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Ona has lived a long life, century as a vampire, only so many as human, so naturally she's had to find ways to keep herself entertained and busy
Her abilities include time dilation and manipulation, both of which she uses very sparingly
She lives a secretive life, finds no reason to show people what she is but can never stay in one place for too long, lest people start to notice the things wrong with her.
She doesn't necessarily like her life, living on blood, alone, can't let too people close, the smell of blood a constant temptation, but she's woved herself to never "hurt" an unwilling body.
She still liked her blood fresh, blood bags from the bank, animals, quelled the thirst even if she longed for the warm blood from a body, still beating, and found it in the most unlikely places
she's found herself staying longer in a certain manchester, in packed stadiums, really torturing her senses for one woman, one woman who tempts her like no other, her blood a temptation like no other
Luce saw her everywhere, felt herself quite drawn despite not knowing why, just something about that woman that caught her eye everywhere, in a sea of people, truly felt impossible, especially when she kept seeing her everywhere
Their first proper meeting was everything it should've been, the attraction burned a sun hot, the cold skin should've worried, warned lucy but she just couldn't resist her. It took equally much for Ona to not drain her perfect girl dry, dragged her teeth just along her pulse point, almost dug in, but she wouldn't break her promise, would make Luce beg for it
Luce knows that there's something, something being hidden from her, notices the warning signs, the intensity, strength, fangs, but her attraction to everything ona offers makes her stay, addicted even before the bite
For the first feed, luce did not know what to expect, with the way she was prepped, she really just expected it to hurt, oh, how wrong she was
It did hurt initially, but after that it was just euphoric, a feeling she's never experienced before, the best drug on earth x1000
Feeding like that has a similar effect on ona, especially after depriving herself, as her venom works as an aphrodisiac, just the taste of fresh, human blood (especially from someone like lucy), made her never want to stop drinking, felt something close to an orgasm
put you on the altar | lucy bronze x ona batlle | i.
Lucy wants to give up control, and Ona is more than happy to oblige her.
Content warnings - discussion of dom/sub dynamics, discussion of explicit sexual activity
18+, 5k words
Read on ao3 here
When Lucy finally calls Ona, she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, her back against the lower cushions. Her hair is still damp from the shower, pushed behind her ears in uneven sections, and she’s wearing a t-shirt that’s stretched at the neck where she’s pulled it over her head one too many times.
Her flat smells like lemon cleaning solution and the remnants of a risotto Lucy heated up three hours ago and forgot to finish. The kitchen light is switched off and the living room is lit only by the blue-white wash of the laptop screen balanced on a stack of books on the coffee table.
Ona's face fills the vast majority of the screen, the bedroom of her flat in Barcelona visible behind her. The white shutters are closed and there’s a half-empty glass of water on the bedside table, the edge of a book face-down on the duvet. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, baggy enough to show the ridge of her collarbone and the strap of a vest underneath. She holds the phone close, her elbow propped on a pillow, the angle slightly upward so Lucy can see the underside of her jaw and the way her mouth moves when she speaks.
"—and then Nat just stands there," Lucy says, her hands cutting the air in front of her chest, "looking at me like I've apparently got the answer written on my forehead. Like I'm supposed to know what’s going on in her head and come up with a solution in the middle of the match. And it wasn’t even a difficult match, we were playing West Ham, fucking West Ham, Ona."
"Mm." Ona's eyes track Lucy's hands as she shifts on the bed, the pillow compressing under her elbow.
"After the match, I told her she needs to be more proactive. I said, 'ask Sonia', that's what she’s there for. But she just— she kind of waited, like she wanted me to say something first so she could just do that instead."
"And did you say something?"
Lucy's jaw tightens and she pulls at a loose thread on the seam of her joggers. “Well, yeah."
Ona makes a sound in her throat, not quite a laugh. The corner of her mouth lifts. "So you told her to ask the manager, and then you told the manager's answer for her."
"I didn't—" Lucy stops. Her thumb presses into the thread until it snaps and then she drops her hand to her knee. "It's not like that, it's not that I want to. It's that nobody else will, and someone has to so it ends up being me."
The screen catches the tension in Lucy's shoulders, the way they've crept up toward her ears. Ona watches this, her own face still and non-judgemental.
"But it’s literally every day, love, every training session," Lucy continues, quieter now, “every time something needs deciding. They all just turn and look at me like it’s an instinct. Even Erin, and Erin’s been at Chelsea so much longer than I have. She'll say, 'What do you think, Luce?' and I’m like, I don't know, Ez, what do you think? But I can't say that because then nobody thinks anything and we just stand around."
"You could try saying it."
"I have tried. It doesn't— it’s like they don't hear it as a real answer. They hear it as me testing them, like I'm checking if they've got it, and if they don't say the right thing I'll override them anyway."
Ona tilts her head. The pillow shifts under her elbow. "Would you? Override them?"
Lucy's mouth opens for a second and then closes almost immediately again. She looks at the screen, at Ona's face, at the slightly upward angle that makes Ona's eyes seem larger than they are, darker. Ona knows what the silence means.
"Maybe sometimes," Lucy says.
Ona nods once, but she doesn't push. Her thumb traces the edge of her phone case, a slow back-and-forth and the silence stretches, but it’s comfortable. She watches Lucy push back the strands of hair around her face as she pulls together the words she seems so desperate to get out.
"It's not even just the football," Lucy says, and Ona starts to think that there might be something more than just annoyance at her teammates behind this rant,"it's everything. They’ll be like 'where are you eating, Luce? Is it good? Should I have that?' And then in the physio room they’ll be like, 'should I ice it or heat it, Luce?' And I genuinely don’t know or care about the answer half the time, but they want me to pick, and if I pick, they're happy, and if I don't, they're lost, and either way I'm the one stuck with it."
"You’ve always been like that, cariño,” Ona says, remembering how the same thing used to happen when Lucy was with her at Barcelona. She just seemed to have a pull about her that made people gravitate towards unconsciously and trust her without thinking.
"Yeah." Lucy leans her head back against the sofa cushion. The tendons in her neck stand out as she stares at the ceiling, then back at the screen. "That's the problem, isn't it."
Ona's face shifts on the screen as she moves the phone, settling deeper into the pillow, and the angle changes so Lucy can see more of the room behind her. She can just about see the corner of a framed photograph that she can't make out from this distance but knows is one of them, taken in Cuba when they went the other summer, Lucy's arm around Ona's shoulder, Ona's hand flat on Lucy's stomach.
"You know what you need?" Ona says, and her voice has that particular cadence that’s light, almost throwaway, “you need someone to take all those thoughts out of your head."
Lucy's eyes find the screen. Her mouth curves into not quite a smile. "Is that right?"
"Mm. Just… pull them out. One by one and leave nothing in there."
"And how would that work, darlin’?"
Ona shrugs, a single-shoulder lift that makes her collarbone disappear and reappear inside the stretched collar of the sweatshirt. "You'd stop deciding things for a bit. Someone else decides."
Lucy is quiet. Her hand rests on her knee, fingers still. The damp ends of her hair drip once against her shoulder, a dark spot spreading on the grey fabric.
"It's not that simple though is it," Lucy says, but the words come out slower, lower, as if she's testing each one before releasing it.
"It could be."
Lucy's breathing is audible through the laptop mic, a shallow rhythm, and Ona thinks that she must know where this is going, must be able to sense it.
"I'd like—" Lucy starts, then stops. She picks at the snapped thread on her joggers again as she tries to put her thoughts into words. "Sometimes I'd like to just... not. Not be the one. Not have to think about what everyone needs, you know…"
She trails off. On the screen, Ona's expression doesn't change, but her eyes narrow a little, as though she’s trying to gauge a response.
"You want to give it up," Ona says, and it’s not phrased as a question but more as an answer.
Lucy's chest rises once, holds, and falls. She looks at Ona through the screen, at the dark eyes, the upward angle of the phone, the way the sweatshirt has slipped further off one shoulder, exposing the ridge of muscle along it. Lucy's tongue touches her lower lip briefly before she responds again.
"Yeah," she says. Barely a sound. "That."
Ona shifts on the bed, sinking further into the pillows. Her face comes closer to the camera, filling more of the frame, and Lucy can see the texture of her skin, the faint line where she'd furrowed her brow earlier, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
"You know," Ona says, and her voice is definitely different now, Lucy recognises it from specific moments; hotel rooms after away matches when she played for Barça, the back of Ona's car in a quiet car park once, a Sunday morning in Lucy's bed when neither of them had to get up early and the sheets were still warm. "Next time I see you…"
Lucy waits. Her fingers have gone still on her knee.
"I could take it all off you," Ona continues. She speaks slowly, as though she doesn’t want to scare Lucy off. "All the deciding and the thinking. You wouldn't have to do anything except what I tell you."
The laptop fan hums. Lucy swallows. On the screen, Ona watches and realises that Lucy wants this too, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.
"But we don't usually—" Lucy starts.
"I know."
"It's usually—"
"I know how it's usually been, but it doesn’t have to be like that all the time. Sometimes I think it would be good for you to give up control a little.”
This brings another weighted silence and Lucy's hand moves from her knee to the hem of her training top, fingers curling into the fabric. She flattens it down over her stomach, a gesture that looks unconscious but really isn’t. It’s what she does on the pitch when she’s nervous.
“What do you mean by that?” Lucy asks, becoming surer of the answer second by second, but wanting Ona to be clear nevertheless.
“Well, you have to be in control on the pitch, it’s part of what makes you such a good player, but sometimes I think you translate that to all aspects of your life and it stresses you out.”
“Like which aspects of my life?” Her eyebrows raise as though she’s making a joke, but her cheeks are flushed and the back of her neck feels hot suddenly.
“I’m talking about us, mi vida, and don’t get me wrong I love it when you take control. But sometimes I think it would be good for me to give and for you to take.”
"You want to—" Lucy's voice catches. She clears her throat. "Am I hallucinating, or are you angling to strap me?"
Ona doesn't answer immediately. She lets the words sit in the air between them, and her thumb still traces the edge of her phone case, back and forth, back and forth.
“You aren’t hallucinating, and I think," Ona says, "you'd like that."
Lucy's breath comes short. She can feel her own pulse in her throat, the heavy thud of it, and she's aware of the absurdity of this, sitting on her living room floor in joggers, hair dripping, a half-eaten risotto in the kitchen, and her body responding as if Ona's hand is already on her. She shifts where she sits, the fabric of her joggers pulling against her, and the movement is small but Ona sees it anyway.
"It's been a while," Lucy says. Her voice is rough.
"Since I have. Yeah." Ona's fingers stop their tracing. She holds the phone with both hands now, the frame steady, her face centered. "You liked it, though. Last time."
It isn't a question, Lucy knows it isn't a question. She remembers the last time, it had happened in some hotel while they were on holiday. She remembers the way Ona had stood behind her in the bathroom with the harness adjusted low on her hips, one hand between Lucy's shoulder blades pressing her forward over the sink, the other guiding herself in.
Lucy had come with her forehead against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass, Ona's teeth on the back of her neck, and the sound she'd made was not a sound she'd made before or since, something guttural and uncontrolled that came from a place she can’t reach on her own.
"Yeah," Lucy says. "I liked it."
"You came so hard you nearly cried."
Lucy closes her eyes. The laptop screen paints her face in blue-white. "Ona."
"What? You did."
"I know I did. You don't have to—"
"I'm telling you what I saw, what I felt." Ona's voice drops. "You couldn't even hold yourself up, I had to hold you up and fuck you through it."
The word lands like a hand on the back of Lucy's neck. Her eyes open. On the screen, Ona's face is close, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on whatever Lucy's face is doing through the grain of the video feed. The flat is silent except for the laptop fan and Lucy's breathing, which has quickened somewhat.
"I think about it," Ona says, her mind already drifting back to the look on Lucy’s face that night. "More than you probably think I do."
"You do?"
"Sí, I think about having you like that again. On your knees, maybe. Or on your back, legs open for me."
Lucy's hand tightens on the hem of her top. She pulls the fabric down further, then lets it go. Her skin is warm and she can feel the heat across her collarbones, up the back of her neck, along the insides of her thighs where the joggers press.
"We've got the break coming up," Lucy says, and her voice sounds like someone else's, feels heavy in her mouth.
"I know." Ona shifts on the bed again. The sweatshirt rides up, and Lucy catches a glimpse of bare stomach, the line of her hip, the black edge of her underwear. Ona doesn't adjust it, she leaves it where it is. "Am I coming there or are you coming here?"
"You choose."
"I’ll come to you."
Lucy nods. On the screen, Ona watches her patiently, her face showing no sign that this is affecting her at all.
"I want—" Lucy starts. She stops and then starts again, searching for the words. "When you do it. When you're— I don't want to have to ask. For anything. I don't want to have to decide. I just want you to—"
“Make all the choices for you," Ona finishes.
"Yeah."
Ona nods. She lifts one hand from the phone and pushes her hair back from her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. The motion is ordinary, domestic, the kind of thing she does a hundred times a day, but her eyes stay on the screen, on Lucy, and something about her confidence when talking like this makes Lucy’s stomach clench.
"I can do that," Ona says. "We’ll go really slowly, and you won't have to think about a single thing."
Lucy's eyes close again, briefly. When they open, Ona is still there, still watching, the bedroom behind her lit in warm yellow from the lamp on the bedside table.
"I think I need it, Ona," Lucy says, and the admission comes out raw, unpolished, not the kind of thing she'd say in the light of day or in a room where someone might hear. “I think I need to not think for a while, just feel.”
Ona's jaw tightens. For the first time in the conversation, her composure fractures just slightly, a micro-movement at the corner of her mouth, a narrowing of her eyes. She breathes out through her nose, controlled, deliberate.
"You will mi vida," she says.
Lucy pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her top stretches across her back as she rests her chin on her knees and looks at the screen, and from this angle, Ona can see the vulnerability in her face. In this moment, she’s not the Lucy Bronze of the pitch, she’s just Lucy, tired and needy, and asking for something she can't give herself.
"Come to me," Lucy says. "Soon."
"I’ll come when we next have a break, cariño."
"But that’s in ten days."
"That's not so long."
"It feels too long now," Lucy pouts and Ona smiles. It's a small thing, just the corners of her mouth lifting, but it changes her whole face. She could continue teasing Lucy for a while, but she thinks that might be a bit too mean for tonight.
"Go to bed, Lucía," Ona says, her voice taking on a brusque quality, “you've got training in the morning."
"Yeah I know, I know."
"And for the next week and a bit I want you to stop deciding things that aren’t on the pitch. Even the small ones. Let someone else do it all."
Lucy's mouth curves. "You're giving me homework?"
"I'm telling you what to do." Ona's voice drops back into that register. "Starting now. Go and get into bed."
"Bossy."
"You like it."
Lucy doesn’t deny it. She says goodbye to Ona, tells her she loves her, and then closes the laptop slowly after the call disconnects. The flat goes dark, and she sits on the floor with her arms around her knees and her back against the sofa, and she can feel the echo of the conversation in her body, the warmth and heaviness, the ache of wanting something that’s so far away.
In Barcelona, Ona opens the drawer of her bedside table. Inside, beneath a couple of books and a tangle of charging cables, the harness sits folded in dark fabric. She doesn't take it out, she just looks at it and considers what she’s got herself into for a moment. A flutter of excitement shoots through her, and she presses her legs together beneath the duvet.
She closes the drawer and picks up the book from beside her bed. She reads the same paragraph three times without retaining a word before setting it back down again.
Ten days, she thinks. It’s got to be torturing Lucy, knowing what Ona has planned but not the specifics. And that’s exactly how she wants it.
⸻
And just like that two weeks of texting, and voice notes that ended with Lucy pressing her face into her pillow, come to a head when they’re finally together again. They’re in Lucy’s flat, with Ona sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a mug of tea warming both palms.
Lucy drops onto the cushion beside her, close enough that their knees touch. She's changed into a faded hoodie and black cycling shorts, her hair twisted into a messy bun that lists to one side. Rain taps the window behind the curtains and fills the silence where neither of them really knows what to say. Or, rather, neither is brave enough to say what they want to.
Ona takes a sip, lets the tea sit on her tongue and sting it slightly before she swallows. She turns the mug in her hands, thumbs tracing the rim, and decides she’ll be the brave one. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah course," Lucy says as she pulls one foot up onto the cushion and wraps her arm around her shin protectively.
Ona doesn't look at her right away. Instead, she watches the steam curl from the mug, her lips pressing together as she chooses her words carefully. "Have you thought about it? What we talked about on the phone the other week?"
She can tell Lucy’s a bit taken aback that she’s asked it so bluntly, but if she hadn’t have then they’d have been tiptoeing around it all night. Lucy's thumb rubs a slow circle against her kneecap as she formulates a response.
"Yeah," Lucy says. "I have."
Ona nods, still looking at her tea. "And?"
"Well, I’ve done some research," Lucy says, and her voice is steady, but her foot shifts against the cushion edge and betrays her. "Read some stuff. Watched some… I don't know, educational things. Not porn. Well." A breath huffs out of her nose. "I’ll be honest, some of it borderline was porn. But I tried to find proper information."
Ona can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth as she finally looks up at Lucy. "And? What did you find?"
Lucy pulls her other foot up, mirroring Ona's crossed legs. "That it's— there's a lot. There's so much, actually. Like all these different things you can do and I didn't know any of it. I felt a bit like an idiot, to be honest."
"You're not an idiot, it’s new to both of us Lucía."
"I know, I proper felt like one though," Lucy says, and picks at a loose thread on her hoodie hem, giving her hands something to do while her brain tries to figure out what to say next. "But I worked out what I think I'd want if we did it properly."
Ona’s eyebrows raise slightly, and she sets her mug on the coffee table so she can turn her whole body toward Lucy, one knee tucked under the other. She waits patiently for Lucy to keep talking, knowing this must be a difficult thing for her to talk so openly about.
Lucy doesn't start right away. She looks at the thread between her fingers, twists it, lets it go. Her jaw clenches once, the tension in her body evident in her expression.
"Okay, I definitely would want you to be in charge," she says, “I mean actually in charge. Like, you decide when I come. If I come,” she adds a little quieter, and swallows. "Like, you’d put me where you want me. Make me move around so I’m where you want me, and I stay there until you say otherwise."
Ona doesn’t let her expression change at any of Lucy’s words, she keeps it neutral. She knows that Lucy’s good at reading her, and if her face changes to indicate that she finds something strange then Lucy will suddenly want to abandon the entire thing and never speak about it again.
"Okay, sounds good," Ona says, “what else, cariño?”
"I looked a bit into bondage, but I’m not too sure how I feel about it," Lucy says, her voice dropping slightly and taking on a shy quality that Ona rarely hears. “Like, maybe I’d be okay with something simple like tying my wrists together or to the headboard. But I don’t think I’d want anything more than that before trying it. I like the idea of you being able to touch me however you want and me not being able to control it at all, though, that’s hot."
"You’re more into the lack of control than the physical side of it, maybe?"
"Yeah." Lucy's eyes flick to Ona's face, then away, “yeah, it’s the mental thing. You taking control up here." She taps her temple with two fingers. "Like, I stop thinking. I stop deciding. You do all of it, and I just let you."
Ona moves her hand from her thigh to the space between them on the sofa, her fingers resting on the cushion close enough that Lucy's knee brushes them.
"You’d have to really trust me to do that mi vida," Ona says, her voice rising a little so that Lucy has an opportunity to back out if she needs to.
"I know,” Lucy replies, then after a beat she looks Ona in the eye and says, "I trust you."
Ona holds her gaze, and the lamp behind them throws warm light across the side of her face, catching the line of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows that appears when she's thinking hard.
"What else do you think you’d like Luce?"
Lucy's fingers still on her knee. She looks at Ona's hand on the cushion, at the chipped nude nail polish that sits there, at the way Ona's index finger is maybe an inch from her skin.
"Impact play," she says, much quieter now. "I want to try that."
Ona's head tilts. She knows what Lucy means, obviously, but she wants to know specifics, what’s really going on in her very active imagination right now. "With what?"
"Your hands." Lucy's voice is a little shakier now, as though she’s bracing herself for Ona’s judgement. "I don't want any other stuff, god, I don't know if I'd ever want that. But your hands, yeah, I think I’d like that."
"You want me to spank you."
Lucy's jaw tightens and she grimaces slightly, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. But she nods, once.
"Where?"
"Wherever you think." Lucy meets her eyes, looking sheepish. "I'm not— I'm not going to map it out for you. That's the point, you decide."
Ona leans back into the sofa. Her hand stays where it is, their fingers still not quite touching. She looks at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Lucy.
"Do you think you enjoy pain?” Ona asks, and it’s a genuine question, one that she’s wondered about the answer to for a while now. Lucy’s never told her outright, but she’s often tested out her theory, scraping her nails down Lucy’s back, her teeth on her neck, pulling her hair a little harder than perhaps necessary.
"Yeah, I like pain," Lucy says, and the sentence comes out quickly, plain and unadorned. Ona briefly thinks that she could’ve just been brave and asked this months ago, but alas she didn’t. "I have a high tolerance for it. Always have, since I was young. The physios used to comment on it, the way I'd play through things other players wouldn't. It's not that I don't feel it, I definitely do. I just —"
Lucy pauses, and something shifts in her posture, a slight forward lean, her shoulders dropping from the protective hunch she didn't seem to realise she was holding, "— I just process it differently, I think. It’s like it doesn't register the same way. And when it's— when it's in the right context, it just makes my brain go quiet for a while."
Ona reaches for her tea again and takes a sip, before she sets it back down on the coffee table. She gives herself time to consider this, and has to remind herself to calm her breathing. Something about the idea of Lucy bent over her knee, maybe over the bed, yielding herself to her, makes her heart beat faster.
"I'm good with all of that," Ona says, making sure that Lucy knows that this works both ways, “glad you told me what you think you’ll like, guapa.”
Lucy’s breath catches, only slightly, but Ona hears it anyway. As much as she’d love to run her hand up the inside of Lucy’s thigh and feel what their conversation has done to her, she needs to make sure they’re on the same page about safety first.
"Did you read about safewording?” She says, and Lucy nods thoughtfully. “So you know we need a system," Ona continues, “if I'm going to do those things to you, I need you to know you can stop it. Any time, the second you want to."
"Okay."
"I think we should stick with traffic lights." Ona holds up three fingers, folds one down. "Green means keep going. Everything's fine, I'm where I want to be." She folds another down. "Yellow means slow down. Maybe something's getting close to too much, or I need to check in, or I need to adjust something. Not stop completely, just pause and recalibrate." The last finger folds into her fist. "Red means stop. Everything stops. We're done with whatever we're doing, and we talk and make sure you’re okay."
Lucy nods. “Sounds good to me.”
"And you should say them whenever you need, but I’ll check in too before I do something new, just to see how you feel about it. I want you to tell me your colour honestly, never tell me what you think I want to hear."
"I wouldn't—"
"You might," Ona says, her voice gentle but firm, "in the moment, if you're deep in it and you want to please me. You might push past something because you think you should. So we agree now, before we start any of this, that you'll be honest. Every time I ask."
Lucy swallows visibly as she looks at Ona's closed fist that’s resting on the cushion between them. "Okay, I’ll use them properly, I promise."
"Good." Ona opens her hand, lays it flat on the cushion. Her fingers are close enough now that Lucy can feel the warmth radiating from them. "And if you can't speak, maybe if your mouth’s busy, or you're… whatever the situation is, I want you to squeeze my hand."
Lucy reaches across and she takes Ona's hand, then squeezes twice.
“Yeah, like that.”
Lucy doesn't let go afterwards, her thumb traces the ridge of Ona's knuckle, back and forth, slowly.
"What about you?" Lucy asks, “is there anything you want?”
Ona's thumb stills Lucy’s as she thinks. "I want to watch you stop thinking, bebé, I want to be the one who makes that happen. I want to feel you to let me fuck you, and I want you to take it and let yourself feel it properly.”
Lucy's grip tightens on Ona's hand, and her breathing speeds up a little.
"But we're not doing anything tonight," Ona says, decisively. She reads the flicker in Lucy's expression, the flash of disappointed want, the quick suppression of it. It’s not quick enough. "Not tonight, cariño. We've talked about it, and that's enough for now. I want to plan, need to think about what I'm going to do with you."
Lucy's shoulders drop. Whether it's relief or disappointment or both Ona isn’t sure, but the tension leaves them, and she sinks back into the sofa cushion. Her head tips against the backrest, and she stares at the ceiling.
"You're going to make me wait."
"Sí, but I’m going to make it worth waiting for, prometo." Ona lifts their joined hands and presses her lips to Lucy's knuckles sweetly. Lucy's breath stutters again even so, and her fingers tighten in Ona's grip.
"When?" She asks, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"Soon, bebé." Ona lowers their hands so she can get her tea. ”I won’t keep you waiting for long.”
She picks up her cup and takes sips. Lucy just stares at her, as though she can’t quite believe how comfortable Ona seems adopting this role. It’s difficult for her to piece together the woman sitting next to her and the woman who had been so nervous when they first met three years ago. They’re like different people, but then again she thinks this version of Ona has been here all along, and she’s just been too blind to see it.
"Come here Lucía," Ona says.
Lucy shifts on the sofa, unfolds her legs, moves until she's beside Ona with her head on Ona's shoulder. Ona's arm comes around her, pulling her close, and Lucy tucks her face into the curve of Ona's neck. Her breath is warm against Ona's skin, still unsteady, coming in slow draws that occasionally hitch.
Ona holds her. One hand rests on Lucy's hip, fingers spread across the fabric of her shorts. The other comes up to Lucy's hair, pulling her bobble out, letting the strands fall loose against her shoulders. She combs through them slowly, separating the tangles with her fingertips.
"I think we're going to be good at this," Ona says into the quiet of the room.
Lucy makes a sound against her neck, a hum that vibrates through the skin where her lips rest.
They stay like that for a while, cuddled into each other. Lucy properly calms down, her body going heavy against Ona's side, and Ona keeps stroking her hair, her fingers moving in long, slow movements.
As her hand moves, Ona thinks about the date she has planned in a few days time, at a nice little Italian place they found a couple of months ago. They’ve been meaning to go back for a while now, but haven’t found the time. She thinks about going out a little earlier than usual, how that would fit in with her plans, and smiles to herself.
Where you love your girlfriend's biceps very openly
Woso masterlist | SMAU
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Liked by y/n_y/l/n, samanthakerr20, aggiebeeverjones, and others
lucybronze: back to work 🏋🏻♀️
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y/n_y/l/n: holy arms
↳ aggiebeeverjones: girl this is public 😂
chelseafan: yess we’re so back
lucyfan: y/n is down bad
↳ bronzeylover: can you blame her?
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Liked by lucylover, wosoislife, y/n_y/l/n, and others
lucyfan: throw back to some summery Lucy (and y/n)! ☀️
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lucybronze: first goal as a blue + great effort from the team
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cwfclover: what a goal too!!
theblues: 💙💙
y/n_y/l/n: 3rd slide 👀
↳ lucybronze: knew you’d like that one
↳ lucyfan: i want someone to simp over me on main like this
↳ bronzeylover: flirting on main again
greiten: happy I could assist your first 💙
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lucyfan: in honour of y/n liking our last post 💪
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bronzeylover: "holy arms" indeed
y/n_y/l/n: do you want me dead?
↳ lucyfan: I can keep going?
↳ y/n_y/l/n: i’ll be here waiting 🫡
---
Lucy: babe?
You: yeah, what’s up?
Lucy: why am I getting tagged in screenshots of a fanpage where you are simping over my arms in the comments?
You: ehm
Lucy: you know everyone can see that, right?
You: yes?
Lucy: just making sure you wanted to expose yourself like that
You: and I would again when you post another bicep pic
Lucy: good to know
You: gotta show that I love what’s mine
Lucy: is that so?
Lucy: cause I just got done at the gym
Lucy:
You: dgsjdsjdkjf
You: holy shit
You: omg
You: wow
Lucy: omw home now x
You: 👀
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lucybronze: June dump
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wosoislife: I love when we get spoiled with dog and girlfriend content
y/n_y/l/n: I feel like I’m being punished. Where are my beloved sleeveless top pics?
↳ lucyfan: my apologies if I got you in trouble with the missus
leahwilliamsonn: the fits 🔥
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💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also support me by leaving a tip 💗
Summary: you are going through a breakup and are starting to fall back into your old habits. Luckily for you your teamates are there to help you.
Warnings: cheating, break up, eating disorder, talks about mental health and depression. Just overal a bit angsty.
A/N: this one is a bit longer than my usual fics, but it is definitely worth it. I might make a part two of this with the relationship between Cata and reader growing, but i'm not sure yet.
You had been dating Scottie for almost 2 year, atleast that was until you found out she had been cheating on you for 3 months.
You met Scottie at La Maisia when you were 15. You became friends quickly, only at 16 Scottie decided that she was not going to persue a professional career.
You on the other hand had dreamt of being a footballer since you could kick a ball. Scottie went to university and you signed for Barcelona. Even though your lives were totally different, you stayed connected.
At 17 you and Scottie had your first kiss together in a club in Barcelona, which led to both of you confessing your feelings. Soon after you started dating.
One day when your training had ended sooner then scedueled, you decided to surprise Scottie at her apartment. Little did you know what you where about to see.
The key turned in the lock as you pushed open the door, walking in and dropping your bag at the door. As you walked in the living room, your face turned as white as paper.
On the couch was your girlfriend, emphesis on your, getting eaten out by some random blonde girl you didn't know.
"WHAT THE FUCK, SCOTTIE!" You yelled, probably loud enough for the neigbours to hear, but frankly at this point you could not give a single fuck about that.
Both heads turned towards you, pure horror all over them. "I didn't know you would be here already" Scottie said, as if that was going to clear the situation that was unfolding in front of you.
"Aparently, because if you did know, you wouldn't be fucking this bitch on the couch!" You yelled. "And who are you, if I may ask?" The girl who was on top of Scottie seconds ago asked. She was still very much naked and was not showing any sign of changing that, or even better, leaving the apartment.
"I'm Scottie's girlfriend and i have been for 2 years. Who are you?" The tone of your voice clearly angry, irritated by the attituded that blonde witch had.
"I'm Megan and you must not have been a good one, because she has been fucking me for 3 months." She said. You looked at Scottie, who just stayed silent and did not return your look.
"Get out, now." You said, directed at the girl. "And we are over." You added pointing between you and the girl you thought you knew everything about. As Megan grabbed her clothing to leave, Scottie came back to live and had decided that she was the victim of all this.
"Why did you sent her away, we could have explained." Scottie said when Megan had already left the apartment, because atleast she had the decencie to wait until she was gone to fight with you.
"Oh i don't know, maybe because there isn't much you can explain. You were fucking her on the couch in front of my eyes. I think the picture is quite clear here." You said, trying to stay calm, but absolutely failing.
"Y/N baby, we can try again, i swear she means nothing to me." Scottie tried to defend herself. "You were cheating on me with her. I would say that she meant at least something to you." You argued.
"Fine if you aren't going to try to reason with me. She meant more to me than you will ever do. She wasn't a whiny little bitch and she actually made me feel something." Scottie said, finally turning on you.
"You can sort this out yourself. I don't care if you fall back in to the ditch that i helped you out of. You can go fuck yourself. Get out!" Scottie yelled. You decided she wasn't worth your time so you left.
You sat outside on a bench overlooking the sea of Barcelona, thinking of all the things that had happend in the past years.
When you signed your first professional contract you struggled with your mental health. You thought you weren't good enough, so you pushed yourself harder and harder. Training extra long and not eating enough.
You would distance yourself from your teammates, not accepting any invitations for team nights out. You would go home immediatly and cry in your bed, avoiding all human contact.
This became kind of a problem. Since you didn't
Until one day you collapsed in the middle of training. Tou had skipped breakfast and had went straight to the gym to do some cardio. By the time training actualy started, your body had ran out of fuel.
When you woke up, there were a whole buch of medical staff around you. They were all relieved that you had woke up. Not long after you were sat in a room with Alexia and the nutritionist. You explained what had been going on and Alexia reassured you that they were there to help.
With the help of some medical staaf and the nutritionist you got back to your old self. At that time, Scottie was always there for you, helping you if you needed it.
"She is good for you, you know. Taking care of a loved one when they are going through something is not easy." Alexia had told you after training one day. Oh how wrong she was about Scottie.
Tears were forming in your eyes. Someone you loved once again proved today that you are not enough and that hurt. You sat on that bench for hours just crying. Eventualy it got dark and you had to go somewhere to spent the night.
You had no place to stay technicaly. You had your own apartment, but you had a roommate, Maria, and you had promised her that she could have the house to herself tonight so her boyfriend could come over without you being a bother.
You could go back, but you had already walked in on somebody once and you were not going to let it happen twice. So your only other option was to walk to your captains apartment two blocks down.
Alexia had always reassured you that she was there for you, so you'd hoped she wouldn't mind you spending the night.
You quickly wiped your face, all signs of sadness disepearing from it. Alexia could not know that there was somethong going on with you.
"Hola cariño, que pasa?" She said as she saw you on her doorstep. "Can i spend the night here, i know it is last minute, but Maria invited her boyfriend over and i realy don't want to be in the same house as those two horny teens" you laughed, a small smirk apearing on Alexia's face.
"Yes sure, come in." She stepped aside, letting you in. "Was staying at Scottie's not an option?" She asked out of curiosity. You winced as you heard her name, the events of earlier today still fresh in your mind.
"No, she went out with her friends tonight." You lied, trying to make Alexia believe it. "Oh okay, well you know where the spare bedroom is. Do you need anything else, i have some dinner left over if you want some." She asked. You actually did want dinner. "Yeah sure, if it's okay for you. I don't want to be a burden." You said, knowing the earful you were going to get from Alexia for saying that.
"Cariño, you are not a burden. No hables así de ti mismo." (Don't talk about yourself like that.) Alexia took you to the kitchen, serving you a plate of leftover spaghetti. "Gracias Ale."
"Of course cariño. You know i'm here for you right. You can talk to me if there is something that is bothering you, right." Alexia could sense that there was something going on with you, she just didn't know what.
Over the next few weeks, your eating habits began to slip again. The sadnesswas taking over your body and the thought of food alone made you want to throw up. So you began to skip breakfast strategicly. You would arrive late at training, claiming to have eaten something already.
Alexia became suspicious. Knowing what had happened before when you were skipping meals left and right. "Have you guys noticed anything about Y/N?" she asked, glancing over at the table of younsters where you were sat, pushing your food around your plate and not actually eating it.
"No, not really. She has been a bit more quiet recently, but for Y/N that is not really a red flag" Irene said, also taking a look at you. "Why, do you think there is something going on?" Mapi asked, who was now also looking over at you.
"i don't know. A few weeks ago, she suddenly showed up at my door, claiming she had no place to sleep. She said Scottie was out with her friends, but what would that have to do with her not being able to stay at her house." Alexia said. "Do you think maybe something happened between them?" Martha asked.
"Maybe. She has been skipping meals a lot. I just hope that she is okay." "We can keep an eye on her. If we see anything suspicious, we will tell you" Irene said trying to not let Alexia worry to much. Irene knew how protective Alexia could be when it came to you.
Slowly you began to stop going out with the team. Sure, you were not the most outgoing person, but you like a good night out with your teammates. They would tease you about it, saying that you only came out of your shell when you went out.
But now the nights out felt more like an obligation than something fun you wanted to do. So you started saying no, much to your teammates surprise.
It was after a particular big win that the rest of the team became suspicious of you as well. "Hey Y/N, you coming with us tonight!" Vicky yelled from across the changing room. You just shook your head, not having any energy to form a complete sentence. "Oh come on Y/N, when did you become so boring." Pina said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You just shook her off and packed the rest of your bag.
You left as soon as possible, not even showering. Opting to go home as fast as you could so you didn't have to talk to anyone.
"What has been going on with her?" Cata asked when you had left. "She has been distancing herself from us for weeks." The changing room went quiet. "There must be something going on. She has been skipping meals to." Vicky said. "So you guys see it too?" Alexia asked, who was relieved that someone shared the same worries as her.
"wait, you knew there was something going on?" Pina asked Alexia, surprised that the captainnhad not yet warned the team to keep an eye on you. "No, i mean i had my suspicions, but Irene said that it was probably nothing." "Well, we have to find out what is wrong before it gets worse. I really don't want to see her collapse again. One time was really enough." Cata said.
The team decided they were going to watch your every move, without looking suspicious of course, so they could figure out what happend.
And so operation 'find out what's wrong' started. Vicky would be watching you as you ate breakfast, looking for anything out of the ordinary. On the pitch it was Cata and Pina looking after you. When you entered the changing room, Irene and Alexia went full captain mode, not taking tere eyes off you for one second.
You knew what was going on. The team was not exactly the best at hidding things. You constantly felt a pair of eyes on you, so you began to hide everything even better than before. You would eat your breakfast, just to trow it up again minutes later in the bathrooms. You would agree to go out, to than cancel last minute with some lame excuse.
"I'm sorry, i can't come anymore i have to pick up my mom from the airport tomorrow morning." You said as Vicky stood on your doorstep to pick you up to go out. She would look at you suspiciously, but then she would say goodbye and leave you alone.
But all that hiding and faking pushed you to a breaking point. It was after a grueling match, the team having to give it's all, but it still wasn't enough. Barça lost 1-0. You were sat in the changing room, trying to keep your tears in. Not only because you couldn't win, also because right before the match you had seen something on Instagram that you would much rather delete from your memory.
Scottie posted a picture on Instagram with her new girlfriend. Well not really new. It was the same girl that you had found her with on the couch. That awful blond hair staring back at you as you saw that picture. The events of that night came right back.
You chaneled all your anger into the game. Maybe even a bit to much. You had made a wrong tackle and had received a yellow card. As you continued to make risky tackle's, Pere decided to take you off and bench you, not wanting to risk you getting a red.
Now the anger you first felt was replaced with sadness. The tears were stinging in your eyes and you were trying not to let them roll down. Pina came to sit next to you, pulling you into her side. "You know it is not your fault that we lost, right. It was a team effort. We were all bad." She was making sure you didn't feel too bad about the loss. She thought you were sad about it, but she didn't know there was something else that was pulling you under and drowning you.
One by one all your teammates left and you sat alone at your cubicle, still in the same spot as you were half an hour ago. The tears you tried so hard to contain were now freely rolling down your cheeks, staining your face.
You had waited for everyone to leave so you could let everything go. You didn't trust yourself to drive home in this state, so you weren't leaving until the awful feeling was gone. You just sobbed and sobbed for what felt like hours, the facade you had up breaking in seconds.
Then the door suddenly opened. "Oh I'm sorry, i didn't know you were still here. I just forgot my water bottle." Cata said as she realized she wasn't alone. "Cariño, Estás bien?" she asked as she saw the tears on your face. You just looked at her and started crying again. Cata walked over to you, sitting next to you and pulling you into her side. "Hey hey, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here for you." You buried your face in her neck.
"Do you want to tell me what is going on?" Cata asked. "Me and Scottie broke up." You mumbled. "Oh cariño, i'm so sorry." She pulled you even closer to her as she cradled your face. "Do you want to tell me why?" You looked up from where you had buried your head.
"She cheated on me. I found her on the couch with some chick. Apparently they had been sneaking around for months." You said. The image of it still fresh in your mind like it had happened yesterday. "Is that why you have been so distant lately?" You nodded your head. "Scottie said i was a whiny bitch and that i was a burden, so i thought that maybe you guys also felt like that. I didn't want to be a burden so i distanced myself."
"cariño, i promise you none of us will ever see you as a burden. We love you now and we will always love you, understood?" Cata said, you just nodded. "Scottie is definitely missing out because you are the funniest, kindest and most genuine person i have ever met." Cata's words really met something to you in that moment. You had felt like you weren't wanted as a person, but Cata proved that statement wrong.
"Have you been eating properly?" She asked. You knew the team had caught on that your old eating habits began to return, but to have to admit it out loud was a different level. "No, I'm sorry. I just felt like i wasn't enough and those old thoughts started to come back." You said, feeling guilty.
"You are enough cariño, don't talk about yourself like that. I know you don't like it but you will have to go back to the sports psychologist and talk with the nutritionist. We can't have you collapsing again. You're a professional athlete, you need to fuel your body right." Cata said looking at you.
You just sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Cata broke it. "Do you want to sleep at mine tonight, i have a spare bedroom. I understand if you want to be on your own but i thought that maybe you wouldn't want to see your roommate right now." You looked at her with a thankfull face. "Yes, if that is okay for you. Maria is a nice person, but i don't really want to see her right now." You said. "Cariño, i asked you if you wanted to stay over, of course it's okay. Come on let's go." She said, pulling you up from the bench.
You walked to her car in silence, neither of you having anything important to say. The drive to her apartment was silent. Cata occasionally glanced over at you to see if you were still okay. When you entered her apartment, it felt homey. You had never been here, opting to stay at Alexia's house when you needed somewhere to stay.
"Do you need some pyjamas. I can give you a shirt if you want?" She said looking at what you were wearing now. You nodded your head.
Cata showed you the spare bedroom and the bathroom, she gave you a shirt and wished you goodnight. "Oh and tomorrow, you are going to make an appointment with the psychologist. And you are not escaping it." You laughed quietly at how serious she was, not often seeing that side of her.
"goodnight Cata, thank you for helping me."
"No problem, cariño. I'm here for you. Goodnight."
Summary: The daughter of a legendary football manager has one simple dating rule: no footballers - a rule that becomes increasingly difficult to follow after meeting Alexia Putellas
Word Count: 13.4k
You’re just friends.
You repeat that sentence so often over the following weeks that it begins to sound rehearsed, like if you say it enough times it might eventually become true. You say it with complete conviction. You say it the way you say things in court when you need the room to believe you before they've had the chance to think too hard about it.
The problem is that you've been a lawyer long enough to recognize when someone is arguing a losing case.
You tell your parents anyway. You tell your brothers. You tell your friends. Curiously, not a single one of them appears remotely convinced.
Your mother responds with the kind of smile that mothers seem genetically programmed to produce whenever they know something their children haven’t admitted to themselves yet. Your father just raises an eyebrow before pointedly returning to whatever he had been doing, managing to communicate more skepticism through a single arched brow and studied silence than most people could achieve with an entire prepared argument. Your brothers don't even attempt the courtesy of restraint. They exchange one look - the particular look they have been perfecting since childhood, the one that means they are about to enjoy this at your expense - grin at one another, and immediately begin referring to Alexia as your girlfriend purely because they know with absolute certainty that it annoys you.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Mhmm.”
“We’re friends!”
“Of course…”
“Stop looking at me like that!!”
None of them stop.
The thing is you genuinely believe it. Or at least some carefully maintained part of you is still committed to believing it, because the alternative requires a conversation you aren't ready to have and a vulnerability you have spent most of your adult life successfully avoiding.
Because friends talk, right? Friends spend time together. Friends call each other.
It is perfectly normal, you reason, to feel your entire mood improve the moment your phone lights up with Alexia’s name after she’s finally escaped training, only to spend the next forty-five minutes listening to her recount some ridiculous story from the gym while she drives home through Barcelona traffic. It is perfectly normal to make dinner plans three or four nights a week because neither of you particularly enjoys eating alone. Perfectly normal to wander through bookstores on Sunday afternoons, to argue over which café makes the best cortado, to send each other pictures of dogs you pass on the street because you know they’ll make the other smile.
That is friendship. Isn’t it?
And if those dinners occasionally stretch until well after midnight because neither of you notices the restaurant has emptied around you… Well friends lose track of time.
If you end up napping together on her couch because you stayed up way too late talking the night before… Her couch is just really comfy.
If she starts casually reaching for your hand whenever the streets become crowded, or if you instinctively gravitate toward one another in every room without consciously deciding to… Surely that’s just habit.
You are aware, somewhere beneath all of this careful reasoning, that you are doing what you always do when the truth is inconvenient: constructing a very competent argument for the version of events you'd prefer to be living in. You are, after all, professionally trained to make flimsy positions sound airtight. You can make a jury believe almost anything if you choose your words carefully enough.
The jury, in this case, consists of your mother's knowing smile, your father's single raised eyebrow, your brothers' matching grins, and the persistent, quiet voice somewhere in the back of your own mind that has been trying to get your attention for weeks.
None of them are buying it either.
Which is fine. They don't have to buy it. You are perfectly capable of maintaining a position under pressure - it is, in fact, one of the things you are paid to do - and if everyone in your life has decided to find your friendship with Alexia quietly hilarious, that is their prerogative. You are unbothered. You are composed. You are a woman who knows her own mind.
You are also, three weeks after the gala, standing in the bathroom of your apartment spending an unreasonable amount of time on your hair before going out to meet her friends, which is a thing that friends do all the time and means absolutely nothing.
She had suggested it over dinner the week before, insisting that you'd already heard so many stories about one another that proper introductions were long overdue. You had agreed right away, which you told yourself was because you were a socially confident person who enjoyed meeting new people, and not at all because Alexia had asked you with that particular smile and you had never once successfully said no to it.
The music in the club is thick enough to feel in your chest, colored lights sweep lazily across a packed dance floor while people squeeze together around crowded tables balancing cocktails they definitely paid too much for. Conversation requires raised voices and exaggerated gestures, and every few minutes a burst of laughter somewhere across the room rises high enough to clear the music before being swallowed back into it.
The moment you arrive, Alexia’s hand settles comfortably on your lower back, her palm warm and certain through the fabric of your dress as she guides you through the crowd.
The group is already gathered near the back of the club - a cluster of warmth and noise and overlapping conversations that parts easily to absorb you both. You recognize almost every name from the countless stories Alexia has already told you over late-night dinners and phone calls, and the recognition appears to be mutual. There are smiles, hugs, introductions, and more than one expression that feels suspiciously knowing.
You choose to ignore that part.
Instead, your attention immediately lands on Alba.
Within minutes the two of you are teasing Alexia with the effortless coordination of people who have only just met but somehow already understand the assignment. Growing up with brothers had taught you one universal truth: if you wanted to win over someone’s sibling, the quickest route was always joining forces against them.
“What the hell?” Alexia groans dramatically after the two of you gang up on her for what must be the fifth time in ten minutes, dropping her head against your shoulder with exaggerated despair. “I should have known better than to introduce you two.”
Alba laughs so hard at your teasing, she nearly spills her drink. You reach over and pat Alexia’s head with theatrical sympathy.
“Oh, please. You’re fine.”
“I’ve been betrayed.”
Despite the complaint, you can feel Alexia laughing against your shoulder, the sound vibrating warmly through you.
Alexia lets out one final dramatic sigh before lifting her head from your shoulder, though not before pressing a soft kiss against the fabric covering it. The gesture so casual and absentminded that she barely seems aware she’s done it.
You are aware. You are extremely aware. You simply decide, in the spirit of your ongoing commitment to the friends narrative, not to examine that too closely.
The kisses are friendly too. Obviously.
Ever since that first night they had quietly become part of whatever this strange, undefined thing between the two of you was. Sometimes they were nothing more than a quick greeting when one of you arrived late to dinner or a soft goodbye after you’d walked her to her door. Other times they happened reflexively, a kiss against your temple while you’re laughing, your cheek when she’d won an argument, your shoulder when she was already leaning against you anyway.
And occasionally they lingered. One kiss would become two, then three, until you found yourselves standing outside your apartment making out beneath a streetlamp while one of you laughed into the other’s mouth about how late it had gotten.
In your defense, Alexia was exceptionally, unfairly attractive.
“I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar,” she says, after another few minutes of thoroughly deserved teasing from you and Alba. “Come with me?”
The invitation feels almost unnecessary. Your hand is already reaching for hers before she’s finished speaking.
Her fingers lace through yours as though they've done it a hundred times - which, you realize with a start, they very nearly have at this point - and together the two of you weave toward the bar. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that very few people who describe themselves as just friends spend quite this much time with their fingers comfortably intertwined.
The bar is crowded enough that Alexia naturally steps closer, her shoulder pressing against yours as people move behind you. Her body angles toward you in that instinctive way it always does now, like she simply defaults to closing whatever distance remains between you. You lean into her just as naturally.
The closeness no longer feels new. It just feels right.
“So,” she says once you’ve both ordered your drinks, turning toward you with the kind of undivided attention that still catches you off guard no matter how often she gives it. “How did your meeting go this afternoon?”
Your entire expression brightens.
You launch into the story, explaining how opposing counsel had attempted to quietly slip an additional liability clause into the final contract draft, clearly hoping it would slide through unexamined before signing. You describe the increasingly transparent excuses they'd produced once you pointed it out, the uncomfortable silence that followed when you refused to let the conversation move on, and your eventual decision to suspend the entire agreement until every questionable provision had been properly addressed.
You know you’re rambling.
Alexia never makes you feel that way.
She listens with the same complete concentration she always does, never once allowing her attention to drift despite the music thundering around you. Every question she asks builds easily from the last answer you gave, revealing not only that she’s been listening, but that she remembers details you mentioned weeks ago about the case, the clients involved, and even the senior partner who had initially assigned it to you.
