Chapter Text
azzi sighed, twisting a bottle of champagne until the cork popped out. feeling like her arms and legs were made of lead, she halfheartedly raised it in a toast to her producer.
“fucking finally,” she tried for a grin, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
“finally,” her producer, dorka, agreed with a nod.
her manager’s long acrylics rapped against her phone screen as she scrolled through twitter. “everyone’s really excited for you, baby.”
azzi hummed, mindlessly pouring the champagne into three plastic flutes. she brought her own to her lips and sipped it slowly, letting the sour taste wash over her tongue.
her eyes scanned the hotel suite that her label had somehow let her stay in for release day for the millionth time, lingering on a painting of a woman in a black shirt. the painter had given her piercing blue eyes, and they unsettled azzi. she forced herself to look away, but an unease lingered in her stomach.
the other women smiled, grabbing their own glasses. “are you excited for yourself?” her manager asked, leaning back in her chair.
she stared at her hand, searching for any positive feelings– for satisfaction, for pride. slowly, the pleasant emotions seeped in. for the first time in a long time, she let herself relax, untensing her shoulders and exhaling deeply. “yeah,” she admitted, “i’m really excited.”
she’d put her soul into this album. to release it to the whims of the music industry, the whims of the public– it was nerve-wracking. it was difficult. it fucking sucked. but it had been over a year of nonstop work. months and months of late nights, frustration in lyrics that didn’t sound right, passionate conversations with dorka and last-minute tweaks. she’d been promoting the damn album online for weeks, praying each day that it would somehow blow up, that she’d make herself worthwhile, that something would come of the way she’d squeezed her heart out into a well of ink to pen out the lyrics.
in the music industry, you have to let yourself hope. you have to be delusional. if you give up, if you get bored, if you get boring– you’re fucked. having to reinvent the wheel for every album was a tall task, but azzi fucking loved it.
sure, she was miserable, and bone-tired, and had gone to bed more than once with the wild, fleeting hope that she wouldn’t wake up. but those days made it worth it. they made the good days sweeter, even when she was worked to the core, and she allowed herself to feel it.
the excitement sent a nervous twitch through her fingers, and the glass shuddered in her palm. she sipped it again, this time taking a long swig.
“to finally getting this shit out,” she laughed, holding up her glass.
dorka matched her pose, a deep satisfaction in her expression. “to how hard we’ve all worked.”
“to whatever the future will bring,” her manager added, “because you’re both brilliant, and it will pay off.”
azzi’s weary mind ran through the album, the lyrics. flashes of blonde hair and crooked grins, furrowed eyebrows and shouting echoed through her mind. unimportant now– just something to lace into her songs, a shadow of her former radiance. azzi hoped that meant that she would finally fade away.
to forgetting, and to starting a new era, she thought, hand tightening on her glass.
to the future. not the past.
the three women shared a smile, raising their glasses to their lips, and drank.
__
paige took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. she threw the ball down once, caught it, spun it, and took her free throw.
in. it didn’t surprise her; she rarely missed. but that’s why she needed to drill, to ensure that she’d be able to make the free throw at all times. again, she thought to herself, chasing her ball.
kicking it up to herself, she caught sight of arike and dijonai on the other side of the court. they’d paused whatever drill they were doing to dance to some drake song, and paige found herself smiling at them stupidly.
while she wanted to focus, she secretly loved the stereo system in their practice gym; paige always preferred a work-fun balance, and listening to whatever her teammates decided to queue up always kept the vibes light.
some would complain that it was distracting, or that they weren’t taking their practices seriously enough, but there was plenty of other time for that. this was just a stupid pre-practice warmup, and listening to stupid songs made everyone relax and have fun before the drills began. paige had been on the dallas wings for three years at this point, since she graduated college, and the team felt like her second family.
arike caught her eye and winked, and paige laughed and shook her head, jogging back to the free throw line.
in. chase. in. chase. in. chase. she hummed along to the ending of the drake song, breaking out into a quick dougie to the cheers of dijonai and nalyssa. with a smirk, she turned back to the basket.
deep breath, shoulders up and down, ball down– oh, shit. her shoe was untied. she knelt, picking up the laces. to her disappointment, the drake song faded out, and the opening notes of a new song began.
it started slow, a soothing guitar pattern echoing from the speaker, and something about it had paige instantly relaxing. she finished tying her shoe, stood up, and began her ritual.
deep breath, shoulders up and down. ball down. catch, spin.
as she geared up to shoot, the singer’s voice rang out– every muscle in paige’s body tensed.
she panicked, shot sputtering high into the air and barely making it halfway to the basket. she could hear her teammates already laughing at the pathetic attempt from behind her, but she was already flushing a violent shade of red and whirling around before they could say anything.
“yo, turn this shit off,” she ordered, trying to keep her tone light. it didn’t really work; every nerve in her body was alight with fear, blood rushing in her ears. she couldn’t stand to listen to that voice for one more fucking second, or else she’d start to remember–
“off,” she repeated, turning on her heel and stalking towards the speaker.
“woah,” maddy, who was on aux, laughed. “it’s just the top 100 hits on spotify. not my playlist, paige.”
top 100 hits. in another life, the news would have filled paige to the brim with joy. making it to the top 100 had been azzi’s dream for– not fucking important.
“alright, well,” paige crossed her arms, “it sucks. skip it.”
“it’s not bad so far,” arike contested, shrugging, “don’t know why you’re hating so hard, p.”
“will you just skip the damn song?” she hissed at maddy, heart pounding in her chest. she knew that it seemed like she was overreacting to her teammates, by far, but she was honestly mentally applauding herself for how chill she was being.
unphased, maddy raised an eyebrow at her, lips rising into a smirk. as slowly as she possibly could, she moved her finger towards the skip button. paige’s eye twitched. she was being tested. why had the lord cursed her with teammates who prided themselves in pissing her off? against her will, the lyrics of the song (which was unfortunately good) continued to play out into the court.
oh, fuck. the song was definitely about her. and even worse– it was a love song. sort of. it was soft, gut wrenching, emotional, the kind of deeply personal that makes your chest ache and makes you want to bury your head in your hands. a painful reflection on a beautiful relationship.
paige wanted to kill herself.
“done,” she said loudly, “done, skip, over. quit it.”
maddy snorted, finally pressing skip. a wave of relief crashed over paige as the newest sza song crooned out of the speakers, and her shoulders relaxed. she chewed her bottom lip, shooting maddy a dirty look as she walked to go pick up her ball.
back at the free throw line. deep breath. the song would soon decrease in popularity after its initial success, and paige would never have to hear it again. shoulders up and down. bounce the ball. spin it. arms up–
azzi’s song started from the beginning, and the ball slipped from paige’s hands.
“maddy, i swear to god,” she yelled, kicking the ball into the wall as her teammates cackled at her.
–
“well, shit,” azzi blanked, staring in disbelief at her phone screen.
a hundred thousand uses of her lead single on tiktok, and the album had only been out for a week. there were already twenty million listens on spotify, where she’d been pulling much lower numbers for the last couple of years, and the music video on youtube was steadily accumulating a greater audience than typical. all signs were pointing to the beginning of internet virality. holy fuck.
her manager shrugged, a huge smile on her face. “this is amazing, azzi. this is the best possible scenario. they absolutely love it. i’ve had magazines and brands galore reaching out to me all day trying to get a piece of you before you fully blow up.”
azzi still couldn’t wrap her head around it. it was all she’d been praying for as long as she could remember, and now that she had it– she didn’t know what to do with herself. part of her was elated, the other half terrified. she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that this was an unequivocal good, but it was something.
people liked it. people loved it. her following on social media had blown up overnight, and it wasn’t just the lead single– it was the whole album.
