka loved her more than himself. And Hyuna cared for Hyunwoo more than for herself. Luka killed Hyunwoo, and so, Hyuna repaid him with the same coin, an eye for an eye. With an act that is the ultimate sacrifice, and the ultimate revenge.

As I have said, Hyuna knew the love he had for her, beyond the limits of his own body. She must've known how much her act would destroy his world: a fate worse than death. Her kind tone, telling him to take as much time as he needs to solve the newfound question she has proposed in such an ugly way, appears almost taunting.

And the way she holds him in her arms, purposefully close, and looks into his eyes, makes it just so much more painful. And yet, when she speaks her soul, passes everything she was carrying on her shoulders, over to him, her face is hidden away, buried in his shoulder. She's free. She finally had her revenge. She can forgive him, and then herself, even though the price was destroying him, without building him up again. Leaving him like pieces of a puzzle that never got solved. She's been cruelly betrayed, and she, even more cruelly, fed him his own medicine.

Hyuna is haunted by both Hyunwoo and Luka, similar to how Mizi is haunted by Sua. Hyunwoo brings the horror aspect: the bloodied blouse and head, while Luka has the smile that Sua has in the imaginations. The two people she loved most: the one who couldn't forgive her because she didn't get to apologize, and the one she didn't forgive. It's all so incredibly complex: she hates and loves, she resents and adores. Hyuna can't pick anymore. We're shown that she's such an active person, sociable, loving, having a whole group of humans just like her, and yet, we're told that she thinks all of them are selfish, even if they seem altruistic. She doesn't trust them, it seems it's a facade. In this, Luka and Hyuna are similar, but divided by the fact he wants to conceal his emotions, and she wants to make them more visible.

This page, specifically, made me click MiziSua and HyuLuka together. They look scarily alike. The same lovey-dovey expression, versus the distressed one of the lover, even the slight glow that Luka has is similar. I think this is meant to show that they still depend on each other, despite the fact that Hyuna seems to resent him so much.

Hyuna says Luka doesn't know the meaning of love. That the only thing he's ever shown, the only thing he genuinely knows, is suffering, and that his abilities basically stop at inflicting the same. (At least, emotional ones.) This is a parallel to Ivan, in my opinion, who didn't know love either, but he liked the idea of it. Instead, Luka loved with everything he had, even though he had no idea what it truly was. His love is obsessive, and somehow, so impossibly innocent at the same time. Because in a way, he's still a child. When he sees Hyuna, he becomes immature again, his facade of control dissipating into thin air. He mocked Mizi for her inability, but he's even worse.

According to his ear monitor, his heart was beating out of his chest. He could hear his own erratic heartbeat. It's painful, how happy he was, how excited, to be in her arms again. And yet, despite the love, the embrace was just as much of revenge.

Ever since Wiege, we've seen Luka smile so much. Just for him to never truly smile again.

I am a fan of the gentleness that Hyuna treats young Luka with. She seems awfully attached to the image of that innocence she knew. But it's not like Mizi's idea of Sua, the perfect one. It's an image she can't bear seeing again. "I couldn't stand seeing myself on those posters, because I knew exactly the face the you'd have. Yes, I bet you were smiling ear to ear." We've only seen him like this for the first time, but to her, it was so familiar, even years apart, she still knew.

Another thing I have noticed is that Hyunwoo's grave is right infront of a tree, almost separated from the others, just the way Luka was sitting before Hyuna found him. Now, this time, Hyunwoo lost Hyuna, and he's forever forced to be lonely in the garden he'll never grow out of.

Hyuna wanted to give Luka a rubik's cube he wouldn't be able to solve, something difficult. A rubik's cube can represent human nature, who Luka seems to have mastered completely. But Hyuna finally manages to postpone him: the puzzle is herself.

And in the end, after Hyuna's body goes limp, he finally manages to take her in his arms. He promised that there, she'd be safe, but he didn't manage to keep her that way. And suddenly, the words "My Savior" from Ruler of my Heart are awfully true.

[rhymeswithchronic]

So I’ve finally caught up on the Animation Versus Minecraft series and I am absolutely dead at the fact that when King gave them the staff, they proceeded to use it in the most stupid ways possible. Dude gave them a literal weapon of ultimate power and they like.

Cuddle it in their sleep.

Use it for fancy orchestras.

Make a pogo stick out of it

This is the reaction of someone who realized they literally created a world ending weapon then gave it to a group of very, very stupid kids. I’m dying. Please I cannot express how absolutely hilarious this is to me. The weapon that King used to literally destroy the entirety of Minecraft is now being used by the dumbest squad of teenagers who are using it for teenage things. He doesn’t even know about the lucky block thing.

Bro literally went on an extended villain arc, disgraced his dead son’s memory, and hurt/took advantage of/abused countless innocents and he has just realized the biggest mistake he ever made was giving his weapon to the people who beat him. Not because they are worse than him but because they are royally, painfully, AGONIZINGLY stupid. World ending power meets world denying stupidity

I love these stupid stick figures so much

[elumish]

I realize that whenever I post I am speaking to people who are already predisposed against AI, but I want to argue again against using generative AI (particularly text-based genAI).

And this is not about plagiarism/theft, it's not about the environment, it's not about any of the myriad ethical issues with AI.

My job is one that requires a fair amount of critical thinking. I do (among other things) strategic, operational, and tactical planning, which means that I have to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking through what the path forward or the process should be for stuff.

One of the biggest failings I see in some people I work with, and one of the things that differentiates someone who is successful at the job versus someone who is not, is their ability to do critical thinking.

This is critical thinking at the big level, but it's also the little things. Do you know what the words you have written down say? Do you understand what you are advocating for? When faced with a challenge, big or small, do you have the ability to reason through to a solution?

This last one is most generalizable to basically all aspects of life. Your life will be very difficult if you can't look at a problem and reason through to a solution.

What does this have to do with genAI?

A lot of generative AI is about bypassing those skills. Even when you're "just" asking chatGPT to write you an email or edit your email to make it easier to read, you are bypassing the skills involved in reasoning through how to write a good email.

And those skills will atrophy. If you never need to think about how to articulate an idea clearly and concisely, you won't improve your ability to articulate an idea clearly and concisely. And when you need to do so without the aid of generative AI, you are much less likely to succeed at it.

The act of working through a problem is one of the main ways that you get better at solving problems.

Without the ability to do the thing, you also don't have the ability to check the genAI platform's work. How do you know if an email is clear, if you don't know what it means to write a clear email? How do you know if a summary of a text is right, if you don't know what happens in that text?

GenAI hallucinates. It makes stuff up. It can't do math. It's wrong, a lot, in a lot of different ways.

In the end, these are two big things that you need in your life that using genAI steals from you: 1) the ability to think critically and solve problems and 2) the ability to check work.

You will reach a point in your life where you can't genAI your way out of something. And if you don't know how to work without it, you will fail.

So do the work, even if it's harder, because you need to be able to do the work.

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Turning Point

This is Chapter 5 of the Beginning to End series !

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader 

Summary: You and Jack are newlyweds who also just so happen to be expecting your first baby. These next 9 months will be the best and worst of your life whether you realize it or not.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, some fluff but also porn with plot, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, pregnancy, birth trauma

WC: 12.7k

First Night Back

Fortunately for you and Jack, Robby was able to get you a full week off before coming back to work after the wedding. The week was filled with you two sitting on the couch next to each other creating a registry for not only the baby but, for things to fill your home with eventually.

“You ready to go back tonight?”

“I wish I could stay home with you all the time but, yeah, I’m ready.”

The buzz of the ER returned like muscle memory.

You and Jack stood side by side in the locker room.  His hair was still damp from the quick shower he'd taken before you left the house. You could smell his shampoo in it. 

“Ready for the honeymoon shift?” Jack said, his voice dry but warm.

You snorted. “Nothing says romance like traumas and code blues.”

He leaned over and kissed your temple. “At least you’re here to make it tolerable.”

You walked out together, and the noise hit instantly—monitors beeping, a patient yelling from triage, an EMT calling out vitals mid-roll-in. It should’ve felt overwhelming. Instead, it felt weirdly familiar. 

“Well, well, well look who’s back.” Robby said from across the ER.

Dana held her arms out. “We’ve got a full board just for you two. Pedestrian versus car in Trauma 1. Sepsis in 3. Psych eval holding in 5 and refusing meds. And,” she added with a smirk, “some kid in curtain 8 swallowed a Lego.”

“So glad to be back here,” you muttered, walking away to find your first case back.

You and Jack split off instinctively, no need to even speak. You caught him glancing at you as he passed. A flicker of we’re okay. We’re doing this.

The night was filled with case after case, barely any time to talk to each other. Mostly just him asking if you were okay in passing. But you always made time to catch each other eyes from across the ER.

There was a lull around 2am when Jack came to find you. He looked over at you, and his expression softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked tonight. Or this week.

You sighed. “I’m pregnant, not broken. I’m fine.”

“Just making sure.”

You leaned your hip against the desk, pretending you didn’t notice the subtle way Jack’s eyes scanned you from head to toe—evaluating.

“Jack.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender but said, “I’m allowed to care.”

You softened. He wasn’t wrong. It was part love, part habit. The way you’d both learned to read each other in triage, in chaos, in the stillness between codes. Except now the stakes were higher. 

6:50 a.m. — Change of Shift

You were charting the last of your overnight notes when you heard them before you saw them.

Dana, breezing through the doors with a coffee in one hand and her ID badge already clipped on crooked. Robby beside her, muttering something. And Langdon, as always, trailing behind them.

“Look at you,” Dana said the moment she spotted you, dragging her chair backward across the floor to sit right beside you. “Pregnant and still functioning. Honestly, it’s inspiring. Or maybe terrifying.”

You didn’t look up. “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had a nap and a bagel.”

“Fair,” Robby said, dropping his bag on the counter. “But before we begin, serious question: Are you going to have your baby in this hospital?”

“Well, our OB is upstairs so don’t think we have too much on a choice. But no, you guys are not allowed in the room. You can all wait in the waiting room.”

Groans came from all of them before Dana and Robby walked away. Landon staying behind.

Langdon leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing at your charting speed. “You’ve been up all night?”

“Sure have,” you said, popping the final signature on your trauma note.

“You should be home. Resting.”

Jack, walking past, paused just long enough to throw in, “She also threw a pen across the unit when her monitor froze, so…thriving.”

You shot him a glare, but your lips twitched. “It didn’t hit anyone.”

Langdon grunted. “I’ve seen less motivated attendings take two weeks off for a cold. And you’re still here?”

You shrugged. “Only sixteen weeks, not sixty. I can still do my job.”

“You look like something’s bothering you kid. You fuck up on your first night back already?”

“I’m offended that you would even think that but, no. Its about me and Jack.”

“It’s about your sex life isn’t it?”

“That obvious?”

“Somehow these conversations always turn into a sex talk regardless of how hard I try to say away from it and anyway you guys are married now and you’re carrying his child so even if I don’t want to think about it, obviously you guys are having sex.” Langdon blinked once.  “So go on.”

You exhaled, feeling immediately ridiculous but too far in to stop. “It’s just- we’ve been weird lately. Hesitant. Ever since I started showing. I mean of course we had sex on our wedding night and one other time last week but, it felt off in a way.”

Langdon nodded, letting you keep going.

“He’s being careful. Like, overly careful. Gentle in a way that makes me feel like I might shatter. And I know it’s coming from a good place. I just- I miss feeling like myself. Like us. There’s this invisible line we keep dancing around, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s scared of hurting me. Or the baby. Or both.”

Langdon leaned back in his chair. “Definitely both.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen it before, felt it before actually,” Langdon said. “New father, already in love with a kid he hasn’t met yet, suddenly sees his wife as precious cargo instead of a woman with her own needs and desires.”

“So what, I’m just a vessel now for this baby?”

“No,” he said, firmly. “You’re still you. But he’s navigating something new. He’s terrified. And you’ve always been the strong one, so his instinct is to protect what he doesn’t understand.”

You were quiet for a moment. “And how do I deal with that?”

“Talk to him,” Langdon said simply. “Tell him you’re not made of glass. That being close, being touched, being wanted—it still matters. Pregnancy doesn’t erase who you are in the relationship. It just shifts the balance. He needs permission to stop treating you like you’re breakable.”

You nodded slowly. “And if he still hesitates?”

Langdon gave you a look. “Then you remind him who the hell you are.”

You laughed, tension breaking just a bit. “You’re not the worst at this, you know.”

Langdon reached for his coffee. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

“Mel is really lucky to have you.”

He smiled gently. “Not as lucky as I am to have her.”

You stood. “Thank you.”

He looked up. “For what it’s worth, you two are solid. You’ll figure it out.”

You nodded again, already composing the conversation in your head. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about closeness. About not letting this new chapter turn into distance.

You grabbed your bag and stood slowly, a hand reflexively brushing your belly.

Jack appeared behind you, looping his fingers through yours. “Ready for our appointment?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Oh my god. I forgot about that.”

“That’s what you have me for.” He kissed your cheek.

As you walked out together, the ER faded behind you. There was no need to sneak out the back door to go upstairs to your OB. Basically the whole hospital knew you and Jack were expecting. News spread like wildfire once you told Dana, Mel, Robby and Langdon that they were allowed to tell whoever they wanted.

———————————————————————

16 Weeks - OB Appointment

The waiting room was quiet, bathed in that too-soft, too-warm light that always made you feel like you might accidentally fall asleep sitting up. 

You were still in your scrubs, badge clipped to your collar, shoes a little scuffed from twelve hours of trauma and chaos. 

Jack sat beside you, one leg bouncing restlessly. 

He nudged your knee. “You good?”

You nodded. “Just tired.”

“Want me to be quiet?”

You glanced at him. “You’re never quiet.”

Jack smirked but didn’t argue.

The nurse called your name, and you both stood. Jack’s hand instinctively found your back as you followed her down the hall. She didn’t comment on the way your steps slowed, or the way your eyes flicked toward the ultrasound machine.

“Hop up here,” she said gently. “The doctor will be in soon. We’ll take a listen first.”

You lay back, pulling up your scrub top just enough to expose the curve of your belly. The nurse squirted cold gel onto your skin and pressed the doppler into place.

It took a moment—one long, aching second—before you heard it, the whoosh-thump-whoosh-thump of a tiny, relentless heart.

Jack let out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. His hand found yours without needing to look.

“Strong,” the nurse said, smiling. “Mid-150s. Baby’s happy to be in there.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden sting in your eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the way Jack was staring at the monitor like it held every answer to every question you hadn’t asked.

Then the doctor came in. “Vitals are great, weight is on track, and baby is measuring right on schedule. Any new symptoms?”

You hesitated. “Some weird pulling when I twist or stretch. Sleeping’s harder.”

“That’s normal—your uterus is growing, everything's are adjusting. Stay hydrated, rest when you can, and if it gets sharp or constant, page me.”

You cleared your throat. “Can I ask something?”

Jack looked at you sharply.

The doctor nodded. “Of course.”

You didn’t look at Jack. “Is it safe, you know to- to keep being intimate?”

He almost choked letting out a cough.

 “Absolutely. Unless your having complications—which you’re not—sex is totally safe. The baby’s protected by the uterus and amniotic fluid. It’s normal for things to feel different, emotionally or physically, but there’s no medical reason to stop unless either of you wants to.”

He stared at the ceiling, cheeks burning. Jack’s hand tightened around yours again.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

The doctor smiled at you both. “Just listen to each other. This is new territory, but you’re a team. You’ll figure it out.”

When he stepped out, the room was quiet again, save for the faint echo of that tiny heartbeat still ringing in your ears.

He turned his head toward you. “Didn’t see that coming”

You shrugged, sheepish. “I wanted to hear it from someone that’s an expert in this field.”

He laughed. “I needed to hear it too.”

Later That Night — At Home

The house was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a lamp in the living room and the blue flicker of the TV. 

You came out of the bathroom in one of Jack’s old t-shirts and boxers, towel-drying your hair. He was on the couch, legs stretched out, wearing sweats and a t-shirt with the look of a man who hadn’t stopped thinking since that OB appointment.

You sat beside him, letting your weight lean into his. He immediately curled an arm around your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You just breathed, syncing up with him again. 

Eventually, you murmured, “You were really quiet after I asked the doctor that question.”

Jack nodded. “Was just taking it all in I guess.”

You tilted your head toward him. “You’ve been scared around me. I guess I just thought our first week of together after the wedding would be us having sex everywhere and anywhere.”

“Yeah.” His voice was raw honesty. “You’ve been pushing through like nothing’s changed. But everything has. And I don’t want to be the reason something goes wrong.”

You touched his chest, over his heart. “Don’t be fragile with me here.”

Jack looked at you then, fully, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “And I didn’t know how to get back without hurting you.”

You took his hand and brought it to your belly. “We’re right here. Still me. Still us.”

He leaned in, forehead pressing to yours, like he’d been waiting all day to just be this close.

“We can go at whatever pace you want.”

“Jack, I’m growing a child, there’s are so many hormones flowing through my veins and these hormones are telling me that you need to have sex with me as much as you possibly can.”

“Tell me if something’s too much,” he said softly. “If anything feels wrong. I just- I want you to feel good. Wanted. Safe.”

You smiled. “I already do.”

The kiss started soft but, deepened quickly. Not rushed. Just full of need that had gone unsaid for too long.

His hands found your hips like he remembered them. You pulled him closer, needing that weight, that warmth, that certainty that came only from this—from him.

You climbed on top of him without hesitation. Your legs wrapped around him, his thumbs rubbed small, knowing circles just above your waistband. His tongue finding your mouth, swirling around yours. You lifted yourself around him, resting your bodyweight onto his lap.

He let out a soft groan. You adjusted yourself and felt his excitement growing underneath you. 

His hands now inside your shirt around your waist. You reached down to the hem of his sweatpants. He adjusted himself off the couch slightly, just barely giving you enough space to slide your hand into his boxers. 

“Ah fuck.” 

You wrapped your hand around his already solid cock, your thumb rubbing past his tip, already slick with precum. 

“Excited already…daddy?” You whispered, lips curling into a smirk. 

He let out a breathy laugh, but there was a softness in it—like this moment meant something more than just release. “Why don’t you keep going and I’ll let you know.” 

His hands left your hips and went above his head as you put your hand onto his chest. You other hand began to pump up and down on him. Firm enough to make him squirm underneath you. 

He was breathing hard and fast. His eyes closed with his head up to the ceiling. You could feel the veins on his cock pulsating in the grasp of you hand. 

His hands left your hips and rested above his head, giving you control. You placed your free hand on his chest, steadying yourself as your grip on him tightened. You began to stroke—slow, firm, deliberate.

He was breathing harder now. His jaw clenched, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You could feel him throbbing in your hand, every pulse syncing with his shaky breaths.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear. “Cum for me, Daddy.”

“Fu—fuck, babygirl.” His body tensed beneath you, arching as his orgasm hit. You felt him spill over your hand—hot, sticky, desperate.

You stroked him through it, coaxing every last drop out of him. And when you were done, your hand slid out and came to your mouth, licking him off your fingers one by one, eyes locked on his.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed, brushing your hair back, his hands settling around your neck. “Clean up the mess you made.”

“Love how you taste in my mouth.” You grinned, collapsing beside him on the couch.

He put his hand on your thigh, stopping you from going any further. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Thought you needed a second before we do anything else.”

He nodded his head upwards. “Fuck that, get on top of me right now babygirl.”

He lifted up his hips up, pulling his pants and boxers down to his ankles before sitting back down on the couch. 

You stood up off the couch, putting yourself directly in front of him. “Take them off.”

You lowered his boxers on you, red lace panties underneath. 

“Those too.” His eyes were dark, voice deep.

Panties hit the floor with you stepping out of them. His shirt the only piece of clothing still on your body, barely covering your lower half. 

“Come up here.” He tapped his thighs with both hands. 

You straddled him again, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his legs. His hands gripped your waist under the shirt, tugging you closer. You framed his face with your hands and kissed him—hungry, messy, needing more.

He was hard again by the time your hips shifted just enough.

He grabbed himself with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance. He slid inside you in one long, perfect motion.

Your breath caught.

He filled you. Completely.

He pulled your body closer, lips crashing together. 

You rested for a moment, letting yourself adjust to his size inside of you. His hands moved to your lower back, holding you there, grounding both of you in the moment.

“God, baby,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You feel so fucking good.”

You breathed out shakily, forehead resting against his. “I needed this.”

“I know.” His thumbs followed the curve of your hips. “Me too.”

You rolled your hips—slow at first, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his eyes fluttered closed. The drag of him inside you was almost too much, but somehow not enough.

Your bodies moved together, falling into rhythm like muscle memory. 

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough and quiet.

And you listened.

He cupped your face with one hand, the other gripping your hip to guide your pace. There was nothing rushed about him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Carrying our baby. Still wanting me to fuck you.”

Your heart swelled, throat tightening. You bit your bottom lip as you rocked against him harder, chasing that edge—but not just for the release.

His hands slipped up your back, under your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His mouth found your chest, trailing kisses across your breasts, slow and open-mouthed, worshipful. You threaded your fingers through his silver curls, gasping when he sucked gently at your nipple.

“Jack—” His name broke in your throat.