“You said their general counsel was difficult from the beginning,” she says thoughtfully. “So this probably wasn’t the first time they tried something like that?”
You shake your head, unable to hide your smile.
“No. Just the first time they tried it with me.”
“You are such a badass,” she says, beaming and squeezing your still interlaced fingers with genuine admiration. “I’m really proud of you.”
The compliment shouldn’t affect you as much as it does.
You have graduated near the top of your class. You have been praised by senior partners whose approval is notoriously difficult to earn. You have clients who request you specifically for negotiations that other associates won't touch. None of that has ever produced quite the sensation that those five words from Alexia manage in approximately three seconds.
Heat rushes to your face before you have any hope of stopping it.
Alexia watches the blush spread across your cheeks with an expression that can only be described as fond - the particular softness that appears in her eyes sometimes when you're not expecting it. It’s like she's caught a glimpse of something she wasn't supposed to see and has quietly decided to treasure it anyway. She doesn't tease you. She never teases you about this. She just lets herself look at you, warmly and without apology, until the embarrassment somehow deepens for entirely different reasons.
Thankfully, the bartender chooses that exact moment to slide your drinks across the counter.
You reach for yours quickly, grateful for the distraction, taking an unnecessarily long sip. The cold liquid gives you something else to focus on besides the fact that one simple compliment from Alexia has managed to unravel you so completely. When you lower your glass, she’s still smiling.
"Dance with me?" you ask, because it seems like the most efficient way to stop her looking at you like that.
She sets her drink down before you've finished the sentence. She doesn't answer. She just takes your hand.
For a while, everything is wonderfully ridiculous. The two of you laugh far more than you actually dance, deliberately exaggerating the worst moves you can think of until you’re both doubled over with laughter. Alexia attempts something she insists is a trend right now before immediately admitting it looks stupid. You retaliate with an enthusiastic and completely faithful recreation of something your brothers had sworn was cool when you were teenagers, which earns you a look of such pure delight from her that you keep going long after you probably should have stopped.
The people around you either stare in amusement or wisely pretend not to know you, and neither of you could possibly care less.
You haven't laughed this freely in years. The thought arrives quietly between one song and the next and stays there.
As the music and energy around you gradually changes, so does the space between you.
Without really thinking about it, you reach forward and hook a finger through her belt loop, drawing her the final few inches closer until the distance between your bodies disappears.
Alexia glances down at your hand before meeting your eyes, and then, without a word, her hands find your waist and turn you smoothly until your back rests against her front, the movement so fluid that you've barely registered what's happened before you're already settling into her.
Instinctively, you relax into her.
Her arms stay loosely around you, the two of you moving together with an ease that feels less like something you're doing and more like something you've simply fallen into, the way you fall into conversations and silences and all the other rhythms the two of you have accumulated without noticing. Every now and then she leans closer to say something in your ear, her voice low beneath the music, and you feel her laughter against the side of your neck before it reaches you as sound.
It is impossibly easy to forget where you are.
Your entire world narrows to the warmth of her behind you, the weight of her arms, and the quiet certainty that every time you shift, every time you tilt your head back slightly, her eyes are already there waiting for yours. She looks at you with an intensity that makes the rest of the room feel very far away - like the crowd and the music and the sweeping lights have faded away, and the only thing that is actually real and close and present is her.
It takes the tightening of her arm around your waist to pull you back.
You glance over your shoulder. Her easy smile has disappeared. Her eyes are fixed somewhere beyond you, their warmth replaced by a focused intensity that catches your attention.
“Is something wrong?” you ask quietly, resting your hand over hers where it lies against your waist.
Alexia barely blinks before letting out a huff.
“No…” she says, her eyes never leaving the spot she’d been watching. “I just don’t like the way she’s looking at you.”
Curiosity gets the better of you.
Following her line of sight, you glance toward the bar where a woman is leaning casually against the polished countertop with a drink in her hand. There is nothing especially subtle about the way she’s watching you. The moment your eyes meet hers, she offers an undeniably interested smile that lingers just a fraction of a second too long before her bold gaze begins to travel slowly and appreciatively across the length of your figure.
You feel Alexia shift imperceptibly behind you.
Her hand settles a little more securely against your hipbone, in a subconscious gesture of claiming that reveals far more than she likely ever intended. For someone who always seemed so composed, so measured in everything she did, the flicker of jealousy catches you a little off guard.
And, to your own surprise, you like it. A little too much.
The wave of possessiveness makes her fingers twitch against your skin as she grasps you lower on your hips, pulling your back flush against her. You can feel the erratic rhythm of Alexia’s hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin of your neck as she struggles to hold herself back from doing anything more.
But you do want more. You don’t want her to hold back.
You reach back and thread your fingers through the silken strands of her hair, pulling her face into the curve of your neck. You tilt your head slightly to offer silent permission that she immediately acts upon.
She presses her lips to your exposed throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. A helpless shudder runs though your frame at the contact and your blood begins to run hot with desire.
Alexia can undoubtedly feel the frantic race of your pulse beating directly against her mouth, because you can actually feel the satisfied curve of her smile pressing into your skin as she continues to lavish your neck with desperate, breathless attention.
Unable to endure the distance between you any longer, Alexia’s hands tighten gently around your waist before she turns you to face her in one smooth movement. There isn’t a hint of hesitation left in either of you now. The second your eyes meet, she closes the space between you again, kissing you with the confidence of someone who has been thinking about doing exactly that for far longer than she’d ever admit.
Your hands find her shoulders, her waist, anywhere you can reach, and around you the music pounds on and the lights sweep past and none of it registers even slightly.
Eventually you pull back just far enough to steal a breath. Barely an inch separates you.
Alexia is already looking at you, a soft, disbelieving smile spreading across her face as if she can’t quite believe you’re standing there either. The sight of it makes something inside your chest tighten so suddenly that you’re forced to simply stare at her for a moment, quietly struck all over again by how unfairly beautiful she is.
When she catches you admiring, that smile only grows. Her eyes are warm with unmistakable amusement as she watches you completely lose your train of thought. You open your mouth like you’re about to say something clever, something capable of recovering at least a shred of your dignity.
Nothing comes out.
She laughs quietly at your expense before closing the distance once more, clearly deciding that whatever you had been about to say couldn’t possibly be as important as kissing you again.
Fuck, you think to yourself as you smile helplessly into the kiss.
This whole being friends thing would be so much easier if she wasn’t such a ridiculously good kisser.
------
The problem with insisting you’re just friends is that, somewhere along the way, the two of you have become very bad at behaving like it.
There is nothing particularly unusual about spending an entire Saturday together, at least not by the increasingly questionable standards you and Alexia have established over the past few months. You spend most of your free time together anyway, so when a rare weekend arrives with neither of you pulled away by work, football, or family obligations, there is never really any question of who you’ll spend it with.
The water was too cold for swimming, just like you'd warned her it would be, but neither of you had really come to swim.
You'd driven north out of the city before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Alexia's hand rests easily on the gearshift between you, occasionally drifting over to rest on your knee whenever the road straightens out long enough for her to risk it. By the time you reach the beach, the morning haze was already burning away, leaving behind one of those impossibly blue Catalan skies that make tourists believe the weather is always like this.
You ate lunch on paper plates balanced on your knees, sitting on a worn blanket Alexia produced from the trunk of her car with the casual efficiency of someone who has done this before, with other people, in other lives. You don't ask about that. You've stopped letting yourself wonder about the women who came before you, mostly because the answer to that question has started to feel uncomfortably close to a question about yourself that you aren't ready to answer either.
Afterward you walk. For hours, it turns out, though neither of you notices until the sun has shifted considerably and your feet ache pleasantly from the sand. She tells you about her childhood summers here, when her family was still too poor to go anywhere else. She tells you about a ridiculous argument her father had with a fishmonger when she was nine and the particular shade of blue the water turns right before sunset, which she insists exists nowhere else in the world.
Her hand finds yours somewhere around the second hour and doesn't let go again.
By the time you arrive back at her house, the golden hour has settled over the city, slanting low through the kitchen windows and catching on dust in the air like something out of a film neither of you would ever admit to liking unironically. The house smells like rosemary and the lemon tree growing wild just outside her back door, and when she pulls you toward the kitchen counter, flour already dusting one forearm from some earlier attempt at organization, you don't resist.
"You're terrible at this," you tease, watching her stretch a piece of dough so thin it tears straight down the middle.
"I'm a footballer, not a chef."
"Clearly."
She flicks a small handful of flour at you in retaliation. It lands across the front of your shirt, and your indignant gasp only makes her laugh harder, hip-checking you out of the way so she can reach the rolling pin.
You've noticed, over the course of the afternoon, the particular way her hands keep finding you.
Her fingers brushing the small of your back as she reaches past you for the olive oil, her palm settling briefly at your waist when you lean over to check the oven, the warm slide of skin against skin whenever your shirt rides up just slightly and her hand happens to be there, thumb tracing absent, unhurried circles against your hip like she's barely aware she's doing it.
In the car earlier, her hand had drifted from the gearshift to your knee and stayed there for the better part of twenty minutes, her thumb stroking slow lines along your inner thigh while she drove one-handed and talked about absolutely nothing, as though she had no idea what that was doing to you.
She knew exactly what it was doing to you.
By the time the pizzas are assembled - yours lopsided and overloaded with toppings, hers absurdly minimalist in a childish way that of course you tease - the sun has dropped low enough that the yard is bathed in that deep amber light that makes everything, even Alexia covered in flour with sauce on her cheek, look like it was lit on purpose.
You carry the trays out to the little wood-fired oven tucked into the corner of her patio, and while the pizzas cook, you stand together. Her arm settles affectionately around your waist, her chin finding the curve of your shoulder as the two of you watch the flames through the small glass door.
"This was a good day," she says quietly, her voice low against your skin.
"Mhm." You lean back into her without thinking about it. "Best one in a while."
She presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear, and you feel it more than you hear the soft sound she makes against your skin.
Dinner happens somewhere in there too - eaten at the small table on the patio, candles flickering despite there being no real need for them this early, the pizzas devoured with the kind of enthusiasm that makes conversation sparse and laughter frequent.
But even as you eat and talk, something else has been quietly building beneath the surface of the evening, present in every glance that lasts a fraction too long, every touch that lingers slightly past necessity.
You feel it most clearly while washing dishes.
Alexia stands beside you at the sink, drying what you hand her with the same unhurried patience she brings to everything, occasionally bumping her hip against yours just to watch you nearly drop a plate. The kitchen has gone quiet around you, the easy chatter of the day finally settling into something heavier, something charged.
When you finally set the last dish in the rack and reach for the towel hanging over her shoulder, she doesn't move out of the way.
You look up. She's already looking at you.
There's a stillness in her expression that wasn't there a moment ago, the playfulness from earlier replaced by something darker and far more deliberate. Her hazel eyes track slowly down from your face to your collarbone and linger there, unhurried, unapologetic.
"You're staring," you say, though your voice comes out quieter than you intend.
"I know."
She doesn't look away. If anything, her gaze drops further, tracing the line of your throat, the curve where your shirt has slipped slightly off one shoulder, and when her eyes finally lift back to yours there's nothing remotely subtle left in them.
"Alexia."
"What?" The corner of her mouth tips up, slow and shameless. "Can't a woman appreciate the view in her own kitchen?"
Your pulse picks up traitorously.
She steps closer, crowding you gently back against the edge of the counter, one hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that contradicts entirely the heat simmering just beneath it. Her fingers trail from your ear down the length of your neck, slow enough that you feel every inch of the movement, before settling at your jaw.
"You've been doing that thing all day," she murmurs.
"What thing?"
"That thing where you think I don't notice you looking at me." Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip, deliberate and unhurried. "I notice everything you do, cariño."
The endearment, soft and unfamiliar on her tongue, does something to your chest that you don't have time to examine before she's closing the last bit of distance between you. She kisses you the way she hasn't kissed you before - slow at first, almost teasing, like she's testing how long she can draw this out before either of you breaks.
You break first.
Your hands fist in the front of her shirt, dragging her closer, and the kiss deepens immediately. Her hands find your waist and gripping with a firmness that has nothing teasing left in it. She presses you fully back against the counter, the edge biting pleasantly into your hip, and you feel the low sound that escapes her when your fingers slide up into her hair.
"Ale-" Her name comes out half a warning, half a plea, and you're not entirely sure which one you meant it to be.
She pulls back only far enough to look at you, her breathing already uneven, her eyes dark in the dim kitchen light. There's a question in her expression, clear as anything she's ever said aloud - patient, certain, leaving the choice entirely in your hands the way she always does.
You answer her by pulling her back in.
This kiss is different from every one that came before it. There's no restraint left in it, no careful pretense that this is anything other than exactly what it is. Her hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, palms warm against the bare skin of your waist. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping against her mouth that makes her smile even as she kisses you harder.
"Tell me to stop," she breathes against your jaw, her lips trailing slowly down the line of your throat, "and I will."
You don't.
Instead your hands find the hem of her own shirt, tugging gently, and the sound she makes when you finally slide your fingertips across her abs is enough to undo whatever was left of your hesitation.
She lifts you onto the counter with an ease that probably shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.
The cool marble meets the back of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off her. She settles between your knees, like she's been waiting all day for exactly this - for the kitchen to go quiet, for the light to dim just enough, for you to finally stop pretending you weren't both circling toward this since the night you met.
You've never felt anything like this. Like you've been lit a flame somewhere deep in your chest, and every place she touches you only feeds it. You've also never felt this wanted - not admired, not desired in the abstract way strangers look at you across crowded rooms, but wanted, specifically, entirely, by the only person whose attention has ever made your pulse stutter like this.
"Upstairs," you murmur against her mouth, because the counter is wonderful but you want her somewhere you can actually touch all of her.
She doesn't argue, letting you pull her by the hand through the dark house. You lead her the framed photos and the shoes kicked off by the door, up the stairs two at a time until you're both stumbling slightly into her bedroom, lit only by the pale wash of moonlight through the open window and the distant glow of the city beyond it.
You turn to face her, and the look in her eyes nearly stops your heart.
Her gaze is dark, fixed entirely on you. It burns with an intensity that makes you feel like the only thing that exists in the room, in the city, in the world. You reach for her shoulders and push gently, until she sits on the edge of the bed. The soft exhale that leaves her when you settle your weight against her, knees bracketing her hips, sounds like relief.
"You're sure?" she asks quietly, her hands resting at your waist. Her thumbs trace slow lines against your skin like she needs the reassurance of touching you even while she waits for your answer.
"Alexia." You take her face in both hands, tilting it up so she has to look at you. "I have never been more sure of anything."
Something shifts in her then, the last thread of hesitation finally gives way. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, baring yourself to her for the first time. The sound that escapes her when she looks at you is barely human. Reverent, almost helpless, like she'd been holding herself together by a single thread and you'd just cut it.
She gathers you against her slowly, her hands sweeping up your back with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. When she finally lays you back against the sheets and follows you down, the weight of her settling over you feels less like desire and more like coming home.
She kisses you sweetly at first, slow and careful. Before her mouth begins to wander, tracing down the column of your throat, across your collarbone, lower still, and every place her lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind it. Your hands find her hair, her shoulders, the strong line of her back, anchoring yourself to her as the slow burn building all day finally catches.
She murmurs against your skin as she moves, words half-formed and barely audible, more felt than heard. How beautiful you are. How she's been wanting this for longer than she probably should admit. How she just wants to make you feel good.
You're too far gone to manage anything coherent in return, the words dissolve somewhere before they reach your mouth, but the soft, broken way her name falls from your lips seems to be answer enough. It's all the encouragement she needs to keep going.
She pulls your nipple into her mouth, rolling the bud gently against her tongue. Your head rolls back uncontrollably as a soft moan leaves your lips. You should be embarrassed to already be reacting in this way when she hasn’t even fully touched you. You can’t bring yourself to care.
She hums softly in response, the sound vibrating through your skin like a secret meant only for you. Her mouth is warm, unhurried, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other with the kind of patience that speaks of weeks of stolen kisses, lingering-touches, and carefully guarded longing finally set free.
Her hands map your body with slow reverence, palms gliding over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as if committing every inch to memory.
You thread your fingers through her hair, holding her close as she kisses a lazy path down the center of your chest. Every press of her lips feels like worship. She lingers at your navel, tongue dipping in just enough to make your stomach flutter, then lower still, until her breath fans hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She parts them gently, settling between them with no rush, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crease where thigh meets hip. The ache between your legs has grown deep, but she doesn’t dive in. Instead, she savors you - nuzzling, licking, sucking lightly at the soft skin until you’re trembling beneath her.
When her fingers finally trace through your folds, it’s feather-light at first, spreading the slickness she’s drawn from you with patient strokes. She explores every inch like she has all night, circling your entrance, teasing your clit with the barest pressure until your hips lift in quiet pleading. Only then does she ease one finger inside you, slow and deep, curling gently as if testing the way your body welcomes her.
There is nothing friendly about the pet names that you cry out when you feel her inside you.
“Bebé yes! Right there.” You moan as she finds a spot that makes you see stars. That seems to be the sign she needs to stop being gentle with you and press deeper in the way you need.
Her eyes darken with hunger at the sound of your voice, but even now she doesn’t rush. She adds a second finger with the same deliberate care, stretching you open inch by inch, her thumb stroking your clit in slow, perfect circles that match the rhythm of her hand. Her mouth returns to your breast, sucking harder now, teeth grazing just enough to sharpen the pleasure. Every thrust of her fingers is measured, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you until the coil of heat low in your belly winds tighter and tighter.
“Fuck mi amor, don’t stop,” you gasp, nails digging into her shoulders.
You’re lost in it - the wet sounds of her fingers moving in you, the weight of her body pressed between your thighs, the way she whispers your name against your skin like a prayer.
She lifts her head to watch you, dark eyes locked on your face as she drives you closer to the edge. “That’s it, mi amor,” she murmurs, voice rough with want. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”
The build is exquisite, nearly overwhelming in its sweetness, and when the peak finally breaks over you, it shudders through your entire body in long, rolling waves that leave you gasping her name. She stays with you through every pulse, murmuring soft praises, her fingers gentling but not leaving until the last tremor fades and you’re boneless beneath her.
Hours later, after you've both had your fill, you lie tangled together in the dark, the sheets twisted somewhere around your ankles. The window is still open, and the night air carries in a faint breeze that mixes with the warmth still radiating between your bodies.
Your head rests against her chest, rising and falling with her breathing as it slowly steadies beneath you, the frantic rhythm from earlier settling into something slow and even. Her fingers trace absent, lazy patterns along your bare shoulder, unhurried, as though she has no intention of moving from this exact position for the rest of the night.
You listen to her heartbeat gradually return to normal, counting it without meaning to, matching your own breathing to its tempo until you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
You know this will probably change everything. Being this vulnerable with someone always does. There’s no version of tonight that doesn't follow you both into tomorrow, into next week, into whatever comes after. Some part of you, the careful, guarded part that has spent twenty-eight years building walls around exactly this kind of moment, already senses the shift happening quietly in the dark.
But you can't bring yourself to name it. Not yet. Not with her skin still warm beneath your cheek and her fingers still moving idly against your shoulder, like she has all the time in the world.
So you stay quiet, matching the slow rise and fall of her chest, listening to the distant sound of the cars drifting through the open window, and let yourself simply exist in the stillness for as long as it lasts.
You don't dare speak. You're too afraid that any word, however small, might shatter it.
------
You'd think that after sleeping together, introducing Alexia to your family would stop feeling like such a monumental step.
Unfortunately, the two of you are still pretending that whatever this is doesn't require a label. That night or the many, many nights that followed, none of them have apparently been enough to prompt either of you to say the thing that would make all of this significantly simpler. You exist instead in the same comfortable, wordless arrangement as before, only now it comes with the memory of her hands on your skin and the particular way she looks at you afterward, like she is quietly terrified of how much she means it.
So a label-free dinner with your entire family it is.
The whole thing is your mother's idea, which surprises nobody.
A week earlier, after receiving the phone call confirming your promotion, Alexia had stolen you away for a celebratory dinner, insisting that such an achievement deserved far more than a takeaway pizza and a bottle of supermarket wine on your couch. The evening had been perfect, just the two of you tucked into your favorite little restaurant. Alexia spending most of dinner looking impossibly proud every time you spoke about your new role, her chin resting in her hand like she was genuinely content to just sit there and watch you be happy.
Unfortunately for you, your family had no intention of letting that be the only celebration.
"We're having dinner," your mother announced over the phone in the tone that has never once in your life indicated any possibility of negotiation.
"Mama…"
"No arguments."
"I already celebrated."
"You celebrated with Alexia."
"…Yes."
"Now you're celebrating with us."
You had assumed that settled the matter. It hadn't.
"And Alexia is coming too."
You blinked. "What?"
"She's important to you, isn't she?"
"Well… yes, but-"
"Then she should be there."
You had tried explaining that introducing someone you'd known for barely two months to your entire family over a sit-down dinner might be considered, by most reasonable people, a little intense. Your mother had remained entirely unbothered. She has always possessed a particular gift for treating your objections as though they are simply a slightly inconvenient part of the conversation that she's already decided to move past.
Which is how, exactly one week later, you find yourself standing in your apartment putting the finishing touches on the table while checking the clock for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.
Alexia arrives over half an hour early.
When you pull open the door, you find her standing there balancing an enormous bouquet of flowers in one arm, a bottle of wine tucked neatly beneath the other, and a paper bag whose contents remain a complete mystery. She is wearing the dark green shirt you've told her twice looks particularly good on her, which means she chose it deliberately and will never admit it.
The sight makes you smile. But it's the expression on her face that makes you laugh. For perhaps the first time since you’ve known her, Alexia looks genuinely nervous.
“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” you tease the moment you see the bouquet.
She rolls her eyes so dramatically that you immediately feel better.
“The flowers are for your mother.”
She brushes past you before you have a chance to answer, already making herself at home in the familiar way she always does. Your apartment stopped being a place she merely visited somewhere around the fifth or sixth week. You close the door behind her and watch with quiet amusement as she walks straight into your kitchen, opens the correct cabinet on the first try, and pulls down a vase before filling it with water from the sink.
You don't even blink.
She already knows where you keep the coffee mugs, the good olive oil, the spare phone charger, and apparently the flower vases too.
Perhaps that should concern you. Perhaps it should prompt some honest internal reflection about exactly how many evenings the two of you have spent together over the past two months, and what that quantity might suggest about the nature of whatever you're both still refusing to call what it obviously is.
Instead, you decide not to examine that thought too closely.
"Besides," she continues while carefully arranging the bouquet with slightly more concentration than flower arrangement probably requires, "I know better than to get you roses. Miss 'Roses are so cliché.'"
A laugh escapes you. “Oh really?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Really.”
You fold your arms across your chest. "Alright then, smarty pants. What flowers would you get me?"
She doesn't even pause to think.
“Sunflowers during the fall and winter because they remind you that warm weather always comes back eventually, and wildflowers in the spring and summer because you always stop to look at them even when you’re in a hurry.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, like it's simply a thing she knows, that for a moment you can only stare at her.
You hadn't realized she'd noticed that. Then again, Alexia notices everything. She always has.
The warmth that blooms across your face is impossible to hide. Without really thinking about it, you step closer, take her face gently between your hands, and press a quick kiss to her mouth that leaves her smiling before you've even fully pulled away.
"I got that one right then?" she asks, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"You got that one very right."
The satisfaction on her face lasts less than three seconds before the nerves return all at once.
"Oh." She blinks, suddenly remembering. "And I got your father a Spanish red because I looked up an old interview where he mentioned it was his favorite." She lifts the bottle with visible uncertainty. "I don't actually know if it's any good. I just bought the most expensive one the supermarket had."
"Alexia." You lightly smack her shoulder.
“What?”
“How much did you spend?”
“It was only like seventy euros…”
“Seventy??”
"I would've spent more," she adds quickly, clearly sensing she has somehow managed to argue herself into a worse position. "That was just the nicest one they had."
You stare at her in complete disbelief, opening your mouth to continue the lecture about spending too much money, but before you can, she quickly reaches for the mysterious paper bag she's been carefully protecting since she arrived.
"And this is actually for you," she says, holding it out with a grin so transparently hopeful that your mock outrage immediately begins losing ground. "Well technically it's for your brothers too." A brief pause. "But mostly you."
Curiosity gets the better of you. You peek inside.
Your entire face lights up. “No way…”
It’s from your favorite bakery. More specifically, your favorite bakery since you were six years old.
The tiny family-owned place tucked onto the corner of the street you used to walk home from school every afternoon, where the smell of fresh pastries drifted out onto the pavement long before you passed the front door.
You had taken Alexia there barely a week after meeting her, insisting she couldn't genuinely claim to be from Barcelona until she'd been inside. The visit had quickly become one of your favorite memories of the two of you. The women behind the counter had greeted you by name before you'd even spoken, then immediately abandoned all professional restraint to tell Alexia things you would have very much preferred remained private.
"She used to stand right there," one of them had laughed, pointing toward the front window. "Every afternoon, she'd press her little nose against the glass."
"You got in trouble for that?" Alexia had asked.
"Oh, constantly," the woman replied. "She left fingerprints everywhere."
"I did not."
"She totally did. But she was far too cute for us to stay angry."
You had hidden your face in your hands while the entire bakery laughed. Alexia, meanwhile, had looked positively delighted - storing every detail away with the cheerful thoroughness of someone collecting ammunition.
Rather than buying one or two things like any reasonable person, she'd insisted on ordering one of everything in the display case.
"Alexia," you'd laughed. "There are fifteen different kinds."
"I know."
"We're not going to finish all of those."
She'd simply accepted the enormous paper bag from the bewildered cashier and smiled at you. "You've had decades to figure out your favorite. Now it's my turn."
The two of you had carried the impossibly heavy bag across the street to a little park overlooking the neighborhood where you'd grown up, spending the next several hours on an old wooden bench splitting every pastry in half, ranking them with ridiculous seriousness, arguing over which deserved first place, and somehow talking until the sun had slipped entirely behind the rooftops.
Standing in your kitchen now, looking into the bag, you feel something press softly against the inside of your chest.
She remembered. Of course she remembered.
"Thank you, Ale," you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "Will you help me set these out for dessert?"
"Of course."
The two of you fall into the rhythm that has become so natural over the past two months that neither of you has to think about it anymore. You clear space on the kitchen island while Alexia opens boxes and transfers pastries onto serving plates. Somehow she always seems to know exactly what you need before you've asked for it - moving out of your way a half-second before you reach past her, handing you a dish cloth the moment you realize you need one, filling the silence between tasks with easy conversation about your plans together later in the week and a particularly baffling training exercise her coach had apparently inflicted on the squad that morning.
By the time the doorbell rings half an hour later, the nervous energy that had greeted you at the door has nearly entirely dissolved. When Alexia looks up from the counter at the sound, she actually jumps slightly, having momentarily forgotten there were even guests coming.
You disappear into the entryway and return a moment later with your parents and brothers, all of them carrying enough takeaway bags from your favorite sushi restaurant to comfortably feed twice the number of people currently standing in your kitchen. The noise level doubles within approximately four seconds of them crossing the threshold.
Alexia is already moving before anyone has fully stepped inside.
She reaches for several of the heavier bags your mother is carrying, relieving her of them with the quiet, instinctive kindness she extends to everyone, always. Your mother thanks her, but instead of simply accepting the help, she reaches up and cups Alexia’s cheek with unmistakable affection before pulling her into one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs that You watch Alexia freeze for half a second. Then you watch her melt.
When your mother finally releases her, there is a faint pinkness coloring Alexia's face that definitely wasn't there a moment ago, and she blinks once or twice as though recalibrating. Your mother simply pats her cheek with quiet satisfaction and moves past her toward the kitchen, already asking about the pastries she can see laid out on the island.
Your brothers are next.
Rather than offering anything as restrained as a handshake, Alexia greets each of them with the easy, confident clasp that turns naturally into one of those casual half-hugs athletes always seem to give each other. The whole interaction looks so unexpectedly effortless that you let out an undignified snort of laughter, earning yourself two offended looks from your brothers - though the grins beneath them suggest they're quietly impressed despite themselves.
Which leaves only one person.
You watch Alexia take the smallest, almost imperceptible breath before turning toward your father.
He's already looking at her with the warm, entirely genuine smile that has always made him seem younger than he is.
"Alexia," he says, as though the name itself is a welcome. "It's so good to finally meet you."
The emphasis on finally is accompanied by the briefest glance in your direction. You look at the ceiling.
Alexia steps forward and takes the hand he offers, her grip firm despite the nerves you know are still quietly present somewhere beneath the surface. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor."
"The honor's mine." He shakes her hand warmly, and then, because he cannot help himself, because retirement has given him nothing but time and your mother has given up trying to stop him: "I've been watching your season, you know. That Champions League match against Bayern a few weeks ago-" He shakes his head with the slow, genuine admiration of someone who has spent his entire life studying the game and still finds moments in it that surprise him. "Holy smokes."
Alexia blinks. Her brain visibly short-circuits.
Your father, blissfully unaware that he’s currently making one of the best players in the world look completely starstruck, continues without missing a beat.
“The movement before your opening goal was exceptional. Everyone will talk about the finish because that's what ends up in highlight reels. But your positioning thirty seconds earlier-" He gestures animatedly, clearly replaying it in precise detail somewhere behind his eyes. "You'd already won that battle before the ball ever reached your feet. That's the kind of thing most people watching will never notice."
He stops. Looks at Alexia. Then at the rest of the family, who are all watching him with varying degrees of patient amusement.
The sheepish smile arrives right on schedule. "I've started talking football, haven't I."
“A little,” your mother says dryly from somewhere behind a glass of water.
He laughs. “We'll save the rest for after dinner before everyone revolts.”
Alexia finally finds her voice again. “I’d… I’d really like that.”
There is something in the quiet sincerity of it that makes your father smile all over again, differently this time, like he's just confirmed something he already suspected. He doesn't look at you when he smiles. He doesn't need to.
Dinner begins the way every family dinner always has, with complete and utter chaos.
The moment everyone sits down, every plan dissolves into six people reaching across one another for chopsticks, containers opened simultaneously from four different directions, platters nudged around the table while someone loudly insists you simply have to try the one they've just put directly in front of themselves. Soy sauce travels in three directions at once. Someone steals food from someone else's plate before they've finished what's in front of them. Your brothers begin arguing over the last piece of tempura before either of them has actually finished what is already sitting in front of them. Your mother keeps quietly rolling her eyes as though this exact scene has been repeating itself for decades.
It is loud and completely unorganized and it feels, as it always has, like home.
Alexia slots into the middle of it as though she has been having dinner with your family for years rather than minutes.
She never dominates the conversation, but she never disappears into the background of it either. She laughs when one of your brothers says something ridiculous, which is often enough to keep her consistently entertained. She tells stories when the table turns naturally toward her, and she listens with such unhurried, genuine interest when someone else is speaking that it becomes impossible to imagine her sitting anywhere else.
Papa loves her immediately, you can see it happening in real time, which does absolutely nothing to help the sensation quietly expanding in the center of your chest.
Watching her fit this effortlessly into your world does something strange to you.
It feels right. Entirely, uncomplicatedly right, in a way that you have no framework for because nothing in your life has ever made you feel quite like this.
Which is precisely when your brothers decide to intervene.
“So,” the eldest begins, wearing the particular expression that has always signaled trouble for you.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Alexia looks between the two of you with amused interest. “What?”
“You know how she likes pretending she’s always been sophisticated?”
“I do not pretend!”
“Umm yes you do.”
Before you have any opportunity to mount a defense, the two of them launch into an enthusiastic joint retrospective of every humiliating story they can think of from the last twenty-eight years. The tree you had insisted you could climb despite all available evidence. The school play where you had confidently improvised an entirely new ending after forgetting your lines and then refused, for years afterward, to acknowledge this had happened. The spectacularly misguided attempt to impress a boy by riding your bicycle with no hands, which had ended with you sailing directly into a rose bush while the boy watched from a safe distance.
You groan louder with every story. Alexia is laughing so hard that tears begin gathering in the corners of her eyes, the kind of real, helpless laughter that she can't manage to keep quiet no matter how many apologetic looks she attempts to send in your direction between each new revelation.
Eventually the conversation drifts, as good conversations always do, finding its own natural current. Your mother turns toward Alexia with the same thoughtful, unhurried curiosity she has carried all evening.
"Tell me about your foundation," she says simply.
The transformation is immediate. Alexia's entire face changes.
You have seen that expression countless times before, usually sitting across from her at your kitchen table long after midnight while she excitedly sketched ideas across legal pads.
She speaks about the programs already running in Spain, then about the expansion into Mexico and Colombia and the different challenges each location had presented. She talks about what they're building toward next - the Dominican Republic, the partnerships she hopes to establish there, the specific communities she wants to reach and why. Her voice becomes more animated as she goes, her hands moving with the slightly unselfconscious expressiveness that only appears when she's talking about something she genuinely loves.
Your mother asks thoughtful questions, having her own experience with your father’s charity work. Alexia answers every one of them with unmistakable passion.
You find yourself smiling before you even realize you’re doing it.
This has always been your favorite part of her world.
Football itself has never really captured your attention, and Alexia knows that better than most. While she occasionally tells you about training sessions or particularly funny moments in the dressing room, the conversations the two of you return to most often are the ones that exist beyond the pitch. She tells you about the leadership challenges that come with captaining a team full of different personalities, about mentoring younger players who are experiencing the same pressures she once faced herself, and, more than anything else, about her foundation.
That is where her heart lives.
Over the past two months, the two of you have spent countless evenings sitting across from one another while she talked through ideas that she admitted she hadn’t shared with anyone else yet. She trusted you with the dreams she was almost afraid to say out loud, the frustrations that came with trying to grow something meaningful, and the quiet fears that accompanied every ambitious decision she made.
She brought you spreadsheets and funding proposals and expansion plans and asked you to find every flaw in them, which you did, ruthlessly and with genuine excitement, because making her ideas structurally stronger felt like the most useful thing you could possibly offer her. More than once you had disappeared so completelyinto an explanation of international liability frameworks or nonprofit governance structures that you'd only surfaced again when Alexia reached across the table and took your hand, watching you with a quiet smile that meant she'd been listening to every word.
You always make it better, she'd said once while lifting your hand briefly to her lips.
Now, watching her speak so passionately across your kitchen table, you can’t help feeling proud. You know how much of herself she has poured into every word she’s saying.
Without realizing it, your smile has softened into something your family has almost certainly never seen before.
Across the table, your father notices.
When your eyes meet his, he doesn't say anything. He simply raises one eyebrow and allows the smallest, most insufferably knowing smile to appear at the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to Alexia.
You look away immediately.
Unfortunately, you're fairly certain he already has everything he needs.
------
A few weeks later, you’re somehow still trapped in the strange limbo the two of you have created together.
You’re definitely not friends.
Friends don’t spend four or five nights a week together until one of you inevitably falls asleep in the other’s bed. Friends don’t become the first person the other calls after a good day, a terrible day, or anything remotely interesting in between. Friends don’t know the code to one another’s homes, keep spare toothbrushes in each other’s bathrooms, or casually wander into the kitchen to make breakfast while the other is still asleep.
Friends definitely don’t end most evenings the way you two do.
But girlfriends…
Girlfriends talk about what they are. Girlfriends ask difficult questions. Girlfriends define things, give them names, build something deliberate and acknowledged.
The two of you have somehow managed to skip that part entirely.
Neither of you seems willing to be the first to disturb whatever fragile balance you’ve accidentally built together. You spend so much time convincing yourself that asking the question might ruin everything that you never actually ask it. Some part of you is genuinely terrified that naming it will make it real enough to lose, that the conversation will introduce a pressure neither of you knows how to hold, and that one honest sentence spoken at the wrong moment might undo months of something you have no adequate word for.
Alexia carries a different fear. As far as she knows, your one unwavering rule still exists. She has heard you say it more than once, watched you wrestle with it the night you met, listened to you repeat it with complete sincerity even as everything between you quietly became something your rule was never designed to accommodate. And even now, even after everything, she assumes that some part of you still believes this can't possibly be permanent. That the woman who spent her entire adult life swearing off footballers couldn't really have meant to end up here, in this life, tangled up in hers.
So she doesn't ask either.
The result is an oddly peaceful sort of misery.
When you’re together, it never matters. The uncertainty seems to evaporate the moment one of you walks through the other’s front door, replaced by laughter, easy conversation, shared meals, and the quiet domestic routines you’ve established in only a few months.
It's when you're apart that the uncertainty begins creeping back in - arriving in the small hesitations, the half-second pauses before sending a message, the questions you begin composing in your head and then talk yourself out of before you've finished forming them.
You'll finish work and instinctively reach for your phone before wondering whether texting her too fast makes you seem too attached. She'll finish training and spend twenty minutes debating whether calling you would be interrupting your evening. Neither of you ever actually stops. But the hesitation is there, and it's growing.
Tonight feels different from the moment Alexia arrives.
At first you assume she's just tired after training - the season is deep into its most demanding stretch and you've learned to read the particular kind of exhaustion that lives in her body after hard weeks on the pitch. But as the evening stretches on, the feeling becomes impossible to explain away. She keeps drifting away halfway through her own sentences before catching herself several seconds later, her eyes going somewhere else for a moment, then returning to the room with a blink and a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. More than once you notice her staring blankly at the television without appearing to register what's happening on the screen. Every few minutes she wipes her palms against her sweatpants before folding her hands together again, only to pull them apart seconds later.
Something is bothering her. You just can't figure out what.
The two of you are sprawled across opposite ends of your couch, halfway through another episode of the crime drama you’ve become hopelessly addicted to together. Your legs are comfortably intertwined across the cushions, while Alexia absentmindedly massages the sole of one of your feet with slow, practiced movements.
She started doing it a few weeks ago after noticing you wince while taking off a pair of heels following a long networking event. Apparently she’d decided your sore feet were now her responsibility.
Usually, she’d be talking over half the episode. She has an endless supply of commentary about every character, confidently predicting plot twists that somehow always turn out to be correct while teasing you for inevitably believing the wrong suspects every single week.
Tonight there is nothing. The television plays on. Alexia just stares at the screen.
Eventually, you can’t ignore it any longer.
You reach for the remote and pause the episode mid-scene. The sudden silence seems to pull Alexia back into the room, though only physically. Her eyes remain fixed on the frozen television screen for another second before finally drifting toward you.
“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying more concern than you’d intended. “What’s going on?”
She blinks, almost as though she’d forgotten you were watching her too.
“It’s nothing…” she says with a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. You can press play.”
You don’t move, you just continue looking at her.
The stubborn silence stretches between you, until she finally lets out a quiet breath through her nose and drops her gaze into her lap.
“I just…” she begins, only for the words to dissolve before they ever really arrive.
The silence that follows is unlike the comfortable ones the two of you usually share. It feels heavier, full of thoughts she’s clearly been carrying around for hours, maybe even days, without quite finding the courage to say them aloud.
You don’t rush her. You just wait, watching as she wipes her damp palms against her sweatpants again before intertwining her fingers together, only to pull them apart again a few seconds later. The nervous habit is so unlike her that it sends a quiet knot twisting through your stomach.
“I just wanted to ask you something.”
The uncertainty in her voice is enough to make your chest tighten. “What is it?”
She lets out a slow breath through her nose, her eyes fixed on the coffee table rather than on you. It’s obvious she’s rehearsed this conversation over and over again in her head, searching for the right words, only to discover there probably aren’t any.
“Well…” she says eventually, still avoiding your gaze. “You know we’ve got a really big match on Saturday.” You nod. “Against Madrid. At Camp Nou.”
“Yes, I know.”
For a brief moment you think she’s about to ask you something football-related, maybe whether you’d seen the funny tweet she’d sent you or whether you’d seen one of the interviews promoting the match.
Instead, she quietly asks, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to come.”
The words hang between you.
Before you have the chance to respond, she keeps going, speaking a little faster now, as though she’s afraid that if she stops she’ll lose the nerve to finish.
“It’s just…” She shrugs helplessly. “It’s a really important match for me, and… I don’t know…” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I just thought it’d be nice if you were there.”
Only then does she finally lift her eyes to yours.
“You could sit with Alba and the rest of my family.”
The smile she offers you is careful. Small and hopeful in a way that is too painful to look at.
“Ale…” The single word is enough. You watch her shoulders sink before you’ve even managed to finish the sentence.
“I’m just…” you hate yourself for hesitating. “I’m not sure.”
The disappointment crosses her face before she has a chance to hide it. She quickly smooths it away, but you’ve learned her expressions far too well over the last few months to miss it.
She turns back toward the paused television, blinking once before giving a tiny nod.
“No,” she says quietly. “It’s okay. I get it.”
The words are calm. Almost too calm. You can hear the effort it takes for her to make them sound that way.
You reach across the couch for her hand. Your fingers close gently around hers, your thumb slowly brushing across her knuckles until, after a moment’s hesitation, she allows your fingers to lace together.
“Alexia…” She doesn’t look at you. “Please… you have to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I know.”
“No.” Your voice is softer than before. “I don't think you do.”
That finally makes her turn her head.
The hurt in her eyes is so open, so completely unguarded, that it nearly steals the rest of your sentence before you’ve had the chance to say it.
You look down at your joined hands instead.
“Football…” you begin quietly, struggling to explain something you've spent your entire life trying to make sense of yourself, and trying not to make it sound like an accusation against the thing she has devoted her entire life to. “Football has taken so much from me that I honestly don’t know how to separate it anymore.”
Your thumb continues tracing subconscious circles across the back of her hand.
“I spent my childhood measuring my life around fixtures and transfer windows and press conferences. Birthdays got moved because of matches. Vacations got interrupted because somebody wanted to negotiate a contract. Every time I heard the front door open, some part of me wondered if Papa was actually home for the evening or if he’d just forgotten something before leaving again.”
You swallow.
“And every time I hear sixty thousand people cheering inside a stadium…” Your voice becomes almost painfully quiet. “…some part of me is still that little girl sitting in the stands wondering why football always seemed to need him more than I did.”
The words settle heavily between you.
“I know that isn’t fair to you.”
“It isn’t,” she whispers.
You squeeze her hand a little tighter. “I wish it weren’t true.”
She finally meets your eyes again.
“But sitting through ninety minutes…” You shake your head helplessly. “I think I’d be miserable, Ale. Not because it’s you.” Your voice grows more certain. “Never because it’s you.”
She says nothing.
“I’ll celebrate with you afterward.” She doesn’t answer. “I’ll make your favorite dinner. Win or lose.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“You can come here after the match, tell me absolutely everything that happened, complain about the referee if you need to.” You smile weakly. “Which you definitely won’t because you’re gonna win.”
A tiny flicker appears at the corner of her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
“And when you do, you can make me sit through every single replay of your goals while explaining exactly why everyone else’s positioning was wrong.”
For the briefest moment, something almost surfaces. Then it retreats.
“How about that?”
Alexia lowers her eyes once more. “Yeah…” The word is barely louder than a breath. “I guess so.”
She isn't agreeing because you've made her feel better. She's agreeing because she cares about you enough not to keep asking for something she already understands you can't give her. Somehow that quiet act of acceptance hurts infinitely more than an argument would have.
The atmosphere in the apartment shifts so subtly that, at first, you convince yourself you’ve imagined it.
Nothing has physically changed. The television remains paused on the same frozen frame, your legs are still tangled together on the couch, and your hands remain loosely intertwined where they have been for the last several minutes. Yet the warmth that had filled your apartment only moments ago has quietly drained away, replaced by a silence that neither of you seems to know how to navigate.
You try. God, you really try.
You tell her about the ridiculous argument currently unfolding between your brothers over where to go on vacation this year. You tell her about your mother’s latest attempt to convince your father to finally throw away sweaters he’s owned since the nineties. You even dramatically reenact a particularly insufferable interaction with one of the partners at work that would normally have Alexia laughing before you’d reached the punchline.
Tonight she smiles when she’s supposed to smile. She nods at exactly the right moments. She even lets out one or two polite little laughs that sound more like habit than genuine reactions. But her heart never quite finds its way back into the room.
You can feel it. She is sitting beside you and still is not entirely there.
Nearly ten minutes pass like that before she suddenly stretches, the movement slightly too deliberate.
"Well…" She rises slowly from the couch. "It's getting kind of late." Your stomach drops before she's even finished the sentence. "I should probably head home."
“Ale…” She keeps her eyes fixed on the arm of the couch as she reaches for her jacket. “Please.”
Your own voice has grown quieter without meaning to. “Can we just talk about this?”
I'm not upset."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
A short, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. "Okay." You rub a hand across your face. "Then you're disappointed." She doesn't answer. "And honestly that's worse."
For the first time since standing up, Alexia goes completely still. Her back remains partly turned toward you.
“I can’t help how I feel.” The sentence is spoken so simply that it strips away every carefully constructed argument you’d been preparing in your head.
“I know,” you answer quickly, taking a few steps toward her. “I know that.”
Your own emotions are beginning to rise now despite every effort you’ve made to stay calm.
“But I can’t help how I feel either.”
She closes her eyes for the briefest moment, drawing in one slow, measured breath as though she’s trying to gather enough composure to get through the next few minutes without falling apart. When she opens them again, there is a quiet resignation behind them that hadn’t been there before, and without another word she finishes pulling on her jacket, smoothing the sleeves with hands that still haven’t completely stopped trembling.
“Alexia…”
Your voice catches just enough that both of you hear it.
She freezes. Her hand rests on the zipper of her jacket, her back still partly turned, but she doesn't take another step toward the door.
For several long seconds, neither of you speaks.
The silence fills the apartment with everything the two of you have been carefully avoiding for weeks. Every unasked question, every conversation that got close and then swerved, every moment you both chose the comfort of not knowing over the risk of finding out.
Then, without turning around, she asks so quietly that you almost don’t hear it.
“What the hell are we even doing?”
The words hit you with enough force that your stomach drops straight through the floor. “What…?”
She turns to face you.
There are tears shimmering in her eyes now, making the hazel seem impossibly bright beneath the warm light of your apartment. She blinks rapidly, refusing to let them fall, and in that effort you see the full cost of how carefully she has been holding herself together all evening.
You have seen Alexia exhausted. You have seen her frustrated after difficult days. You have never seen her look this uncertain.
“I’m just…” A small, broken laugh escapes her. She shakes her head at herself, exasperated. Then the laugh fades. “I’m confused all the time.”
The words come more freely now, as though the first crack was the only thing that needed to give way.
Your chest tightens so sharply it hurts. “Alexia…”
“You say we’re not together.”
“I never said-”
“You won’t come to my biggest match.”
“It’s not about-”
"But then…" She gestures helplessly between the two of you, her eyes searching your face as though she's hoping you'll offer her something she can hold onto. "Then you look at me the way you do. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You introduced me to your family." Her voice drops, just slightly. “And every single time I think… okay maybe I finally understand what this is,” She stops, swallowing hard. “…something happens that makes me realize maybe I don’t.”
The room feels impossibly small. You step toward her instinctively. “Of course I care about you.”
She doesn’t answer.
“Alexia…” You shake your head, your own frustration beginning to mix with panic. “Me not going to one football match doesn’t suddenly mean I don’t care about you. That’s not fair.”
“It isn’t even about the stupid match,” she mutters with exasperation.
She shakes her head, stopping herself from saying more. She takes another slow breath before forcing herself to look back at you. “I should go.”
“Ale, please!”
You reach for her hand automatically. She lets you take it, doesn’t pull away. But for the first time since you’ve known her she doesn’t squeeze back. The absence of that tiny, familiar gesture somehow hurts more than if she had walked away entirely.
“We should talk about this!”
Alexia’s expression softens in a way that only makes everything hurt even more.
“I know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, stripped of all the certainty that usually defines her.
“It’s just…” She glances toward the clock hanging above your kitchen, as if time itself has suddenly become the villain in this conversation. “It’s late.”
Neither of you acknowledges how pathetic that excuse sounds. You both know that if this were really just about the time, neither of you would sleep anyway.
“And I’ve got a huge match this weekend.”
The sentence lands between you with devastating finality.
Football. Always football.
It has been woven through every important moment of your life for as long as you can remember, demanding sacrifices before you were old enough to understand why they were necessary.
You had spent years convincing yourself that you had finally escaped it. Then you met Alexia.
She takes a slow, careful breath, forcing herself to keep moving before she changes her mind. “Maybe…” she says quietly. The word catches somewhere in her throat. “Maybe we can hang out on Sunday.”
She tries to smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“We’ll talk then. Okay?”
Something inside your chest quietly gives way. It’s a slow, painful collapse, like the final support beam giving out beneath a building that had already been cracking for far too long.
Because all you hear isn’t Sunday. All you hear is after football.
Again football comes first. Football decides when difficult conversations happen. Football decides when she has to leave. Football standing between you and the woman in front of you, who looks as heartbroken as you feel, because football has decided that tonight isn't the night either of you gets to fix this.