“forward me the emails,” azzi breathed, “i’ll review the ones that i think i can do.”
her manager nudged her foot with her own. “i’m so damn proud of you, kid.”
azzi offered her a bashful smile, cheeks tinted pink. it was so validating, her art finally being appreciated. the way this could help her family, the causes she could support– she was so fucking happy that her voice had been listened to. she’d been fighting for so long to create her own self-identity in the world after– well. after.
azzi clicked out of her sound on tiktok, going back into her for you page. the first video was a slideshow set to her song, with a current photo of her with the caption “2027” on it. she wondered if this is why the song had blown up– some sort of nostalgic trend of people showing the present versus the past.
it was a fairly depressing part of her song that the video used, a particularly gut-wrenching line about wishing she’d been able to be a part of her ex’s family. she didn’t know why the internet would choose that line for a nostalgic trend, but she was grateful for it, whyever it’d decided to do so.
she swiped to the next picture, fully expecting to see some cute younger photo of herself that this user had found on her instagram or something.
her heart stopped.
with the caption “2023”, it was a picture of her and paige, one that she never knew existed. they were walking right next to each other on their college campus, laughing, and azzi saw happiness on her face that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt since. her eyes in the picture were achingly filled with love, adoration, and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach.
“how the fuck?” she muttered, eyebrows furrowing. her heart raced, mind starting to panic. she swiped to the next video.
a girl with tightly curled red hair, pointing to a green-screen image of lyrics from azzi’s lead single. “if the lyrics from azzi’s new album have you wondering who inspired them, the internet is saying that it was none other than the star of the dallas wings, paige bueckers. there’s evidence that the two were extremely close in college, and the lyrics of the album seem to match up with–”
azzi scrolled, blood rushing through her head. “no, no, no,” she whispered, frantically shaking her head.
the next video came up. “new photos have come out of singer azzi fudd and paige bueckers from four years ago–” swipe down.
a girl mouthing the lyrics to her song, in tears, with the caption, “who the fuck writes something this heartbreaking and poetic. on god i am going to slap the shit out of that blonde girl.”
it was almost comical, the way every single video was about her song, her ex , the girl and the relationship that had absolutely ruined her. all she’d wanted to do was put the album out so she could move on, but the whole reason she was blowing up was because of who she’d written it about.
she felt trapped, shocked. sure, she wrote an album about it, but she hadn’t expected people to immediately dig through her entire life to try to see who it was about. her and paige had never hard launched to anyone besides their close friends and family, so the fact that they’d dated was nowhere close to common knowledge.
it was paige’s fault, she thought bitterly. as usual. paige just had to go and make a name for herself, probably became half the nation’s lesbian wet dream– if she’d dated a nobody, nobody would have cared.
which meant, unfortunately, that her success was also in part thanks to paige, which was fucked up. the last thing azzi wanted to be was intertwined with her, names together in every bit of media and space on the internet.
in a last ditch effort to see something else, she scrolled down one more time.
of course.
it was a depressing edit of pictures of her and paige, some old instagram stories and blurry, zoomed-in photos of them in the backgrounds of other photos. shit was so fucking ridiculous that azzi laughed out loud.
“what’s funny?” her manager asked.
“literally nothing,” azzi replied, smile wide and soulless. “i cannot think of a single thing that has ever been funny.”
“azzi, you understand how worrying that sounds.”
azzi opened twitter. she was really regretting not being active on social media, and lamented her hiring of a pr team.
@fuddaround: if i ever catch that mf bleach blonde bad built butch body she’s going to regret the day she decided to hurt azzi 😹
@azziscamera: matter of fact that bitch probably isn’t even six foot i bet she lies about her height
@bueckerslol: we don’t even know if they actually dated you guys are sending so much hate for no reason
→ @wbbliker: she literally namedrops minneapolis 😭 😭 there’s no way it isn’t about paige
@user29483: heartbroken over a blonde with a questionable hairline me too azzi fudd
azzi stood up, dropping her phone on the floor. she promptly turned around and slammed her head into the wall.
__
yeah, i know, paige texted to about the eightieth person who reached out, asking if she’d heard “the news”.
as much as she’d been trying to ignore it, she felt like everyone she knew was looking at her differently this week. like they all wanted to ask, but didn’t want to push. even arike, who’d known about her and azzi back when they were in college, didn’t bring it up; she’d only sent her coded looks from across the court.
her manager, too, was caught up in the wreck. it wasn’t technically bad pr, it wasn’t defamation, it was just a heartwrenching breakup album. or so paige had heard, and so paige had seen online. she absolutely refused to listen to any of it again if she could help it.
technically, the best thing to do was just completely ignore it– the internet would love if she subtweeted, or hopped on tiktok and took a couple shots, but she didn’t want to do that. so paige bit her lip and kept on working, kept hustling at practice, spending time in the gym, hanging out with her friends.
her social media continued to blow up, probably with preteens telling her to kill herself, but she forced herself off of everything. for someone who was usually attached to her social media, it was honestly good for her; she reached new levels of stardom in 2k and became a whiz at some stupid phone game called good pizza, great pizza. she actually went to her pilates classes instead of finding excuses to stay home and sleep, and she actually read a book or two. yeah, they were short, but that wasn’t important.
in fact, she’d never been more locked in in her life. here she was, on the team bus to their game against the valkyries, not on her phone or anything. she’d recently discovered the merits that looking out the window has for personal happiness.
her teammates had started to whisper about her behind her back; usually, she’d be talking to someone or everyone, listening to her music so loud it leaked through her headphones, or cajoling someone to 1v1 her in rocket league sideswipe. but she wasn’t. she was frozen in place as she stared at the dirt and the grass passing by in a blur, and it was weird.
“she becomin’ a damn robot,” someone, probably arike, muttered. paige ignored her, keeping her eyes on the window.
“straight,” nalyssa agreed in a terrible attempt at a whisper. “that’s some biblical levels of tweak right there.”
“you talkin’ bout blondie up there?” someone that paige couldn’t make out asked. “can you blame her?”
“i feel bad about playing that song,” maddie said quietly, “i feel like i kickstarted her mount rushmore era.”
paige sighed deeply, as loudly as she could, and her teammates fell into a hushed silence.
“damn,” someone muttered, and the rest of them snickered.
at that, paige turned around. she made slow eye contact with each of them. “bruh.”
their expressions ranged from looking caught (maddy) to mildly amused (dijonai), but they started laughing again. paige couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile, fondly rolling her eyes.
“you guys are so fuckin’ stupid,” she muttered, stretching her legs out across the empty seat next to her and resting her head against the cold glass of the window. she started thinking about how great it was that the environmental protection agency existed, because damn. sometimes you look at a hill and just start thanking god.
she didn’t get much time to relax, however, as the bus soon came to a stop at their hotel.
“damn,” arike said, loud, and everyone’s heads whipped towards the hotel. outside of it was the largest group of fans they’d ever seen waiting for them, and paige’s mouth suddenly felt dry.
“shit,” she whispered, and exchanged a glance with nalyssa. not only were there hundreds of fans outside, but multiple journalists with cameras and microphones.
the insanity surrounding her and azzi– her and her ex , she corrected, had been a largely online phenomenon. yeah, it permeated every space of the internet and bled into paige’s daily life, but not physically.
paige had prepared herself against the online attention, built up her walls for when she checked her phone, but seeing people in her space, at her hotel, going to watch her game, filled her with dread.
“bagged a baddie one time, and now this,” nalyssa whistled, making a face as she picked up her bags. “ignore them, p.”
paige, who had been frozen to the ground, jolted as she felt an elbow at her ribs. she shook her head, biting her lips and she lowered her eyes and picked up her bags as well. somberly, like she was walking to her own funeral, she filed out of the bus with her teammates to the screams of the fans.
under normal circumstances, the team would have stopped to talk to the fans. usually, they loved taking pictures, signing autographs, and kissing toddlers on the head or whatever. but they bowed their heads, flashing small smiles at the ground as they made their way through the crowd and into the hotel.
it was a fairly nice hotel, an expensive one that paige was surprised they were spending the money for; perks of making it to the championship last year, she supposed. the thought of an actually comfortable bed was the only thing that kept her moving through the crowd with a smile instead of putting her hood up and shoving her way through everyone.
she made eye contact with a few young girls, nodding at a mother with her baby dressed in a dallas wings jersey.
then she blinked, and all of a sudden a group of journalists were in front of her, microphones and cameras so close to her that she almost walked right into them. fuck. her jaw clenched, and she pulled her lips into a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
“not now, guys. bus ride was a long one,” she tried, attempting to walk away.
the journalists refused to let her leave, hounding her like rabid dogs and all talking over each other. she inhaled sharply, trying not to let her face show how overwhelmed she was getting.
the crowd surrounded her so that she had nowhere to escape. a bright camera flash went off in her eyes, stunning her momentarily, and she tensed.