“I’ve got you,” he said, kissing you again. “Let it go.”

You ground down harder, your body tightening, the heat building deep and fast now. He matched you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting up off the couch. 

“Cum for me,” he growled into your neck. “Let me feel you fall apart while I’m inside of you.”

Your climax hit fast and hard—hips bucking, breath caught, muscles clenching around him. You cried out his name as waves rolled through you, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He wasn’t far behind. His grip on you tightened, and with a low, groan, he spilled into you, pulling you down to him, chest to chest, heart to heart.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just held each other. Just breathed.

You rested your head against his, bodies slick and tangled and trembling.

“Fuck I missed this,” you whispered. “I missed us.”

Jack kissed your forehead, lips lingering. “We’re still us. Just more now.” He looked down at your stomach. 

You smiled into his skin. “Yeah. More.”

His hands settled over your belly, still resting inside you.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you, too.” You kissed him again—slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say out loud.

———————————————————————

18 Weeks

“So, been meaning to ask you, you guys doing any better now?”

“Oh, Lang, trust me you don’t wanna know how much better we’re doing.”

“Yeah, I really, really could’ve gone my whole life without seeing the look of your face right now.”

“Whatever, guess your advice worked.”

He lifted his coffee cup up in a salute. “My advice always works. Anyway aren’t you guys supposed to go look at a house later?”

Langdon perked up. “House hunting again? I thought you guys were getting burned out.”

“We are. We’ve looked at, like, fifteen places and nothing feels right. So I’m not getting my hopes up.”

He shrugged, easy and steady. “You’ll find it. That ‘oh, this is ours’ feeling. It shows up when you least expect it.”

You gave a half-smile. “You get surprisingly sentimental when you’re over caffeinated.”

He grinned. “Kid, I get sentimental when I care. And you two? You’re the real deal. Don’t settle for a house that doesn’t feel like it knows your names already.”

After Shift

The sun was at its highest point when you pulled up in front of the house. 

Jack was already waiting on the sidewalk, hands in his coat pockets, rocking on his heels. He gave a small wave when he saw you.

“This the one?” you asked as you stepped out, eyeing the house.

“Apparently,” he said, looking up at the place like it was a riddle he couldn’t quite solve. “Our agent said it just came back on the market this week.“

The exterior was older—white paint a little faded, porch railing crooked. But the windows were big, the trees in the yard were bare, leaves on the ground, and there was a creak in the front step that made you smile for no reason.

The agent greeted you at the door and waved you in with a soft “Take your time. Take it all in.”

You stepped inside—and something shifted.

It wasn’t flashy. The floors were original hardwood, scuffed in all the places that said someone lived here for a long time.The kitchen was dated, but the sunlight poured in like the house knew how to catch it.

Jack walked a few paces ahead of you, quiet. Not cautious—just thoughtful.

You followed him through the living room, past a fireplace that would need work, and into a small room tucked in the back.

You looked around—window facing the yard, soft echo from your footsteps on the floor. Small. Safe.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked over to the window and looked out into the overgrown backyard.

“I can see us here,” he said, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You stood next to him, shoulder against his. “Even with the popcorn ceilings?”

He smiled. “Especially with the popcorn ceilings. Definitely getting rid of those though.”

Jack followed close behind as you climbed the creaky stairs, your hand grazing the banister that could definitely use refinishing. 

At the top, the hallway narrowed. Three doors, slightly ajar.

You pushed open the first one. Small. Bright. The window faced east—you could already imagine morning light filling the crib, soft blankets folded over the chair you’d place in the corner.

Jack stepped beside you. “Definitely the nursery,” he said softly.

You moved to the second room. Bigger. The shape of a bed against the wall, dresser under the window, maybe a little chaos in the corners—Jack’s shoes, your half-read books.

“Our room,” you said.

He nodded, and then nudged the third door open with his foot. The last room.

Neither of you spoke as you stepped in. It was almost identical to the nursery—same creaky floorboard near the closet, same slanted ceiling that gave the space a little character. But this time, when you looked at it, you saw something different.

A twin bed. Toys on the floor. A sleepy toddler dragging a blanket behind them on a Sunday morning.

Jack moved behind you, his hands slipping onto your belly from behind, chin resting gently on your shoulder.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked quietly.

“I might be.”

“A second one?”

You turned your head toward him, half-smiling. “Too soon?”

Jack grinned. “Little bit. But not really.”

The baby kicked again—like he was chiming in.

You laughed. “You hear that? Your brother’s already opinionated.”

Jack kissed your shoulder, his voice warm against your skin. “Guess we’ll keep the extra room ready. Just in case.”

You both stood there a moment longer, wrapped in silence and the distant sounds of the old house settling around you.

———————————————————————

20 Weeks

Your next OB appointment. You didn’t remember this one either. Not that you needed to. Jack kept track of everything—dates, vitamins, test results. He was your living, breathing calendar.

This appointment you wanted go over your birth plan. 

“Of course. Let’s talk about what’s important to you. Any specific preferences? Vaginal delivery? Epidural? Who you want in the room?”

You looked at Jack first. He gave you the tiniest nod, that quiet go-ahead he always gave when the decision was yours, and he’d back you no matter what.

“I’d like to try for a vaginal delivery,” you said. “And I want an epidural, if I don’t need to feel all the pain, I don’t want to.”

The doctor made a note of it. “Totally fair. Birth doesn’t always go according to plan, but we’ll make sure you feel supported every step of the way.”

“And I’ll be there,” Jack added, like it wasn’t even a question. His voice was steady, but there was something in the way he said it. You reached for his hand without thinking, and he took yours immediately.

The OB smiled again. “Husband in the room. Got it. Anyone else?”

“No, just him. No matter how much anybody else wants to come in, I need them to stay in the waiting room, unless they need to drag jack out of the room for freaking out too much.”

“Which is a very real possibility.”

“Got it. Any thoughts on interventions? Vacuum, forceps, C-section if needed?”

You hesitated. That part scared you more than you liked to admit. But Jack squeezed your hand before you could answer.

“I’d like to avoid a C-section unless absolutely necessary,” you said. “Same with everything else, if possible of course. But do whatever you have to.”

“Completely reasonable. We’ll aim for low intervention, high support. I’ll note that flexibility is key. How long are you planning on staying at work?”

“As long as I can.”

You didn’t need to look at Jack to know that he was shaking his head.

“All up to you. If you want a note that you need to stop working let me know. It’s yours whenever you need.”

You exhaled slowly. It felt like you were drawing the map for a trip you couldn’t see yet but, at least now, the path had a shape.

The rest of the night was spent relaxing before your next shift. Going over your plan with Jack again. And getting some much needed sleep before work.

That night, between cases and chaos, you caught him just as he was sitting down to chart. 

“Hey, um—can I talk to you really quick?”

His head snapped toward you, brows pulling in. “Yeah. What happened?” His hand went straight to your belly.

You placed your hand gently over his. “The baby’s fine. Perfect, actually. I just...need to show you something.”

You held out your hand, fingers beckoning. Jack narrowed his eyes, voice softening. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

You smirked. “Don’t worry about it.”

You tugged him into the empty on call room, backing up until your spine met the wall.

His eyes darted around the space. “What are we doing in here?”

“Everything,” you whispered, grabbing the front of his scrubs and pulling him in close. “I need you right now, Jack.”

He hesitated only a beat, eyes going toward the door. Then he sighed, low and hungry.

“Well, if we’re doing this here...” His hand slipped away from your waist. “At least let me lock the god damn door first.”

The soft click of the lock was the only warning before you reached for your waistband, untying your scrub pants. Your top hiked up slightly, revealing the curve of your belly.

Jack’s eyes darkened as his hand found your stomach.

“God, you look so fucking good,” he murmured, voice rough. “Carrying my baby. Still this desperate for me to be inside of you.”

His hand moved lower, cupping you over your panties. “Fuck. You’re soaked already.”

“All for you,” you whispered.

His thumb pressed through the fabric, slow and deliberate.

“Ja-Jack,” you gasped, shifting your hips into his hand. “Please. I need your fingers inside me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He slid your panties aside, two fingers running along your folds—slow, teasing strokes that sent electricity racing through your core. He dipped just enough to coat his fingers in you, but not enough to satisfy.

Then, finally, he pushed inside.

You bit down on your lip, head falling back against the wall.

His other hand came up fast, covering your mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered in your ear. “Quiet, babygirl. Don’t want anyone knowing how fucking filthy you get for me.”

Your hands searched behind you, gripping for anything to brace yourself. The angle. The pressure. The thickness of his fingers curling just right. 

Moans broke from your throat, muffled against his palm.

He moved faster, deeper. Fingers fucking you with practiced precision while his thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit.

Your body started to quake.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Falling apart on my fingers. My perfect girl. My perfect mommy.”

Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm slammed into you—white-hot, unexpected, unstoppable.

You shook against him, clinging to his arm as your legs threatened to give out.

Jack held you upright, never letting go, fingers slowly easing out as he kissed your temple.

Still breathless, you whispered against his shoulder, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not a chance. You’re carrying my whole world in there.”

Jack pulled his fingers from you slowly, like he hated to let go.

You were still trembling, thighs pressed together, leaning against him for balance as he gently fixed your panties back into place.

“Fuck,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes glassy, breath still uneven. “Yeah, yeah Just don’t think I can walk back out there yet.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You’re gonna have to. I’m not carrying you back to the nurse’s station with your legs like jelly and my cum on your thighs.”

You smacked his chest, trying not to laugh.

A sound. The unmistakable knock on the door.

Both of you froze.

Then came a voice—muffled but unmistakable.

“Hey, Abbott you in there? We got a GSW coming in 5!”

Dana.

Jack’s eyes went wide. You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the nervous laugh bubbling up.

He mouthed fuck and motioned silently for you to stay put while he moved toward the door.

“Yeah, one second” he called, voice a little too casual.

In one smooth motion, he straightened his scrubs, cleared his throat, unlocked the door—and stepped out.

“Sorry,” he said to Dana, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s go?”

Dana blinked at him, skeptical. “You’re sweating. You okay?”

Jack smiled. “Yeah just- just wanted to grab a quick nap. You know how these rooms get, pretty stuffy in there.”

You could hear the forced calm in his voice, and it made your cheeks burn.

Dana glanced past him, trying to peer into the room. “You in there alone?”

Jack blocked the door slightly with his body. “Yup. Just me.”

A beat passed. Then she raised an eyebrow.

“You seen your wife?” Dana asked. “She just kinda disappeared. Gonna need her for this one too.”

“Bathroom, I think,” he said smoothly. “You know, gotta pee all the time when you’re pregnant.”

Dana made a face. “Ugh. Say no more.”

Jack waited until she turned down the hallway before he exhaled and slipped back into the room, shutting the door behind him again—quietly this time.

You were still against the wall, lips parted in disbelief. “Did we seriously just almost get caught by Dana?”

He grinned. “We absolutely got caught by Dana.��

You stared at him, then burst out laughing—quiet and breathless and wild.

“I can’t believe you just lied to her face like that.”

Jack leaned in, hands braced on either side of your head. “I’d do a hell of a lot more than lie to protect this.” His voice dropped low.

Your laughter faded into something softer. More vulnerable. You reached up and brushed a thumb along his jaw.

“Next time,” you whispered, “we pick a room that doesn’t echo.”

He kissed you, slow and lingering.

“I’m already looking forward to next time.”

“Oh, you’ll get a next time. I’ll make sure of it.”

———————————————————————

22 Weeks

Just four weeks after looking at the house, you two were moving in. Everyone had been helping. Everyone.

People constantly at the apartment helping you pack things into boxes. Robby and Langdon going to the store with Jack to pick up all the furniture you wanting for the house. Dana, Collins, and Mel helping you find the perfect decor.

And now here you stood in the middle of your new living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint smell of old wood and fresh paint.

Jack was upstairs, wrestling a dresser up the narrow hallway, swearing under his breath in the gentlest way possible. You could hear the dull thud of a drawer sliding out, followed by the scrape of furniture against the banister.

Your hand rested on your belly. Twenty-two weeks. So close, yet so far.

You turned slowly in a circle, trying to decide which box to open first. The one labeled KITCHEN – FRAGILE stared back at you like a challenge. You ignored it and went for the one marked BOOKS – LIVING ROOM.

Jack thumped down the stairs a minute later, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay,” he said, out of breath. “I don’t care what the listing said, that hallway is not ‘spacious.’”

You grinned. “You got it up there, though?”

“Barely. I think it’s staying with the house when we die.”

You sat on the arm of the couch, letting the stretch in your lower back ease out. “I was going to start on the books.”

Jack glanced at the box. “Start with the ones we never read but pretend we did. Those can go on the living room shelves.”

He crossed the room to you and crouched down, one hand brushing against your knee, the other settling on your belly. “How’s he doing?”

You shrugged. “Chattier than usual. I think he likes the noise.”

“Or he’s already judging our furniture arrangement.”

You looked around. The couch was at an awkward angle, the coffee table hadn’t made it in yet, and you still hadn’t decided if the painting from your old apartment belonged anywhere in this new place.

It was chaos, but it was yours.

Jack leaned his head against your leg. “We’re really doing this,” he said, quieter now. “This whole thing. House. Baby. All of it.”

You ran your fingers through his silver hair. “We are.”

You felt home.

——————————————————

24 Weeks 

Your belly had rounded out more noticeably now. Jack couldn’t keep his hands—or his eyes—off of. Even during the most chaotic shifts, he found a way to check in: a hand on your lower back, a squeeze to your palm during charting, the kind of quiet glances that spoke louder than words.

You were 24 weeks today, at work while he was at home. Hopefully putting together more furniture that had just come in.

He texted you during rounds. “24 weeks. Viable. Our little one could make it of their own now.”

That night, it stormed. The kind of downpour that made traffic impossible, left sirens echoing too often, and made everything feel a little more raw.

You came home late, soaked and silent. Too tired to cook. Too wired to sleep.

Jack was the one who finally said it, after hours of half-watching some muted show from the couch.

“Come here.”

You were already next to him, but he opened his arms like he meant it—like he needed more.

You crawled into his lap, careful of your belly. He cradled you against him, one hand on your thigh, the other curved protectively around your stomach.

“The baby kicked earlier today,” you whispered into the crook of his neck.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to wait until it was just us.”

His expression softened. He brought both hands to your belly now, thumbs brushing side to side like he was trying to feel her through will alone.

And then, like magic, another kick.

His face lit up like he’d been handed the universe.

You nodded, and he exhaled the kind of breath people only release when they’re holding too much love at once.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with something I haven’t even met.”

You leaned forward and kissed him—soft and slow.

Your hand slid under his shirt, fingers tracing the planes of his chest. His lips moved against yours like a promise.

He lifted your shirt carefully,, until your belly was exposed.

Then he sank to his knees in front of you on the couch, lips brushing against the stretch of skin just above your navel.

“Hi baby,” he whispered. “It’s Daddy. You keep growing strong in there, okay? I’ll take care of her out here.”

You blinked back sudden tears, heart too full, body aching with love and something deeper.

He looked up at you, reading your expression instantly.

“C’mere,” he said softly, rising to his feet. 

“Let me take care of you, too.”

———————————————————————

26 Weeks

The nursery didn’t look like much yet—just a pile of boxes, a folded-up rug, and the smell of fresh paint still lingering faintly in the air. You stood in the doorway with a mug of chamomile tea, watching Jack wrestle with the instructions for the crib.

You stepped inside, careful over the half-unrolled rug, and knelt beside him. “Want me to read while you build?”

“God, yes. I’ve been pretending this part makes sense for twenty minutes.”

You took the manual, flipping through to the page with the exploded diagram. “Step one says attach Panel A to Side B using bolt type—wait, why are there three types of bolts?”

Jack looked at you like he might cry. “They’re identical, I swear.”

You laughed, and he softened at the sound, reaching to squeeze your knee. “Don’t laugh at the father of your child in his hour of need.”

“I’m laughing with you.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Not yet.”

You handed him the correct bolts—probably—and settled beside him, your back leaning against the wall. 

You watched as he slowly pieced the frame together, getting into a rhythm. The room felt warm, despite the January air outside. You two had basically ignored the holidays with everything else going on.

The walls were pale blue now—soft and quiet.

Jack slid one of the sides into place, then sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Oh god, it’s done,” he declared.

“Certified by the ER doc?”

“I’ll get it notarized.”

You looked around. The rocking chair was still in the box. The mobile was still in the bag. There were folded baby clothes in a laundry basket in the hall, waiting for a dresser you hadn’t found yet.

But the crib was up.

Jack sat beside you, his shoulder against yours, both of you looking at it like it had just made something real that wasn’t quite real before.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, voice low.

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Just hitting me a little.”

“What part?”

You took a breath, exhaled slowly. “That there’s going to be a baby sleeping in that crib soon.”

Jack looked over at you, and his expression softened into something you’d seen a thousand times but never got tired of. That quiet, steady awe he reserved just for you.

“Our baby,” Jack said. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You think we’ll be any good at this?”

“I think we’ll be tired. And messy. And figuring it out every day. But yeah.” He kissed the side of your head. “I think we’ll be pretty damn good.”

You closed your eyes for a second, letting the weight of the moment settle.

“You know,” Jack said, voice casual, “we still haven’t settled on a name.”

You smiled. “We’ve ruled out a lot, though.”

“That counts for something.”

Jack looked over at you. “Okay, so what do you like?”

You hesitated, watching the light from the window spill across the floor. “I keep thinking about names that sound solid. Not trendy. A name that would be good for when he’s an adult trying to get a job.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I still like Wesley for a boy.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. That one can stay on the list. Even though you heard it on TV somewhere and it has no meaning to us”

“It’ll have meaning once theyr'e here.” He turned his head toward you. 

“I think it kicked just now, maybe it is a boy after all,” you whispered, one hand on your belly.

Jack moved to kneel in front of you, resting his palm gently over yours.

“You like that one, huh?” he said to your stomach, smiling.

You both sat with it for a minute in silence. It was the kind that stretched and softened between people who knew how to share it.

“So Wesley for a first name or middle name?” Jack sat up, crossed his legs. “Do we honor someone? Or do we just pick something that sounds good?”

You shrugged. “We still have a couple weeks. I’m sure something will come to us by then.”

Jack looked up at you, eyes soft. You reached for his hand, and together, you sat there, naming the future, one piece at a time.

———————————————————————

28 Weeks

You hadn’t planned on finding out.

At first, it was just going to be a surprise. Something you’d discover together in the delivery room, sweaty and overwhelmed and crying. But over time, the not-knowing started to weigh heavier than expected.

Jack never pushed. But you caught him daydreaming from time to time, talking to your bump in quiet moments, cycling through baby names. Jack had a strong feeling you were carrying his son. Only talked about boy names.

So when your OB offered to write it down in a sealed envelope, you nodded without hesitating.

You didn’t want to open it. Until tonight.

“I want to know,” you said softly, sliding the envelope across the kitchen counter to Jack. “If you still do.”

He looked up from where he was getting dinner ready, eyes wide. 

“You sure?”

You nodded, pulse already racing.

He wiped his hands on a towel, drying them carefully before picking it up.

“You open it,” you said.

“No,” he said gently, “I want to see your face when you find out.”

Your chest tightened. Hands trembling just slightly, you broke the seal. You unfolded the single piece of paper.

And read the word.

BOY.

It didn’t hit you all at once.

Then Jack stepped around the counter, reading it over your shoulder.

And everything stopped.

He laughed—but it broke halfway through, a sound caught between disbelief and something close to a sob. He pressed his forehead to yours, arms wrapping around your waist and belly in one movement.

“A boy,” he whispered. “We’re having a son.”

You laughed too, and suddenly the tears came fast. 

Jack held your face in his hands. 

“A son,” he said again, voice. “I swear I’m going to love the hell out of this kid.”

You ran your hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face as his eyes stayed locked on your belly.

“I think he already knows,” you said.

Jack looked up at you, eyes glassy. “He’s going to know everything. Every day. How much we love him. How much he’s wanted.”

And for the first time in weeks, the future didn’t feel so far away.

———————————————————————

32 Weeks 

Your schedule had barely lined up with Jacks in the past couple weeks. But once it did, Jack had plans for you two. 

The night went on, chaos as usual. Until 4AM. 

He caught your eye in the hallway—just a glance, but you knew that look.

You had just sat down to eat a quick snack when he appeared behind you, voice low, warm against your ear.

“Follow me.”

You glanced around. “Jack—”

He turned, walking away like he hadn’t just whispered something that set your skin on fire.

You followed him anyway.

The on-call room door clicked shut behind you a moment later. The lights were off. Jack didn’t turn them on.

He just backed you against the wall with a hand on your belly and a kiss that made time stop.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured against your mouth. “You’re happy. Glowing. Carrying our son.”

His hands slipped under your scrubs.  One slid around to the small of your back, the other resting protectively over your bump.

“I love how you say our son,” you whispered, already breathless.

“Say it again?”

You smiled. “Our son.”

His hand dipped between your legs without hesitation, cupping the heat he knew was waiting for him.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he groaned. “You’re always so ready for me.”

He lifted you onto the edge of the nightstand, working fast but careful. 

Your legs parted, scrubs halfway down, his mouth on your neck, hand moving between your thighs until your head hit the wall behind you.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “You know these walls are paper thin.”