Rationally, you know that isn't what's happening. Alexia isn't choosing football over you. She has a squad depending on her, a stadium that will be full on Saturday, responsibilities that existed long before you did and will exist long after this conversation. You know all of that.
But grief isn't rational. And the frightened little girl who still lives somewhere in your chest - the one who learned too young not to ask if Papa was coming home because the answer always depended on a fixture - doesn't understand Champions League schedules. She only knows that once again, football is asking someone she loves to walk away from her.
And once again, it wins.
Your throat tightens until speaking feels impossible. You force yourself to smile anyway.
“Yeah…” The word comes out small, almost childlike. “Okay.”
Alexia studies your face for a long moment, like she’s trying to memorize it. Then she steps forward one last time.
She cups your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you on the spot before leaning in to press the gentlest kiss against your skin. It lingers for only a heartbeat, carrying everything neither of you has managed to say tonight, before she slowly lets her hand fall away.
“I’ll call you,” she whispers.
You nod, because you no longer trust your voice to carry anything worth saying.
She offers you one final smile before she turns.
You watch her cross your apartment. Watch her reach for the handle. Watch her hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, it's like some part of her is silently begging you to stop her, to change your mind, to stop being stubborn.
You don’t.
The door closes behind her with a quiet click that seems far too small a sound for the size of what it leaves behind. Silence rushes in immediately, filling every corner of the apartment, and you stand perfectly still in the middle of it, staring at the closed door, willing it to open.
It doesn’t.
The apartment feels enormous without her in it. Too quiet. The couch still holds the impression of where she was sitting. Her half-empty glass of water remains on the coffee table beside yours.
Your chest begins to ache with an almost physical weight as every memory crashes into you at once. Sitting alone in school auditoriums while someone else's father occupied the seat beside your mother. Standing at the front window because Papa had promised he'd be home for dinner. Learning, somewhere between Munich and Manchester, to stop hoping out loud because hope was just disappointment with better timing.
You had promised yourself, in the quiet determined way of someone who has been hurt enough to mean it, that football would never again have the power to take someone you loved away from you. You had built your life around that promise. You made it your only rule. You held it for years without wavering.
You were so careful. So unbelievably careful. And somehow football had found you anyway.
Your knees finally give out beneath you.
You slide helplessly down the wall until you're sitting on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinet doors, hands trembling in your lap while you stare at the front door through blurred vision and try to convince yourself you're overreacting.
Then the first sob tears itself out of your chest. It is harsh and completely uncontrollable.
Another follows before you’ve recovered from the first, then another after that, until your entire body folds in on itself and you wrap your arms tightly around your knees, crying with the kind of grief that has been building for years rather than hours.
You should have stuck with your fucking rule.
------
Author's Note: Heyyyy so I'm sorry about the angst there at the end... but so many happy moments before that right 😅 And more happy moments to come, I promise :) I love you guys so much and am so grateful for all the love this story has received!
"And you know Wolfsburg is desperate now. If the scoreline stays as it is, Bayern will win the league on goal difference. Wolfsburg just needs one goal to win, to secure the league victory."
Pernille sits up in the friends and family box.
Bayern's win today put them ahead of your Wolfsburg team on points. The nil-nil scoreline now puts that same Wolfsburg team level with them but trailing on goal difference.
Pernille has played for both teams.
If she was here as a neutral then she wouldn't really care as much.
But she's not here as a neutral.
She's here as your mother. Your mother who is watching you run from your goal to the opposition goal in the dying minutes of the game.
Wolfsburg must truly be desperate now.
Usually, it's nothing less than a war to get you out of your goal regardless of what's on the line.
You don't even like coming out of the box to take free kicks.
But here you are, jogging over into a box that isn't your own with the armband on your bicep, ready to set an example.
The ball comes flying in.
"And would you look at that?! The amount of saves she made this game has been outstanding but this...This has to take the cake! Ball comes in, flicked into the air and hit on the volley! Take a bow, Wolfsburg's captain!"
You've had barely any goals in your career.
Probably only enough for Pernille to count on her hands.
Shamefully, she can't remember them all. They're kind of fuzzy in similar situations to this one presumably.
The one Pernille can remember though is your first World Cup, that ball sailing through the air to allow you to win the World Cup on your very first try.
You haven't lost it since.
But this is the other goal of yours that imprints into Pernille's mind.
Truly, it's a striker's finish.
The ball sails in.
You move, losing your defender. You kick the ball up into the air before anyone can get a head to it. As it falls back down, your foot connects and you twist.
The ball falls neatly into the net and the big screen flashes with your face.
Unlike your World Cup goal, when you were so much younger than you are now, you don't look shocked.
This isn't the World Cup. You're so much more mature.
You're smiling.
Actually, no, Pernille decides.
You're smirking.
For once in your life, you're wearing that smirk Magda always wore after scoring something truly outrageous.
You're smirking because you know you've just won the league.
You've been so strong all season. You've saved goals that you had no right to even be saving. You lead the team like a general leading an army.
You'd risen to the occasion during crucial moments, kept your team in this title race even when they had no right to even be in it.
And now, you're raising a trophy that Pernille is all too familiar with.
"Well, well, well," She teases when you finally come to the barrier to greet her," You've finally found the time to visit your old mother?"
You roll your eyes. "You're not old, Momma."
"I'm old enough to watch my fully grown daughter win a league title with a goal that's going to be on a highlight reel very soon."
The smirk on your face earlier has disappeared, replaced with that small, soft one you always had on your face when you became a teenager.
The shy one that you always have now when you're getting praise.
"It wasn't that good. It was just...I don't know, instinct or something."
Pernille's own smile is positively wolfish. "Instinct or something? Looks like you managed to get some of my goal scoring DNA in the end, huh? Took a while but it's in there."
"Well I had to learn something from all those shots you took at me in the garden."
"So I can take the credit? Magda will never hear the end of it."
The smile on your face drops for a moment and you wet your lips with your tongue, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
"Do you think Morsa watched? I know she's busy..."
"She would be here if she could. She tried, princesse. She really did."
Pernille had flown over to Germany early, staying in your apartment with you and keeping your dear dog Prins company. Magda had stayed behind at home, entrenched with work and planning on catching a flight yesterday night to make your last game of the season.
But then the flight was delayed and Magda was stranded.
Your Momma was sat in the stands. Your Morsa was not.
"I know," You say softly," But...it just feels wrong to not have her here."
Pernille draws you into a hug.
Once upon a time, you fit in her arms perfectly. As a baby. As a child. Even as a teenager. But now you're taller, at least a head or so. Your limbs are longer, stronger, more toned.
By all means, you shouldn't fit so well into this hug.
You shouldn't still feel so tiny against Pernille.
But she has that way of holding you like you're still a child running around in too-big keeper gloves and wearing Pernille stolen boots.
She just has a way of making you feel safe the same way she did when she would sit up with you at night after a nightmare, the way she would welcome you into the big bed every time you wanted it.
"She's so proud of you," Pernille promises you," Morsa's so proud and I'm so proud. You make us so proud."
Your laughter is tinged with tears, emotions bubbling up inside of you.
Summary - Jay shows the team how unhinged she is about Alexia.
Word count - 8.3k
The café had the kind of terrace that made everyone at the table feel, privately and without admitting it, that the morning had been arranged for them personally.
Barcelona had committed completely to late spring. The sky was blue in a way that felt almost aggressive, cloudless and bright, the sun already warm enough to make everyone grateful for the wide cream awning stretched across the terrace front. The light came through the canvas softened and golden, landing across coffee cups, sunglasses, bracelets, forearms, phones, and the scattered remains of breakfast in a way that made the whole table look like it belonged in an advert for people who had achieved excellent life choices and did not shout at each other about desert island survival.
Unfortunately, the table contained Mapi León, Patri Guijarro and Jay Jones, so the advert had collapsed somewhere around minute four.
The waiter had accepted the request to push two tables together with the philosophical resignation of a man who had clearly served footballers before. He had not asked why eleven women needed enough surface area for seventeen drinks, five pastries, two waters each, a bowl of olives nobody remembered ordering, three pairs of sunglasses, Lucy's phone, Mapi's phone, Mapi's second pair of sunglasses, and the small notebook Ona insisted was not a diary even though everyone called it "Ona's secrets." He had simply nodded, dragged the tables into a long uneven formation that technically obstructed half the terrace, and walked away with the calm dignity of someone who had decided not to make their morning harder.
It was a day off. A real one. No gym protocol, no recovery schedule, no careful staff message reminding them not to "overdo external commitments" as though any of them could be trusted alone with free time. An actual day off, which meant they had all somehow ended up together anyway, sitting outside a café on the same street, drinking coffee in the sun and pretending this was coincidence rather than proof that they were emotionally incapable of leaving each other alone.
Jay had arrived with Alexia, because Jay arrived everywhere with Alexia when geography, scheduling, traffic and Alexia's patience allowed. They had walked from the apartment, twenty slow minutes through streets still stretching into the day, past bakeries opening their doors, scooters leaning in patches of shade, balconies full of plants and laundry, and one elderly man walking three small dogs who all had different opinions about direction. Jay had spent two full minutes trying to decide whether the man was having a peaceful morning or negotiating with terrorists. Alexia, who had two fingers hooked through Jay's belt loop as they walked, had said, "Maybe both, bebé," and Jay had immediately looked at her like Alexia had just solved philosophy.
It had been a good walk. Easy and warm and full of nothing, which with Jay never meant silence so much as comfortable nonsense. She had pointed at a mural and insisted it was new. Alexia had told her it had been there since November. Jay had claimed November was "emotionally last week." Alexia had called her tonta and kissed her at a crossing while the light was still red because Jay had grinned too hard at being insulted in Spanish. By the time they reached the café, Jay looked annoyingly pleased with herself and Alexia looked like she had spent twenty minutes pretending not to enjoy that.
They took their places at the long table naturally. Alexia sat at one end with Marta and Irene, half turned in her chair, one leg crossed at the knee, white linen shirt sleeves pushed to her elbows, sunglasses in her hair, looking so effortlessly beautiful in the morning light that Jay had walked into the table leg on arrival and blamed "terrace architecture." Jay sat next to her at first, because of course she did, kissed Alexia's cheek, stole a sip of her coffee despite having her own, then got pulled down the table by Mapi to adjudicate a survival debate that had apparently begun before Jay sat down and required "someone with chaotic life experience."
Alexia had let Jay be dragged away by one chair length because she was generous and because Jay's hand had stayed hooked around her ankle under the table for the first five minutes anyway.
Now, half an hour in, the table had settled into its separate storms.
Alexia was speaking to Marta and Irene with the full weight of her attention, which was one of the most dangerous and kind things about her. When Alexia listened, she did not do it halfway. She turned her body, lowered her phone, held eye contact, and made the person across from her feel as if whatever they were saying had become the central matter of the morning. Marta was telling her something about a documentary she had watched, Irene adding dry corrections every few sentences, and Alexia was nodding, occasionally smiling, occasionally reaching without looking to squeeze Jay's wrist whenever Jay's chair tipped too far back on two legs.
At the middle of the table, Lucy and Ona were deep in something involving Ona's impression of a very intense club nutritionist. Lucy kept saying, "Do it again," while trying not to laugh, and Ona kept pretending she did not want to repeat it while absolutely repeating it.
At Jay's end, the desert island debate had reached constitutional crisis.
"I would be completely fine," Mapi said, with the kind of confidence people only had before nature became involved. "More than fine. I would thrive."
Jay stared at her over her sunglasses. "Mapi, last week you asked Ingrid to pass you the television remote because it was 'emotionally far away.' It was touching your thigh."
“That was different. I was comfortable."
"On a desert island, comfort is not the opening condition."
"I would rise," Mapi said, stabbing a finger into the table. "Adversity brings something out of me."
"Complaints," Patri said without looking up from her coffee.
Jay pointed at Patri. "Exactly. The first thing adversity brings out of you is a complaint, the second is a dramatic speech, the third is asking Ingrid where she put your sunglasses, which will be on your head."
Mapi immediately touched her head.
The table paused.
Her sunglasses were on her head.
Lucy turned from the middle of the table, witnessed it, and turned back with the expression of someone filing evidence.
Mapi removed the sunglasses with dignity. "I knew they were there."
"You searched the table for them nine minutes ago," Patri said.
"I was testing the table."
"For what?" Jay asked.
"For loyalty."
Jay nodded slowly. "Right. So on the island, after the table betrays you and the remote refuses to crawl into your hand, what's your first move?"
"Coconuts," Mapi said.
"Coconuts are not a move. Coconuts are a concept."
"I open one."
"With what?"
"A rock."
"Where do you get the rock?"
"From the island, Jay. Islands have rocks. That is literally one of their main features."
"Do you know how to open a coconut with a rock?"
Mapi hesitated.
Jay leaned forward. "This is where nature gets you."
Patri nodded. "Nature waits for overconfidence."
"I would figure it out," Mapi insisted. "I am resourceful."
"You once called Ingrid from the bedroom because your sock was inside out."
"It was twisted in a very specific way."
Jay looked at Patri. "How long does she last on the island?"
"Without Ingrid?" Patri asked.
Jay nodded.
Patri looked Mapi up and down, considered the sun, the table, the available evidence. "Forty two minutes."
Mapi gasped. "Forty two minutes?"
"Generous," Lucy called from the middle.
Jay, delighted, pointed at Lucy. "External verification."
Mapi turned on Jay. "You think you would survive because you are muscular and dramatic, but you would get bored and fight a crab."
"I would never fight a crab unless provoked."
"You would absolutely be provoked by a crab.”
Jay paused. "Depends on the crab's tone."
Alexia laughed from the other end of the table without turning around, because she was always listening more than she pretended, and Jay's entire face softened at the sound. It was ridiculous how quickly it happened. One moment she was deep in crab diplomacy, the next she was looking down the table at Alexia's profile, at the easy tilt of her head, the curve of her mouth, the sunlight on the white linen at her shoulder, and her expression went soft enough that Mapi physically turned to Patri and widened her eyes.
Patri's face said: there it is.
Mapi's face said: disgusting.
Irene caught it too. Marta caught Irene catching it. Lucy, who had developed a terrifying awareness of Jay and Alexia's micro behaviours over the last year, said without looking, "Jay's doing the face again, isn't she?"
"I am not doing a face," Jay said.
Alexia finally glanced over. "What face, bebé?"
"The one where she looks at you like you pay her oxygen bill," Patri said.
Jay placed a hand on her chest. "That is such an ugly phrase for something beautiful."
Alexia's eyes warmed. "You do look at me like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you are thinking too many things."
"I am usually thinking one thing very intensely."
Mapi groaned. "Do not ask what the thing is. Nobody ask."
Alexia's mouth curved. "What is the thing?"
Jay smiled slowly. "Right now? That you look unfair in linen."
The table booed because the table had no respect for romance unless it could mock it.
Alexia blushed anyway, which made Jay look so pleased with herself that Lucy threw a napkin at her head. Jay caught it one handed without looking and pointed at Lucy. "Jealousy is ugly."
"PDA at breakfast is ugly," Lucy said.
Alexia leaned down the table, caught Jay by the front of her shirt, and kissed her once, quick and warm and entirely unnecessary.
Jay blinked when she pulled back.
Lucy stared. "You did that specifically because I complained."
Alexia sat back down calmly. "Sí."
Jay touched her own mouth. "I support this leadership style."
"Of course you do," Ona said.
The morning carried on like that, warm and ridiculous, the coffee being refilled, the terrace filling around them, people passing on the pavement and occasionally doing the double-take that came with recognising half of FC Barcelona occupying a café like it was a family kitchen. Jay had her chair tipped back again despite Alexia tapping her ankle under the table every time she did it, and she was now drawing a very bad shelter design on a napkin while explaining to Mapi that fire placement was not about vibes.
"It is a little about vibes," Mapi argued.
“It is not. It is about wind."
"Wind has vibes."
“Wind has direction."
"Direction is a vibe."
Patri put her coffee down. "We have reached the philosophy part."
Jay opened her mouth to respond, but Alexia's voice came from the other end of the table, warm and absent minded.
"Bebé."
Jay answered instantly, without turning. "Yeah, baby?"
"I forgot my card. Can I borrow yours? I want to get everyone another round."
Jay's hand was in her pocket before Alexia finished the sentence. She did not look up. She did not pause the wind vibes argument. She simply pulled out her card, reached behind her in Alexia's general direction, and kept speaking to Mapi like this was as natural as breathing.
"So, if you put the fire too close to the shelter, congratulations, you have built a smoke prison, which you would do, by the way, because you think smoke has personality."
Alexia leaned over and took the card from Jay's fingers.
The ease of it was what did it. Not the card itself. People borrowed cards. Couples paid for each other. Teammates covered coffees. That part was ordinary. What was not ordinary was the complete absence of thought, the way Jay handed over access to her money behind her back while arguing about smoke prisons, as if the words Alexia and can I borrow yours had activated something older than decision making.
Marta watched it happen.
Irene watched it happen.
Patri watched it happen and slowly leaned back in her chair.
Alexia held the card for a moment, eyes on the black rectangle in her hand. Her thumb moved across the edge once, not because there was anything interesting about the card, but because it was Jay's and Jay had given it to her like the question had not even had a shape.
"Gracias, amor," Alexia said softly.
Jay, still mid napkin diagram, lifted her free hand and caught Alexia's fingers without looking, squeezing once before letting go. "De nada."
It was so casual that it was almost worse.
Marta looked at Irene.
Irene looked at Marta.
Lucy turned halfway around and whispered, "Did she just hand it over without looking?"
Patri nodded. "Behind the back."
Mapi stared at Jay like she had discovered a new species of financial idiot.
Alexia stood, card in hand, and said, "I need help carrying."
Marta and Irene both stood immediately, not because the coffees required three people, but because an investigation had clearly begun.
Inside, the café was cooler, dim after the terrace glare, all terracotta tiles, dark wood beams, glass jars of sugar, and the rich smell of coffee and pastry. The counter ran along the back wall, marble topped and busy, and the woman making drinks had the serene, untouchable expression of someone who had looked at a table of footballers and decided no amount of fame was worth rushing espresso.
Alexia placed Jay's card on the counter.
Marta looked at it. Irene looked at it. Then both of them looked at Alexia.
"She didn't look up," Marta said.
"No," Alexia agreed.
"You said you forgot your card."
"Sí."
"And she just gave you hers."
"Yes."
"While debating smoke."
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Smoke prisons."
Irene leaned against the counter, arms folded. "How long has she been doing that?"
"Since always." Alexia picked up the card, turned it once between her fingers, then placed it back down like she needed distance from how much the small thing touched her. "The first time, I thought it was a mistake. We had been together maybe two months. We were leaving dinner, I couldn't find my card, and she gave me hers before I had even finished explaining. I told her I would transfer it back, and she looked at me like I had asked to pay rent on the moon."
Marta laughed. "What did she say?"
Alexia's face softened with the memory. "She said, 'What for?' Just that. What for. Like paying me back for dinner was the strangest idea she had ever heard."
Irene smiled faintly. "That sounds like Jay."
"It is very Jay." Alexia glanced through the café window to where Jay was visible on the terrace, chair tilted back, sunglasses on her head, one hand moving animatedly while Mapi argued with both hands. "She thinks money is for solving things. Or making people happy. She does not attach the same... I don't know. Weight."
"To money?"
"To herself," Alexia said quietly.
That settled between them for a second.
The barista returned and Alexia ordered the coffees, still holding Jay's card between two fingers. She did not need to use Jay's card, not really. She could have used Apple Pay. She could have gone back to the apartment. She could have let someone else cover the round. But Jay had offered it, and there was a small private pleasure in being trusted by her so completely, in being loved by someone whose instinct was not to measure, but to give.
Marta's expression shifted.
Alexia noticed immediately.
"No," she said.
Marta blinked innocently. "I did not speak."
"You have the face."
"What face?"
"The face of someone about to make the morning worse."
"I would never."
"You would absolutely."
Irene looked from Marta to Alexia. "What are you thinking?"
Marta leaned closer, lowering her voice even though the only person who could overhear was the barista, who already seemed beyond judgement. "When we go back out, show Jay something expensive. Something ridiculous. Ask if you can buy it with her card."
Alexia stared at her.
Marta smiled.
"No," Alexia said again, less firmly.
Irene's eyes narrowed with interest. "How ridiculous?"
"Interesting ridiculous," Marta said.
"Define interesting," Alexia said.
Marta looked around the café as if the answer might be written on a pastry. "Ten thousand euros."
Irene made a small sound. "For what?"
"A bag."
"A bag?"
"A beautiful bag," Marta said. "It has to be something Alexia would plausibly want."
Alexia should have refused immediately. She should have said she was not turning her girlfriend's strange generosity into a terrace experiment for Marta's entertainment. She should have said it was unfair to Jay, who would not understand she was being tested because she trusted Alexia so completely that the test itself would be meaningless. She should have taken the coffees, gone back outside, returned Jay's card, kissed her cheek, and let the morning continue in peace.
Instead, she looked out through the window again.
Jay was laughing now, head tilted back, sunlight catching her throat tattoo, the napkin shelter forgotten in front of her. She looked open and loud and completely herself, and Alexia knew, with the calm certainty of someone who had lived inside Jay's love long enough to know its weather, exactly what would happen.
"She will say yes," Alexia said.
Marta's smile spread. "Without blinking?"
Alexia looked back at the card. "Without blinking."
Irene looked delighted and horrified. "That is insane."
"Sí," Alexia said, and tucked Jay's card into her pocket with the smallest, softest smile. "That is Jay."
They carried the coffees back out in two trays, Marta practically vibrating with anticipation, Irene trying and failing to look neutral, and Alexia wearing the composed expression she used before penalties, captain speeches, and interactions with journalists who asked stupid questions.
The terrace absorbed them easily. Coffees were redistributed with the practised efficiency of people who knew one another's orders by memory, and conversation resumed around the temporary disruption. Jay took her coffee from Alexia with a murmured, "Thanks, baby," then kissed Alexia's wrist before turning back to Mapi.
Alexia sat beside her again.
Jay's hand dropped automatically to Alexia's knee under the table. Not performative. Not even conscious. Just contact, warm and casual, thumb moving once against the linen of Alexia's trousers before she resumed explaining why Mapi would not be allowed near the fire.
Alexia looked at the hand on her knee.
Marta saw her look.
Irene saw Marta see it.
Lucy saw all of them seeing things and sighed. "Something is happening."
"Nothing is happening," Alexia said.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. "That was captain voice. Definitely happening."
Alexia opened her phone and searched with the same efficiency she brought to match analysis, except this time the subject was a structured leather handbag with clean lines, dark hardware, and a price that would make most reasonable people sit down before discussing it. She found it within a minute. Beautiful, admittedly. Serious. Elegant. Exactly the kind of thing Alexia liked because it looked organised enough to have opinions.
She turned the phone towards Jay.
"Bebé."
Jay turned instantly, conversation abandoned so quickly Mapi made an offended sound. "Yeah?"
"Look at this." Alexia angled the screen so Jay could see. "I found it this morning. I really love it."
Jay leaned closer, her hand still on Alexia's knee, sunglasses sliding down her nose as she studied the picture. "That is a very you bag."
Alexia blinked. "A me bag?"
"Yeah. Structured. Beautiful. Looks like it knows where its passport is."
Lucy choked on coffee.
Alexia's mouth twitched. "It is ten thousand euros."
Jay nodded, still looking at the bag. "It should know where its passport is, then."
Marta put a hand over her mouth.
Alexia held her nerve. "Can I get it with your card?”
Jay looked from the phone to Alexia.
It was barely a look. Not a calculation. Not a pause long enough to count as financial analysis. Just Jay seeing the bag, then Alexia's face, then the bag again, as if the answer had been waiting in the space between them.
"Yeah, course," Jay said, leaning in to kiss Alexia's cheek before turning back to Mapi. "Anyway, the shelter needs elevation, because if it rains and you've built in a dip, congratulations, you now live in soup."
The terrace stopped.
Not all at once in a dramatic way, but in ripples. Marta froze first, both hands wrapped around her coffee like she needed something solid. Irene stared at Jay with bright, disbelieving eyes. Patri stopped chewing. Mapi's mouth fell open. Lucy lowered her cup slowly. Ona looked up from her phone. Even Alexia, who had known what would happen, still felt something in her chest catch at the speed of it.
Jay was talking about shelter soup.
She had just agreed to ten thousand euros between one breath and the next, kissed Alexia's cheek like Alexia had asked for a sip of water, and gone back to accusing Mapi of poor island planning.
"Jay," Irene said.
Jay looked over. "Yeah?"
"Did you hear what she said?"
"About the bag?"
"About the price of the bag."
"Ten thousand euros," Jay said, in a tone that suggested she was aware numbers existed.
Patri leaned forward. "You heard that part."
"Yes, Patri."
"And you still said yeah, course."
"Correct."
"Without thinking."
Jay frowned. "I thought."
Lucy put her coffee down. "You turned your head and turned it back. That was not thinking. That was neck movement."
Jay looked mildly offended. "My thoughts are efficient."
"Your thoughts spent ten thousand euros on a bag in half a second."
"It's a nice bag."
Mapi pointed at her. "Ten thousand euros."
"I heard the number."
"Say it back."
"Ten thousand euros."
Mapi stared. "And you're calm?"
Jay looked at Alexia, then at the phone, then at Mapi. "Alexia likes it."
The table reacted like that sentence had physically touched them.
Lucy stared at the sky. Ona smiled into her coffee. Patri leaned back with a quiet, helpless laugh. Marta clasped both hands in front of her mouth like her experiment had worked too well and now frightened her. Alexia, despite herself, felt warmth bloom beneath her ribs, impossible and inconvenient.
"Jay," Lucy said carefully, "walk us through the logic."
Jay sighed in the way she did when people made simple things difficult. "There is no complex logic."
"Try."
"Ale found a bag. Ale likes the bag. I have a card. The card buys the bag. Ale is happy. End of process."
Patri blinked. "The card buys the bag?"
"That is one of its main jobs."
"Ten thousand euros," Mapi said again.
"Mapi, if you say the number again, I'm putting you on the island without a coconut."
Marta looked at Alexia. "She really didn't blink."
Alexia lifted one shoulder, trying not to look as touched as she felt. "I told you."
"Wait," Lucy said, looking between them. "This was a test?"
Alexia paused.
Jay turned slowly.
Alexia smiled very sweetly. "A small one."
Jay's eyebrows rose. "You tested me?"
"No, Marta tested you."
Marta sat up. "Do not put this entirely on me."
"You absolutely tested me," Jay said to Alexia, though there was no anger in it, only dawning amusement. "With a ten thousand euro bag?"
Alexia reached over and brushed a thumb along Jay's jaw, because she had learned long ago that touching Jay's face could soften almost any accusation. "I was curious."
Jay leaned into her hand immediately, traitor to herself. "You know I fold when you touch my face."
"Sí."
"Using known weaknesses in a financial experiment feels unethical."
Marta nodded. "She has a point."
Alexia smiled at Jay. "You still said yes."
"Because you liked the bag."
"You are proving the point, bebé."
"What point?"
"That you are deranged," Lucy said.
Jay looked at Alexia. "Is that the point?"
Alexia's thumb moved once more along her jaw. "A little."
Jay smiled. "For you? Absolutely."
The table groaned again.
"Disgusting," Mapi said, but her face was soft in the way it got when Jay and Alexia were ridiculous enough to become sweet.
Alexia dropped her hand but kept her knee pressed to Jay's. "I would pay you back."
Jay turned to look at her properly then.
The whole table saw the shift.
The humour did not vanish exactly, but something steadier moved underneath it. Jay's expression became patient, warm, almost confused, as if Alexia had suggested she could pay Jay back for breathing near her.
"No," Jay said.
Alexia sighed. "Jay."
"No, baby." Jay reached to Alexia's pocket, where she knew the card was, and held out her hand. "Give me the card."
Alexia stared at the hand.
Marta whispered, "Oh, this is new."
"Jay," Alexia said.
"You're not buying it if you're paying me back. Give me the card."
Lucy made a faint, wounded sound. "She's taking the card back so Alexia can't reimburse her."
Patri leaned towards Mapi. "That is exactly what is happening."
Mapi whispered, "I hate how romantic that is."
Alexia looked at Jay for a long moment, then took the card from her pocket and placed it in Jay's waiting palm.
Jay tucked it back into her own pocket with a nod. "I'll sort it later."
"You will not sort it later."
"I will absolutely sort it later."
"You are not buying me the bag."
Jay kissed Alexia's cheek again, slow and affectionate this time, lingering just long enough that Alexia's eyes closed despite the audience. "Okay."
Lucy pointed at them. "That was not agreement. That was mouth based evasion."
Jay looked offended. "Mouth based evasion?"
"You kissed her so she'd forget the argument."
Alexia opened her eyes. "It worked a little."
Pina, who had arrived late from inside with a pastry and had clearly walked into the best part of the morning, stopped behind Lucy's chair. "What worked?"
Mapi turned with the face of a woman gifted purpose. "Jay agreed to buy Alexia a ten thousand euro bag in under one second, then took the card back so Alexia couldn't pay her back."
Pina looked at Jay.
"That is insane."
Jay picked up her coffee. "I am loved by cowards."
Alexia reached under the table and pinched her thigh.
Jay yelped. "Ow. Loved by violence."
"You are not buying the bag," Alexia said.
Jay rubbed her thigh, smiling. "You pinched me in public, guapa."
"And I will do it again."
"Threatening me in linen is brave."
"Behave."
Jay's whole face changed.
Pina pointed. "Oh, she liked that."
Lucy muttered, "Of course she liked that."
Alexia tried to look stern and mostly failed because Jay was looking at her like the terrace had gone quiet except for her voice.
Marta leaned towards Irene and said, softly enough that only their end of the table heard, "This is deranged."
Irene nodded. "But charmingly."
"Financially alarming."
"Emotionally devastating."
Alexia heard them and did not disagree.
The rest of the café morning dissolved slowly after that, but the bag did not leave the table. Not physically, because it was still only a photograph on Alexia's phone, but spiritually it sat among the coffees like a guest. Every few minutes someone said "ten thousand euros" and someone else reacted. Mapi tried to calculate how long she could survive on a desert island with a ten thousand euro bag and no coconuts. Patri suggested the bag itself could be used as shelter if it was structured enough. Lucy asked whether the bag came with its own mortgage adviser. Pina told Alexia she should name it if Jay bought it. Alexia insisted nobody was buying anything. Jay, notably, said nothing and smiled into her coffee.
Eventually, after a twenty minute goodbye that involved three different people standing, sitting back down, remembering something, arguing about dinner plans, and accusing Mapi of stealing her own sunglasses again, Jay and Alexia finally left.
The walk home was golden and slow, the city softer now than it had been in the morning, heat resting across the pavements, shop shutters half open, tourists drifting lazily, locals moving with the relaxed confidence of people who knew which side streets had shade. Alexia had her hand in Jay's back pocket because she was still annoyed and still wanted contact, which Jay understood as one of the highest forms of Putellas conflict resolution.
They walked in silence for almost a block.
Then Alexia said, "You know I am annoyed."
Jay nodded. "Yes, baby."
"Do not say baby like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you are trying to charm me."
Jay turned her head, sunglasses low on her nose. "I am not trying. It happens naturally."
Alexia made the small sound she made when Jay was funny against her will. Jay wisely did not comment.
"I am serious," Alexia said. "Ten thousand euros is a lot of money."
"I know."
"You said yes like I asked for an extra croissant."
"I also would have said yes to the croissant."
"That is not the point."
"It would have been cheaper."
"Jay."
Jay held both hands up briefly. "Sorry. Serious face."
Alexia glanced at her. Jay attempted a serious face.
It looked terrible.
"Stop," Alexia said. "You look like you are about to lie to customs."
Jay laughed. "I'm listening."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to do things like that for me." Alexia's voice softened before she meant it to, the argument slipping into the real worry underneath. "I have money. I can buy things for myself. I do not need you to see something I like and immediately decide it should be mine because you have a card."
Jay slowed slightly.
Alexia slowed with her.
"I know you can buy things," Jay said. "That's never been the point."
"What is the point, then?"
Jay took off her sunglasses and hooked them in her shirt, looking at Alexia directly now, no humour to hide behind for once. "You spend your whole life being careful. With money, with time, with people, with what you let yourself want. You look at something you like and immediately start making rules for why you shouldn't have it. I look at something you like and think, why not?"
Alexia looked at her.
Jay shrugged, softer. "Sometimes I like being the why not."
The city moved around them. A scooter passed. Somewhere above them, someone shook a rug from a balcony. Alexia stood in the middle of the pavement with Jay in front of her and felt the argument loosen in her hands.
"You cannot make me cry on a public street about a bag," Alexia said.
Jay smiled carefully. "That would be bad for both our reputations."
"You do not have a reputation for emotional restraint."
"True, but I have sunglasses. That helps."
Alexia stepped closer and took Jay's face in one hand, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. "You are impossible."
"I'm actually very simple."
"No. You are the most complicated simple person I have ever loved."
Jay's smile softened into something private. "Loved?"
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she was already leaning in. "Idiota."
Jay kissed her first, because sometimes Alexia's insults in Spanish required immediate gratitude. It was warm and slow and right there on the pavement, Alexia's hand on her jaw, Jay's arm slipping around her waist, the kiss lasting long enough that a woman walking past smiled at them and Jay, when Alexia pulled back, whispered, "She gets it."
Alexia laughed against her mouth. "Walk."
They walked.
After a few steps, Alexia said, "You are not buying the bag."
Jay squeezed her hand. "Okay."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"Say it."
Jay glanced down at her. "I am not buying the bag."
Alexia studied her face.
Jay looked open, sincere, deeply in love, and therefore entirely untrustworthy.
"You are lying."
"I am not lying."
"You have a lying forehead."
Jay stopped. "A lying forehead?"
"It does a thing."
"My forehead has been nothing but loyal to you."
"Jay."
"I am not buying the bag," Jay said again, very clearly.
Alexia held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded, slowly. "Okay."
"Okay."
They walked on.
What Alexia did not know, because she had been saying goodbye to Irene and Marta at the time and because Jay had used the toilet excuse with the smooth confidence of a woman about to commit romantic fraud, was that Jay had already bought the bag eighteen minutes before the walk home had begun. She had, technically, gone to the toilet. She had also stood outside the café by the side wall, found the exact bag on the website, ordered it to the training ground with next day delivery, paid extra for discreet packaging despite knowing the delivery would become the opposite of discreet the moment Mapi found out, and returned to the table in time to hear Patri accuse Mapi of having "anti coconut energy."
So Jay was not lying.
She was not going to buy the bag.
The buying had already happened.
This was, in Jay's opinion, an important legal distinction.
The next morning, Jay arrived at the training ground early enough that even the building seemed suspicious of her.
The corridors were quiet, the air cool, the pitches still empty beyond the glass. Jay had a coffee in one hand and the expression of someone who definitely had not spent the walk from the car checking her delivery tracking every twelve seconds. Alexia had a captain's meeting first, which worked beautifully because it meant Jay had time to intercept the package, stage the surprise, and pretend innocence with the full commitment of a woman who had watched three crime documentaries and absorbed only the confidence.
At 09:13, her phone buzzed.
Delivered to reception.
Jay abandoned her coffee so quickly it wobbled in the cup and made a small brown ring on the table.
"You good?" Lucy asked from the canteen doorway.
"Perfect."
"You look crime adjacent."
"I have never been less crime adjacent."
"That's exactly what a crime adjacent person would say."
Jay pointed at her. "You have a suspicious spirit."
"Where are you going?"
"To reception."
"For?"
"Business."
Lucy looked at her for three full seconds. "You bought the bag."
Jay said nothing.
Lucy's face changed. "You bought the fucking bag."
"Language in the training facility."
Lucy followed her. "How are you alive? Alexia told you not to buy it."
"Chronology is important."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I bought it before she told me not to."
Lucy stopped walking.
Jay continued.
Lucy shouted after her, "That is not how relationships work."
Jay lifted a hand. "Debatable."
Reception had the box. The box was beautiful, which felt unnecessary and also appropriate. Heavy cardboard, dark ribbon, discreet branding, the sort of packaging that knew it had ruined people financially before breakfast and felt elegant about it. Jay signed for it, ignored the receptionist's knowing look because apparently everyone in the building had developed a sixth sense for Jay's romantic nonsense, and carried it to the changing room.
Alexia's locker stood neat and calm, because of course it did. Even her locker looked like it had leadership qualities. Jay opened it with the code she knew the same way Alexia knew Jay's, the same way they knew each other's coffee orders and alarm tones and where the other one hid emergency snacks. She placed the box inside carefully, on the shelf above Alexia's boots, then stood back to admire it.
It looked excellent.
It looked like consequences.
Jay closed the locker.
Then she texted Mapi.
Jay: tell me when Alexia's meeting finishes
Mapi: why
Jay: just tell me
Mapi: you bought the bag
Jay: unrelated
Mapi: YOU BOUGHT THE BAG
Jay: stop shouting in text
Mapi: I am whispering with my soul
Jay: meeting. tell me.
Mapi: I require immunity before I assist in this crime
Jay: I will not tell Ingrid about the sunglasses in the fridge
There was a pause.
Mapi: meeting finishes in ten.
Jay smiled and went to breakfast.
The canteen had the comfortable early training hum of plates, coffee machines, low conversation and people pretending they were not watching each other's food. Jay sat with Lucy, Patri and Ona, eating eggs with the relaxed focus of someone who had either a clear conscience or years of practice pretending she did. Lucy, sitting opposite, stared at her over a mug.
"You are too calm."
"I am eating."
"You bought a ten thousand euro bag before training and hid it in your girlfriend's locker."
Jay pointed with her fork. "Allegedly."
"I watched you carry the box."
"You saw me carry a box. Boxes can contain many things."
"Did it contain a bag?"
Jay ate a forkful of eggs. "I respect your curiosity."
Patri looked between them. "What did she do?"
Lucy opened her mouth, but before she could answer, the canteen doors opened.
Alexia walked in carrying the box.
The whole room felt it.
Not because she was loud. Alexia was not loud. She did not need to be loud. She came in wearing training kit, hair tied back, one hand under the box, the other steadying the side, and her face was composed in a way that made the canteen understand immediately that the composition was artificial.
Jay looked up.
Her mouth twitched.
Alexia saw it.
"Do not smile," Alexia said.
Jay obediently stopped smiling, which only made it worse because her eyes kept doing it.
Alexia reached the table and placed the box directly in front of her. "Bebé."
Lucy whispered, "Oh, full bebé. Dangerous."
Jay looked at the box as if seeing it for the first time. "That's a nice box."
"Jay."
"Very solid."
"Jaycee."
Jay's shoulders lifted. "Ribbon's tasteful."
Alexia put both hands on the table and leaned slightly closer. "Why was this in my locker?"
Jay looked at Lucy. "Do you know?"
Lucy stared at her. "Do not involve me in your timeline crimes."
Patri choked. "Timeline crimes?"
Alexia's eyes narrowed. "What does she mean, timeline crimes?"
Jay took a sip of coffee.
Too slow.
Alexia pointed at her cup. "Do not hide behind coffee."
"I would never."
"You bought the bag."
"What bag?"
Alexia stared.
Jay stared back with a face of such theatrical innocence that Ona quietly put her fork down and settled in.
"The bag," Alexia said. "The ten thousand euro bag. The bag I told you not to buy."
Jay nodded thoughtfully. "That bag."
"Yes. That bag."
"I didn't buy that bag."
Lucy actually put her head in her hands.
Alexia's expression sharpened. "Jay."
"I didn't buy it after you told me not to."
The canteen went silent in stages.
Patri blinked.
Ona's mouth curved.
Lucy whispered, "There it is."
Alexia closed her eyes for a second. "What."
Jay sat back, warming to her own legal defence. "You said I was not allowed to buy it during the walk home."
"Yes."
"At that point, I had already bought it."
Alexia opened her eyes.
"So when I said I wouldn't buy it," Jay continued, calm as a solicitor with tattoos, "I was telling the truth. I would not buy it, future tense, because I had bought it, past tense. Chronology matters."
Patri made a sound that might have been a laugh trying to escape through shock.
Lucy lifted her head. "I need it stated for the record that I said this was not how relationships work."
Jay pointed at her. "You are not our lawyer."
"No, but I might be a witness."
Alexia stared at Jay for a long moment. "You bought it at the café."
Jay nodded.
"When?"
"When I went to the toilet."
"You bought a ten thousand euro bag while pretending to go to the toilet."
"I did also go to the toilet. I am not an animal."
Ona covered her mouth.
Patri leaned forward. "You ordered luxury leather on a bathroom break?"
"Outside the bathroom. On the café step."
Lucy nodded grimly. "Important distinction."
Alexia looked heavenward. "Dios mío."
Jay's eyes softened immediately. "You looked so happy when you saw it, Ale."
"That is not the point."
"It's a little the point."
"It is not."
"It's the emotional foundation of the point."
Alexia folded her arms. "You knew I would say no."
"Yes."
"So you did it before I could say no."
Jay hesitated. "That sounds bad when you say it with structure."
"Because it is bad."
"It is efficient."
"It is sneaky."
"It is proactive romance."
Lucy laughed into her mug.
Alexia turned to her. "Do not encourage her."
"I am not encouraging. I am witnessing."
Mapi appeared in the canteen doorway at exactly the right moment, which was suspicious because Mapi's timing was never accidental when chaos was available. She took in Alexia, Jay, the box, Lucy's face, Patri's open mouthed fascination and Ona's quiet smile. Her entire body lit up.
"She found it."
Jay muttered, "Snitch energy."
Mapi walked over with reverence. "Is this the bag?"
Alexia pointed at her without looking away from Jay. "Do not say the number."
Mapi placed both hands over her heart. "I would never."
"You said it seventeen times yesterday."
"That was yesterday's art."
Patri, still processing, said, "She bought it before the argument so she could truthfully say she wouldn't buy it."
Mapi stopped.
Then turned to Jay with genuine admiration. "That is evil."
Jay smiled. "Thank you."
Alexia slapped Jay's shoulder lightly. "It is not thank you."
"It felt like respect."
"It was concern," Mapi said, but she was grinning.
Alexia picked up the box. "I am returning it."
Jay's smile vanished. "No."
The room quieted again, because that no was different. Not loud. Not sharp. Just immediate.
Alexia looked at her.
Jay stood, slowly, not using her height like pressure but not hiding from the seriousness either. "Please don't."
Alexia's face softened despite herself. "Jay."
"I know you're annoyed. I know I did the timeline thing."
"Timeline thing?"
"Timeline crime," Lucy supplied.
Jay shot her a look. "Not helping."
Lucy held up both hands.
Jay turned back to Alexia. "I know it was sneaky. I'll accept sneaky. I'll accept creatively dishonest. I'll even accept luxury ambush if Mapi wants to write it down later."
"I do," Mapi said.
"But don't return it because you think you have to prove something to me about money." Jay's voice gentled, eyes steady on Alexia's. "You don't have to prove you don't need me. I know you don't need me. That's why I like giving you things. Because it's not need. It's want."
Alexia's mouth parted slightly.
The canteen became too quiet for a room full of professional athletes and breakfast cutlery.
Jay smiled, smaller now. "And you wanted it. I saw your face."
Alexia looked down at the box, then back up at Jay. "My face is apparently a problem."
"Only for my bank account."
Patri made a small, helpless sound.
Jay continued, softer. "You can be mad at me. I'll take it. But keep the bag, baby. Please. Let me do this."
Alexia stared at her.
Then she looked at the box again.
Then, in the most inconvenient development possible, she looked like she wanted to cry.
Jay noticed instantly and stepped closer. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't cry. If you cry, I'll buy you a matching wallet and then we'll both have learned nothing."
Alexia burst out laughing.
The canteen exploded with relief.
Lucy dropped her head back. "Jesus Christ, Jones."
Mapi pointed. "Matching wallet noted."
Alexia put the box back on the table so she could put both hands on Jay's chest and push her back half a step, except she did not let go of the fabric afterwards. "You are impossible."
Jay looked down at Alexia's hands on her shirt. "You keep saying that like it's not working for you."
Alexia narrowed her eyes.
Jay smiled. "Too soon?"
"Yes."
“Noted."
Alexia tugged her down and kissed her anyway.
The canteen reacted exactly as expected, which was terribly. Lucy groaned. Patri clapped once and then pretended she had not. Mapi shouted, "The bag has been accepted by mouth contract." Ona laughed softly into her coffee. Someone from another table yelled, "Ten thousand euros!" and Alexia broke the kiss just long enough to point in that direction without looking.
"Enough."
Jay, still close, whispered, "That was very captain."
"You are still in trouble."
"I know."
"And I am still annoyed."
"I know."
"And you are not allowed to use chronology in arguments for at least one month."
Jay considered. "Can I use sequence?"
"No."
"Order of events?"
"Jay."
"Okay."
Alexia's mouth twitched. Jay saw it and smiled, triumphant but soft, because she knew she had not won exactly, but she had been forgiven enough to survive breakfast.
Alexia picked up the box again, cradling it under one arm. "It is a beautiful bag."
Jay's smile went private. "I know."
"That does not mean you were right."
"Of course."
"You were wrong."
"Deeply."
"And sneaky."
“Romantically."
"Do not add romantically to make crimes sound better."
"It does make them sound better."
Lucy lifted her mug. "Romantic financial crime."
Pina, entering at the tail end of the scene with Cata behind her, stopped dead. "Why is everyone saying romantic financial crime?"
Mapi turned with the joy of a woman given fresh audience. "Jay bought the bag."
Pina dropped into a chair. "The ten thousand euro bag?"
Alexia closed her eyes. "I said do not say the number."
Cata gasped. "She bought it?"
"Before being told not to," Patri said.
"While pretending to pee," Lucy added.
Pina looked at Jay with wide eyes. "That is insane."
Jay shrugged. "Alexia liked it."
Cata placed both hands flat on the table. "I need to sit down.”
Alexia looked around the canteen at all of them, then down at the beautiful box under her arm, then at Jay, who was watching her with that open, hopelessly devoted expression that still made Alexia's chest ache even after all this time.
She shifted the box to one arm, reached out with her free hand, and took Jay's chin between her fingers. "Gracias, amor."
Jay's face softened completely. "De nada."
Alexia stared.
Jay smiled. "Correct usage?"
"Correct usage."
"Five words now."
"Maybe six."
Jay looked absurdly pleased with herself.
Alexia kissed her again, brief and fond, and this time nobody shouted because even the team occasionally had the emotional intelligence to recognise when mocking would ruin the moment. It lasted exactly three seconds before Mapi, who had the emotional intelligence but not the self control, whispered, "Wallet."
Alexia turned her head slowly.
Mapi backed away. "I said nothing."
Jay looked delighted. "She said wallet."
Alexia pointed at Jay. "No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You smiled in a purchasing way."
"A purchasing way?" Lucy repeated.
Alexia nodded firmly. "Yes."
Jay lifted both hands. "No wallet."
"Promise."
Jay paused.
The whole canteen leaned forward.
Alexia's eyes narrowed. "Jay."
"I promise," Jay said quickly.
Lucy pointed at her. "Check the timeline."
Alexia looked at Jay.
Jay looked at the ceiling.
Alexia gasped. "Jaycee."
"I have not bought the wallet," Jay said.
The room waited.
Jay added, "Yet."
The canteen erupted.
Alexia put the box down, grabbed Jay by the front of her training top, and pulled her into another kiss, half to shut her up and half because she loved her too much to do anything else with all that feeling.
Jay laughed into it.
Alexia kissed her harder.
Lucy groaned. "This is why she keeps doing things. There are no consequences."
Alexia pulled back, cheeks warm, eyes bright. "There are consequences."
Jay's expression changed so fast that Mapi slapped both hands over Cata's ears.
"Training ground," Alexia warned softly.
Jay swallowed. "Yes, captain."
Pina made a dying noise.
Cata, ears still covered by Mapi, shouted, "I want context."
"No," Lucy said. "You really don't."
Alexia picked up the box one last time, kissed Jay's cheek, then her mouth once more because Jay was smiling and Alexia had no discipline when Jay smiled like that. "I am putting this in my locker," she said. "And after training, we are discussing boundaries."
Jay nodded. "Of course."
"And money."
"Definitely."
"And honesty."
"Chronological or emotional?"
Alexia stared.
Jay kissed her quickly before she could answer. "Sorry. Last one."
Alexia left the canteen with the box under her arm and the walk of a woman who had lost an argument, won a bag, and had no intention of admitting either.
Jay sat back down.
Everyone at the table looked at her.
She picked up her coffee and took a calm sip.
Lucy was the first to speak. "You are, and I mean this with affection, completely unwell."
Jay smiled into her mug. "She loved the bag."
Patri nodded slowly, still staring at the doorway Alexia had disappeared through. "She did love the bag."
Pina leaned in. "Are you buying the wallet?"
"No," Jay said.
Everyone stared.
Jay sighed. "Not today."
Ona shook her head, smiling. "You know she is going to lecture you."