“paige, can you confirm or deny your previous relationship with azzi fudd?”
“have you heard azzi fudd’s new album, and do you have any comments on it?”
“has the internet’s response to the situation affected you at all?”
“do you have anything to say to people who are calling you–”
paige couldn’t take it anymore. she blinked hard, inhaling sharply. the sounds of the shutters, the bright lights, the hundreds of people, the questions– it was far too much. she felt herself dissociating, the same way she did when she was forced to do press after a tough loss, and her head suddenly felt light and dizzy. her eyes darted around, looking for an escape, jaw still clenched.
“i’d really like to get up to my room,” she managed, teeth biting hard into her bottom lip.
someone knocked into her from behind, and all of a sudden a dozen hands were on her, all over her, trying to push her left and right and up and down to balance her, and jesus. paige felt a panic attack coming on. her heartbeat rushed in her ears, vision tunneling as her breath began to speed up.
“what is your response to the lyric in azzi fudd’s–”
“what?” she laughed, voice hollow and tinny to her own ears. “go ask a music critic, not a basketball player.”
her head swiveled back and forth, pulse hammering at her throat, head swimming. already knowing the backlash she’d get from her agent, her manager, her own mother, she grit her teeth and threw an arm out, making space for herself between two photographers and blinking the light out of her corneas. her media training had already gone out the window, she figured. what’s a little more shit?
“paige, people on the internet are saying that you tried to force azzi fudd into having children. can you confirm or deny that statement?” someone said loudly, right into her ear, and she winced.
she registered the words like a blow to the face, and in an instant she was back in azzi’s bedroom, whispering her deepest confessions into the warm skin of azzi’s brow. her heart suddenly felt too heavy for her chest, her skin too tight for her body.
“azzi fudd,” she all but whispered. the name felt strange on her lips for a second, tongue readjusting to saying the name she’d refused to acknowledge for so long. “is none of my business. nor yours.”
she elbowed her way through the crowd, grasping the hand of a team assistant who’d been trying to free her, and made her way into the building. the crowd swelled to a roar behind her, and as the door finally shut, she felt herself fully hyperventilating. arike grabbed her arm, ushering her to a bathroom, and panicked tears swam in her vision.
as arike held her, rubbing her back, she finally let herself fall apart.
__
“jasmine is sick,” azzi’s manager pursed her lips, tapping away with her long acrylics at her phone screen.
“that’s fine. i can dress myself,” azzi shrugged, “just let me run back home and grab some clothes.”
“no,” her manager insisted, “let me pull some strings.”
azzi resisted the urge to roll her eyes fondly. her manager was insistent that she get a real stylist, one who would force azzi to stop wearing her ten-year-old t-shirts and athletic sweats. azzi had no problem with that, even if she knew it wasn’t what you were supposed to wear to an interview. she had plenty of nicer shirts. she thought. she could make something work.
she spun around in her dressing room chair, unscrewing the cap on a bottle of water and taking a sip. it was nice, she supposed, having her own room to get ready. but the shoot was still two hours away, and she swore she didn’t need that much effort. but clothes had to be done before hair and makeup, so she wasn’t allowed to multitask. the interviewer had provided their own makeup staff for the occasion, and she prayed that they wouldn’t make her eyebrows too blocky and lips too light, like usual.
“god, we lucked out,” her manager laughed in relief. “brittany’s in the area.”
azzi furrowed her brows. “who?”
“really, really good stylist. has a ton of high-end clients.”
what the hell, sure. “is she free?” azzi asked, taking another sip of water.
“let me give her a call and see what i can do,” her manager excused herself from the room.
azzi stared at herself in the mirror, now alone in her dressing room. she didn’t look too hard at her face; she hadn’t really been into self-image in the past few years. didn’t have time for it. she cleared her throat, holding her chin up and making shapes with her mouth in the mirror to open up her throat.
standing up, she ran a few vocal warmups. high, low. high, low. vowels, then sharp consonants. when her voice felt clear and relaxed, she smiled. much better.
her manager burst back through the door with a giddy smile. “she’s right near here and has some extra clothes around your size from another client she usually styles. she and the client have given the okay for you to wear them– she’ll be over here in twenty minutes.”
“awesome,” azzi said, and tried to be excited about it. it sounded like something she should care about, clothes and high-end people, but it filled her with more dread than anything. she didn’t want people fussing over her; she just wanted to talk about her songs.
also, she didn’t care about how she looked anymore. maybe in the past, it would have mattered to her, but she’d long since forgotten how to examine the curve of her own lips and powder her undereyes. she had nobody to dress up for, no reason to do it for herself. pretty felt more like a coincidence than a truth coming from anyone else’s lips, ever since it stopped coming from hers.
she jolted, realizing that she’d been dissociating and staring at her dressing table. no more paige.
she tried, for the millionth time, to scrub her thoughts of the older woman. as always, it was like wiping an open wound– spread thin and blurry, raw, flashes of memory and feeling, but never gone. something about paige was always leaking from the crevices of azzi’s mind.
sighing, she got on her phone. she’d downloaded some mental health app with cats, and started feeding her virtual pets. the minutes passed by, and before she knew it there was a knock on her door.
her manager opened the door, and a pretty woman with a sleek black bob and tan skin walked in with a big smile.
something about her face made azzi instantly relax, and she stood up with an outstretched hand.
“hi, i’m azzi, thank you so much for coming on such short notice,” she greeted politely, grasping the woman’s hand in her own.
“nice to meet you, azzi,” the woman smiled, “i’m brittany hampton. i’m excited to be here with you.”
the name rang a quiet bell in the back of azzi’s brain, but she didn’t recognize her. she figured that she’d read about her before or something and shrugged it off, making way for brittany to walk in.
gesturing for an assistant to come into the room, brittany asked azzi to sit down. she sat, looking at the rack of clothing that an assistant was wheeling in. surprisingly, the clothes did look exactly like azzi’s size; they were fairly androgynous, vaguely sporty and oversized but still formal and trendy.
“my other client is an athlete,” brittany laughed, looking at azzi’s surprised expression. “most of the clothes here are her style, but we can try to find whatever best works for you. she’s a little taller than you, so we’ll have to see.”
as much as azzi didn’t really have a style, she figured this was the closest she would get to it. she liked the androgynous feel of everything; being tall and muscular usually made her feel a bit awkward in dresses or clothes that were too feminine.
“damn, you’re built like an athlete, too,” brittany breathed, looking her up and down. “you’ll look really good in these, i know it.”
azzi flushed, awkwardly smoothing a hand over her hair. “i don’t know, i’m not really used to this kind of thing. i feel like they’ll look strange on me.”
“you’ve been styled before, right?” brittany furrowed her brow, confused.
azzi shrugged. “yeah.”
there wasn’t much to say. her other stylist, jasmine, was nice, but in the handful of times they’d met, jasmine had just shoved some clothes in her direction and told her to wear them.
“well, what do you usually wear?”
“uh,” azzi hesitated, “sweatpants. jeans.”
“any colors you like best?”
azzi shook her head.
“what story are you trying to tell?”
damn. azzi should have studied. she blinked, taken aback.
what story was she trying to tell? it was just an interview about her album. who was she trying to be? what persona was she trying to put on?
“something simple,” she responded finally, slowly sounding out her thoughts, “a lot of what i do is putting my heart on my sleeve. i don’t want to cover that up.”
brittany looked at her inquisitively, eyes scanning her form. she walked over to her rack and pushed some clothes to the side, searching for a specific item. she pulled back away with a pair of colorful patchwork jeans, pretty but muted. she draped them on a nearby chair and pulled out two white tops, a small cropped tank and a sheer sweater.
understated yet still full of life. peaceful at first glance, layered at second. azzi’s eyes widened, impressed.
“want to go ahead and try these on for me, honey?” brittany asked her, handing her the clothes.
azzi nodded, thanking her politely. she wasted no time changing out of her old outfit and putting on the new one. she caught a glimpse of the brand on the inner labels, and her eyes widened. jesus.
as she finished, fastening the button of her jeans, azzi finally looked back at the mirror.
oh. wow.
the jeans were higher quality than she’d expected, and they highlighted her ass, but not in a sexual way; at the same time the white of the tops made her skin look darker, softer. from head to toe, she felt– herself?
she’d expected to look in the mirror and see the clothes on her body as if they were someone else’s (because they were someone else’s), but they fit her perfectly. she felt like her , but better. not different, not some sort of idol, just like her. her heart thumped, and she felt a smile spread over her face.