“Then don’t make me moan,” you shot back, voice thick with want.

His grin was wicked. “No promises.”

He dropped to his knees and disappeared between your legs, and all you could do was bite your knuckle and hope the shift stayed quiet five more minutes.

Jack’s tongue dragged through your folds like he was memorizing you all over again.

Slow. Deep. Obsessive.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, your hands gripping the edge of the cot so tightly your knuckles ached.

“Jack—” You breathed his name like a warning.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow.

His tongue circled your clit with precision while his fingers slipped inside you, curling up at just the right angle. 

It was too much yet somehow not nearly enough.

You came hard and fast, biting back a cry as your body arched.

He stayed with you the whole way, holding your hips, riding out every pulse of your orgasm like he wanted to feel it himself.

By the time you opened your eyes, he was already standing, undoing his scrub pants with one hand, eyes locked on you like he might not survive another second without being inside you.

“Turn around,” he said, voice rough and ragged.

You obeyed, turning to face the wall, breath still uneven.

He slid into you slowly, deep and the sound that came out of both of you was pure relief.

“God, you feel so fucking good around my cock babygirl.” he groaned.

Your forehead pressed to the wall, mouth open, body rocking back to meet his every thrust.

“Harder,” you whispered. “I can take it daddy.”

He gave you what you asked for. Each stroke slamming into that sweet spot inside you, his body hot and heavy behind yours, his rhythm fast and hungry.

“You’re mine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “My wife. The mother of my child. My whole fucking world.”

You pushed back into him harder, chasing that edge again.

“Then don’t stop,” you gasped. “Show me.”

And he did.

The pleasure built fast. Frantic and unstoppable. You reached between your legs, fingers circling your clit.

“Ja-Jack—”

“Fuck, I’m close.”

“I’m gonna—”

You came together, your body clenching around him, his hips jerking deep inside as he spilled into you.

The only sound in the room was your breathing, shaky and uneven.

He leaned over you, still buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck.

“Get dressed before someone…

A knock at the door made you both freeze.

“Hey!” came Robby’s voice. “Tell me you’re not doing what I know you’re doing in there!”

Jack groaned and dropped his head into your shoulder, chuckling.

“One minute!,” he whispered. He pulled out of you slowly. “Worth it.”

Since this had become somewhat of a habit, Jack had towels ready to clean himself off of you.

You tried to walk out first. Tried to act like it was just another on-call nap.

But you didn’t even make it to the nurse’s station before the ambush.

Robby stood with a cup of coffee in hand, leaned against the counter with the same smug look he wore anytime he caught anyone doing something even almost against the rules.

“You two owe me new ears,” he said flatly. “And a therapy session.”

Dana, sitting beside him, didn’t look up from her chart. “At least pretend to be subtle next time. We have patients trying to survive, and you two are in there giving the walls a show.”

You felt Jack step up behind you, his hand finding your lower back as always.

“We were gone maybe twenty minutes,” he said.

Dana finally looked up. “You were gone forty-five minutes. And you walked out looking like you just finished a marathon.”

Jack grinned unapologetically. “Best forty-five minutes of my life.”

“Yeah, we all know that wasn’t the first time.” Said Robby while rolling his eyes.

Langdon appeared from around the corner, perfectly deadpan. “If HR asks, I didn’t hear a thing. But if I ever get stuck in that on-call room, I’ll just sleep outside instead.”

You groaned and buried your face in Jack’s shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around you like a shield. “Hey, she needed a break. Doctor’s orders.”

Robby snorted. “Oh yeah? Was the baby involved in that medical necessity?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “He approved.”

That brought everything to a halt.

Dana’s eyes widened. “He?”

You blinked, cheeks warming. “Yeah. We decided to open the envelope.”

Langdon raised a brow. “So the orgasm was celebratory?”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Can we please change the subject?”

Too late. Dana stood, walking around the counter to hug you with a wide grin.

“A boy,” she said warmly. “God help us all.”

Jack leaned in and kissed the side of your head, completely unbothered by the teasing. And for a moment—amid the chaos, sarcasm, and inappropriate comments, it felt like everything was exactly how it should be.

“Hey, you ready to head home?”

“Yeah, I just need to talk to Robby first. Should be quick.”

“Glad you’re finally taking your time away from here.”

You went to Robbys office where Collins was sitting inside talking to him.

“Hey, you mind if I steal your husband for a couple of minutes?”

“He’s all yours.” As she was walking past you, she put her hand on your growing stomach. “Hey there baby boy!”

You stepped inside and shut the door. “Ugh, this back pain is going to have me admitted soon enough.”

He nodded and gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. Talk to me kid. Whats going on?"

You lowered yourself into the chair slowly—thirty-two weeks in, and even basic everything came with sound effects now.

Robby leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “How you feeling?”

“Tired. Hungry. Nervous.”

He nodded. “So, business as usual.”

You cracked a smile. “I- I wanted to get started the paperwork for maternity leave.”

Robby didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at you. Not with surprise, he knew it was coming.

“When are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’ll think I want to work up to 36 or 37 weeks, depending on how I’m feeling. 

“Think that’s a good idea. How long do you want after?”

“Well I think that 12 weeks would be good enough but, Jack wants me to take 6 months.”

“If you take 3 months or 6 months, you’ll always have a place here.”

There was a quiet moment. He scratched something on a notepad, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You know it’s going to be weird here without you.”

“Don’t worry, you’d have to physically drag me out of here to keep me from coming back after.”

“I know.” He gave a faint smile. “Still going to be weird.”

You shrugged. “You’ll have Jack. He’ll keep you in line.”

Robby snorted. “Jack barely keeps Jack in line.”

“Yeah about Jack actually.” Your tone became more serious. “He’s just been so anxious recently, you know all the baby stuff and now the house and work. I- I need to know that if something goes wrong during delivery…if something happens to me…” You took a deep breath. “You’ll take care of Jack.”

Robby didn’t move. For a long second, he just stared at you. Then he leaned forward, slow and steady, until his arms rested on the desk in front of him. “You think he wouldn’t be taken care of?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s not—he’d survive. Of course. But he’d fall apart first. And he wouldn't let anyone see it. Not even Dana. Not even Langdon. Not anybody. He’d keep working. He’d try to act like he was okay, and it would eat him alive.”

Robby sat back slowly, his face unreadable. Then he spoke, and his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “You think I haven’t already thought about that?”

You blinked.

“I’ve known Jack for too long,” he said. “Watched him lose patients. Watched him get in fights. Watched him fall in love with you so fast it scared the hell out of me.” He let out a dry breath. “I’ve already thought about what I’d do. I just hoped I’d never need to.”

“I know it’s unlikely,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “But things go wrong. Even when they’re not supposed to.”

He nodded slowly. “You’ve been on both sides of the trauma bay. You know better than anyone.”

The room went quiet for a long time.

Then Robby leaned forward again, lacing his fingers on the desk.

“If something happens,” he said, “I’ll take care of him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t drown in it. I’ll bring him home. I’ll put food in his fridge and get him to shower and tell him he’s not okay, and that’s fine. I’ll do all of that. As many times as it takes.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging.

“But,” Robby added, “You don’t get to disappear on us. You hear me?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”

“I mean it. You’re allowed to be scared. But you don’t get to check out. Not if I’ve got a say in it.”

You nodded, brushing at the corner of your eye.

Robby stood and came around the desk. For a second, he just looked at you—like a brother would. Then he reached down and pulled you into a hug, careful of your belly but not at all careful with his heart.

“I got you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

And for the first time in weeks, your breath felt like it reached all the way down into your chest again.

You let the silence settle for a beat, eyes drifting to the framed photo on Robby’s desk— a picture of Collins and their child at the beach, sand stuck to their legs, wide grins that didn’t care about sunscreen or the time.

He caught your gaze. “It changes everything you know. Having a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ll be good at it, though. Both of you.”

You blinked a little too fast and looked down at your hands. “We’re trying to figure it out.”

“You don’t have to know everything yet. You just have to show up.” He paused, then added, “That kid’s already luckier than most.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded. Let the words sink in.

Robby cleared his throat and reached for a folder. “I’ll email you the HR packet. We’ll work out the schedule. You just tell me if anything changes, okay?”

You stood, placing a hand on your belly with a small smile. “Thanks, Robby.”

As you turned to leave, he added, “Hey.”

You looked back.

“If I hear even one more thing about you and Jack using that on-call room like a honeymoon suite, I’m locking it from the outside.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

And as you stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you, you felt a little lighter. 

One step closer to meeting your son.

———————————————————————

34 Weeks

Jack stood alone at the supply cart, restocking syringes with mechanical precision. The rhythm of it was almost meditative.

Robby found him there, hands in his jacket pockets, lingering like someone who had something to say and didn’t quite know how to start.

“Glad she took the night off.”

“Yeah she spent the whole day throwing up, almost had to bring her here as a patient. But she’s okay now, just needs to rest for a couple days.”

“You think she’ll make it to 36 weeks here?”

“For the baby’s sake, I hope not. But knowing her and her stubbornness, she will."

Robby leaned against the wall, silent for a moment. “She came to see me 2 weeks ago.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “About the maternity leave?”

“Yeah,” Robby said. “But not just that.”

Jack set the last syringe into place and shut the drawer. “Okay?”

Robby watched him for a second. “She asked me to take care of you.”

Jack stilled.

“She said if something happens, during delivery, if so…meshing happens to her, she wants to make sure you’re not alone.”

The silence stretched between them.

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just stared at the closed drawer like it could explain something.

Robby stepped forward, lowering his voice. “She’s scared, Jack. Not of being a mom. Not even of labor, I don’t think. But of what it would do to you if something went wrong.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. He nodded once, like that was all he could allow himself.

“I told her I’d look out for you,” Robby said. “I told her I already planned to.”

Jack finally looked up. His eyes weren’t wet, but they were close. “She shouldn’t be thinking about that.”

“She’s a doctor. A damn good one. She knows the risks. Seen more than anyone should have to.”

“I know, I know.” His voice was rough, low. “I just- I don’t want her scared.”

“She’s not scared of dying,” Robby said gently. “She’s scared of leaving you. It’s not the same thing.”

Jack looked down again, rubbed a hand over his face. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, quietly: “You’ll keep your word?”

Robby didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I will.”

Another pause.

“I can’t lose her Robby,” Jack whispered. “I won’t make it.”

Robby put a hand on his shoulder, solid and sure. “You’re not going to.”

Jack nodded, slow. Then rubbed both hands over his face again, this time with more force—like he could scrub the fear off.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Robby let his hand fall away. “Just- when she needs you to act calm, act calm. And when she needs you to panic a little? Panic with her.”

Jack cracked a faint smile. “You give this speech to every soon-to-be dad?”

“Only the ones who might implode if things go sideways.”

Jack smirked, barely, but it was there. “Fair enough.”

They stood there a minute longer both carrying more than they said.

And then, like always, they went back to work.

Except now he pulled every OB resident he trusted into side conversations. Asked about signs of hemorrhage. About shoulder dystocia. About NICU protocols and what really happens when things don’t go as planned.

He framed it like curiosity, like professional interest—but Dana knew, and Langdon knew, and Robby definitely knew.

———————————————————————

36 Weeks

You were exhausted. Sitting at home all day wore you out more than you ever thought it would.

The kind of exhausted that made you feel like everything in your body was weighing you down. 

Thirty-six weeks. You’d stopped counting days. But Jack still looked at you like you were the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.

Which, at this moment, made you feel like you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You were lying on your side in bed, a hand resting protectively over your belly, when he came in from his morning shower. Damp hair. Bare chest. Sleepy smile.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, eyes flicking to your bump. “Need anything?”

You looked up at him, slow and deliberate. “Yeah actually,” you said softly. “I need you.”

He crawled into bed beside you, careful as always, hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

“What kind of need are we talking here?”

You shifted, moved with deliberate slowness, until you were kneeling between his legs. Belly full and round between you. 

His eyes widened—concerned first, then darkening quickly as he realized where this was going.

“Babygirl, are you sure ? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want you. But you’ve just been so tired lately.”

You looked up at him. “Let me take care of you.”

He swallowed hard. His cock was already twitching in his boxers, barely hidden. 

You pulled his waistband down, freeing him. 

Thick and heavy, already hard in your hand. You kissed his tip first, slow and soft, tasting his precum.

He groaned immediately, hips twitching. “Fuck.”

You took him into your mouth, just the head at first, letting your tongue swirl around.

His hand found your hair, gentle, never pushing, never rushing.

“You’re so good at this my dirty girl,” he murmured. “God, baby, you don’t have to…”

You went deeper, and he lost the rest of the sentence.

You worked him with your mouth, your hand wrapped around the base, moving in slow tandem with your tongue. He was unraveling beneath you, every sound he made proof of how much he needed this, needed you.

He brushed your hair back, groaning your name. “I’m close,” he warned. “You want me to?”

You pulled back just far enough to say, “In my mouth, Jack. I want all of it.”

That was all it took.

He came, hips bucking once, his hot release spilling onto your tongue. You kept going, gentle, milking him through it until he was panting, eyes glazed over like he’d just saw heaven.

When you finally sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he looked up at you like you’d just knocked the breath out of him.

“So me babygirl. Show me what I gave you.”

He sat up, looking directly into your eyes. You opened your mouth, his cum spilling out of the corners. With his thumb, he guided his seed back into your mouth until you sucked on his thumb. Getting every last drop of him. 

“Swallow me.” 

And you did. 

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, easing back beside him. “You really, really do.”

He pulled you close after that, one hand on your belly, the other tangled in your fingers.

“Just remind me to return the favor,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smirked. “You’ve got four weeks, daddy.”

And Jack? He looked ready to make every one of them count.

———————————————————————

37 Weeks

Jack didn’t make a big deal out of the due date. He didn’t talk about it much, didn’t circle it on a calendar or start any countdown. But you knew he was keeping track. He always kept track.

You started noticing the little things first. How your car’s gas tank was always full. How your overnight bag slowly filled itself, snacks, chargers, an extra hoodie he never wore but packed anyway because you liked it. 

He just did it. All of it without you ever saying anything.

Sometimes you’d catch him in the nursery at night. Not doing anything, just standing there. One hand on the crib rail, eyes tracing the space like he was rehearsing something he couldn’t quite say out loud.

He rewired the baby monitor so it reached farther. Tested it three times. Installed a soft nightlight in the hallway, not because you needed it, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of fumbling in the dark if something happened.

There was a checklist in his notebook. Not digital—written by hand. Folded neatly in half and kept in his back pocket when he came home from work.

Jack didn’t talk about fear. He didn’t talk about worst-case scenarios, or about what could go wrong. But when you reached for his hand at night, his fingers were already waiting.

One evening, you found him sitting on the floor beside the crib, tightening one of the screws even though it didn’t need it. You leaned against the doorframe and watched.

“You think he’ll like it?” you asked quietly.

Jack looked up at you. Nodded. “Yeah. I think he will.”

You didn’t say anything. You just put your hand over his.

———————————————————————

38 Weeks 

You were done waiting. Having your baby in April felt nice. 

Every step felt heavier. Every hour dragged. 

Thirty-eight weeks, swollen and aching, and somehow still wanting him inside you more than ever.

Jack had been hovering since you took the first test. 

You came into the bedroom after your shower, towel slung around your waist, damp hair curling at the edges. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hand resting instinctively over your firm your belly.

“Hey,” he said softly, already reading the look in your eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “But I need you to help me.”

He crossed the room quickly, crouching in front of you. “What’s wrong?”

You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. “I need you to fuck me again.”

He pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised, lips parting. “You serious?”

“I’ve read every myth and midwife blog I could find. Sex helps induce labor. And if this baby’s ready, I am, too.”

This wasn’t just sex. It was trust. It was the both of you saying: Let’s do this. Let’s meet our son.

He stood to meet you at the edge of the bed. 

You lay back on the bed, shifting carefully, hips wide to make space for everything you were carrying. He climbed over you like he’d done it a thousand times but, this was different.

His hands trailed down your sides, reverent. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he murmured.

“Only thing that feels wrong is not having you inside of me fucking me into labor.”

That pulled a groan from his throat.

He knelt between your legs, guiding himself into you slowly, carefully. You were wetter than you’d expected. Desperate.

“God,” he whispered as he slid in. “You feel incredible.”

You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling full and stretched and grounded. 

Every movement was slow at first, deeper than fast.

Jack bent to kiss you, moaning into your mouth as your hips rolled up to meet him.

“You good, babygirl?”

“Better than good. Don’t stop, daddy.”

And he didn’t.

He moved like he was trying to memorize your body one last time before everything changed. His hands on your belly, his forehead pressed to yours, soft grunts against your skin.

Then suddenly—your body tightened.

Not in pleasure. But in pressure.

You gasped, hand flying to your stomach. 

“Jack—”

He stopped instantly. “What? What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No—no. I thi- I think that might have been a contraction.”

He blinked, his entire body going still. Still inside you. “Like a real one?”

Another one followed, sharper. “Fuck,” you hissed. “That’s definitely real.”

Jack pulled out gently, panic and awe crashing over his face. “Okay. Okay, baby—uh—do we call the OB? You want to go now?”

You grabbed his wrist, eyes locked on his. “Jack. Finish what you started.”

His mouth dropped open. “You still want..”

“I’m not in active labor yet. Might as well fuck me until I am.”

He laughed, full and loud, and kissed you hard.

“Well,” he muttered against your lips, guiding himself back in, “if my son wants to arrive in style.”

And with that, you rode wave after wave—of contractions, of pleasure, of something sacred and wild and absolutely yours.

By the time the next contraction hit, you were already moaning into his neck.

And your labor had officially begun.

———————————————————————

Jack’s hand never left yours during the car ride, one on the wheel with one hand, gripping yours with the other. The go-bag was already in the car with everything you could need while in the hospital. Plus more.

You were timing the contractions on your phone, trying to breathe through them, but they were coming faster now. Five minutes apart. Then four.

By the time he pulled into the hospital lot, you were doubled over in the passenger seat.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clenching his hand. “That one hurt.”

Jack threw the car into park and jumped out, rushing around to your door.

“Okay, let’s go. Slow and steady.”

You were halfway to the entrance when a voice called out—

“Hey, that looks like an ‘I just had sec and now I’m in labor’ face.” Robby. Of course.

Jack just flipped him off without breaking stride. “Call OB, she’s in labor. Now.”

Dana was at the triage desk when you walked in, her eyes wide.

“Whoa, whoa—are you…?”

“Yep,” you gasped. “Contractions. Thirty-eight weeks. We’re about to have a baby.”

She jumped up from her chair. “Got it. OB’s on call. We’ll page them. You need a wheelchair?”

“No,” you gritted out. “I can walk—”

Another contraction hit, and your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you with both arms. 

“You’re not walking anywhere,” he muttered, already lowering you into a chair someone had wheeled over. “I’ve got you.”

The elevator ride was a blur. Someone shouted “incoming labor!” over the intercom, and by the time the doors opened on L&D, a nurse was already waiting with a gown and a monitor.

Dana, Robby, and Langdon had followed the chaos up as far as they could. The doors started to close again, but not before you looked back and saw them.

Robby grinning like a lunatic. Dana blinking hard like she might cry. Langdon sipping coffee and saying, “Don’t forget to breathe, Jack!”

Then the doors shut. Hours blurred. Morning into afternoon.

Contractions. Monitors. The deep, low sound of your own breath trying to ground you. Jack never left your side. Even after three coffees and a panic attack in the hallway.

“You’re doing amazing babygirl.” he whispered, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“I better be,” you groaned. “You’re the reason this is happening.”

He laughed softly, kissed your forehead. “Best thing I’ve ever done.”

Then your OB walked in, checked your dilation, and said the words:

“It’s time to push.”

Jack froze. You squeezed his hand so tight he winced.

“Ready?” He asked.

Jack nodded for you both. “Yeah. We’re ready.”

Your legs were up in stirrups. The pressure was unbearable. But Jack was there, one hand gripping yours, the other bracing behind your head.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “So, so good. You’ve got this.”

Your OB sat between your legs, calm and steady.

“Okay, next contraction,” he said. “Push for me.”

You nodded, bracing yourself. Then it hit. Face twisting in pain.

Jack was right there, voice in your ear. “That’s it. Come on, babygirl. You’re almost there.”

Your OB’s voice cut through the haze. “He’s crowning! One more big push—just one more!”

Tears blurred your vision. You weren’t sure if they were from pain or adrenaline or love. 

Maybe all three.

“Come on, mama. Bring our boy home.”

And with one final, scream—you pushed.

And then,

A cry.

“Time of birth: 2:24 p.m.,” said the OB.

But you didn’t hear anything except the sound of your son’s first breath.

Jack choked out a sob beside you, hand covering his mouth as he stared.

“He’s here,” he whispered. “Oh my God. He’s here.”

They laid your son on your chest, slippery and warm, his fists clenched tight as he wailed against your heartbeat.

You looked down and lost yourself completely.

Tiny nose. Your dark hair. His father’s eyes.

He quieted the second you touched him. Jack leaned over you both, tears streaming freely now.

“Hi, baby boy,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m your dad.”

You looked up at him, your hand reaching for his face.

“We did it,” you breathed.