Jay leaned back in her chair, coffee in hand, looking towards the doorway with the softest, stupidest, happiest expression on her face. "Yeah."
"And you are happy about this?" Lucy asked.
Jay's smile widened. "She'll call me bebé while she does it."
The table groaned.
Pina threw a napkin at her.
Jay caught it, still smiling.
The bag, Alexia would later insist, was not forgiveness.
The fact that she wore it to dinner three nights later with a black dress Jay had absolutely no ability to survive was also not forgiveness.
The fact that she let Jay kiss her against the apartment door for ten minutes when Jay saw the bag on her shoulder was, apparently, "unrelated."
Jay did not argue.
She had learned that sometimes the best thing to do when Alexia was pretending not to forgive you was to kiss her, tell her she looked beautiful, and let the bag speak for itself.
A Williamson In Trouble (Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader)
“Who is the naughtiest player on the team?” The little kid interviewing Leah asked.
“The naughtiest?” Leah chuckled as the little girl nodded.
“Hmm maybe Katie McCabe because she is always getting yellow cards” Leah smirked. “Or maybe my sister, she is very bold too, but not me, I’m a good girl” Leah giggled.
It was true, you were known as a bit of a trouble maker. Leah, the golden child, could do no wrong in your parents, particularly your dad’s, eyes. So, you decided from an early age to do enough wrongs for the both of you.
Leah was 30 seconds late to training? You were 30 minutes.
Leah got a yellow card? You got a straight red.
Leah got into heated arguments with people? You got into heated fist fights.
Growing up, you’d always been a bit of a daredevil. Leah was always such a well mannered child, teenager and now adult, but you were not and never going to be that. You weren’t disrespectful, per se, but you were definitely trouble. Where you seemed to be, trouble followed.
You were protective of those you cared about, even though there was very few people that you could admit you cared for. That’s what she loved and hated about you the most. She, being your Arsenal and England team mate, Alessia Russo. You boiled her blood, but haunted her mind on a daily basis. She hated how dismissive and idiotic you were, but she also loved how arrogant and senseless you were. It was confusing, you were confusing.
-
You were in the boxing ring with Katie, sparring, as she kept her hands directly in front of her face.
“I’m not gonna punch you in the face” you smirked.
“Ye said that the last time too” she protested as you laughed.
“Come on, it’s no fun when you cover your face for the whole thing” you frowned.
“It’s also no fun when someone who’s as big as a fuckin’ tree is tryin’ to punch me in the face” Katie moaned.
“You’re useless. I’ll just go use an actual punching bag” you groaned as she took a breath of relief.
The last time you’d done this together, she was left with a black eye which had you crying laughing at her for an entire week. You two were best friends though, and what’s a black eye between friends?
“Russo, want a go?” Katie jabbed the striker lightly as she came into the gym.
“I’m fine Macca” Alessia laughed. “Have you seen Leah?” She asked.
“Nope, just Williamson Jr” Katie pointed over at where you were sat, on the bench press.
You’d just finished teasing a scared looking Kyra who was trying to stretch before her session. You had gotten bored quickly of that, when she wasn’t reacting, and went off to lift some weights instead.
“She actually might be helpful for this” Alessia admitted, as she left a clueless Katie standing alone, watching on. “Y/n” Alessia waved in your face, trying to get your attention as you had your headphones on, music thumping.
You knew the blonde wasn’t a big fan of yours, which you didn’t really care about. At least you told yourself that you didn’t care. You took your headphones off, but didn’t warrant the girl with a reply. You were stubborn like that when you knew someone didn’t like you.
“Can you help me with something?” She asked.
“With what?” You frowned.
“There’s a light flashing in my car, and I know you or Leah would know what it is” she replied.
You and Leah liked cars. During Covid you impulsively bought an old one and decided you would both fix it up. You’d done about 99% of the work, although Leah had taken 100% of the credit.
“I’m busy” you shrugged, throwing your headphones back on, leaving Alessia to groan and head off to find your sister.
“You’re so annoying” she mumbled as she left you be.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t turned back on your music yet, so you heard her stupid little comment. She frustrated the life out of you. She walked off out to her car, finding your sister en route who had a look at the car, but Leah couldn’t fix it, shock. The two of them both came back into the gym shortly afterwards to find everyone pretty spread out, but a lot of eyes were on you. Your headphones had now been replaced with earphones and you were punching the life out of a boxing bag. Katie gave Leah a knowing look as your sister waddled over towards you.
“Relax there Mike Tyson” Leah said calmly and put her hands on your shoulders.
“I’m busy” you huffed, before feeling yourself being tugged towards her.
“Never too busy for me” she smirked as she led you far, far away from the bag that looked rightly battered.
Alessia didn’t understand you and Leah’s relationship because you were both so different. You were always so angry and uptight and Leah was so approachable and pleasant, but your sister loved you so much regardless. That chemistry was also seen on the pitch, as you played in midfield and/or defence, just like her.
“Ye’s need to just fuck it out” Katie laughed at Alessia.
“What?” Alessia frowned as her head snapped around to look at the Irish girl.
“Cut it out. She said cut it out” Caitlin quickly said, squeezing Katie’s leg.
“Cut what out?” Alessia asked with her hands on her hips.
“She’s not that bad. Just give her a bit more of a chance” Beth shrugged as Alessia rolled her eyes. You were insufferable to her.
“What’s got you so angry?” Leah asked.
“I’m not angry” you pouted and shook your head.
“So, you just like to permanently damage gym equipment then?” Leah laughed.
“You know I do” you smirked.
“Come on, mum wants us over for dinner, so go get changed” she informed you as you groaned. “It’s not up for debate” she added. You loved your mum more than anyone else in the world, you were just in no mood of a family dinner tonight.
“Fine” you groaned, heading into the empty changing rooms and grabbing a quick shower.
As you were walking out with your bag slung over your shoulder, you don’t know how Katie and Kyra’s bags caught your eye. They just looked so tempting. You hid Kyra’s bag on a high up shelf that stuck out just below the ceiling, meanwhile Katie’s bag was thrown into the showers and you pressed the sensor on. You walked out of the changing rooms with a smirk plastered across your face.
“What did you do?” Leah frowned.
“Nothing, why?” You asked continuing to smirk. She had a glance in and everything looked in order before she nodded to herself and you both walked to the car park.
Your mum knew you were a trouble maker, you’d consistently got in trouble in school growing up and you were always getting into fights. You’d been thrown out of enough football clubs for your mum to know you should have been a boxer. But she loved that little trouble maker side to you, because she knew there was more to you deep down. You’d completely change around your mum, because you felt at ease with her.
“Mum we’re here” Leah smiled as you came through the door.
“Hello, my love” she said, bringing Leah into a hug. “There’s my little trouble maker” she chuckled and squeezed your cheeks.
“Hi mum” you smiled before hugging her.
“See, why can’t you be this nice all the time?” Leah laughed.
“Cause everyone isn’t mum” you shrugged, starting to help her with the dinner she was cooking while Leah started making tea.
You loved your mum, you didn’t have a bad word to say about her. Even with all the trouble you’d been in over the years, never once did she shout at you, or ground you, or take your phone. Your dad would tell you to be more like Leah, but not your mum. You idolised the ground she walked on, and would never let anything happen to her.
“How was work?” She asked.
“Fine” you mumbled.
“Training was tough, I had physio then and Y/n went to the gym” Leah said, sitting down with her dinner and mug of tea. You gestured your mum to sit down before bringing over her mug and plate, and then going back for your own.
“How is Alessia settling in?” She asked, cutting into the steak she’d made, all three of them made differently to match how you each liked yours made. Leah laughed at how even her name made you shrivel up.
The truth however, wasn’t that you hated Alessia at all. You might like to think you did, but you actually really liked her, and you despised her for that.
“She’s getting used to the place now, I’d say” Leah nodded. “I had to give her a garage recommendation earlier though, she had this problem with her car and I couldn’t figure it out” Leah tutted.
“Why didn’t you have a look?” Your mum asked you.
“Uh, she didn’t ask me” you lied with a shrug.
“Maybe you should stop into her when we’re done and have a look” your mum smiled.
“Yeah, Y/n, why don’t you?” Leah smirked at your scowling expression. You knew full well that Alessia had moaned to her that you said no when she asked you.
“Alessia’s house is actually on my drive home, I can drop you there” Leah’s smirk only grew as you shot her a fake smile.
“That would be great, I’ll give her a text now” you waved your phone in the air before pretending to tap on it and slipped it back into your pocket.
-
It wasn’t long before you were sat in Leah’s car and to your shock, she actually pulled up outside Alessia’s house.
“You can’t be serious? Come on, drive me home” you protested, regretting not driving yourself to work today.
“Okay I will on one condition” Leah sighed as you nodded. “Who moved Katie and Kyra’s bags?” She asked as you smirked.
“Well-”
“Out of the car” Leah huffed.
“How am I meant to get home?” You asked, although, you didn’t live too far from here.
“Maybe fix her car and she’ll be nice and drive you” Leah shrugged, leaning over to open the passenger door.
You got out with a loud groan and she sped off before you could change your mind. You shuffled over towards the front door and hesitantly knocked. She opened the door and was wearing just a pair of shorts and a hoodie, and you took a harsh gulp when your eyes met hers.
“What are you doing here?” She asked. You hadn’t actually texted her so she had no context as to why you were here.
“Uh, Leah said she couldn’t fix the car, so I can take a look before you actually need to bring it to a garage” you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck as you spoke.
“It’s fine, you’ll probably just snip something or break something to be funny and it’ll cost me more money” she scowled as your eyes dropped to the ground.
“Alright then” you shrugged as you turned around and began to walk away. She was a bit taken aback that you were being serious with her right now, so, she sighed at the sight of you walking away and gave in.
“Fine” she moaned and took the keys off the hook as you turned around. She threw them to you before turning back to put shoes on.
You opened the door of the car and stuck the keys in. You immediately knew what the issue was, and also knew that Leah would have no idea and smirked to yourself.
“Yeah, I can fix it” you mumbled. “I’ll be back in about half an hour, I just need to go home and get something” you said as you began to walk away again.
“It will still drive, right? Like I drove it home” Alessia asked as you nodded. “I can drive you” she said, getting in the car without a second thought.
You hesitantly got into the passenger seat and both of you remained silent on the drive. When you got out, you went into the house and grabbed what you needed before heading back to the car, where the girl was sat scrolling on her phone.
“I can just fix it here, saves us driving back” you suggested as she nodded in agreement.
“You can just go sit inside I’ll let you know when it’s done” you said as she took the house keys from you and headed inside.
It wasn’t like you were going to speak to her anyway, so there was no point in her staying out here with you. She was also just in a pair of shorts and it was a cold evening, you didn’t want her to get a cold.
You worked on the car for about 25 minutes, before sticking the keys in it. The light had now gone and you patted yourself on the shoulder. You headed back into the house and frowned at the loud sound of laughter coming from the living room. You were about to open the door, before Alessia spoke again to whoever she was on the phone to.
“I don’t know. She’s fixing the car now but I’m terrified she’s just ripping it part from part” Alessia laughed.
“In fairness, she could do that with her bare hands” Ella shouted. Of course she was talking to Ella.
“I don’t get how she’s related to Leah” Alessia giggled.
“I do, they’re both really stern” Ella smirked.
“I know, but Leah is nice. Y/n is horrible” Alessia, the girl whose car you just spent the last 25 minutes fixing, whispered. You were about to go through the door and give her a piece of your mind, until Ella spoke again.
“Oh come on, you so want to” Ella rolled her eyes. You raised your eyebrows at that comment, gripping the door handle and not moving it an inch.
“The two months in Australia were long, I was desperate” Alessia snapped with a giggle.
You felt your blood boiling when she said that, so you slammed the front door again, to let Alessia know you were in the house, after clearly not hearing you the first time.
“I have to go” Alessia said, hanging up on her best friend quickly. You walked into the kitchen, taking your grease stained tshirt off and throwing it into the wash, now stood in just your sports bra and joggers.
“That’s done” you said when she came into view and nodded to where you’d left her keys on the kitchen table.
“Thanks” she stared at your arms, the big, tattooed arms. “Do I owe you-” she began.
“See you tomorrow” you cut across, pulling your England hoodie over your head. Alessia looked at you for a minute, trying to get over the realisation you’d just told her to leave.
“See you then” she mumbled as she left.
Insufferable.
-
Days had passed at training and each day you’d turned up at least an hour late.
“What are you doing?” Leah asked Kyra, who was hunkered over at the door tying a string across the door frame at ankle height.
“Revenge” Kyra snickered as Leah chuckled.
“As long as you’re okay dying young” Leah held her hands up as Kyra nodded.
Everyone had already arrived, on time, and were in the gym, so you would be next through the door. And about 45 minutes later, you were. You were taking your headphones off and shouldering the door open, when you tripped over the string Kyra had stuck up.
Your headphones fell out of your hand and smashed onto the ground, into pieces. You also fell, your shoulder being the first thing to hit the ground. Your ankle also twisted as you fell, as it had got caught in the string. You limped over to your cubby and got changed, wincing in pain every now and again. And of course, of course, she had to walk in right now.
“Nice of you to join us” Alessia rolled her eyes. It was only after she said it did she see your headphones, which were usually around your neck, smashed all over the ground and you looked in a severe amount of discomfort.
“What happened?” She asked, rushing over towards you.
“Something was at the bottom of the door and I tripped over it. I’m fine” you stood up quickly and the pain shot to your ankle. You exhaled loudly as the smaller woman looked up at you.
“Come on, I’ll take you to the Physio” she put her hand around your waist and you placed yours over her shoulder.
Bearing all your weight on her was not going to be an easy process, as she was trying to get you to the opposite side of the training centre. Which is why she was so happy when Lotte walked by.
“Lotte, can you help?” Alessia shouted.
“What happened?” Lotte asked, quickly making her way to your other side and taking on most of your weight.
“Alessia kicked me in the ankle” you smirked with a wince.
“Alessia” Lotte shouted.
“I did not” Alessia protested.
“I tripped over something at the door” you grunted as you put your foot to the ground to make sure it was really sore. It was.
“Ah, my favourite patient” the physio chuckled as they brought you through the door. Alessia really struggled when people got on with you, or joked with you. How did people think you were a nice person?
“Lee” Alessia said, cutting across her conversation with Lia.
“Yeah?” They both answered.
“Leah” Alessia pointed to your sister as Lia laughed. “Y/n is in the Physio, she tripped over-” Alessia began to explain.
“Kyra” Leah groaned. “I suggest going into hiding”.
“Aw man” Kyra gulped. Leah jogged off down to the physio room to check on you.
The physio ruled you out for the Paris FC game and when you got the news, Leah decided it would be best if you never, ever found out that Kyra was the cause. You gave the young girl a hard enough time as it was with the relentless teasing.
“Can I still fly to Paris?” You asked as Jonas nodded at you with a sympathetic smile.
-
You were sat on the bench, ready to kill someone as you watched the team go 2-0 down. You knew that if you were on the pitch it would be different. You offered to hobble, but Jonas refused.
“Sit down” he mumbled.
“Well do something. Why even bother buying Alessia if you’re not going to fucking play her?” You shouted at him.
Jonas was so used to you now, he found it better not to argue with you. Alessia shot her head up at what you’d shouted, were you trying to say she was good?
It wasn’t too much longer until Alessia was subbed on, and even shorter that she’d drew the team level, scoring a brace. Jonas came over and shook your hand as you smirked.
“You’ll make a great coach one day if you can just try to stay calm” he laughed as he walked back to shout on instructions.
Paris FC went 3-2 up before Jen headed home and made it all square again, heading for penalties. All Alessia had to do was score, and the dream of winning the champions league would be on again for this season. You’d came so close last season.
The keeper guessed the right away and prodded Alessia’s shot away from the goal. Her head flung back as the Paris team ran by her, towards their keeper, celebrating in her face. You could see from the bench she was crying, so you started to hobble over, ignoring the protests of your teammates, Physio’s and Jonas.
“You alright?” You somehow were the first one to get to her, maybe it was more of a sprint you took off in. She collapsed into your arms, and you knew she probably thought you were someone else.
“It’s my fault, Y/n” she sobbed. She knew it was you.
“It’s not your fault, without you we wouldn’t have even got to penalties” you reassured her, pulling her closer into you and letting her cry.
“What the fuck is happening?” Katie titled her head, looking at the pair of you.
“I’m so confused” Beth said.
“Just leave them” Leah huffed, walking off in frustration of the result.
-
You eventually returned from injury, and the season had started just a few weeks prior. Arsenal had gotten off to a ropey start, but you were back in the starting XI now. And thank god, because today the team were playing Chelsea in a packed out Emirates. Your family were here, sitting with some other parents and friends.
8 minutes in, Beth opened the scoring after an unbelievable ball from Leah, but only 5 minutes later, Chelsea had equalised. However, in quick succession, Amanda had fired you back ahead. Straight from kick off, you won the ball back from your England teammate, Lauren. You looked up and saw Alessia was free and lobbed the ball over the top, a classic Williamson move. She took a touch and smashed it top corner, putting you two goals to the good.
“That was unreal” you shouted as you ran towards her. “Great finish” you smiled, putting your hand up for her to give you a high five.
“Great ball” she smiled, giving you a hug instead.
Half time came and went, and you were in a very comfortable position to see out the game. With about 15 minutes to go, Alessia broke free in the box, and was dragged down by Millie. The England co-captain, who you usually got on with quite well, was about to get an earful from you, and knew so when she saw you storming towards her.
“What the fuck was that?” You snapped, pushing her away from where Alessia was still laying on the ground.
“Y/n, mate, come on. It was an accident” Millie protested with a frown.
“Don’t touch her again or it’ll be the last thing you ever do, Millie” you pushed the blonde again before your sister came over to pull you away. The referee brandished a yellow card in your face as you watched Alessia be pulled back to her feet by Beth.
“You okay?” You asked her, hand briefly falling to her waist and she noticed you seemed genuine. Despite you lashing out at Millie, your tone was different with her, it was almost caring?
“I’m okay. Don’t you dare get yourself sent off” she frowned as you smirked.
“It’s your penalty” you said, handing her the ball.
Of course, she tucked it away to make it 4-1. She watched you at the end of the game, laughing and joking with Millie, the person you had told you were going to kill about 20 minutes ago. How could someone be so horrible, yet everyone liked you? Maybe Beth was right, maybe you weren’t that bad.
You got changed and showered quickly, but not as quick as Alessia and Leah had.
“I’m heading up to mum, they’re in box B” Leah smiled as you nodded and started to pack away your things.
“That’s where my parents are too” Alessia giggled as her and Leah got outside the changing room. The Russos and the Williamsons got on well, and had been packed into the box together for the game. Everyone was already hugging and laughing when you got there.
“Hi mum” you smiled as she beamed with excitement.
“There’s my little trouble maker” she squealed as she squeezed your cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah” you laughed, pulling her in for a hug.
“Want to explain your little fight with Millie?” She laughed as you shook your head. Alessia watched on, perplexed at how nice you came across with your mum.
“Well come and say hello to Alessia’s parents, love” she pulled you by the arm over to where Alessia was stood with her parents, looking at you getting closer and closer.
“Ah, Y/n!” Mario shouted as he gave you a quick hug before Carol took over.
“You played brilliantly” Carol gushed.
“Thanks a million, but nothing compared to Lessi” you smiled.
“She was fantastic, wasn’t she?” Mario smiled as Alessia rolled her eyes.
“Dad” she whined.
“You were” you whispered, smugly.
“I’ll go get us a coffee” Carol smiled, dragging your mum with her and Mario following behind them.
“I’ll see you in a bit” you nodded as you turned to walk away, but the blonde put her hand out to grab your arm.
“Wait” she said, as you looked down at her hand holding your arm. “Why did you react like that with Millie?” She asked.
“I didn’t want you to be hurt” you shrugged as she nodded and this time it was her turn to walk away.
“I would have wanted to too” you sighed. Thankfully, everyone was now inside and you were the only two left outside, overlooking the empty stadium.
“Wanted to what?” She frowned.
“When we were in Australia, I dunno. I heard you and Tooney on the phone when you were at mine” you stuttered. You watched Alessia’s face turn from a frown to complete embarrassment. “I get it was desperation for you, but, I don’t think it would have been for me” you whispered.
“You like me?” Alessia asked.
“Yeah, I guess” you replied. This was a whole different side to you than Alessia had ever seen. Usually you were up to something or just ignoring her as best you could.
“Darling, come inside. It’s freezing” your mum called from the door. You reluctantly walked towards the door, following your mum in as she walked further into the room.
“It wasn’t desperation” Alessia grabbed your hand to stop you walking any further, again. “It’s annoying how much I like you because you frustrate the life out of me. You’re always causing some type of trouble or issue” she sighed.
“That’s just me” you shrugged, freeing yourself from her hold.
“If you wanted to make this work, I need someone I can rely on and trust, and right now, that’s not you” she added, before brushing by you to walk back inside.
-
You barely spoke to Alessia after that, but her words played on your mind day after day. It took a few weeks before you finally understood what she was meant. You needed to grow up if you wanted to be with her, or anybody. So you stared making significant changes. It was the 4th day in a row you’d shown up early at the training grounds, when Leah finally decided to say it.
“Are you up to something?” Leah frowned when she walked into the canteen to find you alone, eating breakfast.
“No, why would you think that?” You asked.
“I’ve got my eye on you” she warned as she walked off to get her own food, before plonking herself opposite you and chatting the ear off you.
In the gym, you made more of an effort to stop picking on Kyra and not trying to purposely hurt Katie. You noticed that Kyra was bench pressing weights that were bit too heavy, when you sprinted over quickly to stop her from the dropping the bar on her chest.
“You’ll seriously hurt yourself doing that” you shook your head, pulling the bar up easily to its holder.
“I just want to get stronger, I’m sick of being picked on” she huffed. You squatted down and put your hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry Kyra, genuinely. I’ve been too harsh with you, let me help you yeah?” She nodded at you as you stood back up taking some weights off.
You guided her through more reps at less weight, helping her to make sure her form was correct. An amused Alessia watched the little PT session from the opposite side of the room.
“Y/n” Katie called, she had an evil looking grin on her face. “Amanda left her car keys on the shelf, should we hide them or take it for a spin?” She smirked.
“Neither” you shrugged, taking the keys from her hand and bringing them over to Amanda. “Hey, you left these on the shelf” you said, handing Amanda the keys as Katie brushed up beside Alessia.
“You life saver, I’ve been looking for these all day” she smiled and hugged you.
“She’s no fun anymore” Katie protested.
“Would you rather she tried to kill you at every training session?” Alessia laughed.
-
It was a few more days after, now that Kyra literally clung to you everyday like you were a tree, that Alessia approached you after your match.
“You played well” she smiled, standing over you at your cubby.
“Uh, thanks Less, you too” you stuttered. It was the first thing either of you had said to each other since the Chelsea game.
“Come over later? Maybe 7pm?” She asked as you nodded.
You’ve never left a changing room quicker in your life. You drove home relatively quickly and threw on comfortable clothes before heading over to her house. You arrived just before 7pm, with a bottle of wine in hand, knocking so carefully on the door you would swear it was made from glass.
“Hey, you’re early” Alessia giggled.
“Yeah, sorry. In a bit of a habit of that lately” you chuckled as your eyes fell to the bottle in your hand. “Uh, for you” you stuck it out for her to take, which she did, thanking you quickly before inviting you in.
“I made dinner, are you hungry?” She asked.
“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks Less” you smiled.
“Go make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right in” she pointed towards the living room.
She had a show paused on the TV, so you decided to look around the room to occupy yourself. She had decorated her house like you’d imagined she would have. It was warm and comforting, just like she was.
“You can switch that off, if you want” she said, coming through the door with two bowls in hand.
“No, no, finish it” you smiled, taking the bowl from her. “Thank you” you added. She got comfy on the couch and pressed play and you both began tucking into your food.
“Holy shit Less, this is unbelievable” you groaned in satisfaction.
“Family recipe” she giggled.
“Wait, who’s that?” You asked, pointing at the TV.
She found it cute you tried to show an interest in the show she was watching. You were asking a lot of questions for someone claiming they weren’t interested, and she’d let out a little laugh before answering your question. You stood up, taking both bowls into your hands when you’d both finished.
“What are you doing?” She asked, sticking her hand out and placing her fingers on your arm.
“I can clean up. You finish your show” you nodded as she sunk back into the couch and continued watching. “Do you want a glass of wine?” You shouted.
“Yes please” she shouted back. Your phone started buzzing, so you pressed it against the microwave and clicked answer. “Hello” you said into the camera, before moving off to try find glasses.
“Hey, where are you?” Leah frowned, not recognising the kitchen you were stood in, at first.
“Alessia’s house” you replied nonchalantly. “Do you know where she keeps her glasses?” You asked, opening another press to no avail.
“Top left” Leah replied and you moved to the top left press, pulling out two glasses. “You two speak now?” She asked.
“Yeah, well, after the Chelsea game, I told her I really liked her and-” you began, while you were pouring the wine.
“You like Less?” Leah shouted through the phone, as you met her with only a nod. “And this is how you’re telling me? Does she like you? Are you together? Did you tell mum?” Leah started to rattle off any question possible.
“Leah, shut up man” you groaned, lowering the volume of your phone.
“Listen, if you do really like her, I’m happy for you. But do not hurt her” Leah frowned.
“Isn’t it meant to be Alessia getting this talk from you?” You laughed.
“Alessia wouldn’t hurt a fly, but you are a menace” Leah smirked.
“It’s different with her. I-I really like her” you sighed and Leah knew, for probably the first time in your life, you were being genuine.
“Everything okay?” Alessia shouted.
“I need to go back inside, can I call you later?” You asked, as Leah nodded and hung up. You went back to the living room with two glasses of wine and handed one to a thankful Alessia.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find glasses” you apologised as she laughed.
You got into a chat about the game today and after a couple of glasses of wine, you were both a bit merry to say the least. She had no problem, even when she was sober, being touchy, so that just got worse when she was drunk.
“Tonight’s been really nice, Less” you mumbled as she smiled and squeezed your hand.
“It’s nice getting to see this side of you” she added.
You leaned in to kiss the girl, the timing was just right. She could see you’d made an effort to be the person she needed, and you really liked her. You’d go even further to say that you loved her. Only, you felt a hand on your chest, rather than her lips against yours.
“I can’t” Alessia whispered. “I told you, I needed someone I could rely on” she diverted her eyes away from you, as you looked dumbfounded.
“I thought you could see I’d made an effort for you? I thought that was the whole reason you invited me over-” you pouted, a bit confused at the rejection.
“It was” she sighed. “I just don’t know. It’s great you made an effort and I appreciate that, so much, but what if this is just temporary and you go back to acting like a dickhead?” She asked.
“Well, it’s nice to see what you actually think of me” you grunted, slamming the now empty wine glass on the table.
“No, Y/n, I didn’t mean it like that” she shook her head, trying to grab your hands.
“Get the fuck off me” you moaned, pushing her off and standing up. “You asked me to change, and I did” you stated firmly.
“It’s just not enough” she hummed. “I’m just so scared I’ll give you everything and you’ll just back track and push me away”
“Well this is never going to work then” you added, before leaving the room to get your shoes and your jacket.
“Can you just stay and talk to me? Please don’t go” Alessia pouted.
“Just- just leave me alone” you huffed, brushing out by her and leaving.
You took a chance driving home with two or three glasses of wine in your system. You made it back safely, although it was just a short drive. You got straight into bed and went asleep, trying to forget tonight ever happened.
-
You shut out the team, shifting to being just plain angry. No pulling tricks or pranks, or joking around, just not speaking to anybody, and grunting or walking away if someone tried. Days had passed of you slipping back into old habits like turning up late and getting angry. You’d been sent off in the last game for giving the ref backlash after a bad decision. Clearly, some of the team had brought it to Leah and Kim that they were concerned about you and Kim was more than happy for Leah to try to fix it.
“Hey” Leah shouted after you, walking towards the gym. “Man, slow down I have half an ACL here” Leah added with a laugh. You slowed your walk, allowing her to catch up but didn’t say a singular word. She’d rattled off about as many questions as she could think before landing on this one.
“Did something happen with Less?” She eventually said.
“What’s it to you?” You snapped, and that’s when Leah knew she hit the nerve she’d been after since starting to question you.
“Hey, it was just a question” Leah uttered defensively. “I’m worried about you” Leah said sympathetically, placing her hand on your shoulder.
“Get off me” you practically threw her hand off your shoulder. “It was a stupid question” you grunted, walking into the gym ahead of her and heading straight for the back corner where the boxing equipment was. You put your gloves on, heading straight to the bag, and punching the life out of it.
“Maybe ye should have just been a boxer” Katie laughed, squeezing your shoulders.
“Fuck off” you shouted as she frowned at you, but turned to walk away. You hit the bag harder and harder, looking like you were going to not just break it, but seriously hurt yourself.
“I think maybe the bag has taken enough of a beating” Alessia hummed as you stopped.
You took the gloves off and threw them on the ground before storming off. You’d been acting like this for days. Usually Jonas left you be, because you were professional in the workplace, but you’d become anything but that the last few days. Since that night in Alessia’s you were the angriest you’d ever been in your life.
“Williamson Jr, come here” Jonas snapped from his office door. “Sit down” he said as you walked through and he closed the door behind you.
“Why?” You shrugged, while he sat down at his desk and you slid into the chair opposite him with a defeated sighed.
“Your behaviour the last while has been totally unacceptable. You’ve been snappy with your teammates, argumentative with staff-” he began.
“And?” You snapped.
“If it continues, I’d be of the opinion we let you go on loan or leave in January” he threatened. He had a habit of this, making a false threat so you’d make improvements.
“I’d prefer a transfer” you bit back. Did you want to leave? Not really, but you were sick of seeing Alessia everyday and sick to death of people thinking they could speak to you.
“Is that the reason for this? You want to leave?” He asked, a bit taken aback.
“Yeah, I’ll go anywhere” you shrugged.
“We’ll submit your request to the board, you and your agent can look for a suitable club then” he sternly said, gesturing you out of his office.
You hadn’t really thought about playing elsewhere, but you were stubborn. So, when he made the blank threat of moving you off, you made that a reality. You knew you might be miserable somewhere else, but at least you got the upper hand on him.
“What was that about?” Leah frowned as you stormed by her and into the changing room, grabbing your stuff and leaving without another word.
-
Things moved fast from there as your agent had secured you a move to Bayern. You’d practically given up with Arsenal, knowing you were leaving soon. You stopped showing up for training, just accepting the fines as they came in. You didn’t see a point, all matches were off for the winter break anyway.
You broke the news to your mum that you were leaving to go to Germany. While she was upset, she was also happy for you that you were being recognised internationally as a great footballer. She also knew Leah’s friend, Georgia, was there and that you’d be looked after.
You made her promise not to tell Leah, which she of course kept. You could trust that woman with anything. She made you promise in return to show up for Christmas Day and make some type of an effort with the rest of your family. While you kept your promise to show up, you were silent at Christmas dinner with your family. You waited until most people were drunk, before slipping out and heading home.
Y/n
Sorry, couldn’t take much more
Mum ❤️
It’s fine 😊 thank you for coming
Happy Christmas love x
Y/n
Happy Christmas mum x
“Is Y/n gone?” Leah asked your mum, who nodded. “Fuck sake” she groaned.
“What’s the matter?” Your mum asked.
“She hasn’t spoken to me in a good while, I was going to try and talk to her tonight” Leah shrugged.
“Yeah, I think you two need to talk” your mum agreed, although she didn’t give Leah much more than that.
-
The night before you were set to leave for Germany, still nobody except your mum knew you were moving to Bayern, not even Leah. So, when she’d decided to drag you to the Arsenal New Years Eve party, she didn’t know tomorrow you’d be on a plane to Germany.
“I don’t want to go Leah” you groaned.
“Come on, please? I miss you” she pouted as you caved fairly quickly.
As angry as you had become the last few weeks about Alessia, you’d always cave for your sister. You felt guilty you still hadn’t told her, and maybe if you got drunk enough tonight, you could tell her more easily than if you were both sober.
Most of your teammates were beyond drunk by the time you’d arrived. Katie was straight beside you, handing you a drink and hugging you.
“I’m so happy to see you, I’ve missed you so much” Katie slurred. You decided to just try to be nice tonight. You’d never have to see them again after this anyway. So, you got drunk, because you knew it was the quickest way to make you happy.
You were dancing with Katie, Caitlin and Leah when you made eyes with a certain blonde, who was with Lia, Lotte and Vic. She made a gesture, to indicate she wanted you to come over. You happily obliged, barely even excusing yourself before tripping over your own two feet trying to get to her as quickly as possible.
“You came” she smiled.
“Yeah” you nodded.
“I was hoping you would” she whispered. “Dance with me?” She held her hand out for you to take, which you did.
Alessia had been flirting and dancing with you all night and you were more than happy to flirt back. All you had been angry about before was now long forgotten as she was pressed against you.
“I was stupid before” she whispered into your ear.
“It’s fine” you shook your head at her. You didn’t want to get into this conversation with her right now, you were leaving tomorrow. It was too late to be anything more than just, whatever this was, with her.
“I want to be more than this with you. I know I can trust you now” she slurred, pulling you in to her lips by your neck. You kissed her back because you weren’t really thinking straight when you felt her lips against yours.
“I’m so in love with you” Alessia whispered as she pulled away briefly and then pulled you straight back in, kissing you harder this time.
“Leah” Katie shouted as she laughed and pointed towards you and Alessia. Leah pumped her fist in the air as, from the outside looking in, you had what you wanted now, which was Alessia.
“I’ll be back in a minute” you breathed out as you removed yourself from the girl. It was like all the senses you had came rushing to you at once. You were leaving to go to Germany in just a few hours. You couldn’t do this.
“No” Alessia snapped, pulling you back. “You’re not leaving again”
“Less, just let me go” you pleaded as you tried to free yourself from her grip.
“You can’t walk out of here without knowing that I was an idiot. I can’t let you go again” she shouted.
“I’m moving to Germany” you blurted out.
“Wh-what?” She stuttered.
“Bayern put in a transfer request and I accepted it” you shrugged, with your eyes meeting the floor.
“You can’t just be moving to Germany” Alessia shook her head in disbelief. “You can’t just leave” she squeezed you harder.
“I’m sorry” you sighed.
“I can’t do something long distance right now, Y/n” Alessia admitted.
“I wouldn’t expect you too” you shook your head and pulled her into a long, hard hug, like it was a goodbye. “Happy New Year” you said softly, pulling away.
“Yeah, you too” she sighed as you turned and left, pulling Leah and Katie with you.
“I just wanted to tell you both, I’m leaving” you mumbled.
“Come on, it’s almost midnight ye can’t leave-” Katie huffed.
“No, I mean” you groaned before you said your next sentence. “I’m leaving Arsenal, I’m moving to Bayern”
“No” Katie shook her head. “No, no” she added.
“I need to be there tomorrow, so I need to go home” you sighed. Katie looked at you, before turning to Leah, who was staring at you so hard she could have burned holes in your head.
“Leah, say somethin’” Katie protested.
“Safe flight” Leah said, hugging you briefly and turning to walk off, trying to hide the fact she was now crying.
“Lee” Katie shouted as she ran off after her and you used that as your chance to escape.
“What did you do?” Leah asked the blonde striker who was already a sobbing mess, being consoled by Lotte.
“Not the best time, man” Lotte tried to intervene but Leah shook her head.
“You clearly had something to do with it” Leah snapped.
“Piss off Leah” Alessia huffed as she walked away from her England team mate, who was now being dragged off in the opposite direction by Katie. The countdown started, and it was quite possibly the worst start to a New Year’s anyone could have asked for.
-
Days had gone by, and you were just about to start training with the Bayern team later today. You were in your new apartment, in the kitchen making breakfast when you noticed Alessia’s caller ID appear on your phone. You hadn’t spoken to her since New Year’s Eve and you didn’t really know why she was calling, but you answered it.
“Hey” your heart was thumping.
“Hi” she smiled. “How are you?”
“Uh, yeah” you nodded. “You?”
“I’m fine” Alessia said. “How’s Bayern?” She asked.
“I start today” you hummed. “Is everything alright?” You frowned, still unsure why she was calling.
“At Arsenal? Yeah” Alessia nodded.
“No, like, in general. You never call me” you corrected her.
“I, um-” she hesitated. “I just wanted you to know that I was sorry for the way we left things”
“It’s fine, Less” you shook your head.
“It’s not fine. You literally moved country to get away from me” she frowned.
“That’s really dramatic, Lessi” you laughed making her smile.
“Why did you move? I thought you were happy here” she pouted.
“It doesn’t matter” you shrugged.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll continue to think it was my fault” she huffed and you sighed in defeat.
“Jonas said he was unimpressed with my attitude” you said bluntly. “You know him, he gave me the whole we’re going to have to look to loan you out or sell you talk, so I just said alright, do it” you shrugged.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so stubborn” she rolled her eyes.
“Says the one” you smirked.
“I’m not stubborn. I’m calling you even though you ruined my New Years” she giggled.
“Yeah, sorry about that” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. It was silent for a couple of seconds before Alessia spoke again, getting on to the real reason why she called.
“I meant what I said on New Years. I’m in love with you” the girl whispered.
“You already know I feel the same, that hasn’t changed” you said. “But you said you didn’t want to do long distance” you frowned.
“Anything is better than not speaking at all” she added. “Maybe when you get home, for camp or whatever, we could talk properly?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you smiled and nodded. You both talked for another while, before you eventually had to leave for training for the first time, to meet your new team mates.
The plan for today was a light gym session and then onto the grass. You had tomorrow off, before training continued the following day. You headed into the gym, Georgia instantly clinging to you, now that she finally had someone else to speak English to.
“Can I use that?” You asked her, pointing to the boxing bag.
“Not if you treat it like the one in George’s Park” Georgia laughed. You playfully rolled your eyes and headed over to it, grabbing a pair of gloves on the way. You weren’t too angry today, after speaking to Alessia, but you were a good boxer, and could throw a heavy punch.
“If you break that, they won’t replace it” a voice said from behind you. You turned to see one of your new team mates standing watching.
“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t expect them too” you shook your head, struggling to get words out.
“I’m Sydney” she replied, sticking her hand out. You quickly unstrapped your glove and slid your hand into hers.
“Y/n”
“You’re friends with Georgia, right?” She asked.
“Uh, she’s more so friends with my sister” you shrugged.
“Oh yes, Captain Williamson” she chuckled as you shot her a confused look. “I always thought that captains armband would look better on you” she smirked, as your eyebrows raised.
You’d never been great at picking up on signals of people flirting with you before, but she seemed to be so straight forward in what she wanted, it was hard not to see it.
“Would you maybe want to get a drink after training, with me?” She asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure” you nodded.
“Great, see you later then” she smirked as she walked off.
maybe the team’s endless meddling isn’t such a bad thing after all, even if you do wake up in a bed that isn't yours with a slight hangover. (16k of chaos and confessions)
Alexia knew, objectively, that inviting nearly the entire team over to her house had been her own decision.
That did not stop her from regretting it a little now.
(Majorly. Majorly regretting it.)
“Well,” Irene murmured from beside her, sipping calmly from her bottle of beer. “At least they haven’t broken anything yet.”
“Don’t jinx it, Irene.”
Alexia kept her eyes on the scene playing out in her backyard, her fingers curled loosely around the neck of her own bottle. The condensation was already slicking her palm, a losing battle against the lingering heat of a Barcelona summer dusk.
Around them, the garden had settled into the easy, sprawling chaos of an end-of-season night. Music drifted from the speakers in her ceiling, a mix of reggaeton and something a little mellower (it was a barbecue after all, not an Ibiza outing). There was a rare and welcome kind of lightness to the team when the pressures of the season finally broke.
Alexia watched them all, a passive smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was a good view. It was her home, filled with her people, at the end of a year that had taken everything out of them. She should have been relaxed.
She wasn’t.
Her gaze drifted, entirely out of her own control, toward the other end of the patio.
You were sitting on the low stone wall, one leg tucked beneath you, laughing at something Kika had just said. You were holding a fresh beer – your third, if Alexia’s internal, irritatingly precise counter was accurate – and the fading sunlight was catching the edge of your shoulder, turning the skin there a soft, golden tone.
You looked at ease. A part of the landscape.
And you hadn't looked at Alexia once in twenty minutes.
“You're doing it again,” Irene said, her voice dropping below the volume of the music, though she didn't turn her head. She just took another slow sip of her beer, her eyes fixed forward on the patio.
Alexia’s jaw tightened. She took a deliberate drink of her own beer, the crisp bitterness doing nothing to clear the sudden, tight heat in her throat. “Doing what?”
“Staring at her like you're trying to figure out if she's a tactical problem you can solve by running harder.” Irene shifted her weight, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “It's June, Ale. The season is over. You don't have to mark her out of the game anymore.”
“I am not marking her," Alexia muttered, her voice clipped, though her ears felt suddenly warmer than the night air warranted. “I am hosting. I am ensuring my guests have everything they need.”
“Right. Of course.” Irene tapped her bottle against Alexia's with a dull clink. “That must be why you've spent the last ten minutes looking like you want to, first, physically remove Kika from her personal space, and then personally remove her clothes.”
Alexia choked.
A sudden, dramatic splash of a cough that sent the crisp liquid straight to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, her knuckles tightening around the neck of her bottle as she tried, with every ounce of discipline possessed, to keep her features entirely flat.
“Irene,” She hissed, her voice dropping to the low and lethal register that usually meant she was scolding a teammate for mouthing off to the referee, seconds away from a yellow.
“What?”
Irene didn’t even blink. She just took another casual sip, the glass bottle clinking softly against her teeth as she watched Patri teach Clara, who apparently had a bit of a fear of open flames, carefully flip the meat over on the grill. The younger midfielder managed two steaks before she screeched and jumped away as the juices sizzled on the coals.
“Watch your mouth,” Alexia muttered, her cheeks burning with a heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the warm Mediterranean air. She shifted her stance, deliberately turning her back slightly toward the patio to break her own line of sight. “She’s a teammate. It is completely inappropriate to say things like that. If anyone heard you–”
“Nobody is listening, Ale. Everyone is halfway into their fourth drink, except you, who has been nursing that same bottle like a sixteen-year-old at their first house party. And Patri, who I’m convinced is trying to smoke us all out with that grill.” Irene finally turned her head, fixing the captain with a calm, unimpressed look. “And let’s be honest–”
“I don’t want you to be honest.”
“–if I said that in the locker room? Half the squad would agree with me. The tension between you is thicker than Pere’s hair.”
Alexia closed her eyes for a brief second. “There is no tension, Irene.”
“There is enough tension to string a tennis racket!” Irene exclaimed with an outraged lift of her shoulders, though entirely untroubled by the stare she was receiving. “You’ve spent the last six weeks passing to her only when necessary in training because every time you get within a two-metre radius of her, you look like you’ve forgotten how to play football. You have also spent almost the whole season blushing like a love-sick teenager anytime you talk to her.”
“Oh my God, no I h–”
“It’s pathetic, really.” Irene shrugged with a sigh. “You’re the captain. Fix up and fix it.”
“There is nothing to fix!” Alexia insisted, though… her words felt hollow even to her own ears.
She knew Irene was right. At least about the physical reality of it– the blushes. She really was like a teenager with a crush.
And in training, too. Which was fucking foolish.
It was a strange and irritating sort of paralysis that’d settled into her bones recently. On the pitch, she could read a game three steps ahead of anyone else; a trait she’d always been proud of. She knew exactly where the space would open and exactly when to release the ball. That didn’t change during actual games, which she was glad for.
But when you ran up beside her, when your shoulder brushed hers in the midfield or when you gave her that small breathless grin after a solid transition? Her brain simply emptied out. It was a biological design flaw.
Two ballon d’ors, maybe soon to be three, and she still went weak at the knees in training when her crush smiled at her.
So unprofessional.
“If you say so.” Irene murmured, her tone dripping with an infuriating lack of belief. She tapped her fingers against her beer bottle. “But if you don’t do something about it before pre-season, so two whole months, I’m going to actually bang your heads together. Concussion protocol date. In bed. Low-lighting, no phone distractions…”
“My god, Irene. Two kids has sunk you beyond saving.” Alexia tutted under her breath with an eye roll.
“I haven’t slept in two days, Ale. I think I can see the veins in my eyes.”
Before Alexia could express any semblance of concern for the Basque woman, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the low stone wall.
Alexia’s eyes snapped back over her shoulder, bypassing her own rules.
Kika had her arm thrown over your shoulders now, her face bright and animated as she leaned in close to your ear, whispering something that had you throwing your head back, your laughter clear over the music. You looked slightly flushed, the tipsy looseness of the evening finally catching up to you as you leaned into Kika’s side.
Right on cue, Marta drifted past the wall, subtly dropping a fresh, cold bottle into your lap while winking at Kika. It was a seamless handoff, so quick that under normal circumstances Alexia wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
But tonight, with Irene’s words lingering in the air, Alexia’s eyes narrowed.
There was also a huddle forming. Patri and Clara had abandoned the cooking lesson and were now drifting toward you, effectively cordoning you off into a small circle of the yard.
“They're up to something.” Alexia grumbled, her host instincts overriding her embarrassment.
Irene followed her gaze, her eyes tracking the movement of the younger players. A tiny, knowing smirk touched the corner of her lips, though she quickly hid it behind another drink.
“They're just enjoying the night, Ale.” Irene said smoothly, though she didn't sound too convincing. “You should do the same. Go talk to someone who isn't me.”
“Ale!” Patri’s voice boomed across the grass, cutting through the heavy reggaeton beat. She was holding up an empty green bottle, shaking it upside down for emphasis. “The cooler out here is empty! We are parched!”
The brunette let out a slow sigh, shooting a sideways glance at Irene. “Parched, she says. They’ve gone through four crates in two hours. Why did I host this, again?”
Before she could even take a step toward the glass double doors of her kitchen, Patri shouted again, her eyes darting over toward the stone wall with a look that was too sharp for someone who’d been allegedly huffing grill smoke and an unknown amount of beers all evening.
“Oye! Don’t go on your own, it’s heavy! You–” Patri pointed a blunt finger directly at you, your alcohol-flushed face blinking in surprise. “Go help her. Show some respect to our host.”
“I c-can manage perfectly fine–” Alexia started, her voice tight, but Kika was already giving you a gentle, completely unnecessary shove from the wall.
“Go on, help her out.” Kika grinned, her fingers subtly tapping your hip as you stood up.
You didn’t look annoyed at all. In fact, as you steadied your footing against the grass, a warm smile broke across your face. The type of smile that only came after three and a half beers; unfiltered and lacking the careful, self-conscious guard you usually kept up around her.
You looked straight at Alexia, your eyes slightly glassy but full of a soft, hazy affection.
“Lead the way, our gracious host.” You said, your voice a little louder, a little looser than normal.
Alexia’s chest did a violent and uncalled-for flip.
She swallowed hard, offering you an awkward knot of a smile in return, and grabbed the cooler before turning on her heel to hide the immediate pink flush creeping up the back of her neck.
As the glass doors slid shut behind the two of you, cutting off the bass of the music, a sudden silence descended upon the garden.
Irene didn’t move from her spot, but she didn’t have too. Within three seconds, a conspiratorial huddle had formed exactly where she stood. Marta arrived first, holding her beer like a weapon, closely followed by Vicky, Cata, and Pina, while Patri abandoned the grill entirely to jog over. On the other side of the patio, Kika immediately corralled Clara, Esmee, and Sydney to follow her over too.
The rest of the squad, the ones who hadn’t been roped into the weeks of subtle matchmaking (or just didn’t want to involve themselves), simply watched on from the outdoor sofas with varying expressions of amusement and exasperation.
“Alright, we don’t have much time.” Patri said as she wiped her brow with the back of her forearm, smelling faintly of smoke. She leaned into the center of the huddle, her eyes locked onto the kitchen window where two silhouettes were moving behind the glass. “They’re in the pantry. If Alexia takes her time to count the bottles like she usually does, we have a few minutes.”
“She will definitely count them.” Marta scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Anyway, not the problem. The problem is that they’ve been doing this awkward dance all season, these last couple months especially. I am tired of watching them exchange glances across the tables at the canteen like they’re in a culebrón.”
There was a collective noise of agreement, along with a few comments of exasperation and tutting of tongues.
“We all are.” Cata chimed in. “It’s painful. Last week, she asked Alexia to put the GPS thing in her vest, and Alexia’s face was red for the whole hour.”
Irene stood at the edge of the circle, her head tilted slightly as she kept watch. “Alexia won’t budge. She’s too stubborn, and she’s convinced she’s being professional by hiding it. If we leave it to her, next season will come around and we’ll be stuck in the exact same loop.”
Kika nodded her head towards where you stood in the window, watching Alexia.
“She’s loose tonight.” The Portuguese woman whispered with a fierce grin. “I’ve been making sure she’s never got an empty bottle.”