“there it is,” brittany said, admiring the look on her face. “you like?”
“love,” azzi breathed. the clothes even smelled good, like something slightly woody and ginger. she turned around, facing brittany, cheeks pink. “i didn’t expect– wow.”
“you look phenomenal,” brittany praised, “and you’re so beautiful. you were made for this. i can see you–” she cut herself off.
“see her?” azzi’s manager prompted.
“i don’t wanna steal nobody’s clients,” the woman laughed, waving her off.
azzi made eye contact with her manager, wordlessly going back and forth with her.
the older woman turned to brittany, pulling a business card out of her purse. “you already have this information, but in all honesty, we’d love to have you again.”
brittany’s eyes widened, and she immediately looked at azzi. “oh, lord,” she grinned, “i just– wow. you make this all look so easy. you’ve already got me planning a hundred outfits and places to take you. i would love to.” she took the card, slipping it into her pocket.
azzi bit her lip, smiling. she hadn’t remotely expected to get a new stylist today, much less be excited about the prospect of having to dress up, but damn. here she was.
azzi’s manager signaled to an assistant, who took brittany by the arm and led her to the side of the room. the two started discussing contracts, business. azzi tuned it out, sitting back down.
the hair and makeup people came into the room, and as they prodded and tugged at her head, her manager came up to talk to her.
“azzi,” her manager started.
azzi looked at her.
“i know you know this, but,” her manager sighed, “don’t confirm or deny anything. you’re not here to fuel the gossip mill. don’t say anything that could even be misconstrued as a shot towards her.”
right. her. the ghost that had never died, azzi thought ironically. she nodded, snapping out of her reverie and back into reality. azzi wasn’t azzi yet. she was still paige’s.
“let’s practice,” her manager instructed. “there are two ways they can ask you questions– direct and subtle. you have to be ready for either.”
azzi nodded.
her manager pitched her voice up high, and azzi fought the urge to snort. “azzi, this album was written about a very personal relationship in your life. can you walk us through what happened and how the inspiration came about?”
“well, y’know,” azzi cleared her throat. her voice sounded hesitant. she caught her own gaze in the mirror, and her expression hardened. game time. “i wrote this album at a time when i was feeling very lonely,” she recited, drawing on her memorized speech. “there’s a very thin line between love and resentment, and there’s a lot of beautiful things about feeling your emotions and about the world. looking at the world, everything around me, helps me internalize my emotions, so i like to draw on that.”
a whole lot of nothing. nothingburger, she thought to herself, thinking of some stupid meme from years ago. she resisted the urge to smile.
“paige bueckers, in a recent news clip, has said that you are ‘none of her business’. do you have a response to that?”
azzi froze. her heart felt cold. “she said that?”
“azzi,” her manager pressed gently.
she plastered on a smile. “well, that makes sense. she’s a basketball player, and i’m a singer-songwriter. our worlds just don’t overlap.”
the last sentence came out more bitter than she expected it to. our worlds just don’t overlap. it was the truth, hard and jagged.
her manager sighed. “pretty good.”
azzi’s fingers started to fidget nervously. her makeup felt stupid on her all of a sudden; she felt like a doll. her painted nails didn’t look real.
brittany’s cheerful face interrupted her thoughts, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. “i’ll see you in a week and a half,” she grinned, “you’re coming to new york fashion week with me and my girls.”
azzi relaxed. she could do this. there was a future ahead of her, for her. she thanked brittany profusely, and a little jolt of excitement ran through her again.
she’d get through this interview. it would go well. she’d keep promoting her album and minding her business, and then she’d fly out to new york and make her statement. who was azzi fudd? she’d start her own narrative. it was going to be phenomenal, and with brittany guiding her, she’d feel comfortable. right?
__
wrong. wrong, wrong, wrong. so wrong that it was like shaving a fucking cactus, like skinnydipping in space. in fact, it may as well have been said at a trump rally, or printed in the israeli press. it was like motherfucking reaganomics, how wrong it was.
azzi stood stock still, veins coursing frozen blood. every hair on her arms stood up. her heart stopped.
she was well aware of the people around them, of the celebrities, of the photographers, everyone trying to settle into their seats at fashion week before the runways started. all of it was shit.
it was all shit, all background noise, nothing but a tangle in azzi’s periphery as her eyes locked on the seat where she was supposed to be sitting, name card perched dangerously on its padding as if to taunt her.
well, the chair itself was fine. it was a bit of an ugly blue, but that wasn’t important. what was important was who was sitting next to it. well, not next to it. brittany was next to it, dressed in a black latex skirt and a yellow checkered top, looking like a dream. then, to her left, was some woman azzi didn’t know, then another, then–
paige. not looking at her.
tan slacks and black shoes, a red tie and a formal white shirt tucked tightly into her waistband, accentuating her slim build. a matching tan suit jacket, broadened at the shoulders, highlighting the way her knees were wide apart as she zoned out, manspreading like she belonged there. she looked almost bored, absentmindedly chewing on the pink of her bottom lip.
azzi was dizzy, swaying on her feet. after all this fucking time, paige was still gravity. azzi couldn’t stand. azzi couldn’t stand her.
her breath started to come more rapidly. fuck. fuck, shit. she needed to leave. she needed to go. why was she sitting there? why would the show put them so close together? what are the odds that they’d end up at the same place? why was she dressed in the same color scheme as azzi and the other girls sitting next to brittany?
oh. shit.
paige was brittany’s client. paige, the athlete. paige was the athlete. that’s why all the clothes had been the perfect size for her; they always had been, hadn’t they? that’s why all the clothes had smelled so good. they always had, hadn’t they?
azzi cursed herself for being so fucking stupid. how could she forget what paige smelled like? how could she not have known– brittany hampton. paige must have mentioned her years ago, when she’d first started getting styled, right when everything was going to fucking shit and azzi’s life was mid getting-absolutely-ruined.
and of course she got along so well with brittany, of course she loved her style; if paige liked someone, she liked them too. if paige liked something, she liked it too. they’d always been tragically the same in that regard, a fact that had long haunted azzi after they’d parted ways.
the ghost that had never died.
brittany caught her eye, unobservant of her internal struggle.
“azzi! you’re here!” she beamed, and she looked so happy that azzi almost laughed in shock. brittany really had no idea, did she.
azzi tried for a smile, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a blonde head of hair turn her way. she forced herself to keep looking at brittany, scrutinizing her eyes, her lips, her hair.
“the outfit is beautiful,” she expressed, voice tight. “and so is yours.”
brittany laughed, resting a hand on her bicep. “i thought you’d like it. glad you do. here, let me introduce you to the rest of my girls.”
brittany gently took azzi’s hand in her own, guiding her over to her seat. cold fear glided down azzi’s stomach like a sickle.
“here’s kali,” brittany said first, pointing to a girl in a long, tan skirt. she moved to another girl, a little older, in a white and red top that looked like the reverse of azzi’s. “and this is marilena.” both women waved at her politely, and azzi nodded back out of respect.
“and this is paige, whose clothes i lent you the other week,” brittany continued, but azzi had stopped listening.
the moment paige’s eyes locked with her own, everything else went dark. brittany disappeared, the girls disappeared, everyone and everything in the room vanished. it was just paige. and her. paige and her and two years of unsaid words piled up into mountains, doused in kerosine, and one match away from erupting into flames.
azzi bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood. paige’s expression was unreadable, which somehow hurt more than if she’d have stood up and slapped her across the face; the mere notion that paige was a stranger, unknown to azzi, and azzi couldn’t decipher her expression anymore was painful.
the blonde woman shot out of her seat, eye to eye with azzi. azzi was grateful for her heels– she didn’t think she could handle being under paige ever again.
“you didn’t tell me who the clothes were for,” paige said quietly, voice calculated and measured. she was talking to brittany, but her eyes were trained on azzi, boring holes into her skull. the sound of her voice washed over the brunette, and azzi felt chills go down her spine. she didn’t let herself think about it.