He kissed your lips, salty and trembling. “You did it,” he whispered. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Alright, have to deliver the placenta on your next contraction.” 

You leaned your head over to the left, looking down at what was happening to the lower half of your body.

Your expression faltered. Your eyes rolled slightly.

Jack’s smile vanished. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said quickly, cupping your face. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyelids heavy. Your sight of Jack directly in front of you becoming blurry.

“Alright we got some bleeding here.”

Blood. Everywhere. Jack could hear it pouring onto the floor below you.

“She's hemorrhaging!” a nurse shouted.

“You shouldn’t be in here Dr. Abbot!” Said your OB as a nurse pulled your son off of your chest.

“No, I’m not leaving her!”

“Someone go get Robby!” A nurse yelled from across the room.

“Jack..” You managed to get out in a whisper.

“I’m right here. I’m right here babygirl. I’m not going anywhere.”

“N-no, his name… Jack.” you breathed. “Your name. He should know who he comes from.”

Jack shook his head, blinking hard, lips trembling. “Don’t say it like it’s goodbye.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, your breath catching. “It’s for him. Just in case. I want him to carry you forever.”

Jack leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, tears slipping from his eyes and into your hair. “Okay,” he choked out. “Okay, we’ll name him Jack. Our boy. He’ll know.”

Your eyes fluttered, body growing heavier by the second. You exhaled, barely audible.

Jack kissed your cheek, your forehead, your lips—desperate to keep you tethered. “I love you. Don’t let go. Please, baby, don’t—”

Your eyes shut.

The commotion around you barely audible as you slipped out of consciousness. “BP’s dropping—she’s crashing!” “Get her to ICU now. We need to intubate and stabilize.”

“No, no—” Jack stumbled forward, but Robby caught him, using all his strength to pull Jack out of the room and into the hallway.

Jack could barely breathe.

He didn’t even realize the team pushing your crying baby boy passed and down to the nursery. 

“Jack,” he said carefully. “Listen to me.”

Jack shook his head. “She was fine—she was fine a couple of minutes ago, Robby. What the fuck happened?”

“I know. But she’s not now. She’s in the best hands. Let them work.”

“I- I can’t do this without her, Robby. We’re supposed to be talking about the rest of our lives right now. I won’t make it through this alone. I need her.”

“You’re not alone. We’re all here with you. And with her. There’s a waiting room full out there just for you guys. You don’t need to do this by yourself now.”

He lowered himself to the cold, hallway floor. Arms went up, hands above his head, fingers intertwined in his hair.

“I can’t lose her Robby.” His voice broke as he looked up, tears pouring down his face, eyes already bloodshot. “This is all my fault.”

His entire world just changed in the blink of an eye. Because your family just began. But you weren’t there for it with him. 

———————————————————————

Wooo, my longest fanfic so far! Y’all I had to take so many breaks while writing this.  Also accidentally deleted the whole thing and almost threw my laptop across the room but, here it is! And there obviously has to be another part. 

Let me know what you guys think down below please ! :) 

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 11

A/N: had a lot of fun writing this chapter! definitely a much lighter tone than previous chapters because we're getting somewhere ;) we aren't completely angst free for the series, but considering how things have been the past few days, i just wanted to end on something hopeful.

Warnings: sexual content (like a good chunk of this chapter... i didn't mean for it to happen lol)

WC: 5.9K+

**** Chapter 11 ****

“Careful,” she murmured, low and smug. “Keep staring like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you miss me or something.”

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, heart lurching forward like it recognized something before her brain had the nerve to admit it.

Because Paige was too close. Too warm. Too intentional.

That voice—low and teasing—settled right in the middle of Azzi’s spine and lit a fuse. And the worst part? She didn’t even have time to respond before Paige pulled back with that stupid little smirk on her face like she hadn’t just set fire to the whole damn room.

Azzi blinked, breath caught in her throat.

She could still feel it. The ghost of Paige’s words pressed behind her ear like a brand.

Lexi noticed. Of course she noticed.

The way Azzi’s body stiffened. The flush blooming high on her cheeks. The tilt of her head, like she didn’t know whether to lean away or fall straight into it.

Lexi slid in fast, her arm wrapping tightly around Azzi’s waist. Kissed her cheek. Too hard. Too late.

“Everything okay?” she asked, sugary-sweet and loud enough for Paige to hear.

Azzi nodded. Mechanical. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

A lie so obvious it practically begged for a fact-check.

But Lexi wasn’t letting it go.

She kept her body close, her grip a little too tight, voice a little too bubbly as she tried to act like nothing had happened. Like Paige hadn’t just walked right up and licked a match.

And Paige? She didn’t even pretend to behave.

Her hand grazed Azzi’s lower back when she passed by on the way to the bar. Just a brush—barely there—but Azzi felt it like a matchstrike across her spine. And it didn’t seem to matter that Lexi still had her arm around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on the sleeve of her jacket like she was trying to stake a claim.

Because all Azzi could focus on was that fleeting touch. And the fact that Paige didn’t even look back.

She reached for the same cup Azzi was holding, fingers brushing hers with slow, unmistakable purpose. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Paige plucked the cup from her hand and turned to the bar.

"Let me get you a fresh one," she said over her shoulder, already walking away.

Azzi blinked, thrown for half a second. Lexi was still beside her, arm draped casually around her waist. But none of it seemed to register—none of it seemed to matter—because all she could do was watch Paige. The way she moved. The quiet confidence. The fact that she hadn’t even asked what Azzi was drinking.

Like she already knew.

The night had twisted itself into something awkward before Azzi even realized what was happening.

It started with Nika calling for teams. “Let’s make it interesting,” she’d said, waving a cue stick like a baton. “Losers buy the next round.”

Lexi, ever competitive, jumped in fast. “Us versus them?” she asked, nudging Azzi with her hip. “You good with that?”

Azzi nodded automatically, not realizing what that entailed until Paige sauntered up behind Nika with two drinks in hand and a smirk already forming.

“Guess that makes me your partner,” Paige said to Nika. Then, eyes flicking to Azzi, “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

And somehow—somehow—they were all playing. The four of them.

It was happening again. Just like at the bowling alley. Same shit. Different game.

Paige and Nika. Lexi and Azzi.

One cue ball. Too many unspoken rules.

Azzi tried to keep her head in the game, but Paige wasn’t making it easy.

Paige had just taken her shot—sunk a clean corner, because of course she did—and stepped back to let Lexi take hers.

Azzi was chalking her cue, eyes down, trying to ignore the heat still radiating off her skin from earlier. That whisper.

Paige sidled up next to her again, slow and smug, voice pitched for her alone.

“You always been good with your hands,” she murmured, nodding at the stick in Azzi’s grip. “But you know how good I am at lining things up...”

A beat.

Then a lazy smile.

“Especially when it comes to finding the sweet spot.”

Azzi’s fingers fumbled on the chalk.

It slipped out of her grip and hit the edge of the table with a soft clack, rolling just out of reach. Her brain stalled for a second. She stared down at it like it might give her something to focus on, anything other than the way Paige’s voice had dipped on “sweet spot.” That deliberate pause. The look that came with it.

Her whole body went hot, then cold, then hot again. Like her nervous system couldn’t decide whether to fight, freeze, or completely melt into the floor. She bent to pick up the chalk, mostly to avoid eye contact—but even that felt loaded. Too slow. Too obvious. Like her limbs didn’t belong to her.

Focus. It was just a line. A dumb, flirty, borderline dangerous line.

But it was also Paige. And Paige never played fair.

Lexi turned at the sound, watching her. Watching them. She slammed her stick on the table. “Okay, what the fuck is this?”

Paige blinked. “What’s what?”

“Why don’t you go flirt with someone else?” Lexi said, sharp. “Seriously. It’s not cute. You’re not slick—you’re just being a dick.”

Paige blinked, then straightened up like she had all the time in the world. “Aw. You worried or something?”

Lexi scoffed. “Worried? No. Embarrassed for you? Kinda.”

Paige’s smile curved, slow and lazy. Dangerous. “Or maybe you’re just scared of a little competition.”

“Scared of you?” Lexi stepped in, chin lifted. “Please. I just don’t love it when insecure girls pick fights to feel relevant.”

Azzi felt the floor tilt.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but before she could step between them, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Kathryn.

Of fucking course.

She appeared like smoke—leaning against a nearby stool with a vodka soda and a perfect view of the wreckage.

“I mean, I did say Paige was still obsessed with Azzi. But hey, I’m just here for the show.”

Azzi turned on her heel, ready to bite.

“What the fuck are you still coming around for?” she snapped. “Nobody asked for your commentary.”

Kathryn raised her glass. “Touched a nerve?”

“No, you’re just a parasite,” Azzi seethed. “You only show up when something’s bleeding.”

Paige moved behind her, hand brushing the small of her back like a warning. But Azzi shook her off—too far gone, already closing the space between her and Kathryn.

“Say it again. Say something else. I dare you.”

Kathryn didn’t flinch. “Careful, Fudd. Don’t want people to see how quickly you’re willing to fight for a taste of your best friend.”

Azzi didn’t even realize she’d lunged until Nika’s arms were around her, dragging her back.

“Absolutely not,” Nika snapped. “Both of you—go now.”

“Gladly,” Paige muttered under her breath, grabbing Azzi’s wrist and tugging her down the hall.

****

They crashed through the bathroom door and just stood there. Breathing. Fuming.

The second the door clicked shut, the tension cracked wide open.

Azzi didn’t wait. She backed Paige into the counter, fingers already curling into the hem of her shirt.

“Tell me to stop,” she breathed.

Paige didn’t say a word.

So Azzi kissed her—hard. Like she’d been waiting months to.

Their mouths collided in a tangle of heat and months of not-enough. Paige’s fingers were in Azzi’s hair, tugging, anchoring, needy.

Azzi dropped her hands, dragging them over Paige’s waist, slipping under the fabric of her top to find skin, warmth, want.

Paige groaned, bucking forward, grinding against her with a sound that hit Azzi square in the chest.

Azzi kissed down her jaw, slow and hungry, until she reached the curve of her throat. She lingered there, breathing her in, then sank her teeth in—gentle at first, then harder. Just enough to sting. Just enough to bruise.

She wanted it to show. Wanted Paige marked. Claimed. Hers.

Paige gasped, head tipping back with a soft, broken sound that did something dangerous to Azzi’s self-control.

She was panting now, chest rising fast, lips parted like she couldn’t catch her breath. Her hands fumbled at the hem of her shirt, trembling slightly as she helped Azzi shove it over her head and toss it aside.

There was nothing tentative anymore. Just heat. Want. History. And all the things they’d never said, suddenly right there between them—louder than words.

Azzi kissed her again, harder this time, pinning her against the counter as she rocked into her.

Then she reached down.

Found Paige’s hand.

Laced their fingers together for a moment—and then guided it down, slow and certain, pressing it between her own legs with a soft gasp.

She was soaked through her underwear, hips already rolling into the contact without thinking.

“Right there,” she breathed, voice cracking with need. “Feel that? That’s for you.”

Her thumb brushed against the seam of Azzi’s jeans, teasing pressure through the denim.

Azzi’s head dropped against her shoulder, a helpless sound slipping from her throat.

Paige kissed the side of her neck, lips dragging up to her ear. “You know I love it when you beg.”

And just when Azzi’s body arched into her—right when she was sure Paige was about to touch her, really touch her— Paige stilled.

Her breath hitched. Hands pulled back.

She stepped away like she couldn’t trust herself another second.

“Shit,” Paige said, barely audible. “I can’t.”

Azzi’s eyes flew open.

Her body was still burning, still open, still aching from the way Paige had touched her like she meant every second of it. Her breath caught somewhere between confusion and panic.

“What?” she whispered, voice raw.

Paige had already pulled away, putting space between them like it might undo what just happened. She was pacing now—both hands in her hair, eyes wild, chest heaving like she couldn’t breathe past the guilt choking her.

“I want to,” she said, more to the floor than to Azzi. “God, Azzi, I do. But I can’t. Not like this.”

Azzi just stared. Skin flushed. Shirt half-on. Heart in freefall.

Paige

Her voice caught. She could still taste her. Still feel the way Azzi had guided her hand, the way her body had opened up, the way it felt like time stopped for a second.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it would’ve been too easy to fall into that moment. To forget the rest of it. To lose herself in something that would’ve felt perfect for five minutes—and wrecked them both for weeks.

Her body was still lit up like a fuse, but her mind was louder.

Because she knew Azzi. Knew her heart. Knew how this would play out.

Azzi would feel guilty. She’d wake up tomorrow with that tight ache in her chest, the one that made her question everything. She’d overthink it, pull back, call it a lapse in judgment. Just heat. Just history. Just a moment they weren’t ready for.

And Paige would become a step backward. A detour. Something they’d have to untangle all over again. Paige had already lived that version of their story too many times.

She couldn’t do it again.

She didn’t want to be a moment. She wanted the whole thing. Azzi’s hand in hers in public. Azzi choosing her, out loud. Azzi saying yes without conditions or disclaimers or backup plans.

Paige looked up at her and almost said it. The truth. The real thing.

That she still loved her. That she never stopped. That every girl since had been a cheap imitation of what they had. That it hadn’t been about the sex—wasn’t about the sex—it was about the way Azzi made her feel like maybe love didn’t have to be scary if it looked like this.

But the words got stuck.

She opened her mouth, and they caught in her throat. Too big. Too raw. And Azzi was still watching her like she didn’t understand what just happened, like she was trying to read between lines that Paige hadn’t spoken yet.

So Paige tried again.

“I just…” she started, voice barely audible. “I need it to be different this time.”

She glanced at Azzi’s hand—still curled slightly where Paige had held it, guided it. Her fingers flexed.

Say it, Paige told herself. Say you want to wake up next to her. Say you want to be hers, really hers. Say you want the hard conversations, the quiet mornings, the grocery store Saturdays, the everything.

She stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair out of Azzi’s face. Her fingers lingered longer than they should’ve.

“I’m not saying no,” she whispered. “I’m just saying…” Her voice cracked. “Not like this.”

Azzi’s lips parted. Her eyes softened, just a little. Paige felt herself tip toward her again—on the edge of falling completely.

Now, her heart whispered. Say it now.

“I want—” Paige started.

But the door burst open.

“Azzi?”

Lexi.

The door cracked open fast—then paused like whoever was behind it wasn’t sure they were allowed in.

A beat later, she stepped inside. Her face was flushed—not with anger, but something closer to embarrassment. Her hands were shoved into her pockets, and she hovered near the door like she might leave again if no one said anything.

“Sorry,” she muttered, glancing between them. “I’m not—I didn’t mean to barge in or whatever.”

Neither of them said anything.

Lexi cleared her throat.

“I just… wanted to say sorry. For earlier. To both of you.”

She looked at Paige for half a second—long enough to register it, but not long enough to feel threatening. Then her eyes flicked back to Azzi.

“I shouldn’t have tried to make it a thing. The jokes, the shots—it got in my head. I overreacted. I think I just… got a little insecure. Which is on me.”

Azzi’s posture shifted, almost instinctively. The tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.

Paige just blinked.

The apology was… unexpected. Honest, even. There was something kind of disarming about how Lexi said it—not defensive, not trying to earn points. Just simple and human and maybe a little scared.

Paige felt the tiniest pang of guilt.

But not much.

Because the truth sat steady in her chest like it had always been there.

Azzi was hers.

Not officially. Not publicly. Not yet. But still—hers.

Lexi might’ve gotten the late nights. The flirty laughs. The version of Azzi still learning how to take up space in a new kind of way—brave, but unsure.

But Paige? Paige got the real thing.

They’d grown up together. Through injuries and pressure and too many headlines that never asked how either of them was actually doing. They knew each other in a way stats and scouting reports couldn’t touch.

Azzi had always shown up for her, even when she was barely holding herself together. And Paige had done the same—quietly, fiercely. With bracelets and check-ins and late-night texts that never made it into the group chat.

This wasn’t just heat. It wasn’t some unresolved tension.

It was years. It was them. And Paige didn’t want to lose that just because the timing was off.

So she just nodded.

“It’s okay,” Paige said, voice low. “Thanks for saying that.”

Lexi gave her a small, tired smile. Then looked back to Azzi.

“I’ll be outside,” she said gently. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She slipped back out just as quietly as she’d come.

The door clicked shut behind Lexi, leaving only the quiet and the weight of everything they didn’t say.

Paige didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Her heart was still thudding like a warning. Her body still buzzed with want and regret and some tangled feeling in between. But more than anything, she just felt tired.

Not physically. Emotionally. Like her heart had been running a marathon and finally hit mile twenty and realized there were still six more to go.

Azzi was looking at her.

Not angry. Not apologetic. Just… open. Bare, in a way Paige had only ever seen a handful of times. It made her chest ache.

Paige shifted on her feet, thumb rubbing the inside of her palm—something she always did when she was trying to find the right words and couldn’t.

She could’ve said a million things in that moment. Could’ve blurted out I love you, or I’m still yours, or please don’t go back to her. But none of those things felt fair. None of them felt complete.

So instead, she said the only thing that made sense.

“Maybe we should talk. Later.”

Azzi blinked. “Yeah?”

Paige nodded, voice quieter now. “I mean like… really talk. When we’re not in a bar bathroom. When we’re not… tipsy and pissed off and tangled up in everything.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. But she didn’t pull away either. She just stood there, watching her, like she was letting the words settle.

Then she gave the smallest nod. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds… good.”

Paige let out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

It wasn’t closure. It wasn’t clarity. But it was something. A door that hadn’t closed yet. A maybe.

Then she turned, slowly, and slipped out of the bathroom.

And Paige stayed there, leaning back against the counter, hands in her pockets, the buzz of the music creeping back under the door like the real world trying to catch up.

She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She only knew what hadn’t. And maybe—for once—that was the right call.

Azzi

She hadn’t recovered.

Not from the bathroom. Not from Paige’s mouth on hers. Not from the hand she’d pulled back.

It had been hours, technically—time enough for things to return to normal. Time enough for the music to fade, for Lexi to loop back around with an awkward apology and a half-hearted kiss on the cheek, for the walk back to campus to feel like silence stretched too thin.

But Azzi still felt like her skin was buzzing.

Not just from Paige.

From everything.

From the tension still coiled in her chest. From the way her fists had clenched in that bathroom, not sure whether to pull Paige closer or go find Kathryn and finally do what her body had been begging her to do since her true intentions were revealed—knock her out.

God, she still wanted to kick Kathryn’s ass.

Not just for what she said, but how she said it—like she knew she could get under Azzi’s skin. Like she’d been waiting for a moment to throw a grenade and smile through the explosion. Azzi had wanted to lunge. She could still feel the phantom pull in her muscles, the way her body had surged forward before Nika stepped in.

And now she was back in bed, barely breathing, vibrating with anger and ache and the unbearable echo of Paige’s mouth on hers.

Like her body hadn’t figured out they’d stopped.

And maybe worse than that—she still wasn’t sure she wanted them to.

Because yeah, Paige had said all the right things. She had pulled back, been mature, tried to do the noble thing. And Azzi wasn’t mad. She wasn’t.

She got it.

Paige didn’t want to be a secret again. Didn’t want to be the guilt she carried like a backpack she couldn’t set down. She wanted to be chosen.

But God—she hadn’t been this turned on since before they called it quits. Before the boundaries. Before the late-night promises to “stay friends” and “take space” and “figure things out.”

Back when touching each other didn’t come with consequences.

Which sounded good in theory. Until Paige was kissing her in a bar bathroom and Azzi was forgetting her own name.

Here she was, lying flat on her back in the dark, Lexi long gone after a quiet “You good?” and a quick kiss on the forehead.

Azzi hadn’t answered. Just nodded and mumbled something that sounded enough like “yeah” to pass.

But she wasn’t good. Not even close.

She was still tasting her lips. Still aching from how close they’d gotten—how close she’d gotten.

Her body hadn’t come down from it.

And now the room was too quiet, her sheets too warm, her thoughts too loud.

She hadn’t touched herself in months. Not like this. Not with intention.

But tonight, after everything—after the bathroom and the kiss and the almost—her body wouldn’t let it go.

Her legs shifted beneath the covers, restless. Her fingers curled into the sheets, then slipped down.

At first, it was just curiosity. Muscle memory. An ache too loud to ignore.

But the second she grazed herself—just barely, over the cotton waistband of her pajama shorts—her whole body stuttered. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

She was wet. Dripping, honestly. 

For Paige.

Paige in the bathroom. Paige’s voice in her ear, whispering things Azzi hadn’t let herself imagine in months. Her hand on Paige’s, guiding it down, pressing it right where she needed it most—then pulling away like it broke her to do it.

God, it was embarrassing how ready she still was.

And then the memory hit her. Not just a flash, but a full return. Like a second heartbeat.

The first time she ever touched herself.

She’d been lying in bed then too, home for a few days for Christmas break. Away from Paige for the first time in months. One knee bent, her phone pressed to her cheek. The room had been dark, just like now.

And Paige’s voice had been in her ear.

It started as teasing—flirty, casual, Paige being Paige. Something about a dream she’d had, something about Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi had been quiet. Flustered. Nervous, maybe.

Paige had asked, low and unfiltered: “Have you ever touched yourself while thinking about me?”