Vicky whistled and slapped Kika on the back in praise.
“She’s at that perfect stage where she’s relaxed enough to ramble about what’s inside her head, but she needs a push. She’s too intimidated by Alexia… when they’re looking right at each other. The second Alexia makes eye contact, her guard goes right back up.”
Irene spots that Kika looks incredibly consumed by her thoughts after that. A plan is building, she can sense it. She loves it.
“So we separate them?” Clara asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to visualise the logistics. “That’s stupid. And Patri just sent them inside together.”
“No, tonta.” Vicky tuts, swiping her over the back of the head. That sends the two of them off into some kind of cat-fight.
“No, inside is just the warm-up.” Kika smirked. A conniving look entered her eyes as she began to piece the elements together. She glanced towards the shadow of the stone wall, then toward the corner of the house where the terrace curved out of sight toward the side garden. “We need to get her to open up without feeling like she’s on display. If she thinks anyone is watching her, or if she has to look Alexia in the eye, she’ll clam up and call it a night.”
Another cacophony of curious and considering sounds.
Fingers tapped against chins and foots tapped against the floor in thought.
Until–
A dramatic gasp.
“Oh my god.” Kika breathed out. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as a massive, borderline sinister grin broke across her face. “I know what we can do.”
Meanwhile– inside the pantry, Alexia was crouched over, her spine curved beneath the fabric of her linen shirt as she meticulously lifted bottles of beer by their necks, slotting them into the cooler.
“One… two… three.” Counting them, of course. “Four–”
“Really, Ale?” You stood with your hands on your hips, feigning an unimpressed look just to tease her.
She startled as if she’d forgotten you were there.
You stood exactly two feet away, your back pressed against a shelf stacked with neatly labelled jars of spices and herbs. The three and a half beers had settled into your limbs as a pleasant warmth, stripping away the edge of the self-consciousness that usually kept you up-right and guarded around her.
You’d just been watching her the whole time.
And as she reached for the fifth bottle, her hand froze for a fraction of a second when she caught your unblinking gaze out of the corner of her eye. The pink flush that’d started on the patio flared right back up, colouring the tips of her ears.
She cleared her throat, lifting a cardboard case of bottles and turning to face you. “Shush. Take this one. Do not drop it.”
As she pushed the case into your arms, your fingers brushed. Literally just the briefest sliding contact, and her breath hitched.
You caught the box against your chest, letting out a lazy chuckle that vibrated right against the cardboard. “Please, Capi, I have excellent hand-eye coordination. You know that.”
You laughed to yourself, missing how the harmless comment sounded strangely… inappropriate to her ears. She had to clear her throat again.
Then, you tilted your head. A teasing smile crinkled the corners of your eyes. “Unless you think my form has dropped since the season ended?”
Her eyes widened as she had her back to you, accidentally dropping one of the bottles unceremoniously into the cooler. You let out a scandalised gasp, before you tutted at her for it.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” She grumbled under her breath at your comment, making a mental note to watch how much you drank for the rest of the night. You were far too focused on the fact she’d nearly smashed all the bottles to hear it.
The brunette stood, once she was finally happy with the collection of drinks, and she turned to look at you. Only to get entirely trapped by how relaxed you were, how easily you were sliding into her space without a care in the world.
“Your form is fine,” She muttered. She tried for a stern, captain-like expression, but the severe pink tinge stretching across her cheeks completely ruined the effect. “Your discipline, however, leaves much to be desired. You’re supposed to be helping, not mocking me.”
“I am helping,” You drawled happily, shifting the weight of the box against your hip as you took a step toward the door, not without a final glance back at her face. “And I can follow instructions perfectly well when I want to, thank you.”
Alexia let out a quiet huff that was supposed to be a sigh but sounded suspiciously like a defeated, flustered laugh.
“Just walk,” She murmured, nudging the door open with her elbow. “Before they come inside and raid the kitchen.”
When the double doors opened again, the atmosphere in the garden made Alexia’s footsteps slow down.
The team looked normal. Casual.
Far. Too. Casual.
The transition was so jarring it felt manufactured. Patri was suddenly back at the grill, leaning over the food on it with the hyper-focused expression of a surgeon mid-operation. Marta and Vicky were sitting on the edge of their pool, dangling their feet in the water and conversing with a rigid calmness, their shoulders strangely stiff.
You, completely oblivious to the weird shift, didn’t notice a thing. The moment you stepped outside, a wide grin broke across your face.
“Supplies have arrived!”
Cata, Pina, Patri and Kika erupted into a chorus of cheers that felt three notches too enthusiastic for a box of beers. You laughed, buoyed by the alcohol and the affection, and trotted over to dump the case onto the grass beside them, immediately getting pulled into their chaos.
Alexia, however, remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes scanned the yard, her analytical brain instantly picking up the anomalies.
She locked eyes with Irene first. The defender didn’t say a word; she just took a slow sip of her beer and shrugged one shoulder, her expression blank. Then, Alexia’s gaze flicked to Marta, who chose that exact moment to stare intently at the water rippling around her ankles, refusing to meet her eyes.
Finally, Alexia’s eyes landed on Clara.
The younger midfielder looked like she was carrying a state secret. Her shoulders were hunched, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she gave Alexia a sheepish look that practically screamed ‘I am hiding a secret that I am greatly excited by, please don’t ask me about it otherwise I’ll accidentally give it away.’
The captain’s jaw tightened.
She grumbled something incoherent and slightly threatening under her breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of the cooler before she finally forced herself to walk across the garden toward the noise of the group.
With an unnecessary dramatic flair, she dumped the cooler onto the grass with a deliberate thud, hoping the sound would startle into someone giving up the game.
No such luck.
Patri just kept aggressively poking one of the steaks to see how much it’d cooked, and Cata gave her an overly bright smile that looked rehearsed.
Alexia kept her eyes narrowed, her gaze sweeping over the perimeter like a prison guard. Kika was standing just behind Cata, her arms crossed, watching you with an expression that was far too pleased with itself. When Kika caught Alexia looking, her grin didn’t falter. It just turned incredibly knowing.
“Alright. Everyone stop.” Alexia said firmly, stood with her hands on her hips as everyone turned to her. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Marta repeated from the edge of the pool, her voice trailing over the grass with an air of complete innocence. “We’re just enjoying this lovely summer night celebrating the team in the beautiful garden of your mansion, Ale.”
“It’s not a mansion–”
“Why do you always assume there is a crisis?” Vicky asked with a grin that just confirmed Alexia’s fear.
“Because of the smile on your face, and because Clara looks like she’s about to hyperventilate.” Alexia countered smoothly, pointing toward the younger midfielder in question.
Clara immediately gasped, her eyes darting frantically toward the others for backup. “I’m just– the smoke! The grill smoke is getting in my eyes! I’m going to go… rinse them. In the bathroom.”
The girl practically bolted out of the garden and into the house.
“She’s fine, Ale. Leave the kid alone.” Kika chuckled, stepping forward and smoothly bypassing Alexia altogether.
The Portuguese woman’s attention pivoted to you, where you were happily letting Pina explain a complicated card game she wanted to play later whilst not understanding a thing she was saying.
Kika dropped an affectionate arm around your neck, leaning her weight into you.
“Hey. You’re looking a little flushed, how many of those have you had?” She tapped the side of your beer bottle that you’d picked up after coming back out.
“Three and a half.” You replied proudly, before you tilted your head back at Alexia. “But Alexia likes to keep count apparently, so maybe she’s got a better idea.”
Alexia closed her eyes, praying for the ground to swallow her whole. Por favor. Her hair was going to be grey by the end of the night.
“Right! Food’s ready!” Patri announced loudly. Saved by the bell.
“Perfect timing.” Kika beamed, not looking at Alexia as she began steering you away from the main garden area. “It’s getting a bit chaotic out here. Let’s go sit around the side garden, the view of the sunset is much better from there anyway.”
You blinked, the alcohol slowing your reaction time by half a second. Then you went willingly, thrilled by the promise of good food and a sunset, grabbing a plate from Patri as you walked by her.
Your eyes found Alexia as you walked past, giving her a soft and slightly questioning glance without really thinking about it. The brunette caught it, her heart doing another one of those terribly inconvenient flips. She wanted to tell you to stay. Pull you away from Kika’s obvious, hovering trap.
“Are you coming, Ale?” You called back over your shoulder, giving her the perfect opportunity.
“Maybe in a minute.”
She remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes tracked you as you walked, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting decisions.
Part of her – the part that wore the armband and took care of her home – knew she should stay right here, keeping an eye on Patri’s dangerous handling of the barbecue and ensuring the rest of the squad didn’t completely derail the night.
But the other part of her, which had been steadily gaining ground for months, just wanted to give in. For once, she wanted to drop the responsibility, walk around the corner, and enjoy your company without the barrage of overthinking that normally consumed her whenever she let her thoughts drift to you.
She took a breath, trying to unravel the ball of hesitation in her chest. And she made a move to follow after you.
“Let them go ahead, Ale.” Marta said smoothly, materialising out of nowhere and wrapping her arm around Alexia’s shoulders. Her grip iron-like, she guided Alexia towards the opposite side of the garden. “You need to eat, soak up all that beer before you start doing sentimental speeches again.”
The midfielder rolled her eyes at the mention of the night in Oslo following the Champions League win, where she may have had a few drinks and didn’t really… let the microphone leave her sight for about half an hour.
“You all wanted me to do a speech, and then you complained when I did.” She scoffed.
Her internal alarm bells were ringing loudly as Marta led her away. The division was now fully functional. You’d been isolated by Kika, Clara, Esmee, and a few others, who were currently settling you onto a cluster of floor cushions just around the corner of her house– completely out of Alexia’s line of sight where she ended up sitting with Marta. Still close enough to hear your laughter though, which wasn’t lost on her.
Patri slammed a plate of food in front of her at the glass table, while Irene, Cata, Marta and Pina took up the remaining seats around the table. Effectively forming a human wall.
“What is this?” The captain hissed under her breath, glaring at Irene who was cutting into a piece of steak. “Why is everyone acting so fucking weird?”
“We’re just eating, Ale.” Irene answered placidly, not even looking up. “Eat up. You’ve been really tense all day.”
“I wonder why” Alexia muttered, her chest tightening as she heard another distinct burst of laughter from around the corner. It sounded a little higher, a little more uninhibited. Kika was definitely giving you more drinks. “Clara looked like she was going to throw up from anxiety when I walked past her.”
“Clara has a weak stomach,” Marta lied seamlessly, taking a huge bite of bread. “Don’t worry about it.”
Around the corner, hidden in the shadows of the side garden, phase two of Kika’s master plan was already in full swing.
The air was cooler over there, the light of the dusk fading into a deep, bruised violet against the horizon. You were leaning back against the masonry, your legs stretched out on the grass, feeling incredibly warm and thoroughly disconnected from any form of reality. The noise of the main party was just a background noise now.
“Drink up,” Kika whispered, clinking her own bottle against yours with a grin. She leaned in close, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “So… you were in that pantry for a while. Just counting bottles, or what?”
You let out a hazy, amused sigh, the alcohol making your head spin in a way that was weirdly pleasant. “She really was counting them. Literally one by one. She’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah?” Kika’s eyes gleamed as she exchanged a look with Esmee over your head. “Just ridiculous? Or do you like it when she gets all captain-like and bossy?”
Under normal circumstances, you would’ve laughed the comment off, changed the subject, or lay into Kika for suggesting such a stupid thing. Yet, with four beers humming in your system and the relief of a four-titled season, your guard was completely gone.
You looked down at your bottle, a helpless smile tugging at your lips as you thought about the way Alexia’s ears had turned that furious shade of pink when your fingers brushed.
“She’s just…” You trailed off, your voice dropping to a quiet mutter that made Kika virtually vibrate with excitement. “She’s always so put-together and… pretty. Even when she’s stressed, she’s really pretty. It’s annoying.”
Clara let out a tiny, stifled squeak, immediately covering her mouth with both hands afterwards.
“Go on,” Kika nudged your shoulder gently as she baited the trap. “Tell us more. We won’t say a word.”
You took another slow sip, the cold liquid taking the edge off the sudden heat in your face. The violet dusk was deepening around the corner of the house, and with every passing minute, the boundaries you usually kept so firmly in place during the season felt farther and farther away.
“It’s just…” You started, waving your bottle in the air as you searched for the words. “She never drops the act. She walks around like she’s completely untouchable, like nothing can faze her. And then she looks at me, and I swear she’s trying to read my mind or pick apart whatever I’m doing. It throws me off completely.”
Kika leaned in further. “Throws you off bad? Or throws you off good?”
“It’s just infuriating,” You sighed, though the massive, helpless smile on your face completely ruined the defense. You leaned your head back against the cool stone wall, looking up at the first few stars blinking into view through the deep purple sky. “Because she’ll do that quiet, serious routine, and then the second I actually step into her space, or—or brush against her like in the pantry? She just freezes. She blushes. It’s like this tiny crack in her armour where she's a completely different person for two seconds, and it makes me want to…”
You trailed off, the realization of what you were actually about to say finally catching up to your beer-soaked brain.
Your mouth snapped shut. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked at the three girls sitting around you. Sydney was leaning forward so far she was practically falling off her cushion, while Esmee looked like she was witnessing history being made in real-time. Clara was still holding her breath, her hands glued tightly over her face.
“Want to what?” Kika prompted, evidently hanging onto your every word and desperate for you to continue.
“Nothing!” You said quickly, cheeks burning a flaming red. You took a hasty gulp of your beer to cover the slip. “Nothing. I’m drunk. Forget I said that.”
You were talking to possibly the worst people on the team for gossip. Oh fuck.
“Oh, no, we are not forgeting that.” Kika grinned. She knew she had you right on the edge. If she pushed you too hard now, your defenses would go back up. Luckily for you, she had the perfect next move. “In fact, I think you need a safe space to properly vent about this.”
Meanwhile, back at the table, Alexia was staring blankly at her plate as her fork pushed around a piece of asparagus.
The human wall around her was proving to be a lost cause; her ears were hyper-tuned to whatever was occurring around the corner. The murmurs had quieted down, and she hadn’t heard your voice in almost three minutes.
“Ale.” Irene’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Alexia blinked, looking up. Irene hadn’t stopped eating but her eyes were fixed on the captain.
“If you chew through your lower lip, you won’t be able to talk tomorrow.” Irene told her. “Relax, girl. They aren’t going to kidnap her.”
“They are definitely doing something.” Alexia whispered fiercely so that Patri wouldn’t hear. “I know Kika. She had that look in her eyes. The up-to-no-good look. She’s plotting.”
“Then let her plot.” Caro chimed in smoothly from her left. “Maybe she will do the heavy lifting for you. God knows you’ve had all the time in the world and haven’t made a single move.”
Alexia opened her mouth to deliver a thoroughly scathing response, but before she could speak, a small figure came shuffling around the stone corner.
It was Clara. The younger midfielder walked with her hands jammed deep into her pockets, her head down, completely refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the main table as she headed straight for the kitchen doors.
Alexia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Clara.”
The girl froze, her shoulders snapping up to her ears. She slowly turned her head, giving Alexia a terrified, trembling smile. “Yes, Capi?”
“Where is she?” Alexia asked, her voice dropping into that commanding register which brooked absolutely no arguments.
“She’s… around the corner,” Clara stammered, her voice squeaking slightly on the last word. “With Kika. They’re just talking. And I’m just going to get water.”
She practically threw herself through the sliding glass doors, leaving them to bounce shut behind her.
Alexia stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone tiles of the patio.
“Alexia, sit down,” Patri groaned. “The meat is getting cold.”
“I’m the host,” Alexia muttered, her jaw set in a line that Irene knew meant there was no stopping her. She smoothed down the front of her linen shirt, her heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. “I am going to check on my guests.”
She didn’t even make it past the edge of the table before Patri was up and out of her chair.
“Sit down, Ale.” Patri commanded. “You’ve been hovering over everything like a helicopter parent since we all got here. I’ll go inside and make sure Clara isn’t having an anxiety attack.”
Alexia opened her mouth to argue as her eyes darted toward the stone corner of the house, but a warning look from Irene pinned her to the spot. With a frustrated click of her tongue, the captain begrudgingly sank back into her chair.
Patri darted inside and intercepted a frantic-looking Clara right as she was about to go back outside.
“How’s it going?” The older midfielder asked in a hushed tone, grabbing Clara by the shoulder.
“She’s basically gone already,” Clara answered, her eyes wide as she gripped a glass of water. “She’s so tipsy she’s practically floating. She just confessed to Kika that she thinks Alexia is beautiful when she’s stressed! Kika is setting her up right now– we need you.”
Patri’s face split into a slow smirk. “Perfect. I’ll go to them, you go to Ale.”
Around the now infamous corner, entirely unaware of the tactics and the planning that was occurring, you were staring at Kika with a look of profound skepticism.
“This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.” You groaned, voice slurring just a fraction. “You are literally insane.”
“It’s not insane! It’s… therapeutic.” Kika argued back smoothly, sitting cross-legged on her cushion and looking extraordinarily proud of herself. “You’re completely bottled up! You’ve been carrying it around almost all season. Whereas tonight, you are actually relaxed enough to talk about it.”
“So your grand solution is a fake confessional?” You deadpanned with a breathless laugh. “You seriously think sitting me and Patri around the corner of a wall from each other as I ramble is going to help me get over my crush on Alexia?”
Kika didn’t even flinch. She shrugged and threw her hands out. “Duh! Yeah! It’s all psychological. You don’t have to look at her, she can just listen and give you typical-Patri advice, and you get it out of your system. Win-win.”
You closed your eyes, taking a moment to actually think through the fog in your brain.
The four beers were making the ridiculous proposal sound strangely, terrifyingly logical. If you just confessed to Patri – who was too loud and dense to ever overthink it anyway – maybe the weight of it would finally stop pressing down on your chest every time you saw Alexia walk into the locker room.
You let out a long, defeated sigh, your shoulders slumping into the cushions. “Fine. Fine, whatever. Let's just do it.”
Kika bit her lower lip, desperately trying to suppress the victorious shriek that was threatening to burst out of her throat. She cleared her throat quickly, leaning closer to run you through the logistics.
“Okay, okay. Ground rules,” Kika whispered fiercely, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Patri doesn't know, obviously. Because you haven't told her.”
(Technically true, you hadn’t told her yourself. You had told Caro in a moment of weakness, who told Marta, who both told Irene, who then told Patri. And it had spread like a wildfire from there.)
“Don’t say Alexia’s name. Don’t say anything about training or the team– or just anything to do with football.” Kika continued, tapping your knee for emphasis. “Just refer to her as this girl you like. If you give it away, it'll make things a bit awkward, and the whole thing is ruined. Got it?”
You blinked your heavy eyes, processing the instructions with a slow nod. When put that way…
“Okay.” You said with a shrug. A hazy smile returned to your face as you looked back at Kika. “Okay, yeah. It’s actually a pretty good idea. Let’s do it.”
“Excellent.” Kika drawled, basically bouncing on her heels as she scrambled up from her floor cushion. “Take a pillow, go get comfy by the wall. I’ll go fetch our priest!”
You did as you were told, chuckling under your breath at the thought of anyone calling Patri a priest.
You got comfy, legs outstretched with one foot over the other, hands linked together and resting in your lap. There was some commotion you overheard, but honestly, you felt like you were floating in a very comfortable and slightly dizzying bubble.
End of season celebrations really were fun.
“Alright, Patri’s ready,” Kika whispered as she crouched in front of you. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Remember the rules.”
Then, her footsteps faded away. You shifted a little, pressing your spine firmly against the rough stone brick wall. Around the corner, you could hear someone shuffling around.
“Patri?” You called out.
“Yeah, tía, I’m here.” Patri’s voice boomed back, muffled a little by the wall, but definitely her. Perhaps if you weren’t so far gone, you would have noticed how uncharacteristically subdued she was. “Go ahead. Kika said you needed to get some things off your chest.”
You let out a long, ragged breath, staring down at the grass between your knees. “It’s just… I’m so tired of feeling like this. I’ve spent months pretending I don’t completely lose my mind every time she walks into a room. And it’s exhausting, Patri. It really is.”
There was a brief pause from the other side of the wall. “Right. And… what exactly does she do that loses you your mind?”
“Everything,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands with an embarrassed laugh. “The way she carries herself. She’s just so incredibly composed, you know? Like nothing in the world could ever rattle her. She has this quiet authority that completely takes over the room, and whenever she actually focuses on me, I feel like I forget how to breathe.”
Around the corner, Patri’s eyes were wide as saucers. She was gripping the edge of the stone masonry, her chest heaving as she swallowed down a massive laugh. This was gold. This was worth every single Euro she’d bet against Marta earlier in the week.
“But the worst part,” you continued, your voice dropping into a quiet, almost melancholic murmur, “is when she drops it. Just for a second. Like earlier tonight, we were… well, we were somewhere quiet, and our fingers accidentally brushed. And she just froze. She turned this beautiful, furious shade of pink right to the tips of her ears. It’s like there’s this whole other side to her, this incredibly soft, flustered side that she tries so hard to hide. And it makes me want to just… pull her out of her own head and kiss her until she completely forgets to be serious.”
Patri went completely rigid. Madre mía. She had expected some light pining, maybe a bit of standard venting, but this? Uff. It made her more giddy than the quadruple they’d won.
“Wow.” Patri cleared her throat. She needed Alexia here. Right now. “That’s heavy, tía. I get why you needed to get this off your chest. Go ahead.”
Alexia, still back at the main table, was oscillating with irritation.
Marta was in the middle of an elaborate and definitely fabricated story about a dog that’d breached her apartment complex and ran rings around the security for hours, while Irene was nodding along with an expression of feigned interest.
“And then,” Marta waved her fork in the air, leaning across the table. “The dog stopped outside our door and sat there, looking straight into my soul. I think it was a sign.”
“Marta, I don’t care about the dog.” Alexia snapped, her patience completely evaporated. “I swear, I will–”
And it was that precise moment where Kika came jogging over, cutting Alexia’s threat off before she could finish it. She did not look casual. She bypassed the rest of the table and grabbed Alexia by the table, hauling her out of her chair.
“Kitchen, now.” Kika demanded.
The captain’s mind went into overdrive. “What happened? Is she– is everyone okay?”
“Just move!” The Portuguese grunted, dragging her through the glass doors.
The second they clicked shut, cutting off the outdoor noise, Kika spun Alexia around and her hands clamped down on her captain’s shoulders with a terrifying level of intensity.
“Listen to me carefully.” Kika whispered. “You are going to go around the corner right now. You are going to sit in Patri’s place, and you are not going to say a single word. You are just going to listen.”
Alexia’s brow furrowed, a defensive look entering her eyes. “What are you talking about? What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Kika hissed, shaking her slightly. “In fact I have done you a favour, alright? She is currently pouring her heart out to Patri, Ale. And if you don’t go over there and take her place right now, I will post the videos of you dancing after Oslo and not delete them.”
Alexia froze comically. Wide eyes as her heart skipped a beat, and all. Her jaw slackened slightly as the piece shifted in her mind, the realisation hitting her a few moments later.
“She’s… what?” Alexia breathed out.
“Go,” Kika demanded, giving her a shove towards the side door that led to the patio curve. “And for the love of God, Ale, don’t mess this up. I have a hundred euros riding on you taking the shot tonight.”
The brunette didn’t even have time to process the threat before Kika was fully pushing her through the side door. The second her feet hit the cooler outdoor pavement, she was completely ambushed.
A solid, tanned arm clamped around her chest as Marta appeared beside her, while Irene smoothly blocked any path of retreat. And before Alexia could even inhale to demand what they were doing, Vicky’s palm slapped firmly over her mouth, clamping her lips shut.
Together, they muscled Alexia down the small stretch of pavement like a high-value asset under guard. Alexia wasn’t even fighting them; her legs were moving on instinct, her wide eyes fixed ahead as her brain tried to process everything Kika had just told her.
Around the stone corner, you were still leaning your head back against the brickwork. The dizzying buzz of alcohol had completely isolated you from the quiet rustling of footsteps the the brief scuffle just a few feet away.
Patri, seeing the cavalry arrived, executed a flawless retreat from her floor cushion and away from the wall, giving the rest of the group an enthusiastic thumbs up. Vicky shoved Alexia down onto the vacant cushion, Alexia hardly on the ground before she was ripping the hand away from her face.
She whipped her head around, baring her teeth in a silent, lethal glare at Vicky, and opened her mouth to aggressively whisper a lecture and a demand for them all to leave.
But before the first syllable could leave her tongue, your voice drifted from around the masonry.
“And I know it’s stupid, Patri.” You murmured, a self-deprecating sight hitching in your chest. “Like, I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But then Alexia smiles at me after a tough session, or she does that little thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s listening to me speak, and I just… I completely lose it.”
Alexia went utterly still.
The reprimand died in her throat. Her hand, which had been raised to shove Vicky away, froze in mid-air before slowly dropping back down to her lap. Her chest swelled, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs she was certain you would hear it.
Alexia. You’d said her name.
To the right of her, hidden away from your eye line, various members of the team who were clearly in on this huddled together. The smug, triumphant smirks they’d been wearing all night had softened, replaced by a captive silence as they watched two of their teammates finally, at least approach, a bridge they’d been too scared of.
“I can’t tell her,” you continued, your tone dropping to one that sounded agonizingly vulnerable in the cool night air. You tilted your head back against the brick, staring up at the dark sky. “How am I supposed to look her in the eye and say any of this? She’s Alexia. She is a woman who needs everything to be in its exact place, who handles the weight of the world by closing herself off and locking things down. And I am just… me. I'm not organised, I'm spontaneous, and I handle pressure by trying to find something to laugh about.”
Alexia’s breath hitched. She sat perfectly rigid on the cushion, her eyes fixed on the rough stone wall separating the two of you, hanging onto every word.
“We just speak completely different languages,” You let out a bitter chuckle, tracing a pattern on the fabric of your shorts. “When she gets stressed or guarded, she builds up these massive walls to protect her peace. And because I’m naturally wide open, I always feel like I’m misreading the room around her. I don't know how to navigate those walls without feeling like I'm breaking something, or just being an annoyance to her carefully balanced life. If I say something, I’m just going to complicate things for her. She already carries so much for the team, Patri. She doesn’t need me messing with her peace.”
Every word felt like a physical weight pressing directly into Alexia’s chest. It wasn't awe or intimidation keeping you back; it was a deeply rooted fear that your core personalities would clash, that your natural brightness would only disrupt the careful structure she worked so hard to maintain.
Alexia could read between the lines. You were terrified that you weren’t good enough for her. Wouldn’t fit into her life. And that she wouldn’t like you back.
Beside Alexia, Kika bit her lip as a wave of sympathy hit her at how small you looked on the cushion, weighed down by an overthinking tipsy brain. She shot a sharp look at the side of Alexia;s head, silently urging her to fix this.
The captain didn’t move, but her fingers slowly curled into the bottom of her shirt, her jaw tightening as she listened to the raw, unfiltered truth. You thought she wanted to be left alone behind those walls. You believed she didn’t want you there.
“She definitely doesn’t need me.” You whispered to yourself, before falling silent.
How wrong you were.
Everything seemed to catch up with you, then.
Having all those buried thoughts dragged out into the open air left a raw, aching pain in your chest. The fuzzy warmth of the beer suddenly turned cold, and the burden of your own overthinking pushed a stinging dampness to your eyes.
Before the silence could stretch too long, you abruptly scrambled up from your cushion. Your knees shook slightly from the combination of the drinks and the rush of adrenaline, and with a tight swallow, you quickly wiped a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. Desperate to just be alone with your thoughts, you stormed off toward the far edge of the garden, heading straight for the large outdoor sofa tucked away from the main lights.
Alexia remained stuck in her seat, in disbelief at what’d occurred, her ears straining as the sound of your hurried footsteps faded into the distance. The sudden emptiness in your voice before you left echoed in her mind, leaving her stunned.
Slowly, the captain tilted her head, her dazed glance rising until she met Irene’s eyes.
The Basque woman was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking down at Alexia with a definitive told-you-so expression. There was no smugness in her face, a just the satisfaction of someone who had spent months listening to Alexia stubbornly insist that she was completely misreading your signals.
Irene had heard all about Alexia’s agonisingly deep feelings for you, and after catching snippets from Patri about how much you were pining from afar, she’d tried – repeatedly – to tell her captain to just open her eyes.
Alexia simply stared up at her, jaw slack, the certainty she usually carried now shattered by the reality of what she’d just heard.
Clara was the only one who broke away from the huddle to follow you. Mostly to get away from Alexia’s surefire scathing lecture, but also because she genuinely cared about you as a teammate and someone who spent a lot of time mentoring her too, like Alexia.
And as expected, Alexia scrambled up from the floor, her posture rigid and her eyes wide as she turned on Kika, Patri, and the others.
“What the hell is wrong with you all?!” She seethed in a furious whisper that she tried to keep from carrying across the yard. “Are you insane? All of you? To trick her like that, force her into saying things when she’s– when she’s had too much to drink? It is completely out of order!”
“Oh please, Ale.” Kika scoffed, unfazed as she crossed her arms. “We didn’t force her to say anything. We just… gave her a wall.”
“It's a violation of her privacy!” Alexia defended hotly, her chest heaving underneath her linen shirt as she gestured wildly toward the empty corner. “She thought she was speaking to a friend in confidence! If she finds out you all orchestrated this, she will be devastated. You cannot just play with people’s feelings for the sake of your stupid bets!”
“Ale,” Patri cut in with a lazy, amused grin spreading across her face. “It’s very hard to take your captain’s lecture seriously when your ears are currently the colour of a ripe tomato.”
A collective, poorly suppressed titter broke out among the rest of the group. Marta had to shield her face behind Irene’s shoulder to hide her grin, while Vicky openly chuckled. The commanding authority Alexia usually radiated was completely cancelled out by the blush spreading all the way down her neck. She looked less like a quadruple-winning captain and more like an incredibly flustered teenager who had just been caught reading a diary out loud.
“Go take some time to collect your thoughts and calm down, Ale.” Irene placated with a dismissive wave. “You’ve lost the locker room on this one.”
Realising she was fighting a losing battle against a squad that knew her far too well, Alexia let out a sharp breath, before turning and beelining for her house. She deliberately avoided looking at the side garden where the sofa was hidden, and marched straight inside to get away from everyone.
Once inside, she stopped in the kitchen and took a deep inhale.
This was not the night she had envisioned.
So far, it’d left her feeling nothing but stressed, antsy, slightly irate.
As a result, her hands immediately went to work out of pure habit. She couldn’t just sit still with her brain firing at a million miles an hour. She stood at the kitchen island, her movements precise as she began wiping down surfaces that were already clean, determined to begin winding the party down for the night.
And she stayed there for a while; loading a few stray plates into the dishwasher, organising the remaining catering trays with an aggressive level of focus. Disposing of many, many bottles of beer and numerous paper plates, she couldn’t help but think of you outside.
But she stayed in the kitchen for a long time regardless of you. She didn’t want to cause you any more torment by heading outside to see you when it was her you were upset about.
Nearly forty minutes passed before she finally dropped the dish towel. Most of the team had headed inside by now, away from the darkness and cooler air of the night. They’d taken over her living, though in a much calmer manner, so she didn’t feel the need to supervise.
She took a steadying breath, before deciding to do one final sweep of the garden to bring in any bottles or plates or food before locking the door for the night.
Sliding the glass door open quietly, she stepped out outside to her empty garden.
Almost empty.
Because she then heard your shaky voice drifting through the air again. Her eyes scanned the side garden, and there she found you.
Under the dim glow of a single wall lamp, sat Clara. The younger midfielder looked completely trapped. Her legs were pulled up to her chest on the cushions, eyes wide with a look of sheer deer-in-the-headlights terror as she tried her absolute best to be a good friend.
And right next to her, curled up into an emotional ball, you were still thoroughly caught up in your tearful ramble, oblivious to the fact everyone else had headed inside to wind down for the evening.
The captain didn’t mean to eavesdrop (again), but the vulnerability in your tone anchored her feet to the floor.
“-it’s just the way she looks at me, Clara.” You sighed into your knees. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but sometimes it seems like she’s trying so hard to keep her distance, but then she’ll do something really sweet and I can’t ever get it off my mind. Because I know she has a million things on her mind. She’s running the whole show, looking after everyone, and still finds time to do these little things for me.”
Clara gave a stiff nod, eyes wide as if praying for some kind of saviour.
“Meanwhile I’m just over here trying not to trip over my own two feet when she comes near me.” You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a watery laugh that pierced right through Alexia’s chest. “I’m just a mess compared to her. It’ll never work. She’d just think I’m… some annoying distraction.”
Any lingering doubt, any tiny stubborn part of Alexia that was trying to protect herself from misinterpreting the situation, completely vanished.
And it was that exact moment that Clara’s panicked gaze flicked toward the house and locked right onto Alexia standing in the doorway.
Somehow, the girl’s eyes widened impossibly more. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. For a second, it looked like she might actually faint from the overwhelming weight of the drama that’d unfolded.
Sensing her cue, Clara clumsily scrambled to her feet.
“Right!” Clara blurted out, her voice a little too loud and high-pitched in the quiet garden. You blinked up at her, startled by the sudden movement. “You– you know what? You need water. A very large, cold glass of water. I’ll go get some for you. Don’t move!”
Before you could even formulate a question to ask why she was being so weird, Clara practically sprinted away, past Alexia and disappearing into the safety of the house without looking back. She closed the door behind her with a click, leaving the garden silent.
You blinked into the shadows, a bit dazed by the abrupt departure, before your eyes slowly tracked the movement by the doorway.
Alexia was standing there. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her trousers, her shoulders dropped, and she was looking at you with an expression so soft that the breath caught in your throat.
She stepped fully out of the doorway, the soft scuff of her shoes against the tiles breaking the silence. She walked over slowly, deliberately giving you time to adjust to her presence so she wouldn’t startle you again.
You didn't scramble to hide your face or panic. Instead, you just tilted your head back against the sofa cushions, looking up at her through a heavy, calm, and deeply tired haze. A half-hearted smile of acknowledgment tugged at the corners of your mouth. The sharp edge of your earlier distress had melted into a quiet exhaustion; the alcohol was still humming in your system, but it had left you feeling grounded, heavy-limbed, and thoroughly spent.
“Hey,” You murmured, your voice a little raspy from crying.
“Hi,” Alexia replied softly.
She didn't hesitate. She crossed the small gap and sank down onto the outdoor sofa beside you, leaving just enough space between your shoulders so you wouldn't feel crowded, though the warmth of her presence instantly filled the cool night air. She leaned back, mirroring your relaxed posture, and looked at you sideways.
“What's up?” She asked gently, keeping her tone light and casual.
You let out a tiny, breathy sigh, your eyes dropping down to your lap where your fingers were loosely intertwined.
Despite the beers stripping away your filter, a sudden wave of self-conscious embarrassment kept you guarded. You were mortified by the scene you’d made earlier, thoroughly convinced you'd made a fool of yourself in front of Kika and Patri, even if you still had no idea Alexia had heard a single word of your confession.
“Nothing.” You answered, a little secretive, your shoulders shrugging slightly. “Just... overthinking. The usual.”
“What about?" Alexia pressed in a polite, pressure-free manner.
You just shrugged again, a disheartened frown crossing your features. “Just stupid stuff. Doesn't matter.”
Alexia watched you for a long beat, her chest tightening with an immense, overwhelming fondness.
“Matters to me.” She stated quietly.
The comment made your heart ache, but you remained quiet.
The vulnerability you had just displayed to Clara – the worries that you were too different, too loud, or too much of a disruption to her life – swirled in her head. She wanted to tell you right then and there how wrong you were, but she knew your tipsy, fragile pride couldn't handle the shock of finding out she’d been eavesdropping.
And there was always the chance you would forget it in the morning; if she was going to find the confidence to do it, she at least wanted you to remember it.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take a chance, though.
Instead, a knowing smile took over her mouth. She shifted slightly on the cushion, reaching out and gently nudging the side of your knee with the back of her hand. The contact was brief, but it sent a warm jolt throughout your body.
“You know,” Alexia said, her eyes locked onto yours. “Sometimes people build up walls because… not because they want to keep everyone out, or anything. Definitely not because their lives are too perfect.”
You let out a barely there, amused breath, not looking at her.
“Sometimes they do it because they’re just trying to figure things out. And they might just be waiting for someone brave enough to ignore the structure, make a stupid joke, and break through it.”
You blinked, her words slicing through the foggy, disheartened thoughts in your brain. You turned your head and met her gaze.
The sincerity in her dark eyes was staggering. It wasn’t the look of a captain evaluating a teammate; it was personal, warm, intimate.
“Sound familiar?” Alexia wondered with a smile you recognised as too-proud, even if you hadn’t fully caught the meaning of her words.
A shy, proper smile slowly bloomed across your face. The knot in your chest loosened at the reassurance you didn’t even realise she was giving you, and you gave her a nod.
Her grin widened at the sight and her body flooded with relief as she watched your sadness melt away.
“Anyway,” She hummed, tone shifting back to something a bit more playful as she nudged your knee one more time. “The point is, you shouldn’t overthink things so much. It’s bad for you.”
You let out a tired chuckle, shaking your head against the cushion. “I can’t promise that, Ale. It’s what I’m best at.”
Alexia lifted her hand from her lap, curling her fingers inward until only her smallest finger was extended. She held it up between the two of you, right in your line of sight.
“Well,” She said, her expression perfectly serious though her eyes were dancing with mischief. “You’re going to have to promise.”
You stared at her hand, then up at her face, and a light burst of laughter escaped your lips. The absurdity of the two time Ballon d’Or winner and stern Barcelona captain demanding a pinky promise was too much for your tipsy brain to handle.
“Are you serious right now?” You teased with a bright smile, brighter than one you’ve had in hours. “A pink promise? What are you, twelve?”
“It’s a legally binding contract without pen and paper.” Alexia insisted, her grin turning borderline wicked as she shook her extended pinky closer to you. “Come on. Secure the deal.”
You rolled your eyes, but the helpless smile never left your face. You raised your own hand and looped your pinky finger tightly around hers.
The moment your skin met, the teasing banter ebbed away for the time being. Neither of you pulled away. You held absolute, unbroken eye contact in the dark light of the garden, the tiny physical connection keeping you both still.
Alexia’s smile turned into something tender. You swore you saw her gaze drop to your lips for a split second, before they rose back to your eyes.
The click of the glass doors cut through the silence, making you both break eye contact.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Pina called out, stepping into the garden with her jacket over her shoulder. Behind her, Cata and Vicky were peering over her shoulders, their faces split into identical delighted smirks as their eyes darted down to your linked hands.
“We’re just heading out now, we can see ourselves to the door.” Vicky chimed in with a wicked grin, nudging Pina with her elbow. “We just wanted to say goodbye. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Yeah, you stay there, Ale, don’t stress yourself,” Cata added, holding up a hand before she gave you both an exaggerated wink. “See you guys soon!”
Alexia slowly unlooped her pinky from yours, though her fingers lingered against your skin for a fraction of a second before she settled back against the cushions. “Text me when you get home!”
You quickly offered a sheepish, slightly flushed wave with your free hand as the trio backed through the door, closing it behind them,
The second it shut, the reality of the late hour and the amount of alcohol in your system hit you at once. You let out a long, pathetic groan, and slapped a hand over your eyes.
“Oh god,” You said, your voice muffled against your palm. “I just remembered… I drove here.”
Alexia let out a soft, amused chuckle from beside you. “Did you?”
“Yes!” You whined, peeking out from behind your fingers with a frown. “I didn’t know there would be so much beer and chaos and… whatever the hell Kika was up to. Now I'm stuck. I can’t get home.”
Alexia watched you, her expression melting into something a little shy. She cleared her throat, her fingers tracing the seams of her trousers as she looked at you.
“Actually,” She offered quietly, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “You can stay here tonight if you want. All of the spare rooms are made up.”
A spike of heat hit your cheeks, completely bypassing the beer buzz. Your mouth went a little dry, your brain immediately going into hyper-drive at the thought of sleeping under her roof.
“Oh—no, no, I couldn't” You stammered quickly, waving your hands in a polite, panicked refusal. “I can just call a taxi. It’s fine, really! I don't want to be a bother or invade your space after you’ve been hosting all day. I'll just get an Uber.”
“It's nearly one in the morning, you won't find a taxi easily out here,” Alexia pointed out smoothly, her tone turning a fraction more firm as she leaned in slightly, refusing to let you brush her off. “And you're not a bother. I'm literally offering.”
“But–”
“No buts,” She interrupted gently, her eyes full of a warm, teasing authority that you had no strength to fight. “You made a legally binding promise not to overthink things, remember? The spare room is yours. Unless you'd prefer to sleep out here on the terrace?”
You stared at her for a moment, totally defeated by her logic and the sheer kindness in her eyes. Letting out one final, dramatic sigh, you let your head drop back onto the sofa cushion.
“Fine. I’ll stay.” You murmured, that same helpless and bashful smile returning to your face. You gazed at her, your stomach doing that weird fluttery thing it often did whenever she went out of her way to do something for you. “Thank you, Ale. Really.”
“Don’t mention it.” She replied, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed back into the cushions. She gave you a gentle, assessing look, her eyes scanning your tired face. “Besides, you look exhausted. It’s been a long day, and you need some rest.”
You let out a quiet hum, closing your eyes for a brief second as the weight of the alcohol and the emotional rollercoaster of the night fully settled into your bones. “Yeah. You’re right. My brain feels like mush.”
“Well, luckily for you, I happen to have an excellent solution for that,” Alexia said, a sudden, playful spark returning to her voice. She leaned in a little closer, gesturing back toward the dark house with a perfectly serious expression. “The mattresses in my house? Unbelievable. They’re the best things I’ve ever bought.”
You opened your eyes and stared at her, a breathless laugh escaping you at the absolute ridiculousness of the pitch. “Are you trying to sell me a bed right now?”
“I’m just trying to make you overthink your decision a little less. You won’t regret it when you lay on one,” She grinned, finally standing up from the sofa and extending a hand down to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep out here.”
You took her hand, letting her easily haul you to your feet. Your legs were a bit heavy and unsteady, but Alexia kept a steadying grip on your arm until you found your balance, guiding you gently through the glass doors and into the quiet, pristine interior of her house.
The main rooms were completely dark now, the rest of the team having finally headed out. Alexia led you up the stairs, the soft ambient lighting illuminating the hallway as she guided you toward one of the guest rooms near the end of the hall.
She pushed the door open, revealing a beautifully neat, cozy space that already felt incredibly welcoming.
“Make yourself at home,” Alexia murmured, stepping inside to turn on a bedside lamp before turning to face you. She took a quick look at your clothes and snapped her fingers softly. “Wait, you need something to sleep in. Hold on.”
She disappeared down the hall toward her own bedroom, leaving you standing awkwardly by the edge of the bed, your heart doing a nervous little dance. A minute later, she returned with a neatly folded pile of clothes in her hands.
“Here,” she said, handing them over. It was an oversized, incredibly soft grey cotton t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. “They might be a little big, but they’re comfortable. Oh, and here.” She reached into her pocket and produced a brand-new, packaged toothbrush. “There’s an en-suite bathroom right through that door. Fresh towels are under the sink in case you want to shower at any point.”
You took the items, your fingers brushing against hers again, sending a familiar warmth rushing up your arms like it had done earlier in the pantry. “Ale, seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I told you, it’s fine,” She replied, her voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register again. She stepped back toward the doorway, her hands finding the pockets of her trousers as she looked at you under the warm glow of the lamp. She looked suddenly a little shy herself, her eyes lingering on your face. “Sleep well, okay?”
“You too,” you smiled, a bashful warmth settling in your chest. “Goodnight, Ale.”
“Goodnight.”
The brunette gave you one last smile before slowly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. You sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, a hopeless smile breaking across your face. Then you pressed your palm into the bed, almost groaning in delight at how it was a perfect mixture of density and softness.
On the other side of the door, Alexia hadn’t moved far.
She stood perfectly still in the dimly lit hallway, her hand still hovering near the doorframe. Her stomach fluttered as she took a deep, shaky breath.
The echo of your voice from earlier tonight, confessing how much you liked her and how deeply you cared and how terrified you were of messing up her peace, it all made her heart ache with an intoxicating happiness.
She leaned her head back to the ceiling, a near-silent stunned laugh escaping her lips in the darkness. You were right there, would be sleeping just a few feet away in her house, and it made her feel weightless.
Eventually, with a lingering glance at your door, she turned and walked down the hall to her own room, a smile fixed on her face the entire way.
—
The morning sun was already streaming through the gap in her blackout curtains when Alexia opened her eyes, feeling mostly rested despite the chaotic emotional rollercoaster of the previous night.
She lay in bed for a while. Her brain replayed almost the entire night through, from when people arrived to leading you upstairs to the spare room once everybody had left. The corner of her lips quirked upwards at a few things, and she looked down at her hand where it rested atop the sheets, the one that’d linked with yours in a gesture that was much more than just sealing a promise.
It was past 10AM, and she hadn’t heard any movement from the end of the hall, where you’d stayed.
So she sat up against the headboard with a yawn and a stretch, before she leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed her phone.
(Alexia)
Morning :) are you awake yet?
She dropped her phone onto the bed beside her and rubbed her eyes, waiting as three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared a few minutes later.
(You)
Hi. Yeah. Morning.
My head hurts just ever so slightly.
Alexia chuckled to herself, already moving to get up out of bed.
She padded downstairs and went to the kitchen, moving to open the cabinet where she kept all things health related. Before she could grab what she was after, her phone vibrated in her pocket again.
(You)
I’m also incredibly embarrassed by everything that happened yesterday, so please don’t look at me
The midfielder burst into a quiet laugh, her cheeks aching at how endearing you were being. She locked her phone, filled a tall glass with cold water, and grabbed a pack of painkillers.
Once she’d made it up the stairs, she stopped outside the guest room door and knocked quietly, the rap of her knuckles echoing in the hallway.
Silence.
No movement and no answer.
Amused, Alexia leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her lips.
“I know you’re awake,” She called out, her voice loud enough to cut through the wood but keeping its gentle, teasing warmth. “We literally texted two minutes ago.”
There was another period of silence from inside the room before a muffled and incredibly meek voice finally drifted through the door. “Come in.”
Alexia turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the sunlit room. Her eyes immediately found the bed, and a soft adoring smile took over her face at the sight.
You were curled up tightly on your side, practically swallowed by the sheets. You had apparently raided the clean pile of laundry sitting on the chair in the corner she’d been yet to sort, because you were now drowning in a thick grey hoodie that belonged to her, despite it being Summer.
You’d pulled the hood over your head, leaving only the tip of your nose and your tightly shut eyes visible to the world.
“Good morning,” Alexia said softly as she walked into the room. She kept her steps quiet, setting the tall glass of water down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you.
You emerged from the sheets, letting out a tiny embarrassed whine as you slowly sat up. You reluctantly pulled the hood back off your head, allowing Alexia to look at you properly. She had to blink herself out of her trance as she grabbed the sheet of tablets from her pocket.
“Here,” she murmured, popping two of the tablets into your palm and handing you the water. “Take these.”
You swallowed the pills, chasing them with a long sip of the cold water, throat parched from the night before. As you set the glass back down, you finally risked a glance up at her.
Alexia was simply sitting there, watching you with an unhurried and awfully tender gaze. There was no judgement in her eyes, no teasing smirk, just an attentive focus that made your stomach do a stupid flip.
Under the weight of her undivided attention, you felt a burning blush creep rapidly up your neck, painting your cheeks a crimson that gave away how flustered you were.
Alexia definitely noticed, you could tell by the tiny increase in her smile, but she chose not to comment on it.
“How are you feeling? Aside from the headache?”
“I’ve been better and I’ve been worse.” You answered in a mutter, sleep still evident in your voice as you pulled your knees closer to your chest.
Alexia let out a soft, amused huff. “Well, that’s a start. It was a hectic night.”
“You can say that again.” You grumbled, resting your chin on your knees and staring down at the rumpled sheets. “I can’t believe it was that chaotic. I’m never going to hear the end of it all.”
The brunette watched you, her expression shifting, turning just a bit shy as she cleared her throat and her fingers traced light patterns on the duvet.
“So… how much of it do you remember?” She asked, eyes locking onto yours with a poorly disguised intense curiosity.
A fresh wave of heat hit your cheeks, but you managed a small self-deprecating smile. “God, Ale, I wasn’t that drunk. I remember it. All of it.”
Her smile widened, a spark of satisfaction lighting up her eyes as she slowly nodded, carefully filing that piece of information away for later.
If you remembered everything, you remembered all the things you’d said about her. As well as what she had subtly hinted at on the couch, too.
“Good to know,” She hummed, before pushing herself up from the edge of the bed. She stood at full height, tugging her vest back into its proper place and smoothing down her shorts. “I was going to make some breakfast, are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually," You admitted sheepishly. “Is it alright if I take a quick shower while you do that?”