“i wasn’t sure you’d know her, honey,” brittany laughed.
“she knows me,” azzi said smoothly, ripping her gaze away from her ex. paige didn’t do the same. azzi felt her face burn with the heat of it.
“oh, good!” brittany cheered. “maybe i can get you two in some duo fittings in the future, then.”
“yeah, maybe,” azzi swallowed, trying with every fiber of her being to remain composed.
“we can talk about that later,” paige said, jaw tight. she was still looking at azzi like she couldn’t believe she was real, and azzi felt the weight of it on her shoulders. she blinked heavily to dissuade the pinprick of tears from the corner of her eyes, swiftly turning on her heel and moving to sit in her seat.
she didn’t look back at paige, but she knew without a shadow of doubt that her eyes still lingered on her. she felt almost embarrassed— why wasn’t she avoiding her? why was she still looking? surely, azzi didn’t look that different. surely, there wasn’t much to take in. surely, she’d want to avoid azzi, the same way they’d been doing for years.
azzi was fucking nervous. had she listened to the album? what was she thinking? she breathed in deeply through her nose, quelling the pinch of panicked tears beginning to rise up through her cheeks. she didn’t even have the mental capacity to start thinking about what the photographers would capture, or how people would gossip.
she resolved herself to sitting like a stone in her chair, thighs over her shaking hands.
she laughed when it was appropriate, made small talk with brittany, and politely applauded and oohed and aahed at the rest of the show.
she posed for pictures once it was over with the rest of the group and brittany, knowing that it would end up viral within the hour. she listened to people wax poetic to her about her album, noticed paige’s eyelids twitching, and fielded off about a million comments about how fucking gorgeous she was and how beautiful she looked.
she didn’t think a single coherent thought passed through her head until she was ushered into a small van with the rest of the girls and led into some afterparty, where she was able to finally leave the bubble of paige and gasp for air.
fishing her phone out of her pocket, she immediately made her way to the balcony of the venue, on the second floor. she burst out the door into the thin night air, ignoring the breeze on her skin as she speed dialed caroline.
“azzi?” caroline picked up immediately. “everything okay?”
“no,” she choked out, biting her lip. the overwhelmed tears that had been pricking at her eyes sprang back up, and her head spun. as soon as she heard caroline’s voice, she felt like a little kid crying to her mom.
“where are you, baby? do you need anything?” caroline pressed, worry seeping from her tone.
azzi pressed a sleeve to her eye, soaking up the moisture and preventing it from falling and ruining her makeup. “a balcony,” she said, voice trembling.
“you okay?” caroline repeated.
“yeah,” azzi contradicted herself, trying to pull it together. “she’s just– she’s here.”
“who’s here?”
azzi hesitated, like saying it would bite her tongue. like it would crack her teeth. “paige.”
caroline sucked in a breath. “oh, shit. did she see you?”
“she’s brittany’s client.”
“oh, shit,” caroline affirmed. “and you’re at the balcony– where?”
“afterparty,” azzi supplied, “she’s here. i needed air.”
“good,” her best friend soothed her, “stay out there. you don’t need to interact with anyone anymore.”
“but what if brittany–”
“she’ll text you if she wants you. how long do you have to be there?”
azzi shrugged, then realized that was stupid because caroline couldn’t see her. “i don’t know. it goes for a few hours. don’t know if anyone will care if i go, or if i’ll miss anything.”
caroline was silent for a second, thinking.
“alright, how about this,” she started, “text your manager, ask how long you have to be here for and when the soonest you can leave is. whenever that is, text me, and i’ll call you and pretend to have an emergency. you can tell brittany you’ve gotta run, and go.”
“what do i do in the meantime?” azzi asked.
“stay out here, baby. if you want to brave the inside you can, but just relax.”
azzi nodded. “okay. i’ll do that.” the panicked feeling hadn’t gone away yet, but at least she didn’t feel like she was going to cry anymore.
“i love you,” caroline said, “i’ll see you soon.”
“love you,” azzi echoed. she hung up the phone.
sighing, she looked around the balcony. there were some open chairs around a table that looked off the side of the house, and she sat down.
she looked around at the cold, dark air, vaguely registering the cheers and whoops from within the building.
she needed a fucking cigarette.
she didn’t smoke often, but in recent years she’d developed the habit of searching one out whenever she was especially stressed. yeah, it wasn’t good for you, but neither was wallowing in your own self-pity. she unzipped her purse, pulling out a pack and a lighter.
she placed the cigarette in her lips, sparking up her lighter and inhaling. she pulled it away, watching the smoke leave her lips. her eyes unfocused, staring at the horizon, the dark shadow of trees surrounding the property.
her brain still felt like a minefield, but her body relaxed into the familiar hit. the inhale of nicotine felt good, but the guilt of smoking it honestly replaced half of her other emotions. she started anticipating lotioning her hands and chewing mint gum afterwards. shit smelled like ass. as the tobacco dwindled to nothing and she ashed off the side of the roof, she sighed.
there was a candle in the middle of the table, unlit. without any real reason, she flicked her lighter back on and ignited it. she stared into the flame, letting the light burn her retina, watching the thin strip of smoke weep from it.
she texted her manager, asking how long it would be before she could leave, and waited for a response. her cigarette burned to the filter, and she put it out on the bottom of her shoe, tossing it into a small trash can.
suddenly, the door to the balcony swung open with a loud creak, and azzi jolted.
“oh, come the fuck on,” someone grumbled, and azzi whipped around with her brows furrowed.
good fucking god.
there was paige, looking every bit as handsome as she had ever been, wincing in pain and shaking her hand. she was looking back and forth between her hand and the door, like she’d probably just pinched herself in the handle, but azzi couldn’t find it in herself to laugh.
she shot up out of her seat. startled by the movement, paige looked up and caught sight of her. they both froze.
the blonde’s gaze swept down azzi’s body, coming back up to linger on her face, and her mouth fell slightly open. her blue eyes were darkened by the light, shadows highlighting her cheekbone, her jaw– cruelly beautiful, sharp and painful.
azzi flushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. she crossed her arms over her chest, backing up against the railing. what, she wanted to yell, what’s your fucking problem. she opened her mouth to do just that, but paige–
“you look really pretty.”
paige’s own eyes widened, as if she couldn’t quite believe that she’d said it; azzi wanted to be mad, wanted to demand where she got off trying to compliment her after everything, but for some fucking reason–
azzi’s knees felt weak. the whole day had been hours upon hours of compliments, people falling at her feet, and she must have heard those same words dozens of times. yet, somehow– somehow, the first thing to make her actually feel pretty, to make her feel deserving, was four fucking words from paige.
she hated it. hated that after all this time, paige still had that sway over her. her heart lurched in her chest, sickeningly sweet.
“you saw me earlier,” she scoffed, but her voice softened, “but thank you.”
“yeah, but i…” paige’s voice trailed off. her words seemed caught in her throat, like she didn’t know what to say. she looked around at where azzi had been sitting, eyes falling on the pack of cigarettes and the lighter.
“didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“i’m not,” azzi said automatically. she didn’t know why she felt the need to defend herself. she could still taste the flame on her tongue. “rarely happens.”
paige didn’t look convinced, which annoyed azzi. paige’s judgement shouldn’t have upset her, but for some reason, the slightest hint of disapproval made her feel bothered, small. she exhaled. paige’s opinion didn’t affect her. she was calm.
“it’s awful for you,” paige said, and azzi wanted to smack her.
“thought i was none of your business,” she scowled, sarcastic, unable to resist the jab. paige was right, of course, but azzi would be damned if she wasn’t capable of making her own decisions, even bad ones. she didn’t need paige’s fucking input.
paige’s eyes flickered with recognition, but she didn’t acknowledge the dig. “chill,” she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, “i’m not the police. just don’t want you gettin’ fuckin’ lung cancer.”
“i am chill,” azzi responded, her voice unnaturally shrill even to her own ears. “why did you come out here?”
paige chewed her bottom lip. “jus’ wanted air, i didn’t– i didn’t know you were out here.”
the two stared at each other, taking each other in. paige’s eyes raked across azzi’s form like she’d been starved of it, but there was a weight to it, a shared ache of their past. azzi shifted from foot to foot and swallowed. somewhere in the distance, a dog started to howl. she couldn’t take it anymore.