Azzi had choked on her own breath. “What?”

Paige had laughed, soft and warm and amused. “That’s a yes.”

Azzi had groaned into the receiver, hiding her face even though no one could see her. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Paige teased. “That was a very guilty silence.”

Azzi rolled onto her back, heart already racing for reasons she didn’t fully understand. “I don’t know. I mean, I��ve thought about it. I’ve… started. But I wouldn’t even know what I’m doing.”

There was a pause on the line. Not uncomfortable—just heavy. Charged.

Then Paige’s voice came through, lower now. Calmer. “Have you ever touched yourself at all?”

Azzi hesitated, breath catching. “Not really,” she admitted. “Not like… all the way. I kind of don’t know where to start.”

Paige didn’t laugh this time. She didn’t make it weird or clinical or even overly sexy. She just got quiet. And then, after a beat:

“Can I help you?”

Azzi froze. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

“You mean, like—right now?”

“I mean if you want me to,” Paige said. Her voice had dropped again, softer now. More serious. “You don’t have to. I just thought… you sounded kind of curious.”

Azzi blinked up at the ceiling, heart thudding. “I am.”

“Okay,” Paige murmured. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

Now, lying alone in her bed, Azzi mimicked the way Paige had talked her through it that night.

“Start slow,” Paige had murmured, her voice warm and close, like she was lying right next to her. “Over your underwear first. Just enough to feel the pressure.”

Azzi’s fingers followed the memory. She pressed down gently through the soft cotton, right over the aching heat between her legs, her breath hitching at the contact. Even through the fabric, it made her pulse jump. Her hips lifted slightly—like her body was reaching for more before her mind had time to catch up.

“Don’t rush,” Paige had said, low and steady. “Just breathe. Let it build. You’re not trying to win anything—just feel.”

That night, her hands had been shaky. She’d been so nervous. One part of her terrified of doing it wrong, the other half terrified of how right it already felt. She hadn’t known what she was doing. But Paige had. Paige had known exactly how to speak to her, how to coax her through it.

“Circle your hips,” Paige had whispered. “Slow. Like you’re dancing, but just for me.”

Azzi let out a quiet whimper into her pillow now, mirroring that same movement, rolling her hips into her hand as the pressure built. The friction made her gasp—pleasure buzzing up her spine, low and pulsing and real.

Her fingers slipped lower, beneath her waistband, then past the lace of her underwear—finally, bare skin to bare skin. She wasn’t prepared for how wet she already was.

Soaked.

Paige’s voice echoed again, thick with want: “You feel that?” “That’s mine.”

Azzi groaned. Her fingers found her clit and pressed down with aching slowness, hips jerking at the jolt of pleasure that shot through her.

Her free hand clutched the blanket above her head, fisting the fabric to stay grounded.

She could see Paige in her mind. On her knees between Azzi’s thighs, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, smirking like she knew exactly how to ruin her.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” Paige would say, voice wrecked. “Bet I could make you fall apart just with my mouth.” “Bet you’d let me keep you like this all night—just begging.” “Come on, Az. Let go for me.”

Azzi moaned again—louder this time, not caring. Her fingers were moving faster now, sliding through slick heat, circling, pressing, her whole body straining toward release.

Every nerve in her body was screaming. Her jaw clenched. Her back arched. Her legs trembled.

She was close—so close it made her dizzy.

And in her mind, Paige was watching her. Kneeling over her. Eyes dark, steady. That little half-smile that always made Azzi feel seen and wanted all at once—like she’d been waiting for this, for her.

“Come on, baby,” Paige whispered in her head, low and coaxing. “I know you can.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Because even in her imagination, Paige wasn’t just touching her—she was rooting for her. And somehow, that undid her more than anything else.

Her hips bucked, breath caught in her throat—

And then she came.

Hard.

“Paige—” It tore out of her in a broken gasp, raw and breathless and involuntary.

Her thighs clenched around her hand as the climax hit, hard and fast. Her fingers kept moving through it, chasing every last bit of it as wave after wave surged through her—sharp and full and overwhelming. Her whole body trembled, coming apart in the dark, the sheets twisted under her, her heart pounding like it was trying to say something she couldn’t.

And even after the last shudder passed, she lay there with Paige’s name still hanging in the air—soft and sacred and impossible to take back.

The air was warm. Her heartbeat loud. Her skin still buzzing.

And for a moment, the world went still.

She lay there, chest rising and falling, the sheets twisted beneath her, one arm flung over her face.

Her body felt hollow and full all at once. Her heart was still pounding.

And she didn’t feel guilty.

Not even a little.

Because Paige had always made her feel safe in her skin.

Even now. Even in the ache of it. Even in the silence after.

She let out a slow breath.

We really need to talk, she thought.

Then, softer:

I think I’m ready.

Paige

The dining hall was louder than usual for a Saturday morning. Everyone was crammed into two long tables, still half in sweats and messy buns, laughing too hard at nothing. Pancakes, bacon, a suspicious-looking fruit bowl. Caroline was already on her second cup of coffee and trying to convince Nika that she’d seen their assistant coach on a dating app.

Paige sat near the middle, half-listening, chin in hand, staring at the entrance more than she cared to admit.

Azzi wasn’t here yet. Which—fine. No one was exactly clocked in for roll call. But Azzi was always early. Always there before her tray hit the table. Always the one who saved her a seat even when they weren’t speaking.

And today? Nothing.

Paige stabbed at her eggs and tried not to read into it.

Maybe she was sleeping in. Maybe she was with Lexi. Maybe she was avoiding her.

Paige had barely slept. Her body was still tight with everything that didn’t happen last night. Her mind had been running loops since they split apart—what she could’ve said, what she almost said, what Azzi might’ve said if Lexi hadn’t interrupted.

And then came Caroline.

Paige didn’t even notice her until her chair scraped loudly across the floor and she flopped down beside her with the subtlety of a marching band.

Caroline plopped her smoothie onto the table, took one long sip, and gave Paige a look.

Not a casual look. A look look. Smug. Knowing. Too pleased for 9:30 in the morning.

Paige side-eyed her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Caroline said, clearly lying. “Just… how was the rest of your night?”

Paige blinked. “Fine?”

Caroline nodded. Sipped. Waited.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Why are you being weird?”

Caroline shrugged. “No reason. Just… interesting how the world works. One day I’m telling you to ‘go get your girl,’ and the next…”

Paige tilted her head. “And the next what?”

Caroline leaned in, lowering her voice dramatically. “I’m walking past Azzi’s room and I hear your name, clear as day, being moaned like someone just hit the winning buzzer.”

Paige choked on air.

“I—what?” she said again, completely blank now. “She—what?”

Caroline just shrugged. “Thin walls, Bueckers. You should know that by now.”

“You—heard—she—” Paige couldn’t even finish the sentence. Her brain glitched somewhere between moaned and your name.

Caroline raised her eyebrows like she was enjoying a front-row seat to the most entertaining internal meltdown of the year.

“Oh yeah,” she said breezily. “Real breathy. A little desperate. Like, if I didn’t know better, I’d have knocked to offer her a glass of water.”

Paige’s whole face went hot. Like full body blush hot. She felt it crawl up her neck, behind her ears, all the way into her scalp.

She didn’t even know what to do with that information.

Paige covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God.”

Caroline sipped her smoothie like it was tea. “Guess you got your girl after all.”

“I didn’t get anything,” Paige muttered through her palms.

Caroline just grinned. “Could’ve fooled the building.”

Before Paige could fire back—or die on the spot, whichever came first—a shadow fell across their table.

Azzi.

Tray in hand, ponytail up, oversized UConn hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Her expression was unreadable—but her eyes flicked immediately to Paige like she knew.

Like she felt it. The timing. The tension. The heat Paige was suddenly radiating like a furnace in January.

“Morning,” Azzi said, calm, unbothered. Cool as hell.

She sat down across from Paige like nothing was happening. Like Caroline hadn’t just dropped an emotional nuke and walked away.

Paige blinked at her. Her blush flared back up so fast it could’ve powered a small city.

“H—hey.”

Caroline scooted three seats down, all exaggerated sighs and self-sacrificing best friend energy—like she was the quirky side character in a rom-com giving the leads their Big Moment.

She raised her smoothie like a toast and shot Paige a look. “Have fun,” she mouthed, all too pleased with herself.

Paige looked back at Azzi.

Azzi looked… fine.

Suspiciously fine. And that made it so much worse. 

Because Paige’s brain was now hosting a full-volume loop of Paige. Moaned. In bed. Last night.

She stabbed at her eggs and tried not to explode.

****

It was almost midnight.

The kind of midnight that hummed with leftover adrenaline and unspoken things. The kind of midnight where even the hallway lights felt dimmer and the blanket around her shoulders suddenly wasn’t cutting it.

She was lying in bed, phone balanced on her stomach, thumb hovering over the screen like it had something important to say but no real plan for saying it.

They hadn’t talked—not really. Not after breakfast. Not after the world’s most awkwardly hot non-conversation. Not after Paige spent the rest of the day pretending she wasn’t rewatching the movie reel of Azzi licking syrup off her thumb like it was a personal attack.

She sighed. Deep. Dramatic. Practically audible.

She’d told herself she was being mature, or whatever. Waiting until they could have a real, honest conversation.

But here she was. Still thinking about the bathroom. About Azzi’s hand guiding hers. About that gasp.

About her name echoing through the dorm walls, apparently, because Caroline had no boundaries and the memory had been haunting Paige all day like a ghost with perfect cheekbones.

And somewhere in all that chaos, her fingers kept drifting to the bracelet. The one Azzi made her. Threaded with the word purpose like it meant something—like she meant something.

So. Maybe space was overrated.

She opened her texts.

Paige: hey, I meant it when I said I wanted to talk, like really talk soon. maybe tomorrow if you're up for it?

She hit send, stomach already tying itself into a thousand polite knots. Immediately regretted every word. Immediately wanted to throw her phone into the nearest body of water.

A minute passed. Then two.

She sat up in bed, re-read the text like maybe it had auto-corrected into something horrible. Did “I want to talk” secretly translate to “I’m in love with you and spiraling hourly”? Because it felt like it did.

Still nothing.

She flopped back down and stared at the ceiling, heart jackhammering. Cool. Cool cool cool. This was fine. She’d just bared her emotionally fragile little soul like a casual Wednesday night check-in. No big deal.

She should leave it there. Let that be the responsible, non-chaotic version of herself. The one who didn’t follow up vulnerable texts with… whatever this next impulse was.

But she didn’t.

Because she was Paige. And when it came to Azzi, “responsible” had never really been her thing.

Paige (again): also… this might be entirely out of line, but Caroline told me something earlier and I haven’t stopped thinking about it all day

Okay. There was still time to backspace. Still time to pretend she was talking about literally anything else. Something casual. Something sane.

She did not.

Paige (third text): she said she heard you last night moaning my name??

Her thumb hovered for maybe half a second.

Then: screw it. Sent.

And then, just to double down—because for once, she wasn’t going to overthink it. She was in it now, heart first, no helmet, full send.

Paige (fourth text): if you're gonna scream my name at least give me the chance to earn it next time

She hit send. Threw her phone onto the pillow beside her like it was on fire.

Her heart was pounding. Her face was burning. Her brain was chanting WHY DID YOU DO THAT in all caps.

But underneath it all, if she was being honest? She hoped Azzi laughed. Hoped she blushed. Hoped she remembered everything.

Hoped she hadn’t stopped thinking about her, not even for a second.

The phone buzzed back almost instantly.

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | 01

˗ˏˋ corporate by day, streets by night ˎˊ˗

"The thing about living a double life is that eventually, the lines blur. And when they do, you realize one of those lives was never really yours to begin with."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 5.2k

rating: mature

content: board room suffocation, underground racing salvation, lollipop theft, overheard family secrets, & the weight of expectations vs. the freedom of speed

jimin’s skyline r34 | y/n’s toyota ae86

✧ author's note ✧

Hi. Hello. Yes. It’s me again. Back on my bullshit. (⌐■_■)

Welcome to the fic where I apparently decided that “you know what would go crazy? If Jimin was Latino, dangerously charming, emotionally layered, and casually obliterated me with a phone call to his baby brother.” So here we are.

Let’s talk about this beast.

This story is set in Tokyo’s underground street racing scene because I have exactly two moods: high-octane chaos and identity crisis. And guess what? This fic is both. We’re following a Y/N who is not the typical “relatable girly with a shit job and a dream.” No. This Y/N has money. Like money money. Corporate-heiress-pressure-cooker-money. Unrelatable? Maybe. But I wanted to explore what it means to be trapped even when you “have it all.” Because sometimes your prison has marble floors and a driver’s license with your dad’s last name on it.

And then there’s Jimin.

Who, yes, is Latino in this one. Because the power. The flavor. The emotional complexity. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who speaks different languages depending on who’s listening and smokes like it’s the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. And because I desperately wanted to give him a backstory that feels lived in—messy family dynamics, financial trauma, and protectiveness so sharp it’s basically a character flaw. (Also, his pet names are lethal. Just sayin’.)

This fic is about duality. Public image versus private life. Corporate obligation versus personal freedom. The daughter and the driver. The mechanic and the monster you have to be to survive in a world built for people who look like your father.

Jimin and Y/N exist in parallel—each of them double-lifing through their days, hiding parts of themselves behind steering wheels and sarcasm. And I’m obsessed with the way their masks crack in front of each other.

ALSO. Yes, Jimin speaks a lot of Spanish here. And I did include translations in parentheses where it matters to the narrative. For short expressions or filler phrases that don’t really add anything to the dialogue (like “ay, pues” or “nah, hermano”), I either left them be or translated them only if it shifted the tone/context. If you’re wondering “what did he just say,” trust me—if it’s important, it’s already translated. And if it’s not important, it’s flavor, not plot. You’re safe. You don’t need Duolingo. (But like… maybe you want it after this fic. I won’t judge.)

This chapter ended up… long. Because I love suffering and also because I have zero restraint when it comes to character psychology, apparently. So if you’re here for racing scenes and sexual tension and moral ambiguity and emotional repression in leather jackets? Buckle up.

We’re going full throttle from here.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The Hayashi legacy weighs forty-seven million yen per quarter, and tonight it feels like every yen is sitting on your chest.

You walk out of the conference room with that smile still glued to your face—the one you've perfected over more than twenty years of being the perfect daughter, the ideal heiress, the future of Hayashi Motors Corporation. 

Each step brings you closer outdoors. Each step means a flick of your kitten heels against the marble floor of the corporate building. Each step means freedom.

"Excellent points during the quarterly review, Y/N-san," your father had said, pride gleaming in his eyes as the board members filed out. "Your suggestions for the new electric vehicle division show remarkable foresight."

You'd nodded. Smiled. Thanked him for his confidence in your vision.

You hadn’t mentioned that you'd spent the last three hours fantasizing about ramming your pen through the mahogany table when Nakamura-san had questioned your engineering credentials for the fifteenth fucking time. 

Or that when board member Sato had asked if you thought you were ‘ready for such responsibility at your age,’ you'd wanted to remind him that you've been rebuilding engines since you were sixteen and probably know more about automotive dynamics than his entire golf club combined.

But Hayashi daughters don't lose their composure. Hayashi daughters smile politely and prove themselves through results, not outbursts.

Hayashi daughters are perfect.

The elevator ride down is not—because it feels endless. 

Forty-three floors of suffocating corporate air, each ding marking another level between you and the person you actually want to be. 

Your reflection stares back from the polished steel doors—black Armani blazer, pearl earrings, hair pulled back in a sleek chignon that your mother's stylist spent an hour perfecting this morning. 

You look exactly like what you are: the face of Japan's automotive future, groomed and polished to perfection.

But perfection means nothing to you if it doesn’t come in four fucking wheels.

The parking garage is a different world. 

Darker. Quieter. Real.

Your steps quicken as you approach the sleek Mercedes S-Class—the car that screams ‘responsible heiress who makes sound financial decisions.’ The one you drive to corporate events, family dinners, any place where appearances matter more than what's under the hood.

But tonight, appearances can go fuck themselves.

You slide into the driver's seat and immediately feel the weight pressing down on your shoulders, your chest, behind your fucking eyes. 

Three hours of quarterly projections, market analysis, and thinly veiled suggestions that maybe you should consider ‘sharing leadership responsibilities’ with a more experienced male colleague. 

Three hours of nodding along while grown men who've never held a wrench explained automotive engineering concepts you learned before you could legally drive.

Your hands shake as you grip the steering wheel.

It all cracks.

Your forehead drops forward, hitting the leather with a soft thud, and your fingers tangle in your hair—fuck that stupid chignon anyways.  

A shaky exhale escapes your lips, then another, and for just a moment in the darkness of underground parking level B3, you let yourself feel the exhaustion that's been building for months.

The quarterly reviews are getting more intense. The board meetings more demanding. The expectations heavier.

Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you just... stopped. Stopped smiling through the condescension. Stopped proving yourself to men who measure your worth in profit margins rather than skill. Stopped pretending that sitting in conference rooms talking about market demographics is what gets your blood pumping.

But that's not an option. 

The Hayashi name doesn't get to quit.

You take three deep breaths—in through your nose, out through your mouth, the way you know how to control adrenaline spikes. 

Center yourself. Focus on what matters.

Tonight, what matters is speed.

You reach into the back seat for the gym bag you strategically placed there this morning. 

Inside: worn jeans, a black tank top, your racing jacket with the faded sponsor patches, and the fingerless gloves that have seen more action than your corporate wardrobe ever will.

And really, changing clothes in a car? Not ideal.

Luckily for you, it requires a specific kind of coordination you've perfected over the years. 

Blazer off, carefully hung to avoid wrinkles—because if your mother sees it tomorrow morning looking anything less than pristine, there will be questions. 

Pearl earrings removed and tucked into the center console. 

Hair tie pulled free, letting your hair fall to your shoulders in a way that feels like salvation.

Of course, the transformation is more than cosmetic. 

As you pull on the jeans, you can feel your breathing slow. Tank top over your head, and your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. The racing jacket slides on immediately, and when you zip it up, you're not a Hayashi, no automotive heiress, no board meeting survivor.

You’re just… you.

And that you knows where she’s going tonight. 

The underground parking garage has a service exit that most people don't know about. You discovered it during your rebellious teenage years, when you first started sneaking out to watch street races from highway overpasses. 

Now it's your escape route—a way to slip from one world into another without anyone noticing the transition.

Your real car is waiting three blocks away in a rented garage space that doesn't appear on any family financial records. 

Your beautiful, sweet AE86.

Black and white paint scheme that earned you some stupid ‘panda’ nickname.

But it doesn’t matter, because tonight—as many others—this is your ticket to freedom.

You start the Mercedes.

No soul, no personality, just reliable transportation from point A to point B. 

Everything your family expects from both their vehicles and their daughter.

But as you navigate through Tokyo's late-night traffic toward the garage where your real car waits, you can feel your pulse quickening. 

Because earlier, Maya texted that there's a gathering at the docks. Nothing official, just people showing off their builds, talking shit, maybe some impromptu runs if the mood strikes. The kind of casual meet where you can breathe, where your worth is measured in tenth-of-a-second reaction times rather than quarterly profit projections.

And you need this. 

Need the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber. Need the sound of engines being pushed to their limits. Need to remember who you are when you're not performing the role of perfect daughter.

You need to move toward the place where the Hayashi name doesn't matter and the only thing that counts is how fast you can make eight-six liters of pure joy scream down a stretch of asphalt.

Your phone buzzes.

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐚🐝 : 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞??? 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙰𝙴𝟾𝟼 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 

You don't reply. Don't need to.

The thing about earning your place at the top of Tokyo's food chain is that punctuality becomes optional.

You pull into the lot twenty minutes after Maya's text, because showing up on time is for rookies still trying to prove they belong. The ones who circle the block three times before working up the courage to park. The ones who check their mirrors obsessively, making sure their cars look perfect from every angle.

You? You just fucking drive.

The familiar crunch of gravel under your tires signals home in a way that marble corporate floors never will. 

Engine off, and immediately you can hear it—the symphony that makes your pulse quicken. Revving engines, bass lines thumping from custom sound systems, the occasional screech of someone showing off with a burnout. 

This is your world. The one where board meetings and quarterly projections don't exist.

Your AE86 settles and you can already feel eyes tracking your movement. 

You've earned every glance, every nod of respect, every whispered comment about how the panda-colored Toyota shouldn't be able to keep up with cars worth ten times as much—but somehow always does.

You scan the lot for Maya's ridiculous purple Silvia, but before you can locate her in the maze of modified metal, a familiar arm snakes around your neck from behind.

"My giiiiirl," Maya drawls, and there's that tilted accent she gets when she's been drinking or fighting or both. 

Probably both, knowing Maya.

You chuckle and drive your elbow back into her ribs, just hard enough to make her grunt. 

"Dramatic much?"

"Always," she grins, but doesn't let go of your neck. Maya's version of affection usually involves some form of minor violence, which explains why she gets along so well with the racing scene. "You missed the opening act."

"So where's the twins, huh?" You ask, sliding your keys into your jacket pocket. 

Maya's grin turns sharp. "Twins have been dealt with."

You frown. "Huh?"

Instead of answering, Maya just tilts her head toward the far end of the lot, and your stomach does something complicated when you follow her gaze. 