“Of course.” She replied instantly, gesturing toward the bathroom with an easy smile. “Take as long as you want. I’ll get some more clothes for you and get started on the food.”
With a final, reassuring nod, Alexia slipped out of the room, leaving you to the blissful sanctuary of a hot shower.
True to her word, by the time you stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam rolling out behind you, a fresh stack of clean clothes was sitting neatly at the foot of the bed. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the endless supply, drowning in both her clothes and the laundry detergent you’d loved the scent of for a little while now.
You quickly changed, taking a deep, steadying breath to steel yourself before finally bracing the hallway and padding down the stairs.
You walked into the kitchen slowly, your shoulders slightly hunched and your hands tucked into your pockets, still carrying that quiet morning-after bashfulness.
Alexia was standing over the hob, the rich, savoury aroma of frying eggs and toasted bread filling the bright room. She didn’t even have to look up to hear your hesitant footsteps, letting out another amused huff as she flicked the spatula expertly.
“You don’t have to be so awkward, you know,” She said, turning her head to flash you a warm, easy smile. She rested one hand on her hip, looking at how carefully you were hovering near the edge of the kitchen island. “You’re more than just a guest, you’re welcome here anytime. You’re… you’re like Bambi right now. Just totally unsure of your feet. Stop being so scared.”
A quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past your lips, the tension in your shoulders dropping a fraction. “I hope the nickname Bambi doesn’t stick.”
Alexia’s smirk returned in full force, her dark eyes dancing with a wicked, playful light as she turned back to the pan. “Well, that entirely depends on how you behave.”
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your mouth as you moved to pull out a barstool. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” Alexia hummed, her chuckle low and thoroughly satisfied as she plated up the food. “You definitely shouldn’t have.”
The slight hints of tension evaporated into the steam of fresh coffee as you both sat down at the island. The initial awkwardness settled down into a comfortable silence as you both ate. It wasn’t an unpleasant or empty quiet; it was full of the domestic scraping of forks against plates, the hum of the kitchen appliances, the morning chirps of birds in the garden outside, clearly glad the chaos of the previous night was over.
It was a shared lazy morning lull, underscored by the lingering warmth of the sun hitting the kitchen floor.
But as the last few bites were finished and your cutlery finally scraped against the ceramic to a halt, Alexia’s mind began to wonder again. Right back to the shadows of the side garden on the sofa, again.
She stared down at her empty plate, her fingers idly tapping against the handle of her mug. She couldn’t let it go.
Hearing you admit all those things to Clara had been causing an uncomfortable twisting pain within her all morning.
Alexia was used to having to be the structured one, the fortress, the captain who held it together. She revelled in it.
Most of the time.
Hearing that her guard, the very wall she built to survive the pressure, had made you feel small and unwelcome in her life? It made her stomach churn.
Those walls were just a facade. And though, she supposed, it was good enough that it could fool almost anyone, she didn’t want it to affect her life in such a way like it had with you.
She wanted to lay it out, but she needed to be careful. You were still fragile, what with the hangover and the embarrassment.
She took a final slow sip of her coffee, before setting the mug down with a soft clink to break the silence.
“You know last night,” she started, not looking up, keeping her eyes on her mug to give you space. “Before everyone left, when you were on the sofa.”
You instantly felt a spike of adrenaline shoot straight to your chest, your mind racing through the fuzzy timeline– the weird confessional Kika and Patri had baited you into, and then the pathetic tearful rambles you’d unloaded onto an unprepared Clara.
“Yeah?” You squeaked out, clearing your throat to try and sound normal. You gripped your glass of water a little tighter. “What about it?”
“Just…” Alexia trailed off, shifting her weight on the barstool. She glanced up then, trying to gauge how much you could handle. “You seemed really… overwhelmed when you left the group. And when I came out later, you still looked… weighed down. So I just… I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because you don’t have to lie or pretend with me, you know.”
“Oh. Right.” You mumbled, looking everywhere but at her. You traced the edge of your plate with your thumb, trying to skirt around the massive elephant in the room. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just, you know, too many beers. And I get emotional when I’m tired. I probably just said a bunch of nonsense to Clara. You know how it is.”
Alexia stayed quiet for a minute, mulling it over.
“Was it? Nonsense?” She asked quietly a little later. Almost afraid of the answer.
“Total nonsense.” You liked quickly, nodding your head with a strained, bashful laugh. “Completely ridiculous stuff. Don’t even worry about it.”
Alexia watched you scramble, and though she perhaps should’ve been disheartened at your answer, a helpless surge of affection overtook her instead.
She couldn’t keep the secret anymore; it wasn’t fair to let you hide behind a lie when you were both desperate for the truth.
A small, knowing smile broke across her face. She leaned her forearms onto the island, tilting her head slightly.
“I heard some of it, you know.”
Your hand stopped dead on the table, your eyes widening to the size of saucers as the breath caught squarely in your throat. Your mind blanked out in pure panic as you froze under her gaze.
The brunette let out a low, amused chuckle at the reaction, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Again with the Bambi.” She teased, lightly bumping her knee into yours.
“I– I wasn’t… it really wasn't what it sounded like,” you scrambled to defend yourself, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush as you desperately tried to piece together a coherent excuse. “I was tipsy, and Clara was just there, and I talk so much rubbish when I’ve had a few beers, Alexia, seriously, you can’t take anything I say after midnight–”
“Hey, hey, breathe,” Alexia cut in gently, her soft voice instantly halting your spiral. She didn't let the distance grow between you, instead leaning in a fraction closer. The teasing smirk was entirely gone, replaced by an expression so genuinely reassuring it made your mind spin. “Calm down. I’m not mad. I promise you, I’m not mad at all.”
You blinked, your mouth shutting instantly as you stared at her, your heart still thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, desperately scanning the marble countertops, the coffee machine, the windows– literally anything to avoid the intense, steady focus of her gaze while your brain frantically searched for a way out.
“Why are you looking at the toaster like it’s going to save you?” Alexia asked, a breathless laugh escaping her lips, though her eyes remained completely soft.
“I’m not,” You mumbled miserably, finally dropping your gaze back to your lap. “I just… I really didn't mean to drag you into my messy thoughts.”
Alexia stayed quiet for a moment, letting the room settle. Then, slowly, she shifted her arm across the cool marble of the island and placed her hand directly over yours. Her palm was incredibly warm, her fingers resting securely over your trembling knuckles, grounding you completely.
“Look at me,” She requested softly.
Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes to meet hers.
“If I heard what I think I heard out there,” Alexia murmured, her thumb making a slow, incredibly tender stroke across the back of your hand, “then… you don’t need to be nervous at all about how I will react. Not even a little bit.” She paused, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made all your hesitations dissolve. “Just… be honest with me. Please.”
The raw sincerity in her voice almost overwhelmed you. A fresh, deep blush crept right back up to your cheeks, but beneath the embarrassment, an all-consuming sense of relief took over. You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring at her hand over yours, and gave a small nod.
Once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping it.
The slight hangover and the months of suppressed longing collided all at once, causing the words to come rushing out your mouth in a desperate, unfiltered torrent.
“It’s just… I’ve felt like this literally for months, Ale.” You started, your hands gesturing wildly as you tried to explain the chaos in your head. “And every time I wanted to say something, I’d look at how completely composed you are, how you handle everything with this intense focus, and I’d just chicken out.”
Alexia gave a wistful smile, the sight almost derailing you. But you wanted to power through this now, no matter what. No looking back.
“I was so convinced that if I let it slip, I’d just… be an annoying distraction to you. I didn’t want to throw a wrench into your peace or make things awkward at training, and then Patri and Kika kept setting up stupid traps, and I was just so mortified because the last thing I ever wanted to do was burden you with my messy feelings, and I–”
You paused to catch your breath, your eyes finally flicking back to the woman sitting next to you.
Alexia hadn't moved an inch.
She was sitting with her elbow propped casually on the marble island, her chin resting comfortably in her hand as she gazed at you. Her eyes were fixed entirely on your face, completely captivated, and a soft, deeply affectionate smile played on her lips as she drank in every single word of your chaotic confession. She looked entirely untroubled, thoroughly content, and devastatingly beautiful in the morning light.
The undivided intensity of her gaze caused the rest of your sentence to completely die in your throat. Your cheeks flared an even deeper shade of crimson, and you shifted uncomfortably on your stool, suddenly feeling very small under her look.
How the tables had turned; now it was you who couldn’t stop blushing.
“...and I don’t know what to do with myself when you look at me like that, especially,” You finished in a tiny, breathless murmur, your voice trailing off as you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
Alexia’s grin only widened at that, a quiet rumbling chuckle vibrating in her chest as she watched you squirm.
“I can’t help it,” She murmured smoothly, her eyes dancing with an unapologetic fondness.
You let out a breathy, nervous huff and rolled your eyes, though the defensive gesture did absolutely nothing to cool the burning heat in your cheeks.
Alexia let the comfortable quiet of the kitchen settle around you for a moment. She dropped her hand from her chin and shifted her posture, leaning closer until the space between you was practically non-existent. She gently took your hand back in hers, her thumb resuming that slow stroke against your skin.
She knew it was her turn now, and she needed to make sure you fully absorbed every single word.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Alexia began, her voice dropping to a low, incredibly gentle whisper. She waited until your eyes flicked up to meet hers, holding your gaze so you couldn't look away.
“You are not too chaotic for me,” She stated firmly, erasing any room for doubt. “You are not an annoying distraction, and you could never, ever disrupt my peace. Nothing of what you’ve built up in your head to be terrified of is true.”
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you listened to the sheer conviction in her tone.
“I like you exactly because you are the opposite of me,” Alexia continued, her expression softening into something heartwarmingly vulnerable. “My entire life is structured, heavily monitored, and constantly under pressure. But you... you bring out entirely different sides of me. Sides I sometimes forget I even have. You make me laugh when I’m stressed, you make me forget about the weight of the captain's armband, and those walls you think I have up?”
She paused, her thumb pressing a little firmer into the back of your hand.
“Whenever you’re around, they come falling down without you even trying,” She confessed quietly, laying her heart completely bare. “You don't need to worry about breaking through them, Bambi. You’ve been on the other side of them for months.”
The breath rushed out of your lungs in a shaky exhale, your vision blurring slightly at the edges as her words washed over you. All those months of agonising over every little interaction, over every lingering touch, suddenly clicked into place.
Alexia’s brow furrowed slightly, a flash of genuine guilt passing through her dark eyes. “It breaks my heart that I made you feel like you were a burden. I was trying so hard to respect your boundaries and not make things complicated for you at the club, but I am so sorry that my distance made you feel–”
“Don’t,” You cut her off quickly, your fingers instinctively curling around hers to squeeze her hand tight. “You don’t need to apologise, Ale. Seriously. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Alexia paused, her eyes searching yours, wordlessly questioning if you really meant it.
“It’s just my useless habit of overthinking.” You admitted with another self-deprecating chuckle. “You were just being you. I build these massive worst-case scenarios in my head and then convince myself they’re real. It’s stupid.”
A grin spread slowly across Alexia’s face, her eyes lighting up with that familiar playful mischief. She leaned in just a fraction closer, her knees bracketing yours as you both sat sideways on the barstools.
“That’s alright, because we found a solution to that last night, didn’t we?”
You blinked, a little confused. “What do you mean?”
Without breaking eye contact, Alexia slowly shifted her hand. She uncurled her fingers from yours, slid her hand just an inch down the marble counter, and hooked her smallest finger tightly around your pinky. She gave it a firm, teasing wiggle right there on the kitchen island.
A bright, genuine laugh burst from you at the sight, your whole body relaxing as the lingering remnants of your morning panic finally vanished.
“You and these fucking promises.” You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from how she looked at you.
You quietened after that, though. Your laughter melted into something smaller, just the corner of your mouth turned upward as your fingers remained hooked together and her gaze never left yours. Each of you slowly began to process the others’ words, internally beaming at the unexpected turn of events.
“I can’t quite believe we’ve finally… talked about it.” You whispered, staring down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at her. It felt completely surreal, sitting in her kitchen and holding her hand while she confessed her feelings.
Alexia just smiled, as a soft and context expression took over her features at the same time she gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. “It’s been a long time coming. We were both just being too stubborn.”
“Definitely too stubborn.” You nodded in bashful agreement, shaking your head. Then you let out a quiet snort as you thought about the madness of the previous night. “Stubborn to the point where our idiotic team had to basically bang our heads together.”
Alexia threw her head back, a loud laugh echoing through the kitchen. “Don’t give them too much credit.”
“They’re never going to let us live this down.” You added with a sigh, your thumb tracing the smooth skin of her hand.
Alexia hummed in agreement, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she kept her pinky firmly hooked with yours. The kitchen fell back into a quiet, content silence, but the air felt entirely different now. The suffocating weight that had been hanging over your chest all morning was completely gone, replaced by a warm and bubbling lightness.
You sat there for a few unhurried moments, just taking her in.
The way the bright morning sun caught the golden undertones in her brown hair, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, and the soft, incredibly peaceful expression on her face. For months, you had viewed her as this untouchable fortress, but right now, sitting sideways on a barstool in a kitchen that smelled of coffee, you were left wondering how on earth you’d let those thoughts slide.
Her gaze dropped to your hands, her thumb mindlessly rubbing the side of your finger. Following her line of sight, your chest swelled with a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection. It was a bizarre, beautiful contrast– the stern captain holding your pinky like a schoolgirl on her kitchen island.
Slowly, your gaze drifted back up, tracing the sharp line of her jaw before finally landing on her mouth. The morning light caught the soft, natural curve of her lips, and the sudden realisation of what you actually wanted hit you all at once. The craving was so sharp it made your breath catch.
You leaned in just a tiny bit, your knees shifting against hers, shrinking the space between you until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her skin.
“I really want to kiss you,” You whispered, piquing her interest. Only for you to sigh dramatically and lean back again. “But I can’t right now.”
Alexia’s eyebrows shot up, a startled but highly amused laugh escaping her lips at your sudden turnaround. She didn’t let go of your pinky, instead leaning forward with a bright, curious gleam in her eyes.
“No?” She asked, her voice rich with a teasing undertone. “You can’t? You literally just said you wanted to.”
“I do!” You defended dramatically, throwing your free hand up in the air before dropping it back onto your lap. “But I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, I just feel completely gross. I don't want our first proper kiss to be overshadowed by a hangover and general morning grogginess. I want it to be a good memory, Ale.”
Alexia stared at you for a short beat, her expression softening so fast it was almost dizzying. A noise of pure, melting affection escaped her throat, her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners.
“You’re really something, hm,” She murmured, shaking her head. She slowly unhooked her pinky from yours, but before you could miss the contact, she slid her stool even closer, her knees firmly slotting around yours. “Alright. Fine. If you’re being stubborn about that… let me do this instead.”
She reached up, her warm hands gently coming to cradle your jawline. Her fingers were soft against your skin, her thumbs lightly tracing your cheekbones as she tilted your face up slightly. You held your breath, your pulse instantly starting to quicken.
Slowly, deliberately, Alexia leaned in. She pressed a soft, warm kiss to your left cheek, her lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle. Then, she shifted slightly, her breath brushing against your skin as she dropped an identical, tender kiss onto your right cheek.
You thought that was it, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved to the center, her eyelids fluttering shut as she pressed a firm, affectionate, lingering kiss right against the middle of your forehead.
The contact sent your heart into absolute overdrive. It felt like a physical shockwave of warmth rolling straight down your spine, leaving your stomach doing a series of wild, uncontrolled flips. It wasn't just a casual gesture; the sheer care and gravity behind the way she held your face made you feel like you were floating.
(And not because of alcohol this time.)
When she finally pulled back, her hands slid down to rest casually on your shoulders, a soft, triumphant smile playing on her lips as she looked down at your inevitably crimson face.
“Who’s the blusher now?”
You let out a groan of pure embarrassment, completely defeated, and dropped your forehead forward until it rested heavily against her shoulder. Your face was buried in the soft fabric of her top, your hands instinctively rising to lightly grip the sides of her waist.
Alexia let out a low chuckle that vibrated right through your chest, burying her face into your hair for a brief second.
“That was too soft, Ale,” You grumbled against her shoulder, though a smile was tugging at the corners of your own mouth. “You’re cheating.”
“Too soft?” Alexia retorted, her voice dropping into a thoroughly amused, teasing purr. “Not true for you. I can literally feel your heart hammering from here.”
To make matters worse, she brought her hands down from your shoulders and began to rub them in slow, soothing strokes up and down your back. The gentle friction through the thick grey hoodie only made your stomach do another round of ridiculous flips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, completely content to stay hidden against her forever.
The domestic bubble was abruptly shattered by a sharp ping from the marble counter.
You reluctantly pulled your head back, shooting a glare at your phone as it buzzed again. You slid off the barstool, your legs still a little heavy, and reached for the device. Glancing at the screen, your eyes went wide as the digital clock and a message stared back at you.
“Oh, damn it,” You groaned again, running a hand over your face. “I completely forgot. I have plans with my family this afternoon. I… I have to leave right now or I’m going to be late.”
Alexia’s expression softened with instant understanding, her hands dropping away as she stood up with you. “Don’t stress. Go grab your stuff from upstairs, I’ll wait by the door.”
Ten minutes later, you were walking down her front path toward your car. The midday air was warm and crisp, a stark contrast to the heavy, tearful shadows of the garden the night before. You felt a million times lighter.
“Send me a text when you get home,” Alexia called out from the open doorway. She was leaning her shoulder comfortably against the frame, her hands tucked into the pockets of her shorts as she watched you.
You paused by your driver’s side door, turning back to face her with an easy smile. “I will.”
Alexia lingered for a second, her eyes tracking your face before a small, uncharacteristically bashful look crossed her features. “And… text me after that, too?”
Your heart did a violent, happy flip in your chest. You looked at her, entirely charmed. “As long as you promise to text me back.”
Without a word, Alexia lifted her hand from her pocket and held up her pinky finger, her eyes swirling with that playful affection. You couldn't help the wide, helpless grin that split your face as you lifted your own hand, mimicking the gesture from across the lawn to seal the silent contract.
With a final wave, you unlocked your car and climbed into the driver’s seat. As you pulled the seatbelt across your chest, your hand brushed against the thick, heavy fabric of the grey pullover. You froze, looking down at yourself, and realised with a sudden jolt of amusement that you were still wearing her clothes.
You let out a quiet huff and reached up to adjust the rearview mirror before backing out of the driveway.
But as your eyes tracked the reflection, your gaze travelled past your own face and straight through the large glass window of her kitchen.
There she was, completely oblivious to the fact you were watching. Alexia was standing by the sink, idly wiping down the marble island after breakfast, and she was smiling uncontrollably to herself– a completely private grin that reached all the way to her eyes.
You shifted the car into gear and drove away, the lingering smell of her fabric softeners surrounding you, your own smile matching hers the entire ride home.
—
once again, no idea how this is so long, but hopefully it was worth it 🫠 do let me know if you enjoyed it :)
summary: alexia had all and then most of you. some, and now none of you. ...or does she?
~ 2.2k
warning: alexia leaving barça (i guess that's a warning?), just angst
a/n: this is something different that popped into my head that i wanted to try out. it's more angsty than i usually write. there will probably be more parts coming, i think. i just wanted to see how you all think about it.
when alexia finally came home, everything was quiet. she stood in the hallway for a while, just…breathing. it was dark, she didn’t bother to turn on the light. her bag hung heavy from her shoulder, filled with gifts and letters from fans, teammates, staff. her people.
alexia was truly alone for the first time. it was such a stark difference to the last few days. she’d surrounded herself with family, she needed them with her. her sister, her mami, her uncle, her friends. they were all there for her, supporting her, distracting her, trying to cheer her up.
all because she’d just made the hardest decision she’d ever had to make in her life. not one she thought she’d have to ever make, or one she thought she would choose. yet, it happened. no matter how much it had hurt her heart. it had slowly ripped apart, a piece of her forever left here in barcelona.
she hadn’t thought she could ever leave barça. it was her club, her dream, her home. she’d lived a thousand lifetimes, experienced the highest of highs, gone through the lowest of lows. the perfect story. but…well. all good things must come to an end one day, didn’t they?
that was just how things were. alexia had tried to learn to live with that. it had taken a lot of time. many, many nights of crying her eyes out, second-guessing everything. now, there were no tears left to cry. she’d left them in camp nou, in the johan cruyff, with the people that were most dear to her.
alexia was tired of it. the crying, the constant sadness following her. she didn’t want to be sad anymore. it was exhausting. expected, but exhausting. irene had told her she should see it as a privilege. proof of the love she carried for this club and these people.
alexia had quietly listened to her friend, but she wasn’t sure she could see it as such yet. she struggled to accept, to believe, the words of others. there were many, kind and well-intentioned, but they didn’t really reach her. not yet. it was all just different words with the same meaning.
for now, they all sounded wrong to her ears. or…well, their voices did. everyone said something, but not the two people alexia wanted to hear from the most. they stayed silent. one, forever, who had left this life too early. the other…
the other, was you. once, one of the most important people in alexia’s life. now, nothing more than a ghost. though a ghost she saw everywhere, in everything. it ruined her life; it left a small but persistent flame of hope in her heart.
alexia had thought of calling you a hundred times. during her weaker moments, usually at night. she still knew your number by heart. although, she didn’t know if it was still yours.
sometimes, alexia thought she should just do it. in the hopes that it wouldn’t be you picking up the phone, just so that this last link between you would be lost.
she should, but couldn’t do it. alexia didn’t dare. maybe that was cowardly, or stupid. or both. she didn’t care anymore. it was the last thing she had of you. sure, that hoodie alexia had stuffed into the back of her closet, never to be seen again but there, that shirt next to it, had been yours once, but it had long lost your scent.
maybe if she had thrown them away, the flicker of hope would have never been there in the first place. everything would be so much easier if there wasn’t that lingering hope. it burned in her chest. sometimes brighter. sometimes not so much.
these last few days, it had been brighter than ever. and alexia was weak. she’d typed the numbers into her phone, one by one. had stared at them, thumb hovering over the call button. had deleted them again. she was just so desperate to hear your voice again. to be comforted by your words. she was pathetic.
with a sigh, alexia let the bag drop to the floor. god, she needed- alexia couldn’t believe she was even thinking it…she needed something to drink. it was a no-go during the season, but…really, she’d earned it. her last game (ever) had been today anyway. if not to celebrate, then to commiserate.
alexia left her shoes carelessly thrown in the middle of the hallway, the jacket on the hanger. she walked into her kitchen, greeted by the same silence. nothing had changed. the fruit bowl still sat in the middle of the island, a sorry amount of wrinkled apples inside. a mug she’d forgotten to put away that morning rested beside it. the digital clock on the oven glowed faintly in the darkness, one of the few light sources inside the house.
alexia didn’t bother turning any others on. she knew this house like the back of her hand. with heavy feet, alexia crossed the room and opened the cupboard under the sink. tucked away in the back, there was a bottle of red wine someone had gifted her on her birthday.
she couldn’t remember who, but it wasn’t someone that knew her that well or that she knew that well. someone related to barça, probably. alexia stared at the label with squinted eyes.
vega-sicilia unico.
it had sounded expensive when she got it. it sounded expensive now. it looked…well, it had looked like any other red wine, if alexia was honest. but she remembered thinking she would save it for a special occasion. that’s what it had seemed like it was for.
heartbreak was a special occasion, wasn’t it? nothing like an expensive bottle of wine to drown one’s sorrows.
it took her four attempts to get the cork out of the bottle, the pop echoing through the silence of the house. alexia stood there for a moment, bottle in one hand, cork in the other. the smell drifted out immediately. it smelled rich, fruity, …expensive. that was about as much as alexia knew about wine.
alexia looked around. there was no wine glass in sight. obviously. not because she didn’t own any. she had them. somewhere. alexia couldn’t be bothered to look for one. the empty mug next to the fruit bowl would have to do.
dark red liquid splashed against the ceramic as she poured far more than she intended. it sloshed dangerously close to the rim, but she didn’t care enough to wipe away the few drops that had landed on the island top.
alexia raised the mug to her lips. “cheers.”, she said into the empty room, taking her first sip. cheers to the day i said goodbye to everything i’ve ever known. cheers to everyone i’ve lost along the way.
it could’ve been the best wine alexia had ever tried. it could’ve been terrible. she didn’t really taste it. this was only a means to an end. only there to take the edge off. to make her tired, so she could sleep in peace, without a million thoughts that kept her awake.
alexia took another sip. and another. and another. until the mug was almost empty. nothing changed. not yet, anyway. “pathetic.”, she muttered. the words disappeared into the silence. in the past, there would have been a reply, coming from the sweetest lips she’d ever tasted.“don’t talk like that. please stop being so mean to yourself, ale.” now, no one was there to tell her any different. that was even worse. alexia filled up the mug again.
she wandered into the living room, mug gripped tightly in her hand, careful not to spill anything. the way to the balcony was short, and illuminated only by the glow of the street lights outside.
the warm summer air had cooled considerably, raising goosebumps on her skin. alexia shivered and wrapped her free arm around herself. she looked out over barcelona.
the city was awake as ever. cars crawled through the streets below. someone laughed in the distance. a scooter sped past, disappearing into the night.
a sad smile spread on her lips, tears gathered in her eyes again. this city was familiar in every way. she knew these streets. had walked them since she was a child. she knew these people. she knew where to get the best coffee, the best food. she knew the best hideaway spots. she knew the best spots to kiss you as the sun set. she knew everything.
soon, this wouldn’t be hers anymore. not really. home would become somewhere else. her chest tightened at the thought. not because she didn’t think she could learn to love another place. but this one had loved her first.
it had watched her grow up into the woman she was now. it had witnessed her first love and every other that came after until she’d found her one. it had witnessed your first meeting. you being friends, then falling in love years later. it had seen your (almost) perfect love story.
and it had watched the two of you fuck up so badly that you had lost each other in the end. it had watched her cry for you. it had watched her try again and again to forget about you.
a shaky breath left her lips. a single tear rolled down her cheek before she wiped it away. she didn’t know why she was sad anymore. was it because she was leaving barcelona? was it because she still missed you so much it hurt?
she looked down at the wine. it had done absolutely nothing to help. if anything, it had only silenced the part of her brain that usually knew better. because she’d never thought about you as much as she did at this moment. not since that day in march.
alexia put the near empty mug on the table in front of her and fell into one of the balcony chairs. a warm breeze stirred her hair, tickling her nose in the process.
alexia wondered if you were awake.
the thought came suddenly. involuntary. but she couldn’t stop thinking about you. with that thought came many others. she wondered where you were. if you still had that apartment. if you were still here. it would break her heart even further if you were. if you had forgotten. if you missed her as much as she missed you.
alexia fished her phone out of her pocket on autopilot. not even an hour and she seemed to have arrived back at this point again. its weight settled familiarly in her palm. the screen lit up immediately, almost blinding. alexia stared until it went dark again. it wouldn’t hurt, would it? it was only for her, it would never reach you.
she unlocked it, didn’t look at any of the thousands of notifications, wishing her the best for what came after. her thumb had typed your number before she even realized. alexia hated that she still knew it. she’d spent years trying to forget, but some things refused to leave you.
she stared at the familiar digits, willing herself not to do it. it was the same every time. her hands shook, that’s how much effort it took. just so she wouldn’t press that damn button. no. she couldn’t. it wouldn’t be fair. not to you. not to herself. you had moved on, surely. you deserved to have moved on. alexia shouldn’t, wouldn’t, reopen old wounds.
no, she wouldn’t do it. alexia would delete the number. again. forget about it. leave. go to bed. cry, probably. but she wouldn’t call.
alexia sighed. good. she’d done it. again. that sorry excuse of a routine. this was as brave as she got. it didn’t make her feel better, but it was the only way she survived the pain. because she told herself she’d done something about it. her thumb moved, ready to delete the number once more.
“pedri!” a shout erupted from somewhere down below. it was followed by a round of drunken laughter that traveled through the silence. alexia startled, her eyes snapped up to look at the streets. just a second. it was only a moment. nothing should have happened in that time. she hadn’t moved. when she looked down at her phone again, she paled.
calling…
alexia froze, every little bit of tipsiness gone in an instant. “no…” her voice barely came out as more than a breath. “no, no, no,...”
she stared at the screen in horror, watched as it tried to connect the call. she should hang up, there was still time. she wanted to. her body just wouldn’t cooperate with her brain. her thumb didn’t move. she couldn’t do anything. why couldn’t she do anything?
her pulse thundered in her ears. there was a ring. a second one. please don’t pick up. please pick up. her brain was at war with her heart. she wasn’t sure which one was louder. a third ring. alexia held her breath.
you were asleep. you didn’t know her number, you wouldn’t pick up the phone. no, she knew you. if the number wasn’t saved in your contacts, you wouldn’t pick up. you waited until it ended and then searched the number on the internet. that’s who you were.
a quiet click sounded through the speaker. “...ale?”
Jay had been perfectly cool before Alexia walked into the room.
That was the part everyone later agreed mattered.
There had been witnesses. Plenty of them. Lucy was there, sprawled sideways in one of the low chairs in the players' lounge with her legs stretched out and one ankle crossed over the other, drinking coffee that had gone half-cold because she had been too busy arguing with Mapi about whether Mapi had stolen her hoodie or whether Lucy had, in Mapi's words, "abandoned it emotionally."
Irene was there too, sitting near the window with Vicky tucked beside her, one arm loosely around the younger player's shoulders while Vicky picked through a bowl of fruit and pretended she was not listening to every adult conversation in the room. Patri was on the sofa with a packet of crisps balanced on her stomach, eating with the steady commitment of someone who had decided recovery nutrition could be flexible if the vibes were good.
Pina had one leg hooked over the arm of her chair and was scrolling through her phone, occasionally snorting at things in the team chat. Cata was on the floor, back against the sofa, making some kind of elaborate argument about goalkeepers being underappreciated artists. Mapi was pacing because Mapi rarely sat still when there was potential chaos to curate.
And Jay had been cool.
Not just normal. Cool.
She had been leaning against the edge of the pool table in black training shorts and a sleeveless white top, tattoos on display, sunglasses still hooked into the collar despite being indoors because Jay liked to create unnecessary visual tension. Her hair was loose from training, damp at the roots, falling around her face in a way that made half the room angry on principle. She had one elbow resting on the table, one ankle crossed over the other, and she was telling a story about an away match in England where a journalist had tried to bait her in a press conference and Jay had responded so calmly, so dryly, so lethally, that the journalist had apparently stared at his notes like they had betrayed him.
"She asked me if I thought my 'aggressive playing style' was a bad example for young girls," Jay said, lifting her fingers into the air in quotation marks, her English accent stretching the phrase into something faintly theatrical. "So I said, 'No, I think young girls should know they can be aggressive, successful, and right.'"
Lucy snorted into her coffee. "I remember that."
Mapi pointed at her. "That clip was everywhere."
"It was a good clip," Jay said, trying and failing to sound modest.
"It was a very good clip," Patri agreed, mouth full of crisps.
Jay tilted her head, smile lazy, all sharp edges and charm. "Thank you."
Cata rolled her eyes. "You know it was good."
"I know lots of things."
Pina looked up from her phone. "There she is."
"What?"
"The unbearable version."
Jay grinned. "You mean the charismatic version."
"I mean the version that makes people online type things in all capitals."
"That is a public service."
Mapi dropped into the chair opposite her, leaning forward with interest. "You used to be such a menace before you came here."
"Used to be?" Jay asked, offended. "I am currently a menace."
Lucy made a thoughtful noise. "Less."
Jay's head turned slowly. "Less?"
"Mm."
“That's not true."
"It is a little true," Patri said, which was dangerous because Patri usually sided with Jay and therefore her betrayal landed harder.
Jay placed a hand dramatically on her chest. "From you?"
Patri shrugged. "I support truth."
"You support crisps."
"Also truth."
Mapi grinned, sensing blood. "No, Lucy is right. When you first joined, you had that whole thing."
Jay narrowed her eyes. "What whole thing?"
"You know." Mapi waved her hand up and down to indicate Jay's entire body, personality, reputation, and probably three separate HR reports. "The walk. The sunglasses. The smirk. The 'I know I'm hot and I know this will be everyone's problem' thing."
Jay leaned back slightly. "I still have that."
Pina lifted her eyes without lifting her head. "Do you?"
"Yes."
Lucy took another sip of coffee. "You walked into the lounge yesterday and asked if anyone had seen Alexia's spare hair tie because hers was 'emotionally superior'."
Jay paused. "It was a good hair tie."
"It was black elastic."
"It held tension well."
"That is not menace behaviour."
Jay looked around the room as if seeking support and finding only traitors. "I cannot believe this."
Irene, who had been silent and amused by the window, smiled faintly. "You are still intimidating on the pitch."
"Thank you, Irene."
"Less in the lounge."
Jay's mouth opened.
Closed.
Vicky, delighted to have a safe opening, said, "You are kind of soft."
Jay looked wounded. "Not you too."
Irene immediately covered Vicky's ears with both hands, though Vicky could absolutely still hear through them. "Do not involve the children."
"I'm nineteen," Vicky protested, muffled.
“Child," Irene said firmly.
Jay pointed at Irene. "I am not soft."
Lucy raised her eyebrows.
Jay pushed away from the pool table and stood to her full height, which should have helped her case. She was taller than most, heavily tattooed, built like trouble, with the kind of shoulders that made club photographers suddenly remember they had other angles to try. She crossed her arms, jaw lifting in that old way, the one that used to make journalists sit straighter and defenders wonder whether they had chosen the wrong profession.
"I have aura," Jay said.
There was a beat.
Then Pina laughed so hard she dropped her phone into her lap.
Mapi slapped the arm of her chair. "Aura!"
Jay turned on her. "Yes, aura."
Lucy leaned back, deeply unimpressed. "Your aura is worshipping Alexia."
Jay did not even flinch.
"I like worshipping Alexia."
The room detonated.
Irene's hands clamped more firmly over Vicky's ears. "Not in front of the children."
Vicky tried to pry her hands away. "I heard it!"
"Then forget it."
"I'm not forgetting that."
"You will try."
Pina was folded over in her chair, wheezing. Patri was hitting the sofa with the flat of her hand. Lucy had closed her eyes like she had asked the universe for patience and the universe had put in a transfer request. Mapi looked ecstatic, as if Jay had personally handed her a wrapped gift labelled future blackmail.
Jay stood there, perfectly unashamed.
Mostly.
Her grin was visible, easy and bright, but there was something sincere beneath it that made the joke land differently. That was Jay's problem these days. She could still be filthy, dramatic, ridiculous, magnetic. She could still say something like I like worshipping Alexia in a room full of teammates and make it sound both scandalous and inevitable. But now there was always truth underneath. Not performance. Not just charm. Truth. The kind that gave the room something to laugh at and something to carefully not name.
Lucy recovered first, because Lucy had the survival instincts of a woman who had known Jay before Barcelona and therefore had some immunity to her madness.
"I remember when you used to be cool," she said.
Jay turned towards her, betrayed. "I am still cool."
"No." Lucy shook her head slowly. "You've gone soft."
"I have not gone soft."
"You have."
"I am literally standing here radiating danger."
"You are radiating missing your girlfriend."
Jay's head snapped towards the door automatically.
Everyone saw it.
There was silence.
Then Mapi screamed, "She checked!"
Jay whipped back. "I did not."
"You did!"
"I was checking the corridor for staff."
"The staff are not your girlfriend."
"You don't know their personal lives."
Lucy pointed at her with the coffee cup. "Soft."
Jay's ears went faintly pink, which was extremely inconvenient for her argument.
Before she could defend herself, the lounge door opened.
Alexia walked in.
The entire room watched Jay change.
It was immediate.
Embarrassingly immediate.
One second, Jay was standing in the middle of the lounge with her arms crossed and her whole body arranged into a credible argument for aura. The next, Alexia stepped through the door in a black training top and loose tracksuit bottoms, hair damp from the shower and tucked behind one ear, and Jay's face simply gave up being cool.
It softened.
Not a little.
Completely.
Her shoulders dropped. Her mouth curved before she could stop it. Her eyes warmed so fast it was almost indecent. The dangerous line of her jaw loosened. The sharp, lazy grin that usually felt like a match striking turned into something open and helpless and entirely reserved for the woman walking towards her.
Lucy saw it and threw one hand out as if presenting evidence in court. "There. Look."
Jay did not look at Lucy.
Alexia did.
She paused near the door, eyes moving around the room. "Qué pasa?"
Mapi leaned forward, barely containing herself. "We are discussing how Jay used to be cool."
Alexia's eyebrows lifted.
Jay turned to her instantly. "I am still cool, right, babe?"
Alexia looked at Jay.
Jay looked back, hopeful in a way that severely damaged her own case.
Alexia bit her lip.
Lucy said, "Don't encourage her."
Alexia walked over slowly, and the closer she got, the worse Jay became. It was not even dramatic in movement. Jay did not run to her. She did not throw herself across the room. She simply stood there, waiting, but everything about her had shifted towards Alexia. Her attention, her breath, the angle of her body. Like iron drawn by a magnet. Like there could be twenty people in the room and only one of them had any true gravitational force.
Alexia stopped in front of her.
Jay's hands immediately found her hips.
Automatic.
Soft.
Possessive in the gentlest way.
Alexia did not seem surprised. She simply stepped closer between Jay's feet and slid her hands up Jay's chest, warm palms resting over the fabric of her top.
"You are asking me?" Alexia said.
Jay nodded. "Yes."
"If you are cool?"
"Yes."
Alexia tilted her head, considering her with the serious expression she usually reserved for tactical decisions and restaurant menus.
The room leaned in.
Jay tried to maintain dignity.
Failed when Alexia's thumbs started moving lightly against her collarbone.
"Well?" Jay prompted.
Alexia smiled, leaned up, and kissed her.
It was not a dramatic kiss. Not one of those kisses that turned the room into chaos immediately. It was soft, deliberate, and far more devastating because of that. Alexia's mouth touched Jay's like an answer. Jay's hands tightened at her hips, and for half a second her eyes stayed open in surprise before they slipped closed, her face going warm and quiet beneath Alexia's.
Lucy made a pained sound. "Oh, come on."
Alexia pulled back just enough to speak against Jay's mouth.
"The coolest, bebé."
Jay's smile arrived slowly.
Softly.
Utterly gone.
The room erupted.
Pina threw herself backwards in the chair. "No, that made it worse."
Mapi pointed at Jay. "Look at her face."
Jay tried to look serious and failed because Alexia was still standing between her hands and smiling at her like that. "What face?"
"That face," Lucy said. "That is the face. That is the face that got you removed from cool."
"I have not been removed from cool."
"You were evicted."
"By whom?"
"Love."
Jay looked down at Alexia. "Did love evict me?"
Alexia's eyes sparkled. "Maybe."
Jay frowned. "Rude."
Alexia kissed the corner of her mouth. "But you can live with me."
Jay stared at her.
The entire lounge went silent for half a second because that was too effective.
Then Jay muttered, "That was smooth."
Alexia smiled. "I know."
Mapi groaned. "She is worse than Jay now."
"No," Lucy said grimly. "They're feeding each other."
Alexia turned then, surveying the seating situation with the calm entitlement of a captain and a woman who knew exactly where she belonged. The sofa beside Jay had room. The chair across from them had room. There were several perfectly functional pieces of furniture available.
Alexia ignored all of them.
She sat on Jay's lap.
Not hesitantly. Not like she was joking. She just turned, lowered herself into Jay's lap, and settled there with natural ease, one arm slipping around Jay's shoulders as if this was where she had been planning to sit from the moment she entered the room.
Jay's hands moved immediately, one arm around Alexia's waist, the other across her thighs to steady her. Her whole body went still for a second, then relaxed beneath Alexia's weight in a way that was almost embarrassingly content.
Lucy stared.
Pina sat up.
Mapi's mouth fell open in delight.
Patri whispered, "Oh, this is excellent."
Irene, still covering Vicky's ears, sighed. "I need more hands."
Vicky ducked out from under them. "They're just sitting."
Irene looked at Jay's hand on Alexia's thigh.
"Are they?"
Jay pointed at her without moving the hand. "It is supportive placement."
Lucy closed her eyes. "I remember when you used to make defenders cry."
"I still make defenders cry."
"Now you also become furniture."
Jay looked down at Alexia in her lap. Alexia had leaned back comfortably against her shoulder, face tipped slightly towards Jay's neck, completely unbothered by the fact that the whole lounge was staring. Jay's expression softened again before she could stop it.
"For her?" Jay said. "Yeah."
The room groaned as one.
Mapi stood up abruptly. "No. No, I can't. This is too much."
"You're smiling," Pina said.
"I am in pain."
"You're smiling in pain."
"That is different."
Alexia adjusted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. Jay's hand slid a little more securely around her waist, thumb pressing lightly into her side. Alexia glanced back at her.
"Comfortable?" Jay asked softly.
Alexia nodded. "Sí, amor."
Jay kissed her shoulder.
It was quick. Barely anything. But Alexia smiled like she felt it in her bones.
Lucy pointed at them again. "See? That. You never used to do that."
Jay looked up. "Do what?"
"Kiss shoulders in public like some Victorian husband saying goodbye at a train station."
Jay's brows lifted. "Victorian husband?"
"It felt right."
"I'm not a husband."
"You said married earlier."
"That was last week and contextual."
Pina gasped. "You said married?"
"No."
Lucy grinned. "She did."
Alexia turned her head slowly towards Jay. "You said married?"
Jay immediately looked at the ceiling. "Wow, the architecture in here is beautiful."
"Jaycee."
The full name hit the room like a whistle.
Jay's gaze dropped straight to Alexia. "Yes?"
Mapi clapped. "Remote control."
Alexia's hand slid to the back of Jay's neck, fingers gentle. "You said married?"
Jay swallowed. "In a casual hypothetical linguistic structure."
Lucy snorted. "That means yes."
Jay glared at her. "You are not my lawyer."
"You need one."
Alexia's thumb brushed the side of Jay's neck. "You think about this?"
The room, sensing emotional danger, went quiet in the way teammates did when they were still absolutely listening but suddenly pretending not to.
Jay looked at Alexia.
Her bravado flickered.
Not disappeared. Jay's confidence did not vanish easily. But something under it showed through. Something honest. Something that made her voice lower when she said, "Sometimes."
Alexia's face softened.
Jay tried to recover immediately. "I mean, obviously, you're sitting on me. Anyone would think about legal permanence."
Pina made a small noise.
Lucy muttered, "Legal permanence."
Alexia bit her lip, not laughing this time. Not really. Her hand moved from Jay's neck to her jaw, thumb brushing along the sharp line there, and Jay's joking expression became quiet beneath the touch.
"You are ridiculous," Alexia said softly.
Jay smiled. "You keep choosing me."
“Sí."
"Well then."
That did something to Alexia. It was there in the way her eyes changed, in the way she leaned down and kissed Jay again, warmer this time, deeper than the first. Jay's hand spread at her waist. Alexia's fingers curled briefly in the hair at the nape of Jay's neck. It was still public, still in the lounge, still surrounded by teammates pretending to be traumatised, but it had a private centre to it that made everyone look away for half a second.
Except Mapi, who looked away then looked back because she was weak.
When Alexia pulled back, Jay looked dazed.
Lucy sighed. "Case closed."
Jay blinked. "What case?"
"You're soft."
Jay's expression sharpened again, though not nearly enough. "I am not soft."
"You are currently holding Alexia like she's made of gold."
Jay looked down.
She was.
One arm around her waist. One hand resting on her thigh. Her thumb moving slowly against Alexia's hip without conscious permission. Alexia tucked comfortably into her like she had never once doubted she was welcome there.
Jay lifted her chin anyway. "That is not soft. That is proper handling of precious goods."
Pina dropped her head into her hands. "Proper handling of precious goods."
Patri pointed a crisp at her. "That's worse than soft."
"It's accurate."
Lucy leaned forward. "Jay, when you first arrived, you walked into rooms like you owned the air. Managers wanted to quit. Journalists made careers off you. Defenders had nightmares. You were a one woman wrecking machine that broke hearts wherever you went."
Jay nodded along, pleased despite herself. "This is a fair and balanced summary."
"And now," Lucy continued, gesturing at Alexia sitting in Jay's lap, "you are a sofa with feelings."
Alexia laughed.
Jay looked offended. "I am not a sofa."
Mapi nodded. "Armchair, maybe."
"Do not start furniture discourse."
"You became furniture voluntarily," Pina said.
"For love," Jay said, as if that was obvious.
Lucy spread her hands. "Exactly."
Jay looked around the room.
They were all watching her. Teasing, yes. Mercilessly. But not cruelly. There was affection under it. Curiosity too, maybe, because they had all heard versions of Jay before she arrived here. The headlines. The stories. The clips. The swagger. The chaos. The women. The trouble. The player who had seemed impossible to pin down, impossible to embarrass, impossible to soften. They had seen the way people reacted to her before they knew her, like she was a storm in boots and sunglasses.
And now they saw her like this.
With Alexia in her lap.
With her hands gentle.
With her face open.
With love sitting visibly on her body.
Jay's smile changed, just a little.
"I'm in love," she said.
The room quietened.
Lucy, who had been ready with another joke, closed her mouth.
Alexia went still in Jay's lap.
Jay looked at Lucy, then Mapi, then the others, not defensive now. Not embarrassed either. Just honest in that blunt, simple way she sometimes had when the truth had finally become easier than the performance.
"I'm in love," she repeated, softer but clearer. "That's it."
Lucy's expression shifted.
"And?" Mapi asked, though her voice was gentler now.
Jay looked down at Alexia.
Alexia was looking back at her, lips slightly parted, eyes warm and unreadable in that way that always made Jay feel like Alexia could see the whole room inside her chest.
Jay's thumb moved once against Alexia's waist.
"I wasn't in love before," Jay said.
The words landed.
They were not dramatic. Not loud. Not dressed up. But they changed the air anyway.
Because everyone knew enough. Not everything, maybe. Jay did not hand out her history like flyers. But they knew enough to understand that Jay had been desired many times and held fewer. Chased often and kept rarely. They knew enough to understand that her old coolness had not just been confidence. It had also been armour. A glittering, sharp, dangerous thing built to keep people wanting her from a distance. Wanting was easy. Loving required staying. Letting herself be loved required something far harder.
Alexia's face softened completely.
Jay swallowed, suddenly aware of how quiet the room had become. So, naturally, she tried to ruin it before it could ruin her.
"Besides," she said, voice brightening with deliberate recovery, "Alexia is the hottest woman alive. What's left for me after that?"
The room exploded again, but softer this time, with relief woven into it.
Alexia dropped her face into Jay's neck, laughing. "Dios mío."
Jay wrapped her arms tighter around her, grinning. "What? It's true."
"It is not scientific," Irene said.
Jay looked at her. "With respect, Irene, have eyes."
Vicky, free of Irene's hands now, said, "Alexia is very pretty."
Irene immediately covered her ears again. "Do not encourage this."
Alexia lifted her head, cheeks pink, eyes bright. "Jay."
"What?"
"You cannot say these things in front of everyone."
Jay stared at her. "Why not?"
"Because."
“Because they know you're hot?"
Mapi wheezed.
Lucy covered her face.
Pina whispered, "She has a point."
Alexia bit her lip, trying so hard not to smile that Jay looked personally pleased with herself.
"You are impossible," Alexia murmured.
Jay leaned closer. "But cool."
Alexia looked at her for a long second.
Then nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "The coolest."
Jay's smile softened again. "Yeah?"
Alexia cupped her jaw, thumb brushing lightly over Jay's cheek. "Sí, bebé. Very cool."
Lucy groaned. "Stop asking her. She's biased."
Jay did not look away from Alexia. "Best judge in the room."
"I am captain," Alexia said.
"Exactly."
"Very objective."
"Extremely."
Mapi pointed at Alexia. "You are enabling the collapse of her aura."
Alexia leaned back comfortably against Jay's chest. "I like her aura."
Jay looked victorious. "Thank you."
"Even when it worships me."
Jay smiled slowly. "Especially then?"
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Maybe."
Irene's hands moved towards Vicky's ears again, and Vicky ducked away. "I'm leaving if you keep doing that."
Pina leaned forward, delighted. "No, no, wait. I want to understand. Jay, your argument is that you are still cool because you worship Alexia?"
Jay considered this. "Yes."
Lucy frowned. "How does that work?"
"Confidence."
"In what?"
“My taste."
Patri nodded slowly. "Actually."
"No," Lucy said. "Do not actually this."
Patri kept nodding. "No, she has point. Worshipping Alexia is good taste."
Alexia put a hand over her face. "Please stop saying worship."
Jay kissed her covered fingers. "Sorry, baby."
Alexia peeked through her hand.
Jay smiled up at her, all sweetness and no shame.
Alexia's hand lowered slowly.
Lucy muttered, "Look at that. Completely domesticated."
Jay's head turned. "I am not domesticated."
"You are sitting there kissing her hand."
"Wild animals can kiss hands."
"No, they can't."
"You don't know every animal."