“did you listen?” azzi blurted out. she meant it to sound casual, maybe even accusatory; it came out vulnerable.
paige exhaled deeply, teeth biting at her lower lip. she closed her eyes for a second and swallowed. “only one song. part of it.”
that surprised azzi. if it were her, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself. paige used to love the way she played guitar for her, used to love listening to her lyrics. she wavered slightly, and she must have looked shocked, because paige followed herself up.
“i didn’t– i couldn’t,” she admitted, looking away.
“why? scared it’s going to be about you?” azzi asked wryly.
“i know it’s about me,” paige answered honestly. “so does the rest of the fuckin’ world.”
oh, shit. right.
“you know, i didn’t mean–” azzi started. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t expect–”
“azzi, how did you not expect it?” paige interrupted. “i mean, you namedropped my hometown.”
“what was i supposed to do, lie? would you rather i made it up? sang about another girl?”
“no!” paige frowned. “i just mean–,” she hesitated, like she was nervous, “azzi, i’m being followed around and asked if i tried to force you to have children.”
the words hung between them precariously, both of them soaking in the implications of the statement. azzi froze. “i never said that,” she promised.
“oh? you didn’t?” paige said sarcastically. “because the whole internet seems to think that you did.”
“if you listened to the song–”
“i don’t know if you realized this, azzi, but i was there,” paige snapped. “i don’t need to listen to the song. i know what happened, and i know who was the one that–”
“yeah, it’s just terrible that people assume you’re not fucking perfect, paige,” azzi seethed, and paige looked taken aback. “it would be terrible if people assumed that you did something wrong.”
“that’s not– azzi. it’s terrible because it’s not true.”
“i never said it was!” azzi threw her hands in the air.
“what happened between us–” paige started.
“what?” azzi shouted, and she felt the tears stinging at her eyes again. “what happened between us, paige?” her voice was pleading, almost desperate, raspy from the cigarette and choked up.
she didn’t know why she was pushing. she’d spent so long trying to come to terms with the fact that so much of her would always be in love with paige, that that was okay, that sometimes life is just like that. that was probably the part of her that was talking, wanting any excuse to talk to paige, too scared to have a normal conversation lest anything else bring back the ache.
she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to maintain her composure.
when she opened her eyes again, paige was staring at her, jaw set, eyes heavy. “what happened between us,” she started quietly, “was that–”
“stop,” azzi cut her off, looking away. “i know.”
“stop interrupting me.”
“i wasn’t–”
“yes. you were,” paige said forcefully. something in her demeanor had changed, hardened. “and you know why, azzi? because for all your writing and singing and shit, you’re still too scared to acknowledge your mistakes.”
azzi scoffed. “my mistakes?” she asked incredulously. “i’m not scared of them, i shared them with the whole world. you’re scared because yours were put out in the open too.”
“oh, so i’m meant to believe that somewhere in your album, you wrote i led her on and as soon as she got vulnerable with me i dumped her in the middle of her cousin’s wedding. ”
“well, that has no cadence and doesn’t even rhyme, so no,” azzi snapped. “not everything has to be fucking literal. if you listened to the album–”
“why would i listen to the album?” paige yelled disbelievingly, throwing her hands up.
“i don’t know, because apparently you’re too fucking scared to!” azzi argued, bringing back their previous words. paige stared at her, silent. “you’re making it out like i did some terrible thing just because i did my damn job,” she continued, jaw clenched with anger. “i know i fucked up. i fucked up, you fucked up, we fucked up. there’s nothing i could write that would change that truth.”
paige was still quiet. azzi hated it. it was suffocating. why couldn’t they do this? why couldn’t they have one normal conversation without it turning into a fight?
she tried to look her in the eye but quickly turned away, staring at a chair so she didn’t get overwhelmed.
“well, go on,” she waved a hand, irritated.
a moment passed.
“i’m not scared of you, azzi.”
azzi drew in a breath, trying to listen to her own inhale over the sound of her heart slamming against her chest. her voice trembled as she spoke. “you’re acting like it.”
“no, you’re acting like it. you won’t even look at me,” paige breathed, annoyed. she gestured broadly with her arms, and azzi’s eyes were drawn to the faux broadness of her shoulders from the suit.
“i’m just overwhelmed,” azzi bit her tongue, “it’s been a rough week.”
“if having your debut album go viral and make it to the top twenty is a rough week, i’d say you’re doing just fine,” paige muttered, rolling her eyes.
azzi’s hand clenched into a fist at her side. for a second, she was so mad that she seriously considered throwing a punch (an undeserved one, admittedly); paige, of course, caught the action, giving her an unimpressed look. azzi would never, and they both knew it.
“you don’t know shit about how i’m doing,” azzi mumbled finally, digging her nails into her palm.
paige furrowed her brows. “were you not the one who once said– and i quote–” she pitched her voice up, a clear mockery, “paige, i love you so much, you get me better than anyone i’ve ever met. ”
“yeah, three years ago!”
“if you think i can’t still read the look on your fuckin’ face–”
“not anymore! not after boston!”
“oh, c’mon, azzi,” paige pleaded, exasperated, “why the fuck are we talkin’ about boston?”
“oh, i don’t know, maybe because that’s when you accused me of cheating on you!”
“you stopped fuckin’ talking to me!”
“no, you never listened to me!” azzi yelled, frustrated. a tear slipped from her eye, and she felt so fucking stupid and pathetic, sitting here arguing with paige like it made a difference.
“all i wanted—”
“all you wanted ?” azzi laughed incredulously, “all you ever do is want! you want and you want and you never leave any room for what i can actually give.”
“oh, god fucking forbid i want a life with you,” paige spat, venom coursing through every word. “god forbid i want a future with us, god forbid i want you to be the mother of my child, god forbid i fucking love you.”
a wind blew through the balcony, and the candle azzi had lit flickered out.
azzi trembled. “i loved you so damn much, paige. i loved you so damn much and i wanted to give you whatever you fucking wanted. but we were young, and you had this whole career ahead of you, and i had not a damn thing, no family, and you were so fucking selfish –”
“selfish?” paige yelled, throwing her arms out. “you want to call me selfish for trying to give you everything that i could? selfish for telling you i wanted to marry you after four years together?”
“not everything is that easy!” azzi snapped, striding forward so that she was in paige’s face. “you can’t just snap your fingers and say oh, we’re a family, oh, i want to have kids with you, oh, let’s pick up and move to dallas.” her voice cracked. “i wanted to, paige, you have no idea how much i fucking wanted to. but it was so much, and you may have always had your shit figured out but i haven’t, and i needed to figure out myself and my own plans.”
“yeah, well, obviously i wasn’t a fuckin’ part of them,” paige laughed humorlessly.
“well you went right out and found someone else to play fucking house with, so obviously i was the replaceable part in your plans.”
paige stared at her, jaw hanging open. “oh, come the fuck on,” she hissed, “you don’t even get to be mad at that.”
“why not?” azzi scoffed. “‘oh, azzi, i barely know her’, ‘oh, azzi, she’s just a friend’ . sound familiar?”
“i wasn’t lying,” paige raised her voice, angry. “what happened between me and sydney was a fucking mistake, and it didn’t mean anything, and i was trying to get over the fact that you left.”
she spat the last two words out like they were physically painful, and azzi flinched like they were. a beat.
“well,” the brunette said, finally, “you seem to be doing perfectly fine without me.”
“i am,” paige muttered, jaw clenched.
they stared at each other, face to face, breathing heavily. azzi’s eyes searched paige’s expression, noted against her will the pain in her eyes, the lines on her cheeks, the way her lips looked like they’d been bitten raw. it came over azzi all at once, suddenly, and her eyes felt wet.
she turned on her heel, stalking back to the door and throwing it wide open.
“yeah, okay, azzi, fuckin’ leave again,” paige scoffed. azzi ignored her, tears finally falling from her eyes and streaming down her face. she walked back inside, wiping furiously at her cheeks, and called her manager.
azzi left the party, wishing with everything in her that that would be the last time she ever saw paige bueckers.