A midnight purple R34 Skyline GT-R.

Him.

Jaque fucking stands near his car like he owns not just the vehicle but the entire lot it's parked in.

The bastard who handed you the only loss of your racing career. 

The one who earned his place here by beating you, which means he gets to be in this lot, in your crew, in this weird little bubble where surnames don't matter at all; but rather how fast you can make your car scream.

One loss. 

O n e.

But apparently that's all it takes to earn yourself a permanent pain in the ass who shows up to every meet like he's got some kind of standing invitation to make your life complicated.

Maya snorts behind you as you start walking toward the Skyline, but she follows anyway, because Maya never misses a good show. 

And this? This is definitely going to be a show.

Your boots crunch against loose gravel and cigarette butts as you cross the lot. A few conversations pause as you pass—the usual mix of admiration and speculation that follows you wherever you go in this scene. 

But tonight something is making your spine straighten and your hands curl into loose fists at your sides.

Because Jaque isn't just here. 

He's here and apparently he's been ‘dealing with’ the Tanaka twins, which could mean anything from out-racing them to putting them in the hospital. 

And knowing the twins' habit of running their mouths about your car, your driving, your right to be here in the first place, you're not entirely sure which outcome you'd prefer.

His car still feels warm, oozing off expensive modifications from here—high-octane fuel, performance oil, the metallic scent of carbon fiber still warm from whatever run he just finished. 

Everything about the car screams money and precision, the kind of build that most people spend years saving for.

But you know better than most that the car is only as good as the driver behind the wheel.

And Jaque? 

Jaque is very, very good.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Jaque."

The name comes out flat. Matter-of-fact. Like you're reading from a grocery list instead of addressing the one person who managed to crack your perfect record.

He looks over his shoulder, and that glance transforms into something that makes your stomach do things you refuse to acknowledge. 

Full-blown smirk, eyes included. 

It spreads across his face like spilled oil, slow and inevitable.

He lowers his sunglasses—the ones he always wears even at nighttime because apparently being cocky as hell isn't enough, he also has to be stupid—and raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Hello to you too, princesa." 

The pet name hits exactly like it's supposed to—annoying and warm in equal measure. 

You ignore the warm part, though. 

He turns fully now, back against the Skyline's midnight midnight purple paint job, arms crossing over his chest like he's settling in for a show. The position makes his shoulders look broader, his stance more relaxed, like your presence here is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all night.

Which, knowing Jaque, it probably is.

"Cut the bullshit, lover boy." You stop just close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. "The twins."

His grin widens. "What twins?"

The innocent act might work on other people. 

The way his head tilts just so, like he's genuinely confused by your question. 

Like Shinji and Akira Tanaka haven't been running their mouths about your AE86 for the past three months.

It doesn’t fool you though. Never does. 

You sigh, loud enough that Maya chuckles. Your tongue presses against the inside of your lower lip—a habit you've never been able to break when dealing with particularly dense specimens of humanity.

Or Jaque, to put it simply.

"Don't play stupid," you say. "It's too easy."

That gets a chuckle out of him. Low and rough, like gravel under tires.

"Siempre tan bocona, tú." (Always so mouthy, you). 

The Spanish rolls off his tongue like he's commenting on the weather, not insulting you in two languages at once. His smile never wavers. 

"Twins are not here."

You want to throttle him.

"I could see that much, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"Ay, pues." He shrugs, and the movement is liquid smooth. "You don't want stupid answers, don't ask stupid questions."

Maya snorts behind you. Traitor.

Your jaw ticks. Just once. Just enough that you know he notices because his eyes flick down to catch it, that smirk getting smugger by the second.

"Shinji," you say, because playing his word games is getting old fast. "Akira. The Tanaka twins. Where are they?"

"Ah." Like understanding has just dawned. Like he hasn't been deliberately obtuse for the past thirty seconds. "Those twins."

"Yes, Jaque. Those twins."

He straightens slightly, the lazy posture shifting into something more intentional. Not threatening—never threatening with you—but focused. Like you've finally said something worth his full attention.

"¿Por qué?" (Why?) The question comes out slow, curious. "Miss them?"

"Because they were here twenty minutes ago talking shit about my car, and now they're not." You cross your arms, mirroring his stance. "And you're here looking entirely too pleased with yourself."

"I always look pleased with myself, gatita." Another pet name. Another small flame of irritation. “Es mi cara natural." (It’s my natural expression.)

"Answer the fucking question."

He laughs again, and this time it's genuine. Surprised. Like you've done something delightful instead of threatening to wrap your hands around his throat.

"Calma, chiquita." One hand comes up in a placating gesture that somehow manages to be condescending and charming at the same time. "No need to get all worked up."

"I'm not worked up."

"No?" His eyebrows climb higher. "Think you are."

Your eyebrow twitches. He smiles. 

"They're not here," he says finally, voice losing some of its playful edge. "Took a little drive. Might not be back for a while."

"What kind of drive?"

"The educational kind." He pushes the sunglasses back up his nose, hiding his eyes again. "Someone had to explain proper parking lot etiquette to them."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides.

"I don't need—"

"Hey, tranquila." He holds up both hands now, but he's still smiling. Still enjoying this way too much. "This is your territory, ¿no? They talked shit about the boss lady. Someone had to warn them."

Boss lady. 

Like you're some fucking mafia princess instead of a racer who's earned every ounce of respect through skill and stubbornness.

"That's how we do it in my country," he adds, like that explains everything.

"This is Japan."

His smile turns sharp. Dangerous.

"And I'm latino."

You scoff, looking sideways because seriously—he's unbelievable. 

Like being Latino is some kind of universal excuse for whatever bullshit he decides to pull. 

Like slapping his ethnicity on the table explains away every reckless move, every stupid decision, every time he decides to play knight in shining armor when nobody fucking asked.

Like he’s not basically insulting his whole ethnicity when he does that: 

Your hand dips into your jacket pocket, fingers finding the familiar crinkle of cellophane.

"Right," you say, unwrapping the cherry lollipop with sharp, efficient movements. "Because your passport gives you a free pass to stick your nose in everyone else's business."

The wrapper finds its way back to your pocket.

"No es eso, princesa." (It's not that, princess.) His voice carries that lazy drawl that means he's having way too much fun. "But where I come from, you don't let randos disrespect the people you—"

You pop the lollipop into your mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence.

The words die on his tongue.

His eyebrows lift, and he makes this low snorting sound that has absolutely no business being as distracting as it is. Like he's just witnessed something worth stopping traffic for.

You turn back to look at him, lollipop stick jutting from between your lips.

 "What?"

The smirk that spreads across his face is slow and dangerous. 

"Nada, nada." (Nothing, nothing.) But his eyes haven't moved from your mouth. "Keep going."

Before you can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, an arm locks around Jimin's shoulders from behind. 

It’s Taeyang, appearing like he materialized from the fucking parking lot shadows or something.

"J is off his game tonight."

Jimin doesn't even try to shrug out of the hold. Just keeps staring at you with that insufferable expression.

"Nah," he says, voice dropping lower. "Just distracted."

He gestures lazily with his chin, eyes still locked on yours.

"Can't focus when you keep putting things in your mouth like that."

The lollipop nearly falls out of your mouth.

What the actual—

Your hand moves before your brain catches up, grabbing the stick and yanking the candy free. The cherry flavor lingers on your tongue, sweet and artificial and suddenly too much.

“Ay, dale, beba. Don’t stop on my account. Looks tasty.”

"You want it that bad?" You hold the lollipop out toward him, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Here. Choke on it."

The parking lot goes quiet.

Not completely—engines still rumble in the distance, someone's still blasting music from their stereo. But the space between the four of you turns into this weird vacuum where even Taeyang stops breathing.

Jimin straightens.

Slowly.

Like a cat uncoiling before it pounces.

Taeyang's arm slides off his shoulders as he takes a step toward you. 

Then another. 

Until he's close enough that you can see the exact moment his pupils dilate, can smell that mix of cologne and gasoline that shouldn't work but does.

He reaches out.

Plucks the lollipop from your fingers as if this is just something he does every day.

And pops it into his mouth.

The cherry-stained stick disappears between his lips, and he just stares into your eyes like he’s hoping for a reaction. 

"What's wrong, princesa?" The words come out muffled but still carry that infuriating drawl. "Didn't think I'd take it?"

Your pulse hammers against your throat. Hard. Visible.

Fuck.

Your mouth opens—ready with some cutting remark, some dismissive comeback that'll put him back in his place—

Nothing.

Not a single goddamn word.

Jimin's grin spreads. 

"Naaaah, wait." He lets the word stretch, savoring it like the candy between his teeth. "You actually—" 

A soft, amused chuckle escapes him. His tongue flicks against the lollipop, deliberate. Testing.

"—speechless?"

Heat crawls up your neck like flames licking gasoline. .

"Shut up." The words snap out before you can stop them, but your voice wavers. 

Just enough. Just fucking enough for him to catch it.

Jimin hums, a low sound of pure entertainment. He steps back—not far, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of whatever this is.

"I should steal your shit more often," he says, amused. 

The comment jolts you back to yourself. Back to solid ground.

"Give it back."

He rolls the candy between his teeth, considering. Like he's weighing the entertainment value of compliance versus continued torment.

Then he grins.

Shifts the lollipop to one side of his mouth, head tilting as he watches you with that same lazy, predatory amusement that makes your skin feel too tight.

"You really want me to give it back, mami?" 

That accent. The way he wraps around the word like silk, all rolling consonants and heat. 

Something flickers up your spine. Quick. Electric.

You don't react. Won't give him that satisfaction. Instead, you let your mouth curve into something unimpressed, arms folding across your chest as you pretend to consider.

"Up to you," you say, voice carefully casual. "But it's mango."

The reaction is instant.

Violent.

Jimin spits the lollipop out so hard you hear it hit the asphalt with a wet thwack. His whole body jerks backward, hand swiping across his mouth like he's trying to scrub away poison.

The grimace that twists his features is beautiful. Pure disgust mixed with betrayal.

Maya fucking wheezes beside you, the sound high and breathless.

You press your lips together, feigning concern. Let your eyebrows lift in mock surprise.

"Oh, wait—" You blink, tilting your head like you're just remembering something important. "Actually... it was cherry."

His entire body goes statue-still.

Slowly—so slowly you can count the seconds—his hand drops from his mouth. His jaw locks. His tongue darts out, running over his teeth like he's confirming what his taste buds already know.

The lingering sweetness. 

Cherry. Not mango.

"You—" Jimin's voice comes out sharp, exhaling like he's been sucker-punched. His eyes snap back to yours, flat and accusing. "Are you fucking serious?"

You lift one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"I mean..." Your head tilts, innocent. "Can't you taste the difference?"

Jimin stares at you. Then at the discarded lollipop on the oil-stained asphalt, sticky and abandoned. Then back at you.

The silence stretches.

"Do you think at the mention of mango I was taking a damn moment to assess—"

"You should've," you interrupt him, voice honey-sweet and absolutely ruthless.

Before Jimin can fire back, someone from his crew—Daniel, probably, the loudmouth who never knows when to shut up—pipes up from behind him.

"Yo, you allergic or something?"

The words hang.

Maya's grin freezes mid-wheeze. The rest of Jimin's crew shifts, glancing between him and the spat-out lollipops

Your stomach drops.

Cold. Fast.

Jimin doesn't look at them. Doesn't acknowledge the question floating in the air like clouds, just stays flat, unreadable, but his jaw ticks—just slightly, just enough for you to catch it.

And suddenly, you realize—

They don't know.

None of them know.

It's such a small thing. Insignificant. A stupid fruit allergy that probably means nothing in the grand scheme of underground racing and territorial bullshit. But still—

You're the only one who noticed.

The only one who clocked it months ago when he shoved aside a drink without explanation. The only one who saw him swipe a fruit skewer off someone's plate but carefully, absentmindedly, avoid the mango piece in the middle.

No one else ever caught on.

Your chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to... understanding.

Jimin exhales sharply through his nose. Reaches into his pocket with movements that are just a fraction too controlled to be casual. Pulls out a pack of gum.

"No," he says, popping a piece into his mouth. His tone is clipped, dismissive. Final. "I just don't like surprises."

He chews once. Twice. Like that explains everything.

Like it's enough.

His crew buys it.

They snicker, shake their heads, make some comment about how dramatic he always is. Daniel laughs too loud at his own joke about Latino attitude. The conversation shifts, interest dissipating like vapor in hot air.

Just like that, the moment passes.

But not for him.

And not for you.

Because Jimin's gaze flickers back to yours—sharp, searching, like he's trying to read something written in a language he doesn't quite understand.

You hold it.

The stare. The challenge. The unspoken question floating between you.

His jaw tenses. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, working the gum like he's trying to scrub away more than just the lingering taste.

Then he huffs. Quiet. Humorless.

Looks away.

"You're so annoying," he mutters, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

The words should sting. Should make you defensive, ready to snap back with something twice as cutting.

Instead, your mouth curves.

"Feeling’s mutual," you say, voice soft enough that only he can hear it. 

Jimin doesn't answer. Just shakes his head once—like he's trying to clear it of something he doesn't want there—and turns toward his car.

But you catch it. The way his shoulders set. His somewhat robotic movements now.

The realization that someone saw through his bullshit.

That someone noticed.

The sound of his voice speaking Spanish hits different when he thinks no one's listening.

You're half-listening to Maya complain about her clutch slipping when movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Jimin peeling away from his crew, phone pressed to his ear, heading toward the far corner of the lot where the lighting gets spotty and conversations turn private.

Something about the way he moves—purposeful, almost urgent—makes you tune out Maya's mechanical rants entirely.

"—and then the fucking thing just started grinding, you know? Like metal on metal, which obviously means—"

"Mm-hmm." You nod absently, watching Jimin settle against a concrete pillar about thirty feet away. Far enough that his crew can't hear him, close enough that if you strain just a little...

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Clutch. Grinding. Very tragic." Your eyes don't leave Jimin's silhouette. "Keep going."

And Maya does. 

But you're already tuning her out again because Jimin's voice carries just enough on the night air, and the shift in his tone is immediate. 

No trace of the lazy, teasing drawl he uses with everyone here. 

"¿Martín? ¿Qué pasó, hermano?" (Martin? What happened, brother?)

"No, no, tranquilo. Decime qué pasó." (No, no, calm down. Tell me what happened.)

There's a pause, and you can see him run his free hand through his hair. His shoulders tense.

"¿Cómo que se pelearon? ¿Por qué?" (What do you mean they fought? Why?)

Another pause. Longer this time. His jaw ticks.

"Ay, Martín... ¿y le dijiste qué?" (Oh, Martin... and you told her what?)

You edge closer, using Maya's continued clutch commentary as cover. 

"No, está bien, está bien. No es tu culpa, cabrón." (No, it's okay, it's okay. It's not your fault, dude.) His voice drops, gentler. "¿Pero por qué le dijiste que andaba en los clubs? Sabes que se pone loca cuando piensa que ando de joda." (But why did you tell her I was at clubs? You know she goes crazy when she thinks I'm partying.)

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. The lighter flicks once, twice, before catching.

The first drag makes his voice rougher when he speaks again.

"Sí, ya sé que no sabías qué decir. Pero la próxima vez decile que estoy trabajando, ¿dale?" (Yeah, I know you didn't know what to say. But next time tell her I'm working, okay?)

You watch him take another drag, the cherry glowing orange in the dim light. 

The way he holds the cigarette—practiced, automatic—suggests this isn't a recent habit.

"¿Qué más te dijo?" (What else did she tell you?)

The pause that follows is different. Heavier. You see his free hand clench into a fist at his side.

"¿Cómo que no va a aceptar más plata?" (What do you mean she won't accept more money?) His voice sharpens. "Martín, ¿qué carajo le dijiste exactamente?" (Martin, what the hell did you tell her exactly?)

Another drag. Deeper this time.

"No, no, no. Escuchame bien, cabrón." (No, no, no. Listen to me carefully, dude.) His tone shifts, becoming more authoritative. "Vos no te vas a poner a trabajar. Tenés trece años, boludo. Tu trabajo es estudiar." (You're not going to start working. You're thirteen years old, idiot. Your job is to study.)

You can hear the frustration building in his voice, see it in the way he paces within the small circle of light.

"¿Necesitás libros para la escuela? Yo te los compro. ¿Necesitás zapatillas? Yo te las compro. No digas huevadas, Martín." (Do you need books for school? I'll buy them for you. Do you need shoes? I'll buy them for you. Don't talk nonsense, Martin.)

The cigarette moves to his lips again, and apparently the sound carries through the phone because his brother says something that makes Jimin pause mid-drag.

"¿Qué?" (What?)

A beat.

"Naaaah, no estoy fumando." (Naaaah, I'm not smoking.)

You don’t even speak Spanish like that but you know that’s a fat lie coming off his lips. Pretty clear he’s talking about smoking by the way his eyes flicker to the cig.

You almost snort.  

His brother clearly doesn't buy it, because Jimin's response is immediate and defensive.

"¿No me creés? Pues decile a la mamá que vos también fumás, a ver qué dice." (You don't believe me? Well tell mom that you smoke too, let's see what she says.)

There's a pause, and then Jimin's voice turns sharp with realization.

"Ah, ¿no, cabrón? ¿Ya sabía, ya sabía...?" (Oh, no, dude? I already knew, I already knew...?) He takes another drag, and his chuckle is dark. "¿Qué te creés, que no vi los cigarros que guardás en el cajón?" (What do you think, that I didn't see the cigarettes you keep in the drawer?)

The next words need no translation. It’s a threat. A big brother threat. 

"Cuando vuelva a la casa te voy a agarrar a palos, Martín. Dejá de fumar." (When I get home I'm going to beat your ass, Martin. Stop smoking.)

But there's affection underneath the threat. Worry. The kind of protective anger that comes from caring too much.

"No, no me importa si todos tus amigos fuman. Vos no." (No, I don't care if all your friends smoke. You don't.)

Another pause, and his voice softens slightly.

"Mirá, hermano, yo sé que está jodida la situación con mamá, pero..." (Look, brother, I know the situation with mom is fucked up, but...)

He trails off, takes another drag. The silence stretches long enough that you wonder if the call dropped.

"¿Martín? ¿Seguís ahí?" (Martin? Are you still there?)

Whatever his brother says next makes Jimin's shoulders slump. The fight goes out of his posture all at once.

"Sí, ya sé que está preocupada. Pero no puede rechazar la plata y después quejarse de que no alcanza para nada." (Yeah, I know she's worried. But she can't reject the money and then complain that there's not enough for anything.)

His voice drops lower, more intimate. Like he's sharing a secret.

"Escuchame, si ella no la quiere aceptar, me re vale verga. Le voy a hacer el ingreso igual." (Listen to me, if she doesn't want to accept it, I don't give a shit. I'm going to deposit it anyway.)

Your eyes absentmindedly flick to him as he considers his next words. Or maybe he’s listening in.

"Nah, nah, escuchame." (Nah, nah, listen to me.) His voice softens again. "No le digas nada a mamá de esto, ¿sí? Si pregunta dónde ando, decile que… no sé, que ando con amigos. Que ando estudiando. Lo que sea." (Don’t tell mom anything about this, okay? If she asks where I am, tell her that… I don’t know, that I’m with friends. That I’m studying. Whatever.)

A pause.

The phone is still pressed to his ear when his expression changes.

Goes cold. Hard.

"¿Qué dijiste?" (What did you say?)

His voice drops to something lethal.

"¿Que la mamá prefiere agarrar dinero del papá?" (That mom prefers to take money from dad?)

The cigarette trembles between his fingers.

"Martín, decile a la mamá que como se atreva a agarrar dinero de ese pendejo—" (Martin, tell mom that if she dares to take money from that asshole—)

He cuts himself off. Takes a sharp drag. Exhales through clenched teeth.

"No, no, hermano. Escuchame." (No, no, brother. Listen to me.) His free hand scrubs over his face. "Ese cabrón no va a mandar ni un peso. ¿Sabés cuánto le va a costar mandar dinero desde México? ¿Las transferencias internacionales? ¿Los fees del banco?" (That asshole isn’t going to send a single peso. Do you know how much it’s going to cost him to send money from Mexico? International transfers? Bank fees?)

A bitter laugh escapes him.

"Y aunque mandara algo, no va a ser suficiente. Nunca es suficiente con él." (And even if he sent something, it’s not going to be enough. It’s never enough with him.)

The words come out sharp. Angry.

"No, no hay pero que valga, cabrón." (No, there’s no ‘but’ about it, dude.) He takes a sharp drag, the cherry flaring angry orange. "Ese hijo de puta nos abandonó. Nos dejó sin nada. Y ahora que nosotros estamos bien, ¿quiere jugar al papá responsable?" (That son of a bitch abandoned us. Left us with nothing. And now that we’re doing well, he wants to play responsible dad?)

You can hear the pain underneath the anger. Raw. Bleeding.

"¿Sabés cuánto pinche dinero perdimos en las transferencias cuando nos fuimos de Argentina? ¿Cuánto nos costó empezar de cero acá?" (Do you know how much fucking money we lost in transfers when we left Argentina? How much it cost us to start from zero here?)