Mapi waved a hand. "No, wait, I want examples of ways Jay is still cool."
Jay straightened slightly beneath Alexia. "Thank you. Excellent prompt."
"Oh, this will be good," Pina said.
Jay counted on her fingers, though one hand remained firmly around Alexia because apparently listing evidence did not require letting go. "One, I am still very good at football."
"True," Patri said.
"Two, I still look excellent in sunglasses."
Cata nodded. "Annoyingly true."
"Three, I have tattoos."
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Lots of people have tattoos."
"Not with my level of commitment."
Mapi allowed that with a tilt of her head. "Okay."
"Four, I ride a motorbike."
Alexia's hand tightened on Jay's shoulder. "Safely."
Jay immediately amended, "Safely. Extremely safely. With full respect for traffic laws and my girlfriend's blood pressure."
Lucy pointed. "Soft."
"That is not soft. That is survival."
Alexia smiled. "Good answer."
Jay looked pleased. "Thank you."
"Five?" Pina prompted.
Jay looked down at Alexia.
Alexia looked back.
Jay's voice softened before she could perform it. "Five, she loves me."
The lounge went quiet again, but this time it was not surprise. It was that reluctant pause people fall into when a joke accidentally opens a door and there is something real standing behind it.
Alexia's expression changed.
Jay tried to smile like she had said it lightly, but it did not quite work. There was too much in it. Too much wonder. Still, after everything, after however many kisses and mornings and shared lounges and hands under tables, she still sounded faintly amazed by the fact of it.
She loves me.
Not she wants me.
Not she likes me.
Not she thinks I'm fun or hot or useful or exciting.
She loves me.
And somehow, in Jay's mind, that was evidence of being cool. Maybe the strongest evidence. Not because love made her impressive, but because being loved by Alexia Putellas felt like being trusted by the sun.
Alexia shifted in her lap until she was facing her more fully, knees on either side of Jay's thighs now, though she kept it casual enough that Irene only made a quiet warning noise and did not cover Vicky's ears again.
Jay blinked up at her. "Hi."
Alexia's face was very close. "Hi."
"You're going to kiss me."
"Sí."
"In front of them?"
"Sí."
"They will scream."
"I know."
Jay smiled. "Brave."
Alexia kissed her.
The lounge did scream.
Not immediately. For two seconds, everyone seemed to let them have it, because the kiss was not performative or exaggerated. It was warm and certain, Alexia's hand on Jay's face, Jay's arms around her waist, both of them smiling faintly into it like love had become muscle memory. Then Mapi made a distressed sound, Pina shouted something about workplace conditions, Lucy muttered that she missed the old Jay, and Patri started clapping slowly because she was chaotic in subtler ways.
Alexia pulled back with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
Jay looked completely ruined.
Mapi pointed at her face. "That. That is the soft face."
Jay took a breath, tried to gather her aura, and failed because Alexia was still on her lap.
"I can have several faces."
"You have one face now," Lucy said. "It's Alexia face."
Jay looked at Alexia. "Is that true?"
Alexia nodded. "A little."
Jay smiled. "Good."
Lucy threw a napkin at her.
Jay caught it without looking, which did, annoyingly, help her cool argument.
"See?" Jay said. "Reflexes."
"Still soft," Lucy replied.
"With reflexes."
"Soft reflexes."
Jay looked offended. "That's not a thing."
Pina lifted her phone. "It is now."
Jay turned suspiciously. "Are you putting that in the chat?"
"Yes."
"Spell my name right."
"Soft Jay?"
"Actually, that's branding."
Alexia laughed and rested her forehead against Jay's for a moment. "You are impossible."
Jay's voice dropped, soft enough that the room had to work to hear it. "You love me impossible."
Alexia's smile warmed. "Sí."
The room groaned again, but weakly now. They were losing the will to hate it properly.
That was the problem. The love was annoying, yes. Inconvenient. Loud. Everywhere. Jay became useless when Alexia entered rooms. Alexia became indulgent in ways that ruined her own reputation for strictness. They touched too much. Kissed too often. Shared looks that made everyone else feel like background furniture. They had entire conversations with eyebrows and hands and tiny Spanish pet names that made Pina threaten to request hazard pay.
But it was also hard to hate.
Because Jay looked happier.
Not less dangerous on the pitch. Not less brilliant. Not less sharp when she needed to be. But happier in the spaces between. Less like she was constantly braced for impact. Less like every room needed to be conquered before it could reject her. She laughed differently now. Softer sometimes. More often. She let herself be teased because she knew someone in the room would always reach for her afterwards.
And Alexia, who had always carried herself like control was both gift and burden, let herself be silly with her. Warm. Open. She sat in Jay's lap in front of everyone, cheeks pink but chin lifted, choosing affection over composure because Jay made her want things loudly enough to stop hiding them.
So everyone pretended to hate it.
And everyone watched.
After a while, the conversation moved on. Sort of.
Mapi tried to revive the hoodie argument with Lucy. Pina went back to her phone, though she kept glancing up every time Jay murmured something to Alexia. Patri resumed eating crisps. Irene released Vicky's ears but kept one suspicious eye on Jay in case the word worship returned. Cata continued her goalkeeper artist argument to no one in particular.
Jay stayed exactly where she was, Alexia still in her lap, the two of them wrapped into each other with the easy comfort of people who had stopped asking permission to belong there.
Alexia played with one of Jay's rings.
Jay watched her do it.
Lucy noticed because Lucy was doomed to notice everything.
"Oh my God," she said. "Now she's staring at your hands."
Jay did not look up. "Her hands are important."
"They're hands."
"They're Alexia's hands."
Alexia smiled down at the ring she was turning around Jay's finger. "You like my hands, amor?"
Jay's mouth opened.
The room leaned in.
Irene's hands flew back over Vicky's ears.
Jay looked at Irene. "I was going to say respectfully."
"No, you were not," Irene said.
Jay considered arguing.
Then shrugged. "No, I was not."
The room howled.
Alexia dropped her face briefly to Jay's shoulder, laughing, and Jay looked so pleased to have made her laugh that Lucy threw another napkin at her.
This one hit Jay in the side of the head.
Jay turned slowly. "Assault."
"Necessary."
"You're jealous of my aura."
"Your aura is blushing because Alexia touched your ring."
Jay looked down.
Alexia was still touching it.
Jay's face softened again.
Lucy threw her hands up. "See!"
Jay smiled at Alexia. "I like this version of me."
The admission was quiet.
Not quite meant for the room.
Alexia heard it. Of course she did. She heard everything Jay tried to tuck between jokes.
Her expression softened, and she stopped turning the ring. "Sí?"
Jay looked up at her, suddenly less guarded. "Yeah."
Alexia's thumb brushed over her knuckle. "Why?"
Jay glanced around the room. Everyone was pretending not to listen so aggressively it became obvious.
She breathed out a laugh and looked back at Alexia.
"Because this version gets you."
Alexia went still.
The room went still with her.
Jay swallowed, then added, because she could never leave herself too exposed for too long, "And snacks. And friends. And a pretty decent sofa reputation, apparently."
Lucy made a strangled sound that might have been laughter and might have been surrender.
Alexia did not joke.
She just looked at Jay for a long moment, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. Once. Twice. The second one lingered.
"You had me before you were soft," Alexia murmured.
Jay's eyes flickered.
"I know."
"But I like this version too."
Jay's smile was small and real. "Yeah?"
"Very much."
Jay wrapped her arms a little tighter around her. "Good."
Pina sniffed.
Everyone turned.
She immediately looked offended. "I have allergies."
Mapi pointed. "You cried."
"I did not."
"You got emotional over soft Jay."
"I got dust in my eye."
"There is no dust."
"It was emotional dust."
Jay grinned. "You love soft Jay."
Pina pointed at her. "Do not push it."
"You do."
"Soft Jay is tolerable."
"That means loved."
"It does not."
"It does in team language."
Patri nodded. "It kind of does."
Pina looked betrayed. "You are supposed to be on my side."
"I am on crisp side."
Alexia leaned back against Jay again, smiling. "So it is decided."
Jay looked at her. "What is decided?"
"You are still cool."
Jay pointed at everyone. "Thank you."
Alexia continued, "And soft."
Jay lowered her finger. "Less thank you."
"And mine."
The room reacted like someone had pulled a fire alarm.
Jay went utterly still beneath Alexia.
Her hands tightened around her waist.
Her face did the thing again. The soft thing. The gone thing. The thing nobody could look at without feeling they had accidentally read a love letter.
Lucy, very quietly, said, "Oh, she killed her."
Mapi whispered, "Direct hit."
Pina whispered, "No recovery."
Jay stared at Alexia. "Say that again."
Alexia smiled. "No."
"Please."
"No, bebé."
Jay's eyes closed briefly. "That's worse."
Alexia laughed softly and kissed her cheek. "Mine."
Jay exhaled through her nose, smiling like she was trying to survive it and had no interest in succeeding.
Lucy stood abruptly. "I need air."
Pina stood too. "I need emotional distance."
Mapi got up with them. "I need to tell everyone."
Jay turned her head. "Do not."
Mapi was already heading for the door. "Too late."
Irene guided Vicky up from the window. "Come. Before this gets worse."
Vicky protested, "It's cute."
"I know," Irene said. "That is why it is
dangerous."
Patri gathered her crisps and followed, glancing back once. "For the record, soft Jay is better."
Jay's expression shifted.
Patri pointed at her. "Do not cry. I have limited emotional availability."
Jay laughed. "I won't."
"You might."
"I might."
Patri nodded. "Okay. Alexia can handle."
Alexia smiled. "Sí."
The lounge emptied slowly, everyone leaving with dramatic complaints and suspiciously fond smiles. Lucy was the last at the door. She paused, hand on the frame, and looked back at Jay still holding Alexia in her lap.
"I did like the old Jay," Lucy said.
Jay looked up.
Lucy's expression was teasing, but gentler now. "She was fun. Annoying. Made good headlines. Terrible impulse control. Great sunglasses."
"Thank you?"
"But this one..." Lucy shrugged, almost uncomfortable with sincerity. "This one laughs more."
Jay went quiet.
Lucy pointed at her. "Still soft, though."
Jay smiled. "Still cool, though."
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Debatable."
Then she left before Jay could answer.
The door clicked shut.
For a few seconds, the lounge was quiet.
Alexia remained on Jay's lap, legs tucked beside her, one arm around Jay's shoulders. Jay's hands rested at her waist, thumbs moving slowly in a pattern Alexia had come to know as comfort rather than restlessness. Outside the door, voices faded down the corridor. Inside, the afternoon light stretched across the floor in warm strips.
Alexia looked at Jay.
Jay looked back.
"What?" Jay asked, softer now.
Alexia touched her face. "You are thinking."
Jay smiled faintly. "Dangerous."
"Tell me."
Jay leaned back into the sofa, taking Alexia with her. "It's just funny."
"What is funny?"
"That everyone thinks soft means less cool."
Alexia tilted her head. "And you?"
Jay was quiet for a moment.
Then she looked down at where Alexia sat on her, comfortable and warm and completely unhidden.
"I think I spent a long time being cool because it was easier than being... this."
Alexia's thumb brushed over her cheekbone.
Jay swallowed. "Wanting someone. Letting everyone see it. Letting you sit here and make me look like I've never had a single thought that wasn't about you."
Alexia smiled slightly. "Have you?"
"Rarely."
"Jay."
"What? I'm being emotionally honest."
“You are flirting."
"I multi task."
Alexia laughed softly.
Jay's hands slid more securely around her waist. "I don't mind being soft for you."
Alexia's expression warmed.
Jay looked at her seriously, the humour thinning but not disappearing. "I like it. I like that you walk in and I feel my whole day change. I like that everyone sees it. I like that I don't have to pretend you're not my favourite thing in every room."
Alexia blinked slowly.
The words landed in her carefully, one by one.
"Amor," she murmured.
Jay shrugged, suddenly shy because sincerity always arrived faster than she knew what to do with. "And also, you are the hottest woman alive, so, strategically, I have no choice."
Alexia laughed, then kissed her.
Jay smiled against her mouth, hands warm at her waist, pulling her closer until Alexia settled fully against her again. The kiss was slow, sweet, unhurried. No audience now. No groaning teammates. No one to pretend to hate it. Just Alexia in her lap, Jay beneath her, the two of them fitting into each other with the ease of something that had become home.
When Alexia pulled away, she rested her forehead against Jay's.
"You are still cool," she whispered.
Jay smiled. "Yeah?"
"Sí."
“And soft?"
Alexia kissed the corner of her mouth. "Very soft."
Jay sighed dramatically. "Devastating."
"My soft girl."
Jay closed her eyes. "You say that like you know it ruins me."
"I do."
"Abuse of power."
"Captain privilege."
Jay laughed, low and happy, and wrapped her arms around Alexia tighter.
A few minutes later, from outside the lounge door, Mapi's voice carried down the corridor.
"Are they still in there being soft?"
Lucy answered, "Obviously."
Pina said, "Do you think they're kissing?"
Irene's voice, firm and exhausted, replied, "Do not ask questions you know the answer to."
Jay and Alexia froze.
Then Jay looked at Alexia.
Alexia bit her lip.
Jay called, "We can hear you!"
There was a crash outside the door, followed by Pina whispering much too loudly, "Run."
Jay shook her head, laughing.
Alexia kissed her one more time, smiling against her mouth.
Outside, footsteps scattered down the corridor.
Inside, Jay held Alexia like something precious and smiled like a woman who had lost every argument about being soft and found she did not mind at all.
Summary - Jay gets protective for all the wrong reasons.
Word count - 5.3k
Jaycee Jones had many excellent qualities as a girlfriend.
She was affectionate. Obsessive in the way of someone who remembered tiny things and then pretended it had required no effort. She made Alexia coffee before early training and left it on the counter with little notes that were either sweet or entirely unhinged. She could reach the top shelves without making Alexia get a chair. She carried all the heavy shopping, not because Alexia could not, but because Jay seemed to consider grocery bags a personal test of devotion. She gave excellent massages, remembered favourite snacks, walked on the street side of pavements, and could make Alexia laugh on days when laughter had felt like something packed away in another room.
She was also, unfortunately, the kind of woman who saw one suspicious shadow at midnight and immediately decided she was the only thing standing between Alexia Putellas and certain death.
The evening had been perfect until then.
Not elegant perfect. Not expensive perfect. Not the kind of perfect that required reservations, ironed shirts, or Jay pretending to understand wine descriptions without panic in her eyes. It had been simple. Warm. Late. One of those Barcelona nights where the city seemed to exhale after midnight, the air soft against their skin, the pavements still holding a little heat from the day, the streetlights spilling gold across closed shopfronts and quiet balconies.
They had been out for dinner near Gràcia, just the two of them for once. No team. No Alba appearing halfway through with commentary. No Míriam sending texts demanding updates because she claimed Alexia became emotionally unreliable when Jay planned dates. No Lucy yelling across a restaurant that if they kissed for more than eight seconds she was reporting them to HR.
Just Jay and Alexia.
Jay had worn boots, black jeans, and a loose white shirt under a dark jacket, sleeves pushed up because apparently even at night she needed to display forearms like a public hazard. Her hair was down, blonde and slightly messy from Alexia's hands earlier in the evening, and she had been unbearable all night in the quiet, dangerous way. Less chaotic than usual, which was always worrying. Smiling too much. Watching Alexia over the table. Brushing her thumb across Alexia's knuckles while pretending to listen to the waiter. Paying before Alexia even saw the bill because, of course, she did.
Alexia had told her she was annoying.
Jay had said, "And yet you kissed me in the alley behind the restaurant."
Alexia had looked away because that was unfortunately true.
The alley had been romantic in a way that would have horrified her if anyone else had said it. Narrow, quiet, warm stone, the noise of the restaurant muffled behind them. Jay had backed her against the wall with one hand at her waist and one braced beside her head, kissing her slowly enough to ruin the rest of the walk home before it had even begun. Alexia had left lipstick at the corner of Jay's mouth. Jay had refused to wipe it off.
"I like looking claimed," Jay had said.
"You look smug," Alexia had replied.
"Same family."
Now they were walking home, fingers tangled together, both a little softer from wine and touch and the long drift of the night. Alexia's heels clicked against the pavement. Jay kept glancing down every few steps, not at Alexia's face this time, but at her feet.
Alexia noticed, because Alexia noticed everything.
"What?" she asked.
Jay looked up too quickly. "Nothing."
"You keep looking at my shoes."
"I am monitoring ankle safety."
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Ankle safety?"
"These pavements are not emotionally stable."
"My heels are fine."
"Your heels are ambitious."
"You liked them earlier."
Jay's face changed immediately. "I liked them very much earlier."
"Then stop judging them now."
"I am not judging. I am protecting the structural integrity of my girlfriend."
"You are drunk."
"I had two glasses of wine."
"And tequila."
"One tequila."
"Two."
Jay paused. "One tequila with an echo."
Alexia laughed, and Jay's expression went soft at once, helpless as ever beneath the sound.
There it was again. That look. Alexia had been catching it all night. Jay watching her like she had forgotten something important and remembered it all at once. Like Alexia laughing was not simply a reaction, but an event. Like every time Alexia smiled at her, Jay had to take a second to believe it was real.
It made Alexia's chest feel too full.
"What?" Alexia asked softly.
Jay squeezed her hand. "You."
"Me what?"
"You look happy."
"I am happy bebe."
Jay looked ahead, smiling to herself. "Good."
It was such a small answer. Such a Jay answer. Casual on the outside, but Alexia could hear the weight under it. Jay loved making Alexia happy like it was a job she had invented for herself and taken with ridiculous seriousness. Dinner, walks, coffee, jokes, flowers for no reason, kisses against alley walls, hand on the small of her back as they crossed roads, her whole body tilting towards Alexia every time a stranger passed too close.
Alexia bumped her shoulder gently against Jay's arm.
"Bebé."
Jay looked at her. "Yes?"
"You are proud of yourself tonight."
"I am."
"Because I am happy?"
Jay looked embarrassed for half a second, then nodded. "Yeah."
Alexia's heart softened.
Then Jay ruined it by saying, "Also because I did not spill anything on myself at dinner."
Alexia laughed again.
"You are very brave."
"Thank you. Growth."
They turned onto their street, quieter than the last one, lined with trees and shuttered windows. Their building waited at the far end, soft light glowing faintly near the entrance. It was almost peaceful. Almost cinematic. The sort of walk home that belonged at the end of a romantic evening, both of them warm from good food and wine, Jay swinging their joined hands slightly, Alexia pretending not to enjoy it as much as she did.
Then Jay stopped.
Suddenly.
Alexia took one more step before their linked hands tugged her back.
"What?"
Jay did not answer.
Her body had changed.
The softness disappeared first. Her shoulders squared. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing towards the shadowed space beside their building entrance. The streetlight there flickered in a way it had been doing for weeks, leaving the doorway half lit, half dark. Something moved in that darkness.
Alexia saw it too.
A figure.
Tallish. Holding something bulky.
Mostly hidden near the side of the entrance.
It was probably nothing.
In fact, because Alexia had lived in Barcelona for years and possessed a functioning relationship with reality, she could assess within two seconds that it was almost certainly a delivery person, a neighbour, or someone checking a phone.
Jay, however, had apparently bypassed all reasonable interpretation and gone directly to threat response.
She moved in front of Alexia.
"Stay behind me, babe."
Alexia blinked. "What?"
"I got this."
"Jay."
Jay's hand released hers so she could stretch one arm out protectively in front of Alexia, chest puffing up like someone had pressed an invisible button labelled heroic stupidity. Her eyes stayed locked on the shadow.
Alexia looked at her back.
Then at the figure.
Then back at Jay.
"Bebé, wait."
"No. Stay behind me."
"Jay, it is probably nothing."
"Suspicious shadow at our building at midnight is not nothing."
"It could be a person."
"That is exactly the concern."
"A normal person."
"Normal people do not lurk."
"He may not be lurking."
"He is standing in a lurk shaped way."
Alexia placed one hand on Jay's arm. "You are drunk."
"I am protective."
"You are dramatic."
"I contain multitudes."
The shadow shifted again.
Jay immediately bent down and snatched something from the pavement.
Alexia stared.
It was a stick.
Not a good stick. Not even a large stick. It was a thin fallen branch from one of the street trees, slightly curved, dry at one end, with two leaves still attached. It looked less like a weapon and more like something a dog would reject for structural weakness.
Alexia's eyes widened. "Jaycee."
Jay held it up with grim determination. "Stay back."
"That is a stick."
"It's tactical."
"It has leaves."
"Camouflage."
"You cannot attack a shadow with landscaping."
"Watch me."
Alexia grabbed at her jacket. "No, no, no. Wait. Jay."
But Jay had already entered full protective girlfriend mode, which meant logic had been locked out of the building. She stepped forward, boots hitting the pavement with a confidence that did not match the amount of wine in her bloodstream or the quality of her chosen weapon.
"Oi!" Jay called.
The shadow startled.
Alexia closed her eyes.
No.
No, no, no.
The figure turned.
A young man stepped half into the streetlight, eyes wide, wearing a green delivery jacket and holding the largest bouquet of red roses Alexia had ever seen in her life. In his other hand, he clutched a glossy box of chocolates tied with gold ribbon.
He looked terrified.
Jay did not notice the flowers in time.
Jay saw movement.
Jay saw an unknown man near their building.
Jay saw something large in his hands.
Jay saw danger, romance, tequila, and personal responsibility collide in one catastrophic second.
"I said stay back!" Jay shouted, and charged.
"Jay!" Alexia screamed.
Everything happened too quickly and also, somehow, in slow motion.
The delivery man lifted the bouquet like a shield.
Jay raised the stick.
The stick immediately flew out of her hand because she had stepped on the loose end of her own shoelace with one boot, turning her heroic charge into a physics demonstration.
Her arms windmilled.
The bouquet exploded sideways.
The delivery man made a noise Alexia had never heard from a human being before.
Jay tried to regain balance, failed, clipped the edge of the pavement with one boot, and went forward with all the unstoppable athleticism that made her terrifying on a football pitch and absolutely disastrous in civilian settings.
She tackled him.
Not aggressively. Not intentionally. More like gravity had used her as a missile.
They went down together in a burst of roses, limbs, paper, ribbon, and shattered dignity.
The bouquet hit the pavement and burst open, red petals scattering across the stone like someone had detonated a romantic grenade. The chocolate box flipped, landed on its corner, and burst open too, sending expensive truffles rolling into the gutter with tragic little taps.
The delivery man groaned.
Jay groaned louder.
The stick landed three metres away.
Alexia stood frozen on the pavement in heels, one hand over her mouth.
For one second, she was horrified.
Then Jay lifted her head from the wreckage of roses and said, in a muffled, deeply offended voice, "Threat neutralised."
Alexia lost it.
She tried not to. Truly. For about half a breath, she tried to remain the responsible adult. But the sight was too much. Jay, her tough, tattooed, muscular, highly trained professional athlete of a girlfriend, lying half on top of a terrified delivery man, hair in her face, one rose petal stuck to her cheek, another tangled in her shirt collar, surrounded by destroyed chocolates and the corpse of the bouquet she had, apparently, just tackled into the pavement.
Alexia laughed so hard she bent at the waist.
Jay looked up sharply. "Ale!"
The delivery man wheezed, "Please get off me."
Jay scrambled, then slipped on a rose petal and nearly fell back onto him.
Alexia laughed harder.
"Jay," she gasped.
"I'm moving," Jay said, crawling sideways with absolutely no dignity. "I am moving. Sir, I am so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did the stick make contact? I lost the stick early, which honestly may have saved us both."
The delivery man sat up slowly. He was young, maybe twenty two, with dark curls, wide brown eyes, and the traumatised expression of someone who had expected to deliver flowers and had instead been intercepted by a six foot lesbian action sequence.
"I am delivery," he said, voice faint.
"I see that now," Jay said.
Alexia could not breathe.
"I am not attacker," he added.
"Yes. Fully appreciate that. My mistake."
"You attacked me with tree."
"It was not my best work."
Alexia had to brace one hand on a parked car.
Jay looked at her, betrayed. "Baby, please stop laughing. I am trying to apologise."
Alexia tried to answer.
No sound came out except a helpless wheeze.
Jay sat back on her heels amid rose petals, hands lifted towards the delivery man. "I am so sorry. Truly. I thought you were lurking."
"I was finding address."
Jay's expression collapsed. "Oh no."
The delivery man looked down at the destroyed bouquet. "Flowers for Alexia."
Alexia's laughter cut off for half a second.
Jay froze.
The street went quiet.
"What?" Alexia asked, still half smiling, though now confusion threaded through it.
The delivery man picked up the bent card from the pavement. It had tyre dust on one edge and a smear of chocolate across the envelope.
He looked at it.
Then at Jay.
Then at Alexia.
"Order from Jaycee Jones," he said.
Jay closed her eyes.
Alexia slowly turned her head towards her girlfriend.
Jay was kneeling in the debris, petals in her hair, chocolate on one sleeve, one boot untied, face full of dread.
"You ordered these?" Alexia asked.
Jay opened one eye. "Maybe."
The delivery man lifted the ruined bouquet slightly. Half the roses had survived. The other half looked like they had been involved in a sporting incident, which they had.
"For Alexia," he said helpfully.
Jay whispered, "Thank you, mate. Love the commitment to facts."
Alexia stared at her.
Jay swallowed. "Surprise?"
The laughter returned at once, stronger than before.
Alexia covered her face.
"Dios mío, Jay."
Jay turned fully to the delivery man, whose name tag read Pau, and began apologising with the intensity of someone trying to reverse time through remorse.
"Pau. Is it Pau? I am so sorry, Pau. I thought you were a threat. You were holding something large in the shadows. That is not your fault, obviously. That is a lighting issue and a me issue. Mostly a me issue. Are you injured? Do you need a doctor? I can pay. I will pay. For everything. For the flowers, the chocolates, therapy if needed, dry cleaning, emotional damages, a new job if you resign from delivery because of me."
Pau blinked at her. "I think I am okay."
"Good. Great. Still horrifying, but good. I'll tip you. A lot. Not as a bribe. As apology compensation."
Alexia was now leaning against the car, laughing silently.
Jay pointed at her without looking away from Pau. "She is usually more supportive."
Pau glanced at Alexia, who was crying with laughter now.
"She seems happy," he said.
Jay looked personally wounded. "She is thrilled by my failure."
Alexia managed, "I am very happy."
"Ale."
"You tackled my flowers."
"I thought they were a weapon."
"They were roses."
"They were in shadow."
"You charged a bouquet with a stick."
Jay looked down at the remains. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
Pau said, very quietly, "It looked bad too."
Alexia made a strangled noise and turned away.
Jay pointed at Pau. "Fair. Honest. I respect that."
Pau began gathering the scattered roses with the stiff, careful movements of someone still trying to decide whether this was a prank, a crime, or the strangest delivery of his career. Jay immediately helped, apologising to every rose individually as she picked it up.
"I am sorry. Sorry. Sorry, mate. That one's lost a petal. That's on me. This one's still good. Strong stem. Survivor. Sorry. Sorry."
Alexia wiped under her eyes and finally stepped closer. "Jay."
Jay looked up at her from the pavement.
There was a rose petal stuck to her eyebrow.
Alexia pressed her lips together.
Failed.
She laughed again.
Jay's face softened despite the disaster. "You're enjoying this so much."
"Yes."
"I was trying to be romantic."
"You were."
"And protective."
"You were."
"And now Pau has trauma."
Pau, crouched beside them, said, "A little."
Jay closed her eyes. "God."
Alexia crouched carefully, because heels and pavement required dignity even when the situation did not, and plucked the petal from Jay's eyebrow.
Jay went still under the touch.
Alexia held up the petal. "Romantic."
Jay stared at her. "You are bullying an injured hero."
"You are not injured."
"My pride."
"You attacked a florist delivery."
"Technically a flower courier."
Pau raised a hand. "Delivery courier."
Jay nodded at him. "Thank you. Sorry again."
The chocolates were unsalvageable.
Not all of them, but enough. Several had rolled beneath a parked scooter. One was crushed under Jay's boot. Two had somehow landed in the gutter. The box itself was dented so badly that the gold ribbon hung loose, defeated.
Jay looked at the wreckage with genuine grief.
"Those were the good ones," she said.
Alexia looked at her. "You ordered good chocolates?"
"Obviously."
"From where?"
Jay muttered the name.
Alexia's eyebrows rose. "Jay."
"What?"
"That place is very expensive."
Jay looked embarrassed. "You like the sea salt ones."
"I said that once."
"I have ears."
"You also have a stick."
Pau made a choking sound that might have been laughter.
Jay pointed at him. "Careful, Pau. We have bonded through violence, but I am fragile."
Pau finally laughed properly, the tension breaking. It was small at first, then bigger, and Jay's shoulders relaxed.
"There we go," Jay said. "Everyone laughs at me eventually. It's part of my community service."
Alexia helped gather the surviving roses while Jay rescued what chocolates could be rescued. Pau stood and brushed off his trousers. There was a rose petal stuck to the side of his shoe. He noticed, sighed, and removed it with the exhausted dignity of a man who had not been paid enough for this.
Jay immediately pulled out her phone.
"I'm paying again," she said.
Pau's eyes widened. "No, no. It is okay."
"It is absolutely not okay. I tackled you."
"Yes, but flowers... mostly okay?"
Jay held up the bouquet.
A large portion of it sagged sideways.
Everyone looked at it.
Jay lowered it slightly. "Mostly is doing emotional labour here."
Alexia started laughing again.
Jay opened her banking app with grim purpose. "Pau, I am sending you hazard pay."
"No, please."
"Yes. Please accept this money so I can sleep."
Pau looked at Alexia like perhaps she was the reasonable one.
Alexia, still smiling, said, "Let her."
Pau hesitated.
Jay said, "I am a professional athlete. If this becomes a story, I need you to say I compensated you beautifully."
Pau blinked. "Are you famous?"
Jay froze.
Alexia froze.
Pau looked from Jay to Alexia, then back again.
Then his eyes widened.
"Oh."
Alexia covered her mouth.
Jay said, "Let's not do oh."
"You are..."
"Nope."
"And you are..."
"Also no."
Pau stared at them, then at the ruined flowers, then at the stick lying on the pavement.
"Oh," he said again, but this time with wonder.
Jay sighed. "Pau, please let me pay you before you process this into a headline."
Pau, who was apparently recovering quickly, grinned. "Okay."
Jay paid him enough that he made a startled sound.
"That is too much."
"It is not enough."
"It is a lot."
"You were tackled by a striker. It's compensation and a tip."
"I did not know delivery could be contact sport."
"It usually isn't."
Alexia smiled. "With Jay, sometimes life is."
Jay turned to her. "Unhelpful."
"True."
Pau accepted the payment with the dazed look of a man who had briefly been flattened by celebrity and then paid like an apology had tax implications. Jay apologised again. Pau promised he was fine. Jay asked three more times. Alexia finally placed a hand over Jay's mouth.
"She understands," Alexia told Pau.
Jay spoke into her palm. "Mmph."
Pau smiled. "It is okay. Really. I will remember this."
Jay closed her eyes.
Alexia laughed. "We know."
Pau handed Alexia the bouquet. It was battered, dramatic, and still beautiful in the way of things that had survived Jay.
"These are for you," he said.
Alexia took them.
A few petals fell immediately onto the pavement.
Jay winced.
Alexia looked down at the roses, then at Jay.
The card hung half out of the envelope.
She slid it free.
The handwriting was Jay's, which meant it leaned slightly right and looked like the letters had been written by someone trying to outrun her own thoughts.
Ale,
No reason.
Just saw them and thought of you.
Actually, that is a reason.
I love you.
Jay
Alexia's laughter softened.
The whole night shifted.
Jay was still covered in petals and embarrassment, kneeling beside a smashed chocolate box, one boot untied, hair messy, cheeks flushed from humiliation and wine. Pau was still standing there trying not to look too fascinated by their lives. The stick was still on the pavement. The bouquet was still half wrecked.
And somehow Alexia's chest went warm.
Because of course Jay had ordered flowers for no reason.
Of course she had forgotten the delivery time she herself had arranged.
Of course she had seen the delivery man holding her romantic gesture and attacked him with a twig.
Of course the whole thing had become absurd and public and deeply inconvenient.
But underneath it was Jay seeing roses and thinking of her.
Jay ordering expensive chocolates because Alexia liked one flavour.
Jay trying to make romance appear at their door like magic.
Jay trying to protect her from the romance she had ordered.
Alexia looked at the card again, then folded it carefully.
Jay watched her, suddenly quiet.
"Baby," Jay said. "I'm sorry they're ruined."
Alexia looked at her.
"They are not ruined."
Jay glanced at the bouquet. "They are definitely... altered."
"They are very you."
"That could mean anything."
"It means chaotic. Dramatic. Nearly arrested. Still romantic."
Pau coughed behind his hand.
Jay looked at him. "Pau."
"Sorry."
"You have earned it."
Alexia stepped closer, bouquet in one hand, the other reaching for Jay's face. She brushed another petal from Jay's hair.
Jay's eyes softened immediately.
"There are petals everywhere," Alexia murmured.
"I wanted them in a vase, not on me."
"I like them on you."
Jay swallowed.
Pau looked at the sky, suddenly very interested in the moon.
Alexia smiled. "You were trying to be romantic and protective."
Jay nodded, miserable and adorable. "Yeah."
"And instead you assaulted my flowers."
"And Pau."
"And Pau."
Jay turned. "Sorry, Pau."
Pau lifted both hands. "I forgive you."
"You are generous."
"I am well compensated."
Alexia laughed.
Jay looked back at her. "I really was trying to be romantic and protective."
Alexia's expression went tender and amused at once.
"How am I in love with you, idiota?"
Jay blinked.
Then, because Jay was Jay, because embarrassment was unbearable unless turned into a joke, because Alexia was standing in heels holding half destroyed roses and looking at her like she might kiss her or kill her, Jay said the first thing that came into her head.
"I give really good orgasms...?"
Pau made a choking sound.
Alexia froze.
For one second, the whole street went silent.
Then Alexia's eyes darkened so quickly Jay forgot the delivery man, the roses, the stick, the chocolates, the pavement, and her own name.
"Good answer," Alexia said.
Jay's mouth parted slightly.
Alexia stepped closer, fingers curling into the front of Jay's jacket. Her voice lowered, Spanish warmth thick around the English words.
"Get inside and prove it."
Jay stopped breathing.
Pau whispered, "I should leave."
"Yes," Jay said instantly, still staring at Alexia. "Pau, run."
Alexia burst out laughing again.
Pau backed away, smiling and shaking his head, then lifted one hand. "Good night. Please do not attack any more deliveries."
Jay pointed at him, but her eyes were still on Alexia. "No promises if they lurk."
"They will ring bell next time," Pau said.
"Excellent policy."
Pau left, glancing back once at the roses, the stick, and the two women standing in the middle of the pavement like the aftermath of a romantic crime.
The second he turned the corner, Alexia grabbed Jay by the front of her jacket and pulled her close.
Jay came willingly, one hand going to Alexia's waist, the other careful of the damaged flowers.
"You are impossible," Alexia murmured.
"I know."
"You are ridiculous."
"I know."
"You scared a delivery man."
"I compensated him."
"You attacked your own flowers."
"They were suspicious."
"You used a stick."
"It was available."
"It had leaves."
"Camouflage."
Alexia shook her head, smiling so hard Jay's chest hurt.
"Bebé."
Jay's voice had gone rough. "Yes?"
Alexia held up the bouquet between them. "You bought me flowers."
Jay's embarrassment softened. "Yeah."
"For no reason?"
"For you."
"That is a reason."
"That's what I wrote."
"I know."
Jay's hand moved at Alexia's waist, gentle now. "You liked them?"
"They are destroyed."
"Yeah."
"I love them."
Jay's face opened.
Alexia leaned in and kissed her.
It was not the kiss Jay expected after the line Alexia had just delivered. Not immediate heat. Not the kind of kiss that dragged them stumbling through the door. It was softer first. Deep, but tender. A kiss that said she had read the card. A kiss that said she saw the romance beneath the catastrophe. A kiss that said the flowers mattered, even if half of them were lying dramatically across the pavement like fallen soldiers.
Jay melted into it.
Then Alexia's teeth caught lightly at her bottom lip.
Jay made a sound.
The softness vanished.
Alexia pulled back just enough to murmur, "Inside."
Jay nodded. "Inside."
Neither moved for half a second.
Then a rose slipped from the bouquet and fell between them.
Jay looked down.
Alexia looked down.
Jay whispered, "He died for love."
Alexia laughed so hard she nearly dropped the rest of the flowers.
"Jay!"
"What? He did."
"Keys."
"Right."
Jay searched her pockets.
Once.
Twice.
Her face changed.
Alexia stared. "No."
"I have them."
"Jay."
"I have them. Don't use that tone. I have the keys. I just..." Jay patted her jacket, trousers, back pocket, front pocket, then froze. "Oh."
Alexia's eyes narrowed. "Where are they?"
Jay looked slowly towards the pavement.
Near the stick.
Beside a crushed chocolate.
The keys lay in a sad little glint of streetlight.
"They may have been released during tactical engagement," Jay said.
Alexia looked at the keys.
Then at Jay.
Then at the stick.
Then she started laughing again.
Jay retrieved the keys with as much dignity as a woman could have while crouching among rose petals and chocolate casualties. Alexia watched her, bouquet pressed against her chest, laughing helplessly into the night.
"You are very lucky I love you," Alexia said.
Jay stood, keys in hand, petal still stuck to her shoulder. "Yes."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"So lucky."
"I know."
Alexia stepped close again, the laughter fading into heat as she took the keys from Jay's hand. "Inside."
This time Jay moved fast.
Too fast, nearly slipping on a petal.
Alexia caught her by the jacket.
"Careful."
Jay closed her eyes. "The flowers are still attacking."
"The flowers are dead."
"Their influence remains."
"Walk."
"Yes, captain."
They made it into the building without further assault.
Barely.
Jay kept glancing at Alexia in the lift, which was dangerous because Alexia still had the bouquet in one arm and the ruined chocolate box in the other and looked far too pleased for someone whose romantic gift had been subjected to hand to hand combat.
"What?" Alexia asked.
Jay swallowed. "You're holding them."
"They are mine."
"They're a bit wrecked."
"So are you."
"That is fair."
Alexia stepped closer. "I like you wrecked."
Jay's eyes went dark again. "Ale."
"What?"
"Remember the delivery man just experienced trauma."
"He left."
"The building has cameras."
"Then behave."
Jay groaned. "You know that word does the opposite."
Alexia smiled.
The lift dinged.
Jay nearly ran out.
At the apartment door, Alexia unlocked it while Jay stood behind her vibrating with barely contained urgency.
"Do not kiss my neck while I open this door," Alexia said.
Jay froze. "I wasn't."
"You were thinking it."
"I think many things."
"Think safer."
"That ship has sailed."
Alexia got the door open and stepped inside.
Jay followed and shut it quickly behind them.
The apartment was dark and warm and quiet. The city hummed faintly beyond the balcony doors. Alexia placed the damaged bouquet on the side table with absurd care, arranging the sagging roses like they were precious. Then she set the chocolates beside them, even though the box looked like it had survived a minor war.
Jay watched her.
"You're keeping them?"
Alexia turned. "Of course."
"But they're ruined."
"They are from you."
Jay's entire face softened.
Alexia stepped closer.
"And they come with a good story."
Jay's mouth twisted. "A humiliating story."
"A very good story."
"Pau will tell his grandchildren."
"Probably."
"Tonight I was tackled by a lesbian with a stick."
Alexia burst out laughing.
Jay watched her laugh, petals still in her hair, heels still on, eyes bright in the dim hallway. The laughter filled the apartment like music, warm and loose and all for Jay. Even now. Even after the tackle. Even after the destroyed flowers. Even after Jay had turned romance into a public safety incident.
Mine, Jay thought again, dazed with it.
Alexia caught the look.
Her laughter slowed.
"Bebé," she said softly.
Jay blinked. "Yeah?"
"You are doing it again."
"Looking at you?"
"Sí."
"Can't help it."
Alexia came closer, close enough that Jay could feel the heat of her. "Still trying to be romantic and protective?"
Jay nodded.
Alexia's hands slid into Jay's jacket, pushing it off her shoulders. It fell somewhere near the door.
"Good," Alexia murmured.
Jay's breath changed. "Good?"
"Sí."
Alexia kissed the corner of her mouth, then the other, deliberately slow.
Jay's hands found her waist.
Alexia leaned back just enough to look at her.
"Now prove your answer."
Jay's brain briefly left the building.
"My answer."
Alexia's eyebrow lifted.
Jay swallowed. "Right. The orgasm answer."
Alexia's mouth curved. "Unless it was a lie."
Jay's eyes sharpened instantly. "It was not a lie."
"No?"
"No."
Alexia stepped backwards towards the hallway, pulling Jay with her by the open front of her shirt.
"Then come here, idiota."
Jay followed, helpless and grinning, until Alexia stopped suddenly and pointed down at her boots.
Jay froze.
"What?"
"Take them off."
Jay looked offended. "Now?"
"Yes."
"We are in a moment."
"You tripped over them once already."
"That was combat."
"That was stupidity."
"Romantic combat stupidity."
"Boots, Jay."
Jay stared at her for one second, then bent immediately to unlace them.
Alexia watched, arms folded, eyes warm with amusement and heat.
Jay looked up from one knee. "You are enjoying this."
"Very much."
"I was going to seduce you."
"You are removing footwear under supervision. It is very sexy."
Jay laughed. "You are cruel."
"You are alive."
"I only tackled a delivery man."
"You will not tackle my furniture next."
Jay paused mid boot. "That feels like a reference to something that has not happened."
"It feels like prevention."
"Fair."
Jay took off the boots, placed them neatly against the wall with exaggerated care, then stood.
Alexia looked down.
Then back up.
"Good girl."
Jay went completely still.
The apartment shifted again.
Alexia smiled.
"You are very easy," she murmured.
Jay's voice dropped. "Only for you."
Alexia's hand curled in her shirt again. "Bedroom."
Jay nodded. "Yes."
"And Jay?"
"Yeah?"
"No sticks."
Jay laughed, low and breathless, and let Alexia pull her down the hallway.
Behind them, on the side table, the ruined roses shed one final petal onto the wood.
༄ synopsis - in which what starts as a few stolen glances at lucy’s strength turns into a harmless obsession she quickly catches onto, and once she realises exactly what has you flustered, she can’t resist making you admit just how much you love her arms.
༄ word count - 1.3k
༄ notes - someone said no to me writing this but i dont actually give a fuck because i wanna read it; i got inspo from this fic; not proof read
༄ warnings - smut, dom!lucy/sub!reader, fingering, bicep riding, reader gets called a slut like once
༄ read more - masterlist
lucy bronze had always been strong. it came with the territory- years of professional football, weights, sprints, and that relentless drive that turned her arms into something carved from marble and steel. but she’d never really noticed how much you noticed until lately.
it started small.
you were in the kitchen of your shared flat after training, lucy still in her compression top, sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. she reached up to grab a heavy cast-iron pan from the top shelf without thinking, biceps flexing hard as she lifted it one-handed. the vein along the peak stood out, the muscle bunching and shifting under her skin.
you’d gone quiet mid-sentence. she caught you staring in the reflection of the window, lips slightly parted, eyes locked on her arm like it was the only thing in the room. when she turned around, you blinked fast and looked away, cheeks warm.
“everything alright, love?” she asked, voice low and teasing.
“yeah. just… admiring the view,” you muttered, busying yourself with chopping vegetables. but your gaze kept flicking back.
lucy filed it away.
⸻
a few days later it happened again in the gym.
you’d come to pick her up after her session, something you did often enough that the staff didn’t blink. lucy was finishing up pull-ups, each rep slow and controlled. her back and shoulders worked hard, but it was her arms that stole the show- biceps peaking on every pull, thick and defined, veins popping from the pump. sweat glistened down her skin.
you were sitting on a bench nearby, phone in hand, pretending to scroll. except the camera was open. she caught the tiny click of a photo just as she hung from the bar for a moment, arms fully flexed.
lucy dropped down, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt, flashing a quick grin. “taking photos of the equipment now?”
your face went scarlet as you grinned. “just… documenting your form. for science, you know.”
“science, huh?” She flexed her right arm playfully in the mirror, watching your reaction in the reflection. your thighs pressed together as you bit your lip.
interesting.
⸻
the real moment came that night.
you were tangled in bed, lucy on top, strong thighs bracketing your hips as she kissed down your neck. she’d just carried you from the couch to the bedroom like you weighed nothing- hands under your thighs, biceps straining beautifully against your weight. you’d whimpered into her mouth the second she’d lifted you.
now her forearm was braced beside your head, the muscle taut as she held herself up, slowly rolling her hips against you. every thrust made her arm flex harder. you couldn’t stop touching it- fingers tracing the curve, squeezing the solid peak, nails digging in when she hit that perfect spot inside you.
“fuck, luce…” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut but immediately opening again to watch the way her bicep tensed and released with every movement.
she noticed. of course she noticed.
lucy slowed deliberately, shifting her weight onto one arm so the other was free. she flexed it right next to your face- slow, intentional, the muscle swelling under your gaze.
“like what you see?” her voice was rough, amused, and a little turned on.
you moaned, clenching around her fingers, cheeks burning. your hand wrapped around her bicep like you couldn’t help it, thumb stroking over the hard curve.
“so perfect, they’re so perfect, luce.” you babbled, eyes rolling back.
lucy’s smirk grew as she flexed harder, holding the position while she curled her fingers deeper. “you’ve been staring at my arms all week, baby. taking sneaky photos, getting all flustered when i lift shit. thought i wouldn’t notice?”
you whined, hiding your face against her shoulder, but your hand stayed on her arm, squeezing, worshipping.
lucy chuckled darkly, kissing your temple. “don’t hide. tell me how much you love them.”
she flexed again, slower this time, letting you feel every ridge and vein. your hips bucked up desperately.
“i love them,” you admitted breathlessly. “love how they look when you pick me up, when you’re in the gym, when you’re… fuck… when you’re fucking me like this. they get so big and hard and-”
lucy groaned, cutting you off with a deep kiss, pride and heat flooding her chest.
she’d figured it out.
and she was absolutely going to use it against you.
⸻
lucy didn’t let you hide for long.
she rolled you both so she was sitting up against the headboard, pulling you into her lap. her hands- strong, calloused from years of gripping footballs and weights gripped your hips, holding you steady.
“since you love them so much,” she murmured against your ear, voice low and teasing, “you’re going to ride one.”
your breath caught and heat flooded between your legs at the sheer filth of it. “luce…”
“don’t act shy now, baby. I saw how wet you got just watching me flex.” she lifted her right arm, slowly curling it into a full bicep flex. the muscle swelled, round and hard, the peak sharp under her skin. “you want this, i know you do, love. i can feel how soaked you are against my thigh.”
you whimpered, nodding desperately. you did want it. badly.
lucy’s smirk was wicked. she flexed harder, then relaxed, then flexed again, making the muscle vibrate gently. “then be a good girl and fuck my bicep.”
she guided you forward, positioning you so your dripping pussy pressed right against the thickest part of her flexed arm. the muscle was warm, firm, still slightly slick with sweat from earlier. you gasped at the contact- hard, unyielding, perfect.
“ride it,” lucy ordered softly, her free hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “grind on it like you’ve been dreaming about.”
you started slow, rolling your hips experimentally. the ridge of her bicep rubbed perfectly against your swollen clit, and you moaned loud. lucy kept her arm flexed tight, tensing it even more underneath you so the muscle bulged and hardened further with every movement.
“fuck… lucy,” you breathed, bracing your hands on her shoulders as you picked up the pace. your slick coated her skin, making the glide filthy and smooth. every time you rocked forward, her bicep tensed harder under your pussy, the peak pressing right where you needed it.
lucy watched you with dark, hungry eyes, flexing in rhythm with your hips. “that’s it. look at you, getting yourself off on my arm. so fucking desperate for it.”
she tensed again- harderthis time, and you cried out, grinding down with more pressure. the muscle tensed and flexed beneath your clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you.
she leaned in, biting gently at your neck. “you’re making such a mess, baby. dripping all over my bicep like a good little slut.”
the dirty praise combined with the relentless tensing of her arm pushed you right to the edge. your thighs started shaking, hips moving faster, chasing that perfect friction. lucy kept flexing- slow, powerful pulses that made her bicep swell and harden rhythmically under your soaked folds.
“come on,” she growled, voice rough. “finish on my arm. i want to feel you lose it.”
you broke hard.
your orgasm crashed over you with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around her arm as you rode it through the waves. the pleasure was so intense your vision whited out. you came hard, warmth gushing over her bicep and dripping down her forearm in messy pulses. lucy groaned deeply, holding her arm rock-steady and flexed the entire time so you could grind through every last spasm.
you slumped against her chest afterward, panting, trembling. lucy’s arm was glistening with your release, the muscle still subtly flexing as she admired the sight.