—- two days later
paige sauntered into the arena, feeling at home. it wasn’t her court– she and arike had made a habit of attending an nba game at every city they stayed in– but a court was a court. it wasn’t a game she necessarily cared about, just the clippers against the golden nuggets, but she was still excited.
to be honest, paige hated the golden nuggets, and had previously sworn to never watch the rivals of her minnesota timberwolves play live. but she’d promised arike that she’d be there, so there she was.
the older woman was far from their seats, talking with someone on the other side of the court; they’d arrived separately, this time, because arike had been taking her girlfriend on a date. paige didn’t mind– it allowed her some time with brittany, who’d put her in some baggy camo shorts and a white compression shirt.
she caught arike’s eye and grinned, maneuvering from one side of the court to the other. she heard a few people calling her name, saw some raised phones from the corner of her eye, and gave the fans a quick smile and wave. her hair was down, and she tucked a strand of it behind her ear.
“ayo,” arike greeted her with a smile, “look at you, all muscle mommy n’ shit.”
“what?” paige laughed, eyebrows shooting up as she looked down at her outfit.
“you tryna show off those gains, huh?” arike poked her in the abs, and she swatted her away.
“nah, nah,” she said easily, “just a coincidence.”
the man arike had been talking to snickered at her, and she politely turned her eyes towards him and waved a hand in greeting. he waved back, then his eyes found someone behind her shoulder and widened to the size of saucers.
“yo, lucy!” he called, throwing a hand up to catch their attention.
paige turned, catching sight of a tall woman with dark curls and an easy smile. she strode up to the group confidently, hugging the man and grinning at everyone else.
“i didn’t know you were coming today,” the man said, good-naturedly shoving her on the shoulder.
“yeah, well,” lucy laughed, “got set up on a date last minute. supposed to be meeting her here.”
paige smiled. it was her and arike standing with their backs to the court, facing the other two, and she felt a little awkward. they exchanged a few more pleasantries before she excused herself, nodding courteously to the group before turning to walk to her seat.
she had only made it a few steps before she looked up and froze.
oh, come the fuck on . walking towards her was beautiful, beautiful azzi, dressed in a camo print tee and ripped white jeans, the reverse mirror image of paige herself. paige breathed out through her nose, jaw clenching as she tried to control her face. brittany.
her eyes met azzi’s, who looked nothing short of dumbfounded to see her there for all of half a second before her lip curled into a sneer.
it was a fair reaction, paige figured, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. azzi had probably remembered how she’d said she’d never watch a nuggets game and figured she was safe. paige rolled her eyes.
somewhere in the background, she registered dozens of phones raising, the clicks of camera shutters intensifying in sound. great. paige gave it ten minutes before the moment would go viral.
azzi’s eyes travelled past paige and locked onto someone else, and paige stepped aside so that she could walk through, keeping her eyes anywhere but the brunette.
“azzi?” a familiar voice sounded, and paige couldn’t resist a half-turn back where she’d come from. lucy from a second ago was looking azzi up and down, a flirtatious hand on her shoulder, and paige’s eye twitched. “it’s so nice to meet you!” lucy crowed.
paige didn’t have to be looking at azzi to know that she was smiling that sweet smile of hers, the shy one with her mouth closed and the tips of her ears turning pink. she wanted to combust.
you fucked this up, a tiny voice in her head reminded her, and she resisted the urge to smack herself in the temple to shut it up.
when she’d first laid eyes on azzi again at the fashion show, paige had immediately been hit with the remembrance that azzi was the most breathtaking and ruinous woman she’d ever met. she had been a vision in her formal red-and-white top and black pinstripe pants, alive and magnificent with a pleased flush to her face that had paige swallowing and feeling dizzy.
she hadn’t known how to cope with the enormity of her emotions, seeing her again in such a jarring way, and the reality of everything about the last few weeks had come crashing down on top of her. she’d been a wreck at the show, fighting to stay calm and mentally freaking out over what the tabloids would say about it. she didn’t think she could handle any more press.
she’d been lucky that nobody had caught them out on the balcony, when she had honest-to-god tried to have a civil conversation, so she kept her mouth shut now and walked back to her seat.
arike caught up with her, eyes wide, and paige shrugged her worried hand off of her shoulder as they sat down.
“the fuck is up with that?” arike muttered to her, and paige chewed her bottom lip, spreading her legs out. “ain’t y’all have your little chitty chat the other night? she didn’t say nothing about a date, did she?”
“lucy said it was last minute,” paige murmured, keeping her eyes steadily on some nuggets players taking warmup shots. they missed. good.
arike clicked her tongue. “right, right,” she shook her head. “that’s some crazy-ass coincidence.”
“you’re telling me,” paige deadpanned. her leg twitched nervously. there was no reason for her to be jealous of this, not really. she and azzi obviously weren’t on good terms, and azzi didn’t even know this girl.
paige knew that it was nothing but an excuse, a distraction, but that didn’t make the rotten feeling in her stomach go away. she couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering to the two women, heads close together as they cheerily chatted away. it seemed all too easy for azzi, and paige hated it.
they were both silent for a minute, arike texting someone on her phone. the players went to their respective benches and the lights dimmed, the teams getting ready to announce their starting lineups before the game began. arike turned her phone off, leaning over into paige’s space.
“she probably wants to publicly associate herself with someone else,” arike whispered. “she don’t know this girl.”
“yeah,” paige sighed, “she fuckin’ hates me right now.”
“don’t know why you don’t hate her,” arike grumbled, and paige didn’t know either. maybe she should. it would be easier.
an announcer’s booming voice echoed through the arena, listing off each starting lineup as a song played loudly in the background. the crowd was whipped into a frenzy, but paige didn’t have the heart to scream along as usual.
at tipoff, she tried to refocus, but it was futile. her mind wandered, her unbidden gaze slipping to the two dark haired women on the other side of the court. she thought she was doing a pretty good job of being subtle until halftime, when she checked her phone to someone sending her a viral tweet.
someone had posted a screenshot of a text message from their mom, reading i think this woman is famous, she looks familiar. a video clip was attached of paige, eyes flickering back and forth between the game and azzi.
the person had responded with mom, that’s paige bueckers. she plays for the dallas wings!!!!!
her mom texts again, saying oh, okay. a minute later there’s another text, this time a video of azzi. i think that girl must know paige bueckers, because she keeps making faces at her.
the video shows azzi deep in conversation with lucy, intermittently sneaking glares in paige’s direction. paige flushed at the realization that they’d both been looking at each other, inadvertently looking up again. she caught azzi’s eye, and they both quickly looked away.
MOM THAT’S AZZI FUDD, the last text read.
no shit, man.
“fuck me,” paige groaned, showing her phone to arike. arike paused for a moment as she read the messages, then snorted loudly.
paige’s phone dinged with a new message, this time from nika. bro , it read, and a screenshot was attached of a popbase instagram post, containing a shitty video of paige and azzi making eye contact with each other and looking murderous earlier.
“fuck me,” paige groaned again, louder.
“i’m taken,” arike supplied helpfully.
“me too,” said a random middle-aged man on paige’s left. she squinted at him, and he turned away.
arike sighed. “you gotta let me fix you up, p. i know a girl from college who’s in the area–”
“i don’t think–” paige interrupted, but arike cut her right back off.
“for me, paige. i hate seein’ you like this. you don’t gotta do nothing with her, but she’s not looking for long-term anyways. get your mind off it. get dinner or somethin’.”
paige stared at the court. she contemplated her options: go back to her hotel and be miserable, or worst case scenario make a new friend.
she herself certainly wasn’t looking to enter a long-term relationship. azzi had been mad at her for moving on too fast after their breakup, but the truth of it was that she hadn’t moved on then, and now it was years after the breakup, and she hasn’t moved on now. surely, giving something unserious a shot couldn’t be the worst of it. azzi was doing the same thing.
“fine,” paige sighed, slumping slightly in her seat.
“don’t sound so excited,” arike muttered with a grin, texting paige the woman’s number.
a low, burning feeling settled in her stomach. she wasn’t excited. but she could get over it for a night. paige sent the woman a text.
hey, my name is paige & i’m arike’s teammate. she mentioned you might be around tonight to get dinner and chill?
almost immediately, a reply came.
hey paige, i’m haley. when are you free?