Silence stretches. You can see him listening, jaw working around the cigarette.

"Sí, hermano, entiendo que está enojada conmigo. Pero prefiero que esté enojada y segura a que esté contenta y en peligro." (Yeah dude, I understand she’s angry with me. But I’d rather have her angry and safe than happy and in danger.)

He flicks ash onto the pavement with sharp, agitated movements.

"Nah, hermano. Nah. Ese dinero está sucio. Todo lo que toca ese hombre se vuelve una mierda." (Nah, bro. Nah. That money is dirty. Everything that man touches turns to shit.)

Another pause.

"¿Y sabés qué más? Aunque tenga que meterle el dinero a la cuenta sin que sepa, lo voy a hacer. Porque ustedes son mi responsabilidad. No la de él." (And you know what else? Even if I have to put the money in the account without her knowing, I’m going to do it. Because you guys are my responsibility. Not his.)

The cigarette burns down to the filter between his fingers.

He flicks it away.

"Decile que si necesita dinero, que me hable a mí. Que yo siempre he estado acá. Yo nunca la dejé. Yo nunca—" (Tell her if she needs money, to call me. That I’ve always been here. I never left her. I never—)

He stops himself. Takes another drag.

"Martín, ¿me estás escuchando?" (Martin, are you listening to me?)

A reply. Confirmation, you guess by his expression.

"Ese dinero de papá… no lo agarren. Por favor. Yo sé que parece fácil, pero nada de lo que viene de él es fácil. Siempre hay un precio." (That money from dad… don’t take it. Please. I know it seems easy, but nothing that comes from him is easy. There’s always a price.)

He sighs now, listening in before he leans his head back against the wall. 

"Decile que no me espere despierta hoy. Que llego tarde. No quiero pelear con ella. No hoy." (Tell her not to wait up tonight. I’m coming home late. I don’t want to fight with her. Not today.)

His eyes flicker to the sky above him. Perhaps pondering; perhaps buying himself more time. Then:

"Tengo que colgar, hermano. Cuida a mamá. Y si ese pendejo trata de contactarla, me avisas inmediatamente, ¿me escuchaste?" (I have to hang up, brother. Take care of mom. And if that asshole tries to contact her, you let me know immediately, you hear me?)

His voice goes soft again. Protective.

"Te quiero, Martín. Todo va a estar bien." (I love you, Martín. Everything’s going to be okay.)

He ends the call.

Takes another cigarette from the pack.

And when your eyes flicker to his movements—you notice he lights it with hands that aren’t quite steady.

goal: 300 notes

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[riansdiary]

YOU'RE NOT "TRYING TO MANIFEST" OR "WAITING TO MANIFEST", YOU HAVE IT NOW!

I realized something after reading through Solar Subs' law of assumption guide again.

I think the only thing stopping everyone is the fact that we see the lack in the 3d and consider it real or want it to change too but what you have to understand is that changing the 3d is not our job. You just have to keep getting comfortable with your new state and maintain it by living in the end or in the state of the wish fulfilled.

This is the best one so far that I thought of about the 3d in terms of manifesting. You affirm and somehow look for it in the 3d. What do we do to stop that?

DISMISS IT BECAUSE THAT'S NOT THE REALITY YOU ARE IN ANYMORE AND DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO IT.

Again, attention is powerful. Ever heard of the saying "Whatever you focus on grows"? This is true for manifesting as well. Whatever you are paying attention to, you will get more of it so pay attention to your new reality and live in it. The 3d is not your job so you don't need to do anything about it. Don't wait because you have it now. Don't assume the 3d is real and let yourself take your own desires from yourself.

This is the comparison of someone manifesting while living in the 3d versus one who lives in the 4d or living in the end.

Sarah lives in the 3d:

Sarah wants to manifest pretty hands so she affirms.

Sarah: I have such pretty hands. My hands are so delicate and soft.

After that, Sarah continued on with her day and she looked at her hand at one point.

Sarah: Ugh! Where is it? Why is it not here yet? This is so annoying!

She lived in the 3d and assumed that the 3d is her reality. That's because she paid attention to it.

Now, Tilly lives in the end or 4d all the time. She also wants to manifest pretty hands.

Sarah: I have pretty hands. My hands are so beautiful and delicate. I have my desired hands.

Sarah goes through her day and sees her hands at one point. She observes it but she knows she doesn't live in that reality anymore so she dismisses it and doesn't pay attention to it.

She decided to remind herself that she already has it and she continues to do that.

Sarah: I know I have pretty hands now and I do! That's what is true for me. I already have it now. It's already done.

This is exactly what I'm doing right now and it feels so good! I don't have to worry about me reacting because I know it's not my job to change it. I already have it and that's it. I continue to live in the reality where I already have my desires and constantly remind myself of that fact. It's freeing because I don't have to be so anxious and scared of the 3d, time and any circumstances. I just observe the 3d, know it's not my job to change it, know I don't live in that reality anymore and continue living in the end and remind myself throughout the day that I have it now. I don't find it outside of me because I know I have it now.

Do this for a week or how much you want and tell me your experience!

Yours Truly,

Lady Rian Whistledown 💋

[dashcon-two]

The Ball Pits

Hi all,

We realized only recently that we’ve never actually shown you how DashCon 2 is representing the iconic OG DashCon ball pit. We’ve mentioned details here and there, but now they are collated all in one place!

The First Pit: An Homage

two bros chilling in the ball pit

founder simone taking an afternoon nap

We couldn’t do DashCon 2 without having a kiddie pool full of plastic balls in a sad corner. We encourage using this ball pit as a photoshoot spot for some truly bizarre cosplay pics, or just to commemorate the experience.

However once we actually got the thing, we realized that hanging out in it is kind of incredible. Enjoy a relaxing pit stop at the candy-coloured ferret enrichment station!

The Second Pit: A Duel

This second pit - in reality, an inflatable jousting ring - is the home base of The Duel between Strange Aeons and the Muppet Joker. However, when they are not duelling, you all are welcome to throw down in the ball pit gauntlet!

The goal is to smack one another with jousting poles and knock each other down. Fight mano a mano or team up two versus two. Sharp objects and wet face paint are not allowed in the jousting pit, so attention all Vriskas: set that foundation.

You may be asking - where are the balls? We’ll be covering the floor in chopped pool noodles, so it’ll be a foam-ball pit. (Standard plastic balls would suck to land on.)

The Golden Ticket

You may be wondering: is it possible to acquire an extra hour in the ball pit?

Yes. But not how you’d expect.

One lucky purchaser of a charity raffle ticket will receive a golden ticket for themself and up to three friends for an extra hour in the ball pit. The final hour, in fact, before it closes for the day. Lounge, relax, and watch onlookers gaze enviously, from within a mass of colourful plastic. What more could you want?

Volunteer Emails

We’ve gotten plenty of queries from volunteers asking when they’re going to be contacted about their positions. The answer is that we’ve contacted a lot of you already and are waiting to hear back! Please be sure to check your spam folders - we don’t want to give away your position because our email got caught in a filter. You have a week to reply or the position will go to someone else. Go do it! Now!!

VirtualDash Panels!

If you haven’t applied for a VirtualDash panel but would like to, you should do that now!! Your deadline is the 20th. Infodumps, kahoots, party games, whatever you like! You might just get accepted :)

APPLY NOW

Oh yeah - and if you want to moderate, you can apply for that here.

Cosplay Photoshooots - A Note

We’ve done it, folks! One generous attendee has stepped up to host the Weed Smoking Girlfriends photoshoot! A time has not been selected yet, but it will likely be near the end of the day, at the very least after the Duel. (You’re welcome, @strange-aeons.) If you haven’t selected your cosplay yet, perhaps a weed smoking girlfriend is the right choice for you. (All people, regardless of gender, can be a Weed Smoking Girlfriend(TM))

A note for all Homestuck cosplayers: to avoid any body paint catastrophes, the Homestuck photoshoot organizer kindly requests that unset bodypaint is prohibited at the shoot. If you’re concerned that you didn’t use enough setting product, they will have some extra for you to use at the shoot.

[bridenore]

HD war setting fic recs : more than 30k words

Here are a few drarry wartime fic recs that are more than 30k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always. Part 1 (recs with less than 30k) can be found here.

9 ½ Days by @magpiefngrl [21k]

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail.  This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside  caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic. Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

All the Answers by Maxine [195k] *Incomplete

Finding himself saddled with Draco Malfoy is just about the last thing Harry expected to happen this year. Too bad ignoring the git is something he’s never been able to do. Horcruxes, war, and teenage hormones – no one ever said this would be easy! 7th year fic. Harry/Draco main pairing…eventually. 

Allegiance and Sedition by SilentAuror [98k]

The war is in its fifth year, and Harry finds himself caught up in the confusion of friend versus enemy, spy versus traitor.

Black, in the Smothering Dark by @lol-zeitgeistic [101k]

Harry Potter is rescued from the Dursleys and spends the summer with his god…father? This is the prequel to The Hush of War. The Hush of War by @lol-zeitgeistic [351k] Voldemort has made a bargain with Harry to stop killing muggles and muggle-borns (when at all possible, of course) in exchange for Harry’s cooperation. While Harry thinks he’s using the time to find a way to defeat the Dark Lord, he will realize that Voldemort is always one step ahead, and so long as he isn’t killing anyone…what’s the big deal? He has bigger things to worry about now, anyway. Includes dementors, pureblood culture, the prophecy, what exactly happened with Lily’s sacrifice, magical breakthroughs, children Death Eaters, and portraits of family. Final pairing: H/D. Sequel to Black, in the Smothering Dark.

Double Edged Sword by @romaine2424 [554k]   

Harry thinks his life has been planned out, but the night he comes of age changes everything.  Now there are decisions to be made and a path to be chosen, and the choices before him will change the lives of everyone he knows.  But when destiny calls, Harry finds himself ready to listen. This is an epic story of the love between Harry and Draco.  Join them as they journey through their life together, through the good times and the bad, facing obstacles both external and internal, and see how they come to be who they were meant to be. (This story was written after HBP.)

Earthbound Spook by cest_what [57k]

Two months after Draco Malfoy was reported dead, Harry and Ron found him tangled in Strangler Ivy on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Eclipse by Mijan [287k]

“You’re dead, Potter… I’m going to make you pay…” Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius’s imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It’s the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco’s world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Faerie Felicities by @quackquackcey  [79k]

Draco dies and wakes up to the emerald drapes of the Slytherin dormitory at the end of 5th year. Thus ensues new possibilities, new choices, a new life, and a new romance(?) Featuring fluffy shenanigans, lots of baking, and a hopefully not-so-bad war (fingers crossed). Or in other words, a somewhat Christmassy canon rewrite fic.

Finite Incantatum by Alysian Fields [153k]

What should have happened after ‘Half Blood Prince’! It’s the autumn after Dumbledore’s death, the Death Eaters are steadily gaining power, and Harry and his friends are desperate to find the remaining Horcruxes. But then Draco Malfoy arrives at Grimmauld Place, traumatised, starved and drained of all his magical ability. It falls to Harry to show the Slytherin how to adapt to his new way of life, never guessing that Draco has a few things to teach him in return.

Hermione Granger’s Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by @waspabi [93k]

‘You’re a wizard, Harry’ is easier to hear from a half-giant when you’re eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you’re seventeen and late for work.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by @fencer-x [479k]

[Extensive re-telling of Deathly Hallows] As in Half-blood Prince, Draco is charged by Voldemort with killing Dumbledore—only instead of trying to do his best with the challenge, he realizes he’s been set a futile task and instead focuses on finding a way to save both himself and his parents. He eventually decides to spend his sixth year studying Animagecraft, convinced it’s his best shot at escaping the impossible situation he’s found himself in. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

On the Last Day of Our World by Sansa [84k]

During a detention, Harry and Draco get locked in a strange room together overnight. When they escape the next morning, they discover they are alone. Love, angst and adventure abound as they struggle to survive in an empty world.

Open Fire by @slytherco [38k]

Once upon a time, in a Death Eater-occupied Britain… A story about the Second Wizarding War, still going on ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. While the Light Side struggles to keep evil at bay, those who wish to rid the world of Mixed-Blood Wix roam free, growing in power and persistent in their cruelty. In the meantime, in an undisclosed location, a group of rogue partisans works tirelessly, doing one thing, and one thing only: killing Death Eaters. Things complicate when during one of their raids, the Pack captures an old acquaintance who turns out to be a double agent. He can help them change the course of the War but change isn’t something their leader takes in stride, both on the front and in his heart. An AU based on the movie “Inglourious Basterds”

Silenced by the Night by @parkkate [55k]

After a spell goes horribly wrong, Harry has to deal with the loss of his eyesight. It’s such terrible timing, too, because how is he supposed to find out what Malfoy has been up to in the Room of Requirement? It’s not like he can ask the git, not only because it’s Malfoy, but also because the Slytherin has suddenly lost his voice. While they’re both trapped in the hospital wing, however, Harry discovers there’s so much he didn’t know about Malfoy, and it’s highly intriguing, but also a bit alarming. Where did all these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden? And what is Harry going to do about them?

Stars As Bright Spots Only by Slytherincess [66k]

Draco Malfoy is struggling to maintain his sanity while carrying out his duties as a sixteen-year-old Death Eater. Draco tries to take solace in Polyjuice, a loyal friend, and an enchanted hand mirror, and finds there’s more than meets the eye in the Mirror of Erised. The events of Half-Blood Prince as interpreted from Draco’s POV.

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrims0n [180k]

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki [104k]

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend. Delicate Sound of Thunder by geoviki [61k] Draco Malfoy has always known that happily ever after is only true for fairy tales.  When someone threatens to expose his wartime past, he risks his life to protect his secrets, but learns he’s not the only one with something to hide. The sequel to A Thousand Beautiful Things.

Tomorrow by @novembersnowflakes [4k]

For Harry and Draco, the dawn is long in coming. (Prequel to “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow”) Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by @novembersnowflakes [57k]  When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of  their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery. Daybreak by @novembersnowflakes [5k]  Harry Potter, Draco knows, has a habit of keeping his promises. (Coda to “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow”)

A Wave in Windless Water by reposoir [57k]

Harry, Hermione, and Ron work together in Godric’s Hollow to find and destroy Voldemort’s horcruxes. With the unexpected arrival of Draco Malfoy, Harry has the burden of both the horcruxes and new worries weighing him down.

Who Will Guard the Door by musamihi [36k]

The day his father is sentenced, Draco takes the Mark and is given his impossible task. Thorfinn Rowle, assigned to be his mentor, is less interested in assisting him than in satisfying his own appetites. As Draco sinks further into failure and watches the war sweep his parents away from him, he takes refuge in the Manor – a member of the family he never knew he had. But the Manor suffers its own wounds during Lord Voldemort’s residency, and the Chosen One may be the only force that can heal them.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[jjknowsball]

Perfection Ch. 2

Summary: AU Fic where Paige is a D1 Football player and Azzi is an overwhelmed Biology major.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: None right now

Note: Trying to write over 2k words after writing 3 finals is going to take me out. I also did not proofread this at all 🙂‍↕️.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paige has done it now.

Her newfound case of an unpredictable arm has striked again. It all started with throwing three interceptions at last week’s at home rival game versus Tennessee. She can remember everything from her coach’s thrown clipboard, the fans throwing their hands up in frustration, and KK’s worried look through her helmet.  

She still hasn’t been able to get the shit-eating grin that Samara Spencer had on her face as she gracefully accepted the ball thrown by Paige.

Now she has taken out her roommate who is currently lying on the turf after tumbling down from the sidewalk from above.  The girl’s leg was bent in an awkward position and her clothes were covered in a layer of dirt.

Out of anyone else on campus, she had to take out her already stressed out, three seconds away from spontaneous combustion, roommate.

“YOU KILLED HER” KK, Uconns star wide receiver, yelled . She had taken it upon herself to shake Paige’s shoulders to emphasize the point as she pointed to the unconscious girl. 

At this rate, Paige was never going to touch the field again. She could see the headlines now-

“Local Star quarterback caught in throw-and-run against her own roommate.” 

After that it would be the media coverage- with a terrible picture of her from her awful digital footprint from high school. The awful matching neon Nike fit with the matching headband would be the last thing people would remember her by. Then she was going to spend the rest of her life in jail making sneakers out of cardboard boxes. 

“Chill” Paige says in an attempt to calm not only her nerves but her teammates too. “We can take her to the athletic training room.” 

She goes to touch Azzi’s neck when she notices two things. One she definitely has a pulse and she looks strangely at peace for somebody who just got taken out by a football.

“If she doesn’t have a pulse, I am pretty sure your trunk is big enough to-“ Ice, UConn’s tight end, chimes in. 

“Don’t even finish the rest of that sentence” Paige said as she rubbed her temple. She goes to pick up Azzi by her back in one arm while using her other arm to carry her legs. She starts to carry the girl towards the athletic facility with her teammates in tow.

———-

When Azzi comes to, the first thing that she thinks about is how bad her head hurts and where the hell is she .

The room is huge, with an abundance of athlete training bed and not the cheap family practice ones that had to be covered with the paper that crinkled with every movement. These beds could be adjusted at three different points with the schools logo and cabinets underneath.

There was a sauna next to the indoor pool & spa. The facility even had a small smoothie bar with 30 different flavors. All she could think about was the fact that the athletic facility alone put the science building to shame. One of the beds alone could fix three labs. 

Azzi was so inthralled with how the facility looked she didn’t notice the fact that Paige was right next to her on the small rolling chair. She was sitting there calmly with her AirPods in with only a Nike sports bra and sweatpants. 

Her glistening abs on display as she was thinking about something like football plays or how many girls she was going to have in her bed tonight. 

“Do you always try to wear as little as possible” Azzi said as she grimaced, reaching out for her leg and ankle.

She hadn’t realized how bad she was hurting until now. She was bleeding through her leggings around her knee and her ankle hurt like hell. 

“You’re Alive” Paige says immediately jumping up from the chair.  “ You have been out for almost 30 minutes now.”

This causes Azzi to sit up, she realizes that she is not only late to dinner with Caroline and Ines but her study room reservation in the library. 

“Don’t move” Paige said  impulsively grabbing her thigh to keep her in place before quickly moving her hand as her ears go red “let me help you up.” 

“ I think you have done enough” Azzi says in protest, still trying to wiggle off the table. 

“I know I am the whole reason why you are in this mess but please let me help you.” Paige pleads. Her eyes filled with guilt as she looked up at the younger girl. 

Despite Azzi being extremely reluctant, she decides to let Paige do her thing as there isn’t much she can do about it. 

Paige goes to grab the athletic tape before moving towards  Azzi’s bad knee. She looks up at Azzi to get her approval before she starts to hike up Azzi’s leggings after her nod. 

Maybe it is just the fact that Azzi hasn’t been with anyone in a long time but Paige’s soft touches as she wraps  the tape around her knee has caused her to become flustered. 

Once Paige is done, she moves lower towards her ankle as she tries to flex it.  Trying to figure out if it was a low-grade sprain or worse.

“Ouch!!” Azzi yelled with tears starting to form in her eyes. 

“You’re doing so good for me, Az, I am almost done.” Paige says not giving it any thought as she gets the brace to wrap around her ankle. If Azzi had thought her stomach had dropped from the touches earlier, that statement certainly didn’t help.

Why does she always have to talk like this.

 “Don’t call me that” Azzi says as she begins to pout with her hands thrown over her chest. Paige laughs it off before offering  her hand.

“Can you stand by yourself” Paige ask

“Mmhm” Azzi answers back while trying to balance herself. “I really need to g—“

“Let me take you out to dinner-“ Paige blurts out trying to stop the younger girl from leaving. “It’s the least I could do since the dining hall is closed”

It’s not the best recovery but Azzi decides to let Paige off the hook based off of how red she was turning.

“What ever you say, Madison” Azzi agreed as she started to limp off “As long as we eat it in the library”. Paige throws on her hoodie before following in tow.

——-

It takes 45 minutes for them to make it to the library due to Azzi’s indecisiveness.

“Azzi, I am sure what ever you pick is going to be great.” Paige exclaimed trying to hurry the girl along. It was almost as if she forgot that they had to make it to the library in 15 minutes 

She couldn’t decided between a subway flatbread, a qdoba bowl, or a soup and a salad meal from Panera. In the time that it had taken Azzi to look at the 3 options, Paige had ordered Chick Fil A and had already eaten half her fries. 

“Everything looks so good” Azzi exclaims, clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Paige not being able to wait any longer decides to order for her. She walks over to the Panera kiosk and begins to press different buttons, ignoring Azzi questioning looks from over her shoulder. Paige pulls her card out when Azzi decides to speak up

“ What did you order?”

“It’s a surprise” 

“What if I don’t like it” Azzi ask again 

“You will” Paige answers with a wink before grabbing the food and pulling it out of Azzi’s reach.

———-

They make it to the study room with  two minutes to spare. As they both get situated in, Paige finally hands Azzi her bag of food. 

Inside was broccoli and cheese soup and a chipotle chicken avocado melt.

Her usual

“How did you know?”

“You always leave the other half of the meal in the refrigerator, so I figured you would like it” Paige said sheepishly. 

From that statement alone, Azzi quickly realized that Paige knew things about her and the only thing Azzi knew about Paige was her late night hook-ups. 

It almost made her feel bad about the mean things she had wish on the girl like the shower running cold mid-session or her roof falling in when she got too loud. 

Almost

“I know a lot about you Az, even if you won’t talk to me and just stay in your dorm all day” Paige bantered.

“I said don’t call me that” Azzi said as she pouted “And I don’t stay in my dorm all day”

“Second times a charm?”Paige says, as she shrugs leaning back in her chair. 

“ That isn’t even how the saying goes, stupid” Azzi half laughed as she pushed the blondes chair. Mid-laugh, She notices the clock on the wall: 9:30

“ Ok I really need to lock in now”

———-

In Azzi’s defense she really tried to study her 11 fundamental groups. But Paige’s antics aren’t really the best for a study environment. 

Her notes have been long forgotten and are sprung across the L shaped desk and are borderline in Azzi’s area. The football player has her music blasting through her AirPods and is watching film from what looks like last week’s game. The announcer play-by-play filling up the room. 

Despite Azzi not caring about the school football team, she wasn’t stupid. Paige’s last performance had been the talk of the campus, with many people say that there was no hope for a championship and that Paige’s draft stock would fall. Azzi could tell that it was bothering the older girl as she was entranced by the screen, analyzing every play. 

“ Do you want to talk about the game”

Azzi questioned as she put her textbook in her bag.

“Nothing to talk about” Paige said unfazed as she continues to watch the screen. 

But the way her leg bounces and the fact that she was almost about to bite off her bottom lip doesn’t go unnoticed by Azzi. 

“I know we are not friends or anything, but I get the whole having a whole bunch of expectations on you or trying to be perfect” 

Paige nodded her head, seeming to think about the other girls words, appreciating them. There a moment of silence before Paige says anything. 

“Who said we weren’t friends?” Paige says trying to deflect and Azzi accepts the fact that the girl would rather not talk about it. 

“We live in the same dorm and we don’t even talk to each other.”

“Well maybe if someone left their room, we could’ve talked over a bowl of ice cream or something.”

“ I already told you that I do leave my room” Azzi groans out. She starts to feel bold as she is tired of Paige making her seem like some shut-in nerd. 

Maybe it’s also some of Paige’s cockiness wearing off on her.

“Who is to say that we can’t go right now” 

Paige’s eyebrows raise at Azzi’s newfound attitude.  

“You are sassier than I thought, Jazlyn. If we hurry right now we can make it to the Dairy Bar before they close” 

———-

The Dairy bar is surprisingly packed for 10:30 on a Tuesday night. The inside sitting area was full with people and ambiance.

Azzi is basically radiating excitement as it has been a while since she had step foot in the ice cream parlor. It totally beat the freezer burn ice cream that she had to settle for.

“Do you know what you want” Paige had asked ahead of time not wanting a repeat of what had happened at dinner. 

“Two scoops of Vanilla ice cream, with  sprinkles and a little caramel” the brunette said as if it was the easiest decision in the world. “How about you?”

“ I wasn’t really trying to get anyth-“ the blonde is cut off by the younger girl looking at her as if she had just betrayed her. “I was thinking a small mint chocolate chip cone”

Despite Azzi’s personal opinion about mint chocolate chip ice cream she is just happy that the other girl isn’t going to leave her hanging by making her get ice cream by herself. 

Azzi is the first one to order, so she takes her card out only to be intercepted by Paige who lightly pushes her aside taking her card out of her hoodie. 

“It’s the least I can do since I nearly killed you today” Paige whispers as she taps the card and who is Azzi to argue against her ( and free ice cream.) 

They decide to take their ice cream outside to a bench that over looks  the campus lake. The scene is so peaceful with the lapping of the water and the light chatter in the distance. They discuss everything from their very busy schedules, to Azzi’s job at the daycare, and Paige even tells a funny story about how the time she woke up covered in bubble wrap curtesy of her teams after an injury scare. 

They somehow get on the topic of parties and Azzi can feel her stomach drop for the second time of the day. 

“I bet you haven’t even been to a party here” 

“I totally have been to a UConn party”

“Let me guess, it was a biology “party” where y’all trade notes while guessing what came next in a genetics sequence” Paige barely laughs out before doubling over. Her ice cream cone almost tumbling out of her hand 

Azzi didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was spot on. Her first party was hosted by the biology department with DNA banners and mock tails in beakers. She had thought it was the coolest thing ever until Paige made her feel like a nerdy middle schooler. 

“Nope it was a totally normal college party, with a pool, drinks, and plenty of people hooking-up” Azzi says unconvincingly, completely flustered. 

“Uh huh” Paige chuckles out not believing the younger girl at all. 

“ Well, I can’t have you graduate with going to THE UConn Party.” Paige emphasizes “ You should totally come to my birthday party, which is also a halloween party, hosted by the football team” 

The Older girl gives her all the details on the walk home about the Saturday night party that would take place at a fancy airbnb where half of the school would show up.

——-

Once they finally make it back to the dorm, they go to their respected rooms. 

Azzi collapses on the bed before turning on her phone which was in surprisingly good condition considering her fall. 

Her phone had multiple missed messages and calls (mainly from Caroline threatening to fill out a missing persons report.) 

Azzi decides to put her girls out of their misery and inform them on why she missed out on their nightly dinner. 

She answers the FaceTime with the biggest smile on her face before saying. 

“You guys won’t believe what just happened.”

[nakylvr]

Hi can I request a Daniela from katseye with fem reader where she has a crush on the reader but thinks that she’s dating one of the other girls. Like with angst but a happy ending. Also I love your work!!

why yes of course 😋 i love daniela so much and this is a great req thank you so much!! 🫶 i think i got a bit carried away, sorry!

— MISCOMMUNICATION

daniela avanzini (katseye) x fem!reader

summary: daniela has a crush on you but thinks you're dating one of the other girls, which causes some miscommunication between you two leaving you both confused

warnings/tags: language, angst with a happy ending, they both are dumb and oblivious, wingwoman lara cause she's a real one, lots of miscommunication, none of them are idols just a group of bffs

wc: 3.5 k

main masterlist | katseye masterlist

daniela wasn't the best at talking about her feelings. to be more specific, romantic feelings. she could discuss her normal feelings but as soon as romantic emotions were brought up, she would be unable to say a word. when she had a crush it was only worse, leading her to not even wanting to discuss anything love related while she had feelings for someone else. she wasn't scared, exactly. for she didn't know what she was feeling. it was hard for her to understand.

daniela has had a crush on you for some time now. she knew she did from the very beginning, she just tried to ignore it, believing it would go away if she didn't think about it. that didn't work. because the more she was around you, the harder she fell for you. you were close with all the girls including daniela, but there was a slight problem that kept daniela from saying or doing anything. 

she genuinely thought you were with sophia. 

you and sophia had known each other prior to meeting the other girls, and you two were extremely close, practically acting like a couple whenever you two were together. while daniela never heard any official words like the two of you saying you were dating or saw any quick kisses of any sort, she thought it anyway. you two were always together, called each other loving petnames, and did pda that neither of you would do with anyone else. so, she suffered in silence alone for a while. 

it was rough for daniela, especially when all the girls hung out together. she would stare from afar with sad eyes whenever you were with sophia, because in her mind she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance, so she didn’t bother even trying. she kept her feelings inside, dwelling on them alone instead of talking about them, even with the other girls who she knew would undoubtedly support her. she kept it a secret the whole time, nearly wanting to die in the process the more she was around you. 

you two were close, but not as close as she wanted. you didn’t know that, though, for she never once showed those kinds of feelings towards you. you thought she purely saw you as a friend, and while you weren’t completely okay with that, you didn’t say anything that could change everything. 

the silly thing was, you had a crush on daniela for nearly the same amount of time as hers on you. however, you didn’t realize how your closeness with your best friend sophia could be seen to other people, looking like a couple when both of you agreed you would probably kill each other if you were actually dating. this caused some problems that you didn’t notice. you failed to notice the few signs daniela showed that expressed she liked you. you didn’t notice the longing stares while you were talking with others, you didn’t notice her trying to initiate more serious conversations or physical touch with you, and you didn’t even notice the difference in the way she looked at you versus the others. but, she also failed to notice yours. 

there were a few conversations you two had that almost led to confessions but something would happen which resulted in it never coming out. there was one specifically that made daniela think that maybe just maybe she would have a chance. 

you were sitting on the couch at lara’s house, looking at your phone as you scrolled aimlessly on instagram. all the girls were there to hang out and have fun, but you had been exhausted recently and didn’t want to get caught up in the usual loudness that happened when you all hung out together. so, you were sitting there on your phone, not noticing daniela looking over at you for a decent amount of time before she eventually walked over to you. 

“hey,” is all daniela says to you. 

you look up from your phone to daniela and a small smile forms on your face. “hey,” you say in return. 

there’s an awkward silence that fills the air between you two, and you both can feel it but are too scared to do anything about it. 

“you okay? you’ve been sitting here alone for the past like, hour,” daniela speaks again, a faintly worried expression on her face. 

“mm,” you hum, shrugging your shoulders. “i’ve just been exhausted i guess,” you admit. “but, i didn’t want to not hang out, so i still came.” 

daniela takes the seat next to you, leaning back into the couch as she glances over at you. “has something been happening? or do you just mean in general?” she asks. 

“just in general,” you answer, putting your phone down next to you. “life is kinda a lot right now.” 

“i get that,” daniela nods, agreeing with your words. she doesn’t know what else to say, struggling to find the words just from sitting next to you. she has never felt more awkward around someone else in her whole life, and she wished the ground would just swallow her up so she wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. daniela feels a sudden weight on her right shoulder, and she glances over to see you resting your head on her, making her eyes slightly widen and her cheeks flush pink. her whole body freezes and she isn’t even sure if she’s breathing at this moment. 

“i’m really grateful to have you around, y’know,” you say quietly, but loud enough for only her to hear. 

daniela’s face heats up more at the barely audible words coming from you, and she swears her heart is going to beat out of her chest if you say anything else remotely like that. “i’m grateful too,” she says slowly so she doesn’t stutter or show how nervous she is. 

you reach for one of her hands and hold it in yours, cherishing the warmth of her skin radiating onto yours as you talk again. “i hope we can be around each other for a long time, dani. i would really like it.” 

daniela is sure she’s going to pass out any moment now. with your hand now holding hers and the words leaving your mouth, the nickname she only lets you use, she was definitely going to. “i-i would like that also,” she replies, mentally cursing at herself for stuttering like a loser. she can feel your breathing change as you lean against her, and when she looks down at you for the second time, she realizes you’re asleep. her eyes go wide again and her face turns even redder when she realizes this, and she’s not sure what to do as she sits on the couch. 

daniela looks over at manon who is already looking at you two with a grin plastered on her face and phone out facing you both to take a picture and she mouths ‘what do i do?’. manon simply shrugs, taking the picture and giving a thumbs up to daniela. “i dunno, but you got this!” she says encouragingly. 

daniela rolls her eyes at manon’s response and watches her walk away back to where the other girls were. she looks down at you again and lets out a short sigh. “i guess i’m staying here,” she mumbles to herself. 

unfortunately for daniela, you never spoke of that conversation after it happened. she thought maybe she pushed it too far even if it wasn’t that big of a push, and so she started avoiding you. she didn’t respond as fast to your text messages, she wouldn’t look you in the eye when you were hanging out with the girls, she would make up excuses to leave so she wouldn’t have to talk to you. she thought she fucked up if you didn’t want to talk about that moment of sincerity between you two. 

meanwhile you had thought you did something wrong if it meant daniela started avoiding you. you had thought you made her uncomfortable with your words that day and that that’s the reason she was avoiding you, so you didn’t do anything. you didn’t confront her about it, too scared that she would admit you made her uncomfortable and didn’t want to talk anymore. there was an even worse awkwardness between you both that all the girls immediately noticed and decided to try and help the best they could. 

“what if we did something to make daniela jealous?” manon suggests to the other girls. 

“would that even do anything?” megan responds. “i’ve never seen her get any type of jealous.” 

“maybe not jealous, but she stares like a kicked puppy whenever yn and sophia are together,” lara says. 

“i could try something,” sophia speaks up. “yn and i are already close, so i’m sure if i did something extra it would make her jealous.” 

“is this a good idea?” yoonchae pipes in. 

“possibly not, but i can’t stand this miscommunication between them any longer,” lara replies. 

“agreed,” they all say. 

so, later that night the girls brought (forced) you two to attend a party with them. daniela was standing in a corner with lara, looking as if she wanted to die inside just being at the party while you were talking with sophia on the other side of the room. 

“lighten up a bit, daniela! this is a party,” lara says to daniela over the loud music. 

“i’m not having fun,” daniela responds in a blank tone. she takes a glance around the room, not noticing the hand signal lara gave sophia while you’re back was turned, and when daniela’s eyes land on you and sophia, they narrow into a glare. 

sophia has an arm wrapped around your waist, leaning close to whisper something into your ear and you laugh, gently shoving her as she presses a quick kiss on your cheek. daniela feels a mix of anger and sadness as she watches unaware of the other girls trying to see what will happen. she misses lara doing another hand signal of sorts to sophia who decides to go to plan b after seeing daniela do nothing. sophia’s arm remains around you as you two talk, and she pushes some of your hair out of your face and turns so her head is blocking your face, making it appear as if you two are kissing but in reality, she is still just normally talking to you. however, what daniela thought she saw made her immediately start stomping off in a random direction somewhere to get out of the house. 

you catch daniela storming off out of the corner of your eye and quickly tell sophia you’ll be right back before hurrying after daniela who made her way outside of the house onto the porch. 

“hey!” you call out, following behind her. “are you leaving already?” 

daniela stops in her tracks as soon as she hears your voice, and she simply just nods her head. 

“why?” you ask when you reach her, standing in front of her. 

“i didn’t even want to come,” daniela answers. “why did you even follow me?”

“what?” you let out in response to her question. “because, you looked angry and i wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

daniela scoffs and shakes her head. “just go back to sophia. don’t worry about me,” she says. 

confusion grows on your facial expression at her words, not sure where this is suddenly coming from. “what are you talking about?” 

“nothing,” daniela shakes her head again, her eyes not even meeting yours. 

“no, you don’t get to do that,” you say in a more serious tone. “you don’t get to just say ‘nothing’ after avoiding me for weeks. what is going on?” 

“nothing,” daniela repeats. 

you bite your tongue from saying something you don’t want to say, and instead just nod your head. “fine, then,” you say, making daniela finally look at you. “fine. i won’t bother trying anymore. you won’t tell me why you’re avoiding me, so i won’t try. i don’t even have a general idea why you’re acting like this but, do what you want. just…just leave me alone unless you’re going to apologize.” you finish, letting out a sigh and shaking your head before starting to walk back to the house. 

daniela stands in silence as she watches you walk past her, and she reaches her hand out and grabs your arm. “yn, wait!” she says quickly. 

“don’t bother, daniela,” the scoff you let out matches hers that she did earlier in the conversation that makes daniela want to cry. you pry your arm out of her grip and walk back inside the house. 

daniela stands outside for a few minutes in silence, before mumbling curses under her breath and hitting herself on the head for what she did. “fucking stupid, stupid, stupid,” she mutters to herself.  

needless to say, that plan didn’t really work. in fact, it made things worse between you two. the girls realized it the day after when they all went to hang out and you and daniela didn’t even say hello to each other. they knew then that their plan didn’t work and they instead fucked it up more. the girls didn’t know how to fix this. there was a tension in the air whenever you and daniela were in the same room, and it was evident neither of you were going to talk to each other anytime soon. 

it wasn’t until daniela was talking with lara one day that she was told you weren’t dating sophia, and she was shocked needless to say. it’s also when daniela realized just how badly she had fucked up. 

“y’know, if you have a crush on her you should just say it,” lara says to daniela, sitting next to her while on her phone. the two were in lara’s room and daniela had finally just admitted that she had a crush on you, to which lara was trying not to react too much to make it like she didn’t know even though it was incredibly obvious. 

“i can’t do that! are you crazy?!” daniela immediately responds in an exclamation. “she’s with sophia, why on earth would i confess if she’s literally dating someone else?!’

lara looks up from her phone and at daniela with a confused look on her face. “what?” she asks. there was no way daniela thought you were dating sophia, right? 

“i’m not going to ruin the friendship i already have with both of them because my dumbass caught feelings for someone who’s already in a relationship!” daneiala says, throwing her hands up in the air and slouching back against the couch. 

“wait, wait, wait. stop right there,” lara waves her hand from side to side and puts her phone down. “do you think yn is dating sophia?” she asks daniela seriously. she wanted to slap some sense into daniela right now for how dumb she was to think you were dating sophia, but she resisted it and kept it to questioning her instead. 

daniela looks back at lara with confusion on her own face at the question. “yes?” she answers, it coming out as a question. “they are literally together all the time and call each other all those lovey-dovey names and shit!” 

“oh my god,” lara tries her best not to laugh out loud at the thought of daniela genuinely thinking you were with sophia, but a smile pulled on her lips. “yn and sophia aren’t dating, daniela.” 

daniela’s eyes quickly widen in surprise at lara’s words. “are you joking?” she questions. 

“no, they literally aren’t,” lara shakes her head. “sure, they basically act like a couple but no, they aren’t actually dating. they would not work out together if they did,” she lets out a chuckle at the end. 

daniela sits in silence for a few moments, trying to process the newfound information given to her. this whole time she thought you and sophia were together, just to find out you actually weren’t. this was a good thing, she tried to remain positive. this meant she could come up with a confession and hope it works out. 

so, after a week of trying to figure out what to do, she decided to finally talk to you. she tried texting you, but you didn’t respond. so she showed up at your house randomly instead. 

daniela rang the doorbell of your house, standing in front of the door with flowers in one hand and a bag of food in the other. she glanced behind her at the car which lara was sitting in the driver seat with the passenger window down watching daniela. lara gives daniela a thumbs up with a wide smile on her face, shouting to her, “you got this, girl!” which makes daniela turn back around to the door in embarrassment. she waits another minute before determining whether or not she should just leave the items and run off, but then the door unlocks and opens, and you stand there in front of her. 

“oh,” you let out in surprise at seeing her standing there. “what are you doing here? and why do you have those?” you question, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms over your chest. 

the tone in your voice makes daniela want to curl up in a ball and die right here. she can tell you’re pissed off she showed up unannounced, though technically she did text you and tell you she would be coming, whether you read it or not was another question. she’s sure you could see how nervous she was, but your expression remained blank if you did notice. “uh, well, yo-you said to leave you alone until i apologize so i’m…here to apologize,” she responds anxiously, her eyes struggling to lock with yours. 

“mm,” you hum. “fine,” you say, opening the door wider and walking back inside. 

daniela stands there for a few seconds, quickly looking back at the car behind her before hurrying after you inside. you close the door behind her and walk to your living room without saying a word, and daniela follows behind you to the couch. 

“uh i got you some food from that expensive place we got when we all went out for your birthday,” daniela says awkwardly, setting the bag of food and flowers down on the coffee table. “and the flowers because i remembered you said you liked them,” she mumbles afterwards. 

despite your initial attempt at being mad at her, the guilty look on her face and evident anxiety in her voice makes that vanish much faster than you anticipated it to. “thank you,” you say, sitting down on the couch. “you can sit, you don’t have to stand there awkwardly.” 

daniela sits down beside you as soon as you say she can, her hands resting on her knees. “i’m uh i’m sorry for avoiding you, and for making you upset with me. i…i won’t say i don’t know why i did it because that would be a lie. i know why i did it. i just didn’t ever say it because i was scared. i didn’t want you to get mad at me when i said it so i never did,” she starts, looking down at the ground. 

“okay…” your voice trails off as you listen to her. “what do you want to say?” you ask. 

daniela takes a deep breath before saying it quickly. “i’ve had a crush on you ever since we met but i didn’t say anything because the whole time i thought you were dating sophia but now i found out you weren’t and all of that was basically for nothing and i feel so stupid now.” 

she says it so fast you can barely keep up with what she’s saying, but when she’s finished your eyes are wide. “wait, you thought sophia and i were together?” you say with confusion. 

“yeah,” daniela mumbles in embarrassment. 

“so you never confessed your feelings for me because of that?” you ask. 

daniela nods her head, still not looking at you. 

you let out a quiet sigh and grab one of her hands which makes her look at you. “i forgive you for avoiding me, but you really could’ve just talked to me about it and i would’ve been honest with you. that reason being because i like you also,” you say, a small smile on your face. 

“you what?” daniela questions, looking at you with shock. “are you serious?”

“yeah,” you nod your head. “i thought you hated me or something when you started avoiding me so i didn’t bother trying to confess.” 

“oh thank god!” daniela exclaims, a smile making its way onto her face. “i was so worried the whole way here thinking you would slam the door in my face which would’ve been so embarrassing but this is so much better.” 

you can’t help but laugh at her words. “well to be honest you immediately won me over when i saw the flowers and food so,” you admit sheepishly. 

“i knew it was a good idea!” daniela says, proud of herself for coming up with it. 

“it was,” you reply. “so, now that it’s established i’m very much not dating sophia and we like each other, do you want to stay the night and we can have a little first date?”

a wide smile is on daniela’s face and she quickly nods. “of course.”