___
lucy had been a decent attempt at a distraction, but azzi had no problem parting with her once the game was over. there just wasn’t any romantic chemistry between them, but it had been nice to make a new friend. with how poorly everything had gone over on the internet, azzi was almost sorry to drag her into it, but she’d maintained that she didn’t mind.
“it was a nice time,” lucy had shrugged, and azzi had to agree.
azzi was more than ready to hit the bar at the hotel she was staying at, absolutely done with coincidences and completely unwilling to go out. it was a nice place, surprisingly, somewhere designed for celebrities or people with money to have a good amount of privacy.
it was getting late, and she sipped on her third gin & tonic; she’d only intended for one or two drinks to hit her system, but the bartender was sweet and a big group of small-time actresses had come up to her and started talking. she was having a pretty good time, if she did say so herself, and was more than pleased to allow the alcohol to loosen her system.
two of her new friends leaned on her shoulders in a cramped booth, all laughter and warm skin and lip gloss smiles.
“no, i literally swear, elsa’s fine ass needs to get with that forest baddie,” one of them snorted, hair falling into her face.
“deadass,” another smacked the table, “the whole movie is an allegory for coming out. ain’t no way she’s singing all this shit about having her secrets and going into the unknown for her to be straight.”
“every inch of me is trembling,” the one on azzi’s left shoulder sang out, “and not from the cold.”
“forest baddie’s strap goes crazy, i know it, bro.”
“hold on,” azzi interrupted, head spinning, “you think elsa is a bottom?”
the table exploded with arguing and laughter, and someone quieted them down by yelling overtop of them. “wait, wait, let’s play top or bottom. look around and guess who’s a top or a bottom.”
“or a switch,” someone added helpfully, and azzi snorted.
they went around the girls at the table, guessing and laughing and squealing when they were correct. when they’d finished everyone, they turned to the other patrons in the bar.
“him,” the girl on azzi’s right pointed to a balding man with glasses.
“bottom,” two people said in unison, and everyone giggled.
“the bartender in the glasses,” azzi nodded her head towards the counter.
“she can be whatever she wants, i’ll be whatever she needs,” one of the girls sighed dreamily, batting her eyes, and she got playfully shoved by everyone else.
“her, the blonde towards the exit,” someone pointed, and everyone craned their heads. azzi squinted, trying to see that far through her lack of contacts.
“which one?” the girl on azzi’s left tried to clarify.
“the tall one,” came the response, and that’s when it hit her.
at this point, seeing paige didn’t even fucking surprise her. fucking fine. fucking sure. what hit her was the girl that paige was with. an ugly, twisted feeling knotted up azzi’s guts.
it wasn’t that paige was with a girl, leaned over her, flirtatiously sipping her paloma. azzi had been on a date earlier in the day, hadn’t she? it was the fact that azzi had gone out in public, trying to prove to the world that she’d moved on, but paige was doing this entirely in private. paige, from the look of her, didn’t even know azzi was there. this wasn’t a show. this wasn’t a dig.
and the worst part, the part that had azzi’s stomach burning and throat unable to swallow, was that the girl was every single thing that azzi wasn’t.
she was fair-skinned, blonde, petite, older than them both, and aggressively nice-and-sweet looking, like she could flower in a fucking meadow.
she looked like she had her life together, like she was ready to settle down. like she’d be a great wife, perfectly kind and smart, and azzi was absolutely loathe to admit it, but that was what paige deserved. paige deserved someone who was nothing like azzi, with her sadness and her insecurity and her curls that didn’t respond kindly to gel, with her bulky frame and indecisiveness and her inability to take a chance. paige deserved easy, with some little white girl who had her shit together. and azzi wanted to scream.
the broadness of paige’s shoulders and the buffness of her frame practically swallowed the other woman just by standing next to each other, and azzi felt tears sting at her eyes. again. stupid alcohol.
“she’s a top,” someone said dramatically, “come on, she’s smokin’ hot and probably knows it.”
“you don’t know with those mascs, though,” another chimed in, “you know they love to be pampered and treated like a lil princess. told they’re good and shit.”
“switch, service top lean,” azzi said robotically, leaning back and taking a sip of her drink. everyone snickered, not catching on to the drastic shift in her mood.
“oddly specific, azzi.”
“i’m talented,” azzi replied quietly, moving to stand up.
“where are you going?” the girls whined, and she fed them some excuse about needing to wake up early the next day. they exchanged contact information and left with a fair amount of hugs and kisses, and azzi made her way as subtly as she could manage out of the bar.
as soon as she reached the main hotel lobby, she really needed to pee. stupid alcohol. she found the public bathroom on the first floor and then returned to the lobby. alright, now it was time to get back to her room.
she waited in line for the elevator, which, naturally, was already on her floor. her eye twitched, and she started to get nervous at the thought of paige coming out into the hallway and seeing her.
“come on,” she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently. she cast a nervous glance in the direction of the bar. when the elevator doors finally opened, she hurriedly stepped in and slammed the “shut door” button, pressing the button for the fifth floor. when the doors shut and there was no blonde hair in sight, she breathed a sigh of relief.
thank god. now she could go back to her room in peace.
she waited the thirty seconds or whatever to get up to her floor, and forced herself to think about how awesome the sleep she was going to get tonight would be.
the doors finally opened, and she blinked heavily, still a bit dizzy from the alcohol. nevertheless, she persisted, turning the immediate corner to the hallway where her room was.
only, the hallway wasn’t empty. she came to a screeching halt in front of two blonde women, making out against the closest door. paige’s head was in the other woman’s hands, thigh between her legs, and the ridiculous sounds of kissing filled the space.
azzi was mad. and azzi was drunk.
“oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” she glared at them, arms crossed over her chest. “move.”
dazed, the two women slowly separated, eyes widened in azzi’s direction.
“sorry!” the short woman smiled at her with perfect teeth and a voice like a tinkling music box. azzi held herself back from snapping at her, forcing her lips into a strained smile, and let her eyes settle on paige.
“i–” paige started. her eyes were as round as saucers, panicked, and azzi couldn’t look at her for more than a second before she was storming down the hallway to her room.
what were the odds? what were the fucking odds? azzi was doomed to this hotel room for the next week while she did shit for her label. how long was–
“how long are you staying here?” she called back down the hallway, terse. god, she must have been drunker than she thought.
silence behind her. a quick whisper, probably the short woman’s confusion. “four more days,” paige’s voice rang out, low and raspy with drink and kiss, and azzi’s heart skipped a beat in her chest.
“of course,” she muttered, and scanned herself into her room. she slammed the door as loudly as she could, hoping to scare the two off.
as the door shut, her resolve melted. she trudged over to her bed, sitting on the edge and staring at the carpet. she’d been having such a good night. paige never tried to, but she was always one-upping azzi somehow. more self-confident, more sociable, quick to do things– all things azzi had loved about her while they were together, come back to tug at her psyche and pull her into a state of self-deprecation.
hating paige had never come easy. it was easy for the negative emotions to arise, but azzi knew that paige didn’t really deserve them. paige was just trying to move on, the way that azzi couldn’t.
azzi thought of the trip she’d taken to paige’s hometown eight months after they’d broken up. it had given her one of her most popular songs, full of ache, as she’d recounted the dead grass there and softly sang about change for the worse. more importantly, it had seemed all at once frozen in time in her memories and continuously moving; the difference was that it was only still in her head, but the real world kept going.
and there was azzi. still in her head. and there was paige. going.
azzi pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. the soft cotton of it brushed against her forearms, and she exhaled through her nose. she was exposed. vulnerable. she laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. the hotel comforter was slightly starchy against her bare skin.
a familiar feeling began to hum in her chest, heavy and solid. it spread to her shoulders, her temple, back through her ribs to her tailbone, grounding her in the mattress. she was weighted down, movement becoming impossible.
a dull ache prodded at her tongue, the sharp words she’d said earlier echoing from their origin. god, she wished she could talk better. she wished her songs weren’t constructions, wished that in real life she could be half as mellifluous and less like a viper waiting to be stepped on so that it could have an excuse to bite.
the ceiling spun a little to the left, and azzi was reminded that she was drunk. she thought about how badly she needed to brush her teeth and remove her makeup, how she should change clothes and set her alarm so that she would get up on time the next day.
instead, she closed her eyes, and she let the darkness swallow her.