“fuck, that was hot,” she murmured, kissing your temple. she flexed one more time, making you twitch against her. “we’re doing that again. maybe next time i’ll make you cum on both arms.”
but you could only whimper in agreement, already throbbing at the thought.
༄ synopsis - what begins as an innocent conversation between two strangers on a flight to chicago quickly becomes impossible to ignore, proving that sometimes the best connections happen thirty thousand feet in the air.
༄ word count - 3.4k
༄ notes - kinda had no plan for this but i wanted to post it anyways; not proof read
༄ warnings - fingering, mentions of alcohol, airplane sex, public sex
༄ read more - masterlist
the seat beside yours stays empty until the last boarding call.
you don’t look up at first.
there’s another line in the quarterly report that doesn’t quite add up. the acquisition numbers look optimistic to the point of fiction, and you’re halfway through highlighting a paragraph when someone slides into 4b.
a soft thud.
a carry-on tucked away.
the faint smell of expensive perfume and something clean.
“hi.”
you glance over automatically.
she smiles.
it’s unfair, really.
the sort of smile that belongs on magazine covers rather than overnight flights across the atlantic.
“hi.”
she settles in, buckling her seatbelt with practiced ease. a baseball cap disappears into the seat pocket, revealing blonde hair that’s slightly flattened from wearing it through the airport.
you return to your report.
you make it exactly three sentences.
“business or pleasure?”
you look up. “…pardon?”
she nods towards the stack of printed reports balanced across your lap. “are you reading for business or pleasure?”
you blink once. “unless we’re suddenly counting stocks as pleasure…” she laughs. “…then no. it’s all business.”
“some people do count investments as pleasure.”
you snort despite yourself. “do they?”
“absolutely.”
“those people need hobbies.”
she grins. “to each their own.”
there’s a pause, and you study her for a second. “what about you?”
“what about me?”
“why are you going to chicago?”
she leans back comfortably. “i’ve got a modelling thing.”
you nod slowly. “so you’re a model.”
she smiles wider. “i’m a footballer.”
“…oh.”
“but thank you for complimenting my looks.”
your cheeks warm just enough to annoy you. “that wasn’t-”
“it absolutely was.”
“i made an assumption.”
“based on my face.”
“based on the modelling.”
she hums, pretending to consider it. “i’ll allow it.”
the aircraft begins to taxi.
the conversation should end there.
it doesn’t.
“and you?” she asks. “what do you do when you’re not insulting footballers?”
“I work in finance.”
“that explains the reports.”
“i’m glad we’ve solved that mystery.”
“high-powered?”
“reasonably.”
“boring?”
“only to people who don’t enjoy spreadsheets.”
“ah.”
she nods thoughtfully. “so definitely boring.”
you smile despite yourself. “you asked.”
“i did.”
she offers her hand. “alexia.”
you take it. her grip is warm, firm, her hands slightly calloused from years of training and competing.
“y/n.”
“nice to meet you, y/n.”
the seatbelt sign stays on for another twenty minutes.
by the time it switches off, you’ve somehow learnt that she’s flying over for a campaign with a sportswear brand after preseason training.
she learns that you’re presenting to a board on monday morning.
“that’s why you’re reading reports on a plane?”
“i like being prepared.”
“you’re reading printed financial statements.”
“yes.”
“on holiday.”
“i’m not on holiday.”
“exactly.”
she shakes her head dramatically. “tragic.”
the flight attendant appears with drinks. “can i get you anything?”
alexia glances at you. “wine?”
you hesitate for perhaps half a second. “…why not.”
“two reds, please.”
the first glass disappears surprisingly quickly.
the second follows not long after dinner.
your reports are abandoned somewhere between discussing football stadium atmospheres and the merits of deep-dish pizza.
she tells stories well.
animated hands.
bright eyes.
every sentence somehow ending with you laughing.
you tell fewer stories.
she notices.
“you’re one of those people.”
“what people?”
“the quiet ones.”
“i talk.”
“when spoken to.”
“that’s generally how conversations work.”
“mm.”
she tips her glass slightly. “but when you do talk…”
she studies you over the rim. “…it’s usually worth listening.”
the compliment lands heavier than expected, causing you look away.
outside the window, there’s nothing except darkness broken occasionally by wing lights.
the cabin dims.
most people around you begin settling in.
blankets.
headphones.
sleep masks.
business class becomes strangely intimate in the low lighting.
voices lower.
movements slower.
alexia slips off her shoes, folding one leg beneath herself. “you’re thinking again.”
“am i?”
“finance face.”
“finance face?”
“very serious.”
“i don’t have a finance face.”
“you absolutely do.”
she reaches over before you can react. two fingers gently press the space between your eyebrows.
“right…”
another light push.
“…there.”
you stare at her. “…what?”
“your frown disappeared.”
she withdraws her hand like nothing happened. “much better.”
you should probably be irritated.
instead-
“you’re very confident.”
“only when i drink.”
“often?”
“maybe once a month.”
you laugh quietly. “i can imagine.”
she watches you for a moment. “there it is.”
“what?”
“you smile more than you think.”
you hold her gaze. “you’re very observant.”
“occupational hazard.”
“football?”
“captain.” she shrugs. “always watching people.”
the silence that follows isn’t awkward.
it’s… comfortable.
dangerously so.
she looks good in the dim cabin lighting.
you notice details now.
the strength in her forearms.
the watch on her wrist.
the tiny scar near her thumb.
she catches you looking. “what?”
“nothing.”
“liar.”
“i wasn’t-”
“checking me out?”
“…”
she smiles slowly.
“it’s okay.”
you clear your throat. “you’re very sure of yourself.”
“would it help if i admitted i’ve been trying not to look at you for the last hour?”
your heart does something deeply inconvenient. “…really?”
“really.”
another pause.
“those reading glasses aren’t helping.”
you glance down. “my reading glasses?”
“you put them on to read.”
“…yes.”
“terrible decision.”
you laugh under your breath. “because?”
“because every time you adjust them…” her eyes flick briefly to your mouth before returning. “…i forget what i was saying.”
the air feels warmer.
or maybe it’s just the wine.
you remove your glasses. “better?”
she exhales once. “significantly worse.”
your laugh comes quieter this time.
closer.
neither of you has noticed when the armrest stopped being enough space between you.
your shoulders brush now whenever either of you moves.
she doesn’t move away.
neither do you.
“can i ask you something?”
“depends.”
“are you always this…” she searches for the word.
“…careful?”
“careful?”
“like you’re calculating twelve different outcomes before you say anything.”
you think about denying it.
instead-
“usually.”
“and right now?”
your eyes meet hers, and your voice becomes softer. “right now… i’m trying very hard not to make a bad decision.”
she smiles. “interesting.”
“why?”
“because i was thinking exactly the same thing.”
another beat.
the hum of the engines fills the silence.
she tilts her head slightly. “i’m going to ask you something.”
“okay.”
“you can absolutely say no.”
“okay.”
“but if i don’t kiss you before this plane lands…”
her smile turns almost shy for the first time all evening.
“…i think i’m going to regret it.”
your eyes flick briefly to her mouth then back. “…that’s funny.”
“why?”
“because i was wondering how much longer you’d wait before asking.”
she laughs.
quiet enough not to disturb anyone sleeping nearby.
“so…”
“so.”
“…may i?”
instead of answering-
you lean the remaining inch between you.
her lips meet yours gently. just once- soft, testing even.
when you pull back, neither of you says anything for a few seconds.
alexia’s forehead rests lightly against yours.
“…well,” she murmurs.
“well.”
“that didn’t exactly help.”
“no.”
“made it considerably worse.”
you smile.
“i noticed.”
her thumb brushes absentmindedly against your wrist. “walk with me?”
“where?”
she glances meaningfully towards the rear of the aircraft.
“just…” another smile. “…to stretch our legs.”
you look at her.
at the sleepy cabin around you.
at the knowing expression she’s trying (and failing) to hide.
then you quietly unbuckle your seatbelt.
“lead the way.”
the aisle lights are dimmed to a faint amber glow. most passengers are asleep, blankets pulled high, headphones in.
the hum of the engines swallows almost every sound.
alexia walks just ahead of you, one hand lightly brushing the seat backs. you follow close enough that when the plane shifts in a bit of turbulence your fingers graze her lower back.
she doesn’t pull away. if anything she leans into the touch.
the galley at the rear is empty. the flight attendants have retreated to their jump seats.
alexia glances once over her shoulder at you, that small conspiratorial smirk playing on her lips, then pushes open the door to the accessible lavatory.
the second the door clicks shut behind you the tiny space feels electric.
she turns and kisses you like she’s been waiting hours to do it. not gentle this time. her hands slide up your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she backs you against the counter.
you taste the red wine on her tongue, feel the solid warmth of her body pressing flush against yours.
you kiss her back harder, nipping at her bottom lip, and she makes this soft surprised sound that shoots straight between your legs.
“fuck,” she breathes against your mouth, half laughing. “you’ve been holding out on me.”
“you’ve been talking too much.”
she grins, bright and wicked, then ducks her head to mouth at your neck, sucking lightly just below your ear.
your head falls back against the mirror with a quiet thud.
her hands move with purpose. one slips under your blouse, palm sliding up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra. the other grips your hip, pulling you even closer.
you tug at the hem of her shirt, fingers finding warm skin and the firm lines of muscle along her abdomen.
when you scratch lightly down her sides she shivers and presses her thigh between yours.
the pressure is immediate. perfect. not enough.
“alexia-” you whisper.
she answers by rolling her hips, slow and deliberate, grinding against you until your breath catches. her mouth finds yours again, deeper, messier.
you can feel how turned on she is. the heat of her through her joggers. the way her breathing is already getting ragged.
her fingers work open the button of your trousers, sliding the zipper down just enough to slip her hand inside.
when she feels how wet you are she groans quietly against your lips. “dios mio… you’re soaked.”
you don’t answer with words. instead you push your own hand down the front of her joggers, past the waistband of her underwear, and find her just as drenched. the sound she makes when your fingers slide through her folds is low and filthy.
for a moment you just touch each other like that. slow, exploratory strokes. learning what makes the other gasp.
her forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard in the tiny space.
she curls two fingers and presses them inside you without warning. your knees nearly buckle.
you bite down on her shoulder to stay quiet, and she hisses in pleasure at the sting.
“that’s it,” she murmurs, voice wrecked. “just like that.”
you match her rhythm, sliding two fingers into her at the same time. she’s tight and so fucking wet it makes your head spin.
you crook your fingers and she clenches around you with a broken moan she tries to muffle against your neck.
the plane hums beneath you. someone coughs a few rows away. the risk of it all only makes everything sharper.
alexia’s thumb finds your clit and starts circling and your hips jerk forward involuntarily. you’re both trembling now, trying to stay quiet, hands moving faster, breaths mingling hot and desperate.
she kisses you again, messy and urgent, like she can’t get enough.
you’re right on the edge already.
alexia can feel it. she curls her fingers deeper, stroking that spot inside you with devastating precision while her thumb keeps perfect pressure on your clit.
her mouth is on your neck again, sucking, biting, whispering filthy little things against your skin.
“come on amor… let go for me.” the words combined with the steady rhythm of her fingers push you over.
you come hard, clenching around her, thighs shaking as the orgasm crashes through you.
you bury your face in her shoulder to muffle the sound, nails digging into her back through her shirt.
she doesn’t stop. she keeps fucking you through it, slower now, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
when you finally catch your breath you kiss her hard, tasting desperation. your fingers are still buried inside her, and you start moving again with renewed purpose.
you match the pace she used on you, curling, stroking, thumb circling her swollen clit.
alexia’s hips stutter. her breathing turns broken and shallow.
“fuck… just like that,” she gasps.
you can feel her getting close. her walls flutter around your fingers, slick and hot. you add a third finger and she moans louder than she should, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half shut.
her hand is still between your legs, lazily stroking you even as she starts falling apart.
the overstimulation makes you whimper but you don’t want her to stop.
“i’m gonna-” she chokes out.
“come for me,” you whisper against her mouth.
she does. hard. her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around your hand as she rides out the waves.
you keep moving through it, gentler now, until she’s shaking and panting into your neck.
for a long moment the only sounds are both of you breathing heavily and the low drone of the plane engines.
alexia pulls back just enough to look at you. her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, hair completely messed up.
she looks wrecked in the best possible way. she brings her fingers to her mouth and slowly licks them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
you nearly short-circuit all over again, and she grins at your expression, soft and satisfied.
you both start fixing your clothes with shaky hands, stealing little kisses between adjustments.
when you’re decent again she leans in and presses a gentler kiss to your forehead.
then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, she murmurs, “so i’ll pick you up friday at eight.”
you blink, still a little dazed. “sorry?”
she smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “unless you only wanted this to be a one time thing.”
“no- no i’d love to see you again,” you say quickly, heart doing something ridiculous in your chest. “but i don’t even have your number?”
alexia’s smile widens, warm and a little cocky. “well amor, we better fix that then, shouldn’t we?”
Not because she forgot things. Not really. She was too organized for that, too disciplined, too used to living out of suitcases and kit bags and hotel rooms that all started to look the same after a while. She made lists. She folded everything neatly. She checked her boots twice and her passport three times. She was, in every practical sense, good at it.
But emotionally?
She was awful.
You could tell by the way she kept stopping.
One minute she was folding a plain white T-shirt into the open suitcase on the bed, and the next she was just standing there with it in her hands, staring at nothing. The Euros were close enough now that the whole country seemed to be breathing down her neck. Every advert, every interview, every headline, every smiling poster of her in an England shirt felt like another hand pushing at her back.
Captain.
Leader.
The one everyone looked to.
The one who couldn’t afford to fall apart.
You were sitting cross-legged near the pillows, wearing one of her old Arsenal hoodies, watching her try to pretend she wasn’t overwhelmed. The sleeves swallowed your hands, and Leah had already looked at you twice like she wanted to say something about it. She didn’t. That was the first sign.
Normally, she would have teased you. Normally, she would have said, “That’s mine, you know,” even though both of you knew it had stopped being hers the first night you stayed over and never really gave it back.
Instead, she just folded another shirt.
“You’ve packed that one already,” you said softly.
Leah blinked down at the shirt in her hands, then at the suitcase, where an identical one sat in a neat stack.
“Oh.” She forced a small laugh. “Right.”
You smiled, but it didn’t quite settle on your face. “Nervous?”
She shook her head too quickly. “No.”
“Leah.”
Her shoulders dropped at the sound of her name. Not Lee. Not babe. Not any of the softer names you usually used when it was just the two of you tucked away from the world. Leah. It made her look over at you.
For a second, she was just your Leah again. Barefoot on the bedroom carpet, hair tied messily back, England shorts hanging low on her hips, face tired in a way no camera ever seemed to catch. She looked younger like this. Less untouchable. Less captain of a nation and more like the woman who fell asleep during films and complained when you stole the blanket.
“You can talk to me,” you reminded her.
Something shifted in her expression. That should have scared you sooner. Leah sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the suitcase between you. The space it created suddenly felt deliberate. Like a line. Like a warning.
“I know,” she said.
You watched her hands twist together in her lap. Leah was good under pressure. She could stand in front of thousands of people and command an entire back line with one raised hand. She could speak to the press without giving too much away. She could carry expectation like it weighed nothing. But with you, she had never been able to hide very well.
“What’s going on?” you asked.
She didn’t answer right away.
Outside, London moved on without you. Cars passed below the flat. Someone laughed on the pavement. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked twice and then went quiet. Everything ordinary carried on as if your entire life wasn’t about to tilt.
Leah looked at the floor.
“I don’t think I can do this right now.”
You frowned, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Waiting for her to explain that she meant the packing, the interviews, the noise, the pressure. Anything else. Anything that didn’t make your stomach drop the way it did.
“Do what?” you asked.
Leah swallowed. “Us.”
For a moment, you didn’t move. The room seemed to shrink around you. The suitcase, the clothes, the hoodie on your body, the half-empty mug on the bedside table. Every familiar thing suddenly looked wrong.
You let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “What?”
Her eyes closed briefly. “Please don’t make me say it again.”
“No,” you said, sitting up straighter. “You don’t get to say something like that and then act like I’m the one making it difficult.”
Leah flinched.
Good, you thought bitterly. Then immediately hated yourself for it.
She rubbed her palms over her thighs. “The tournament is in a few weeks.”
“I know when the Euros are, Leah.”
“I’m captaining England.”
“I know that too.”
Her jaw tightened, not in anger, but in that way she did when she was trying not to lose control. “Then you know what this means. You know how big this is.”
You stared at her. “And what am I supposed to be in that sentence?”
She looked at you then, and there was so much pain in her eyes that for one foolish second, you thought she might take it back.
“I can’t split myself,” she whispered.
The room went silent.
You shook your head slowly. “That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Your voice cracked, and you hated that too. You hated that she could break your heart and still make you feel embarrassed for bleeding in front of her. “You don’t get to make me sound like some distraction.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Leah stood, then sat back down like her legs had changed their mind halfway through. “I mean I have one chance to get this right. One. The whole country is watching us. The team is looking at me. Sarina is trusting me. The girls are trusting me. And if I mess this up, if I’m not completely focused, I’ll never forgive myself.”
You stared at her, waiting for the part where love fit into any of that. It never came.
“So you’re choosing football,” you said.
Her face crumpled slightly. “That’s not fair either.”
“Isn’t it?”
She looked away. That was answer enough. You climbed off the bed, suddenly unable to sit still. The hoodie felt too warm now. Too heavy. Too much like her. You tugged at the sleeves, pacing once toward the window before turning back.
“I have never asked you to be less than what you are,” you said. “I have never asked you to choose me over your career. I have never once made you feel guilty for leaving, or training, or missing dates, or forgetting to text because you were exhausted. I have stood beside you through all of it.”
“I know you have.”
“Then why am I the thing you’re cutting loose?”
Leah’s eyes filled.
She looked down quickly, but you saw it.
“I don’t know how to be what everyone needs me to be and still be good to you,” she said.
The honesty of it should have softened you. It didn’t. Because all you heard was that loving you had become another task on a list she was afraid of failing.
“You could have let me decide what I needed,” you said.
Leah wiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand, quick and frustrated, like she was angry at herself for crying. “I’m trying not to hurt you more later.”
A laugh escaped you then, sharp and broken. “Congratulations.”
She looked at you.
“You’ve managed to hurt me plenty now.”
Leah stood properly this time. “Please.”
You hated that word from her. Please, like she was the one begging. Please, like this wasn’t her decision. Please, like there was still something left for you to give.
“What do you want me to say?” you asked. “That I understand? That I’m proud of you for being so responsible? That I’ll sit at home and cheer for you while pretending you didn’t just tell me I’m too much?”
“You’re not too much.”
“You just can’t carry me.”
Her lips parted. No denial came. That was the moment something inside you went very still. Leah reached for your hand. You let her. For one weak, terrible second, you let her fingers close around yours, familiar and warm. Your body betrayed you immediately, remembering all the times those hands had pulled you closer, held you steady, brushed hair out of your face when you were half asleep. You hated how much you still wanted to lean into her. Then you remembered she had already let go first. You slipped your hand out of hers. Leah’s face folded.
“I love you,” she said, voice barely there.
You closed your eyes.
“That makes this worse.”
“I know.”
“No,” you whispered. “You don’t.”
The suitcase sat open behind her, half-packed and waiting. That stupid suitcase. That stupid tournament. That stupid impossible dream that had once made you love her even more because you had never known anyone who wanted something so fiercely. Now it was taking her from you. Or maybe Leah was handing herself over willingly. You didn’t know which one hurt more. She picked up her England jacket from the chair, then stopped like she expected you to say something. To fight harder. To make it easier by becoming angry enough for her to leave. But you were tired suddenly. So tired.
“If you walk out right now,” you said quietly, “don’t expect me to be here when you decide you miss me.”
Leah’s mouth trembled. For a second, she looked twenty-five and terrified. Not a captain. Not a hero. Not the woman whose face was about to be everywhere. Just Leah. Your Leah.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Then she left.
The door clicked shut behind her with a softness that felt cruel. You stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the place she had been. For a while, nothing happened. No dramatic collapse. No sobbing. No throwing things. Just silence spreading through the flat, filling every corner she had occupied. Then your knees gave out. You sank down against the side of the bed, still wearing her hoodie, still surrounded by the life you had built together in small pieces. Her extra boots by the wardrobe. Her favorite mug in the kitchen. The blanket she hated but always used anyway. The photo strip from that night in Manchester tucked into the mirror.
Outside, London kept moving.
Inside, you pressed your sleeve to your mouth and finally broke.
Three weeks later, Leah Williamson lifted a trophy in front of the whole country. You watched from your sofa alone. You told yourself you were proud of her. And you were. That was the problem. Because while confetti fell around her and England screamed her name, all you could think was that she had been right. She had done it. She had become everything she was afraid she wouldn’t be. And she had done it without you. Then, not long after, you saw the photos. Leah in London. Leah laughing. Leah glowing in a way you had not seen since before she left. Leah beside a woman whose name every gossip page suddenly seemed to know. Miss USA.
The captions were harmless at first. Friends. Events. Celebrations. Brand appearances. But the internet did what the internet always did. It turned a glance into a headline and proximity into romance. It dissected every smile. Every touch. Every night out. You told yourself not to look. Then you looked anyway. One photo ruined you more than all the others. Leah outside a private event, head tipped back in laughter, one hand resting lightly against the woman’s back as cameras flashed around them. It was nothing. It looked like everything. You stared at it until your vision blurred. So that was it, then. You had been too much. Too distracting. Too dangerous to keep. But she wasn’t. You locked your phone and placed it face down on the coffee table with shaking hands.
For the first time since Leah walked out, you let yourself hate her a little. Not because she had won. Not because she had left. But because she looked happy. And you were still sitting in the ruins of what she had decided she couldn’t afford to love.
--
You had almost convinced yourself that weddings were easy.
Not emotionally easy, obviously. There was always something about watching two people promise forever in front of everyone they loved that made the room feel too bright and too fragile at the same time. But socially, weddings were simple enough. You smiled when you were supposed to smile. You hugged people you hadn’t seen in years. You complimented flowers and dresses and pretended you had strong opinions about table runners.
Ella’s wedding weekend should have been exactly that.
Simple.
A countryside estate. Three days away from London. Good wine, too many candles, and enough familiar faces to make it feel warm without making it overwhelming. Ella had been excited for months, sending voice notes at ridiculous hours about seating charts and menu tastings and whether it was insane to have three different dessert options. You had listened to every single one of them because it was Ella, and saying no to Ella Toone when she was happy felt almost cruel.
Besides, you were happy for her. Genuinely so very happy.
She deserved this. She deserved the kind of love that didn’t flinch under pressure. The kind that stood in front of everyone and said, yes, this one. I choose this one. You tried not to think too hard about why that made your chest ache.
The estate came into view just after five, tucked behind a long gravel drive lined with trees that had turned deep green with the start of summer. The house itself looked like something out of a period drama, all pale stone and tall windows, ivy crawling up one side like it had been placed there on purpose. White roses spilled over the garden walls. Staff moved around the entrance carrying boxes of flowers, champagne crates, and carefully folded linens.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful, maybe. The kind of place that made old feelings louder.
You parked near the guest cottages and sat in the car for a moment longer than necessary, both hands resting on the steering wheel. Your phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Ella: where are you??? if you’ve got lost i swear to god
You smiled despite yourself and typed back.
I’m here. Calm down, bride-to-be.
Her reply came instantly.
I am calm. I am the picture of calm. Come inside before I start crying.
That made you laugh, and somehow it loosened something in you. This weekend was for Ella. Not for memories. Not for ghosts. And definitely not for Leah Williamson.
You hadn’t seen Leah in three years. Not in person. Not properly. You had seen her everywhere else, of course. On television. In interviews. On billboards. On Arsenal’s social media. In England promo shoots. In the background of other people’s photos. Her existence had become something you learned to step around.
At first, you used to block her name. Then unblock it. Then mute it. Then search it anyway. Eventually, you stopped pretending you had control over it at all.
Leah Williamson was a difficult person to erase from your life when the whole country seemed determined to keep reminding you she existed.
But you had survived it.
Three years was long enough to rebuild yourself around the empty space she left. Long enough to stop crying when England played. Long enough to go on dates and laugh at jokes and kiss people who were kind and lovely and never once made you feel like you were standing too close to something that might burn you.
Long enough to tell yourself you were over it.
You got out of the car. The second you stepped into the main house, Ella appeared from nowhere in a white tracksuit with BRIDE embroidered across the back in silver thread. Her hair was clipped up messily, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in that overwhelmed way that made her look half ecstatic and half ready to fight someone.
“There she is!” Ella shouted.
You barely had time to brace before she threw herself into your arms.
You laughed, hugging her tightly. “You look insane.”
“I feel insane.” She pulled back, gripping your shoulders. “But in a really classy, elegant way.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her voice softened for half a second, sincere beneath all the chaos. “Properly glad.”
You smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Ella squeezed your arms once before immediately launching into a list of things that had already gone wrong. The florist had forgotten two boxes of candles. Her aunt had cried because her room overlooked the wrong side of the gardens. Someone’s plus-one had apparently brought a guitar, which Ella described as “a threat to the entire weekend.”
You followed her down the hall, laughing at all the right moments, letting her nervous energy pull you fully into the present. It helped for a while. Your room was in one of the converted cottages near the west garden. Ella walked you there herself, talking the whole way, and left you with strict instructions to be at the rehearsal dinner by seven. You showered, changed into a soft black dress, and stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary trying to decide whether you looked like someone who had her life together.
You looked fine. That would have to be enough.
By the time you reached the dining room, the long tables were already glowing with candlelight. Wine glasses caught the gold of the room. People stood in small clusters, laughing, leaning in, greeting each other with the warmth that came when everyone knew they were there for something good.
You spotted Ella immediately near the fireplace. She waved you over with both hands. You started toward her. Then you saw her.
Leah was standing near the far end of the room with Georgia Stanway, one hand wrapped around a glass of wine, head tilted as she laughed at something Georgia had said. Her hair was shorter than you remembered. Lighter in the summer glow. She wore a cream blazer over a black top, looking effortless in a way that made your stomach twist with recognition.
For a second, the room simply stopped moving. Not dramatically. No shattered glass. No music cutting out. No one turning to stare. Just you, frozen halfway across the room, suddenly twenty-six again, standing in a bedroom while the woman you loved told you she couldn’t carry you with her.
Leah looked up. Her laugh faded. The air between you changed so sharply you almost felt it. She stared at you like she had seen a ghost. Maybe she had.
Ella bounced over, completely unaware, slipping an arm through yours. “There you are. Come on, I want you to meet some people.”
You couldn’t look away from Leah. Leah couldn’t look away from you. Ella followed your gaze.
“Y/N I forgot to tell you, I'm so sorry"
The silence after her question was small. Tiny, really. But it landed like a dropped plate. You swallowed. Leah’s mouth opened first, but nothing came out.
"It's your wedding, I'm not mad at you for inviting her, She's your friend too” you said.
Ella’s smile faltered.
Georgia looked between the two of you with immediate interest, because Georgia had never once minded her own business in her life.
“Okay....” Ella said slowly.
Leah recovered first, or at least tried to. She set her glass down on the nearest table, her fingers lingering around the stem for one second too long. “Hi.”
Hi. Three years. A breakup that had split you open. A tournament. A trophy. Miss USA. Three years of silence. And she said hi. You almost laughed.
Instead, you nodded. “Leah.”
Her name tasted strange in your mouth. Familiar and foreign at the same time. Ella was still watching you, eyes narrowing slightly as the pieces began arranging themselves in her head. “Well this will be interesting.."
Leah did nothing but look at you.
“Right,” you said.
Georgia’s eyebrows rose.
Ella clearly wanted to ask more, but someone called her name from across the room, saving all of you. She hesitated before leaving, pointing between you and Leah with a look that said this is not over.
Then she was gone.
Georgia stayed for exactly two seconds longer than necessary.
“So,” she said, smiling into her wine. “Y/N is here”
Leah shot her a look.
Georgia lifted both hands. “I’m going. I’m going.”
When she left, you and Leah were alone in the loudest room in the world. Leah took a small step closer. You took one back. She noticed. Of course she noticed.
“How have you been?” she asked.
It was such a normal question.
Cruel, almost, in how normal it was.
You could have told the truth.
You could have said you had been awful. That for months after she left, you slept on the sofa because the bed smelled like her. That you stopped wearing hoodies altogether because every oversized sleeve made you think of the last one you wore when she broke your heart. That you had watched her lift that Euros trophy and cried so hard you had to turn the television off before the medal ceremony ended.
You could have told her that you hated her for looking happy. You could have told her you missed her so badly it embarrassed you. Instead, you smiled politely.
“I’ve been fantastic.”
Leah nodded like she deserved that answer. Like she knew it was the only one you could give in a room full of people. “Good.”
“And you?”
Her lips pressed together. “Good.”
There it was.
Three years reduced to two lies and a table full of candles.
A server passed with champagne. You took a glass mostly to have something to hold. Leah’s gaze dropped to your hand. No ring. You hated that you noticed her noticing. Before either of you could say anything else, Ella appeared at the front of the room, clapping her hands. “Right, everyone! Sit down before my mum starts reorganizing the seating plan again.”
People laughed and began moving toward their places. You turned away first. Your name card was at the middle table, between Ella’s cousin and one of her old university friends. Safe. Neutral. Leah was two tables over, close enough to see, far enough to pretend you couldn’t. That became the rhythm of dinner. Pretending. You pretended not to notice when Leah laughed too loudly at something Alessia said. You pretended not to feel the weight of her gaze every time you lifted your glass. You pretended not to remember the exact sound of her laugh when it was unguarded and private, when it belonged to kitchens at midnight and rainy Sunday mornings. Leah pretended too. She pretended not to watch you. She was worse at it.
Halfway through the main course, Ella caught your eye from the top table and mouthed, what the hell? You shook your head once. Not now. Ella’s eyes widened. Definitely later.
You looked away before she could communicate anything else across a room full of guests like a deranged bride with a secret mission.
For the most part, you managed. You talked. You laughed. You asked polite questions. You complimented the food. You listened to a woman named Sophie explain the drama of the seating chart as if it were a matter of national security. Then someone at your table mentioned the Euros. It was casual. I still remember that summer. The whole country was obsessed. Your fork paused halfway to your plate.
Another guest smiled. “Leah was everywhere, wasn’t she? Proper golden girl after that.”
You looked down.
Sophie leaned in, lowering her voice in that way people did when they wanted to gossip while pretending they didn’t. “Wasn’t she linked to that Miss USA girl around then?”
The table hummed with recognition.
“Oh yeah,” someone said. “I remember those photos. They were everywhere for about five minutes.”
You felt your pulse in your throat. Across the room, Leah looked over as if she had sensed the shift in you. You kept your eyes on your wine glass.
Sophie laughed softly. “Gorgeous couple, if it was true.”
The words slipped under your skin with the precision of something sharpened years ago. Gorgeous couple. If it was true. You forced yourself to smile because none of these people knew. They didn’t know they were walking barefoot over the worst part of your life. They didn’t know every careless word was landing somewhere bruised. You reached for your glass and drank. Leah was still watching you. This time, you let yourself look back. For one second, you didn’t hide any of it. The hurt. The anger.
The humiliation you had carried for three years, folded neatly beneath the version of yourself that had moved on. Leah’s face changed. Maybe she recognized it. Maybe she didn’t understand it at all. Either way, you looked away first.
By the time dessert was served, you had a headache from smiling. When dinner finally ended, people drifted into the adjoining lounge for drinks. Music played softly from hidden speakers. Ella was pulled into another round of hugs and congratulations. The room loosened around the edges as champagne did its work.
You escaped to the terrace. You needed a little break. You reached into your clutch and grabbed your cigarette pack and lit one. The evening air was cool against your skin, carrying the scent of cut grass and roses from the garden. You walked to the stone railing and gripped it with both hands, breathing deeply until the pressure in your chest eased. You had known Leah might be here. Of course you had.
Ella and Leah had been England teammates for years. It would have been more surprising if she wasn’t invited. But knowing something and surviving it were not the same.
Behind you, the terrace door opened.
You didn’t turn. Footsteps stopped a careful distance away.
“I didn’t know you still smoked,” Leah said.
Her voice moved through you before you could stop it.
You closed your eyes briefly. “clearly”
“I didn't know you'd be here.”
“I didn't either”
Silence.
Then Leah said your name.
Softly.
Like she still had the right.
You turned then, because you were angry enough that avoiding her felt too much like giving her mercy.
She stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of her trousers, cream blazer bright beneath the terrace lights. Up close, you could see the years on her. Not age exactly. Just life. The fine tiredness around her eyes. The confidence that had settled into her posture. The sadness she was trying very hard to keep contained.
And there, against her throat, catching the light, was the silver necklace. Your silver necklace. The one you had given her on your first anniversary. For a second, every thought left you. Leah noticed where you were looking. Her hand lifted halfway, then dropped.
“You still wear it,” you said before you could stop yourself.
She looked down.
Then back at you.
“Yeah.”
That one word nearly undid you.
You looked away, jaw tightening. “Sentimental?”
“No.” Her voice was rough. “Necessary.”
You laughed once, cold and quiet. “That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”
She flinched. You were glad. You hated that you were glad.
Leah took a breath. “Can we talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“That’s not true.”
You turned back to her. “You had three years, Leah.”
“I know.”
“Three years,” you repeated, because now that she was standing in front of you, the number felt unbearable. “And this is when you want to talk? At Ella’s wedding?”
Her eyes shone under the terrace lights, but she didn’t look away. “I didn’t know how.”
You stared at her.
The laugh that came out of you wasn’t amused.
“You didn’t know how to send a text?”
Leah’s mouth trembled slightly. “I didn’t know if I had the right.”
“You didn’t.”
The words landed hard.
Leah nodded once, accepting the hit. That somehow made you angrier. Because you wanted her to fight. You wanted her to defend herself. You wanted her to prove that the last three years had hurt her too, because the thought that you had suffered alone was the thing that had kept the bitterness alive. Instead, she just stood there looking like regret had been living inside her for a long time.
Music drifted out from the lounge. Someone inside laughed. Ella’s voice rose above the others, bright and happy. A wedding. Of course this was happening at a wedding. A whole weekend built around choosing someone. You looked past Leah toward the glowing windows.
“I’m not doing this tonight,” you said.
Leah stepped back immediately, giving you room. “Okay.”
That single word was so gentle it almost broke something. You hated her for that too. You walked toward the door, but stopped when you reached her. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to smell the familiar trace of her perfume beneath the wine and summer air.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Leah whispered, “You look beautiful.”
Your throat tightened.
“You don’t get to say things like that anymore.”
You went inside before she could answer. This time, Leah didn’t follow. But the rest of the night, you felt her everywhere. In every room. In every song. In every careful breath you took to keep from turning around.
--
Sunlight spilled across the estate in pale ribbons, catching on the dew that still clung to the grass and making the gardens look almost unreal. Staff moved quickly between the house and the marquee, carrying food trays, straightening chairs, adjusting the white fabric that draped from the ceiling in loose, romantic waves. Somewhere inside, Ella was already shouting about someone misplacing flowers.
It should have made you smile. It did, eventually. But not at first. Leah’s voice still in your head. You look beautiful. You hated how little effort it took for her to ruin you.
Three years had passed. Three years of convincing yourself that you had grown around the wound, that the scar tissue had made you stronger, that if you ever saw her again, you would be calm. Polite. Untouchable.
Then she stood beneath terrace lights wearing the necklace you gave her, and suddenly you were twenty-six again.
Heart in your throat.
Hands shaking.
Still loving someone who had left.
You stared up at the cottage ceiling for a long moment, listening to birds outside the open window. Your dress for the ceremony hung on the wardrobe door, pressed and waiting. Ella had chosen soft sage for the people standing closest to her, and yours moved beautifully when you walked. You had tried it on twice before the weekend and loved it both times.
Now you couldn’t look at it without thinking about Leah seeing you in it.
That annoyed you enough to get out of bed.
By ten, the estate had turned into organized chaos.
Ella’s room was full of makeup bags, curling irons, half-drunk coffees, champagne flutes, and women in various stages of panic. Alessia sat on the floor steaming the hem of someone’s dress with frightening seriousness. Georgia was eating toast over the sink while Ella’s mum scolded her for crumbs. Ella herself was in the makeup chair, trying not to cry before anything had even happened.
“You look gorgeous,” you told her.
Ella looked at you through the mirror, eyes already wet. “Don’t be nice to me. I’ll start.”
“You’re getting married. You’re allowed to cry.”
“No, I’m allowed to look stunning. Crying is for after the photos.”
Georgia snorted. “You cried because they brought you the wrong jam this morning.”
“It was a stressful moment.”
The room laughed, and for a while, it worked.
You let yourself be pulled into the warmth of it. Into the easy teasing. Into the champagne. Into Ella’s nervous joy as everyone fussed around her. This was why you were here. Not for Leah. Not for the past. For Ella, who grabbed your hand just before stepping into her dress and whispered, “I’m really doing it.”
You squeezed her fingers.
“You really are.”
Her smile trembled.
Then she looked at you a little too closely.
“You okay?”
You knew immediately what she meant.
Not the wedding. Not the morning. Leah.
You gave her the kind of smile people give when they want to end a conversation before it starts. “I’m okay.”
Ella’s eyes narrowed. “That was a terrible lie.”
“It’s your wedding day.”
“And?”
“And I’m not making it about me.”
Ella softened. “You’re not.”
“I am if we talk about it.”
For a second, you thought she might push. Ella was nosy, loyal, and emotionally fearless in a way that made her dangerous when she loved someone. But then someone called her name from the doorway, and the moment disappeared.
She squeezed your hand once before letting go.
“Later,” she mouthed.
You rolled your eyes.
She smiled, then turned back toward the chaos.
The ceremony took place in the garden beneath an arch of white roses.
By then, the morning nerves had melted into something quieter. Guests filled the rows of chairs, sunlight warming their shoulders, conversations lowering as music began to play. You stood near the front with the rest of Ella’s closest friends, hands folded around your bouquet, heart unexpectedly tight.
Then Leah walked in.
Not alone. Not dramatically. She entered with a group of England girls, Georgia on one side, Alessia on the other, all of them dressed beautifully and laughing softly as they found their seats. Leah wore a tailored suit the color of storm clouds, sharp and elegant, her blonde hair tucked behind one ear.
The necklace was still there.
She looked radiant. Truly radiant. All nerves gone now, replaced by something steady and certain as she walked toward the person waiting for her at the end of the aisle. The kind of certainty people wrote songs about. The kind that made everyone watching believe, at least for a moment, that love could be simple if you were brave enough.
You tried to focus on Ella’s smile.
On the flowers.
On the vows.
But when Ella’s voice broke around the words I choose you, your throat tightened so sharply that you had to lower your eyes.
I choose you.
Such a small sentence.
Such a devastating thing to hear when the person who hadn’t chosen you was sitting less than twenty feet away. You didn’t look at Leah. You didn’t have to. You felt her looking at you anyway.
The rest of the day passed in fragments. Applause as Ella kissed her partner. Petals thrown into the air. Photos on the lawn. Champagne after the ceremony. The smell of roses and fresh grass. A hundred congratulations. A hundred smiles. And Leah. Always Leah.
She was careful. You could give her that. She didn’t crowd you. Didn’t corner you. Didn’t try to force a conversation after you had told her no the night before.
Somehow, that made her harder to ignore.
Because the Leah you remembered was impatient when she wanted something. Stubborn. Restless. The kind of person who pushed until the world bent slightly in her direction. This Leah stood back. Watched. Waited.
Maybe she had learned.
Maybe she was just tired.
During the wedding photos, Ella made the mistake of trying to place everyone herself.
“No, Georgia, taller people at the back. Lessi, stop hiding. You’re six foot. Everyone can see you anyway.”
“I’m not six foot,” Alessia protested.
“You are in spirit.”
People laughed and shuffled around.
You were adjusting your bouquet when Ella glanced over her shoulder and pointed. “Leah, stand next to her.”
The world became very quiet.
Ella froze half a second after saying it, as if she remembered too late.
Leah’s eyes flicked to yours.
You could have objected.
You didn’t.
Not because you wanted her close, you told yourself, but because making a scene at Ella’s wedding would have been worse.
Leah stepped into place beside you.
Not touching.
Almost touching.
Her sleeve brushed yours when the photographer told everyone to squeeze in.
Your entire body noticed.
“Sorry,” Leah murmured.
You kept your eyes on the camera. “It’s fine.”
It was not fine.
The photographer smiled brightly. “Lovely. Everyone look here.”
You did.
Leah did not.
You could see it from the corner of your eye. Her face angled slightly toward you, expression soft in a way that felt private, exposed, dangerous.
“Leah,” the photographer called, amused. “Camera, love.”
A few people laughed.
Leah cleared her throat and looked forward.
Your cheeks burned.
Ella’s gaze found yours from the front row.
You gave her a look that promised violence if she said anything.
She wisely turned around.
By the time cocktail hour began, you needed air again.
Unfortunately, Leah Williamson seemed to exist in every available patch of it.
She was at the bar when you went for water.
Near the guestbook when you tried to sign it.
At the edge of the dance floor when Ella dragged everyone in for a practice spin before dinner.
Always there.
Never close enough to accuse.
Never far enough to forget.
You were halfway through your second glass of champagne when Georgia dropped into the seat beside you with the subtlety of someone about to be deeply unsubtle.
“So,” she said.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I can guess.”
Georgia leaned back, eyes sparkling. “Can you?”
You took a sip of champagne. “If this is about Leah, I’m not interested.”
“Funny. She said something similar.”
That should not have affected you.
It did.
You stared at the garden instead of Georgia. “Good.”
“She also looks like someone kicked her puppy every time you walk away.”
You gave her a flat look. “Does that line usually work on people?”
“Sometimes.”
“Try harder.”
Georgia laughed softly, then sobered. “I don’t know what happened between you two.”
“No, you don’t.”
“But I know Leah.”
You looked down at your glass. “So did I.”
Georgia was quiet for a moment.
When she spoke again, her voice was gentler. “She was a mess after the Euros, you know.”
Your fingers tightened around the stem of the glass.
You didn’t look at her.
Georgia seemed to take that as permission to continue. “Not publicly. Obviously. Public Leah was all smiles and speeches and captain stuff. But behind all that…” She paused. “She wasn’t okay.”
You hated the small, stupid spark of relief that moved through you.
Hated it.
“She looked fine to me,” you said.
Georgia studied you carefully.
Then, softly, “Online?”
You said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Georgia exhaled through her nose, like she had just found the edge of something bigger than she expected. “Right.”
Before she could say anything else, Ella called for everyone to move into the marquee for dinner.
You stood too quickly. “Enjoy the speeches.”
Georgia didn’t stop you.
But her words followed you all the way inside.
She wasn’t okay.
The marquee had been transformed.
Fairy lights hung in soft strands above long tables dressed in white linen and greenery. Candles flickered between low arrangements of roses and wildflowers. At each place setting was a tiny box containing a disposable camera, a handwritten note from Ella asking guests to capture the moments the photographer might miss.
You picked yours up and turned it over in your hand.
Moments the photographer might miss.
You almost laughed.
If only cameras had caught the things that mattered.
A breakup in a half-packed bedroom.
A door closing softly.
A woman watching another woman lift a trophy from a sofa she used to share.
A phone screen glowing with photos that may or may not have meant anything, but destroyed her all the same.
Dinner was easier than the rehearsal.
Not because Leah was absent.
She wasn’t.
She sat at a table near the front with several of the England girls, visible every time you looked up. But the room was fuller now. Louder. Speeches gave everyone something else to focus on. Ella’s dad cried before he even started talking, which made half the room cry with him. Her partner’s speech was sweet enough that even Georgia pretended to wipe something from her eye.
Then Ella stood.
She held the microphone like she was about to make a team talk instead of a wedding speech.
“Right,” she said, and everyone laughed before she’d even begun.
Her speech was funny. Messy. Perfectly her. She thanked her family, teased her teammates, called Alessia “annoyingly tall” again, and somehow managed to make every person in the room feel like they mattered.
Then she looked at her partner.
The room quieted.
“I think love is choosing someone even when life gets loud,” Ella said, voice softer now. “Especially then. It’s easy to say you love someone when everything is calm. But I think the real bit is choosing them when things are scary, when the timing is wrong, when there are a hundred reasons not to.”
Your breath caught.
No.
Absolutely not.
You stared at the tablecloth, blinking hard.
Across the room, Leah had gone very still.
Ella continued, unaware or maybe very aware. “So today, I’m choosing you. In the loud bits. In the scary bits. In all of it.”
The room erupted into applause.
You clapped because everyone else did.
Your palms felt numb.
When the dancing started, you tried to disappear into the crowd.
For a while, it worked.
You danced with Ella. You laughed when Georgia nearly spilled her drink on Alessia. You posed for three disposable camera photos and took several terrible ones yourself. You even let yourself enjoy it in small, fragile bursts.
Then the DJ played a song you knew.
Not just knew.
Remembered.
It had been playing in Leah’s kitchen once, years ago, when she had pulled you away from the sink with wet hands and made you dance barefoot on the tile. You had complained that the dishes wouldn’t wash themselves. She had said they could wait. Then she kissed you until you forgot why you had cared.
Now the opening notes moved through the marquee like a cruel joke.
You froze.
So did Leah.
She was across the dance floor, half turned toward you, her expression caught somewhere between memory and apology.
You couldn’t do it.
You set your drink down and walked out.
The night air hit you hard, cooler now, the sky deep blue above the dark outline of the gardens. Music followed you through the open sides of the marquee, muffled but still recognizable. You walked until the lights were behind you, until the noise became distant enough that you could breathe.
You stopped near the rose garden, gripping the edge of a stone bench.
“Don’t,” you said when you heard footsteps behind you.
They stopped.
Leah’s voice came softly. “I’m not trying to upset you.”
You turned around.
There she was again.
Always there.
Always too late.
“You don’t have to try,” you said. “You manage it pretty naturally.”
She took the hit in silence.
That made something inside you snap.
“No,” you said, pointing at her. “No, don’t do that.”
Leah frowned. “Do what?”
“Stand there looking sorry. Like that fixes anything.”
“I don’t think it fixes anything.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
Her composure cracked. Just slightly. Enough.
“I want five minutes,” she said. “That’s all.”
“You had three years.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that like it means something.”
“Because it does.”
“No, Leah, it doesn’t.” Your voice rose before you could stop it. “Knowing you hurt me doesn’t undo it. Wearing that necklace doesn’t undo it. Looking at me like that across a room doesn’t undo it.”
Her hand lifted unconsciously to the silver chain.
You laughed, sharp and humorless. “God, that necklace.”
Leah dropped her hand.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“You don’t get to keep pieces of me like souvenirs.”
Her face changed.
Pain flashed across it so clearly that for a second, you almost stopped.
But the wound had opened now.
Everything was coming out.
“You ended us,” you said. “You sat in our bedroom and told me you couldn’t split yourself. You told me the tournament needed all of you. You made me feel like loving me was the thing that would make you fail.”
Leah’s eyes filled, but she didn’t interrupt.
“And then I watched you win.” Your voice broke around the word. “I watched you become everything you were terrified you wouldn’t be. I watched the whole country love you. I watched you smile and lift that trophy and I was proud of you, Leah. I was so proud of you it hurt.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
You ignored it because if you looked at it too long, you would lose your nerve.
“And then,” you continued, quieter now, “I saw the photos.”
Leah’s brow furrowed.
“The photos?”
You stared at her.
A bitter laugh left you. “Don’t.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss USA.”
Leah went completely still.
The name sat between you.
Ugly.
Small.
Three years old and still sharp enough to draw blood.
You shook your head. “You told me I was too much of a distraction for you to love and lead a team at the same time. Then I got to watch you all over her in every gossip post for weeks.”
Leah’s lips parted.
Nothing came out.
You stepped closer, anger trembling through you now. “Do you have any idea what that felt like? To be told I was the thing you couldn’t afford, and then see you laughing with someone else like I’d never existed?”
“We weren’t together,” Leah said.
The words came out so quietly you almost missed them.
You stared at her.
“What?”
“We weren’t together,” she repeated, stronger this time. “Me and her. It wasn’t like that.”
You laughed once. “Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Of course you are.”
Leah stepped forward, then stopped herself. “It was Nike. And a couple of sponsor things. She was in London, there were events after the Euros, and people started talking because people always talk. That’s all it was.”
You shook your head slowly.
“No.”
Leah’s voice cracked. “Yes.”
“No, because I saw—”
“You saw photos.” Her eyes were pleading now. “You saw what everyone else saw. You didn’t see me go back to hotel rooms alone. You didn’t see me stare at my phone trying to talk myself out of calling you. You didn’t see me cry in Georgia’s bathroom because I thought I’d done the right thing and still couldn’t breathe without you.”
The world tilted.
For a second, you couldn’t hear the music anymore.
Only your own pulse.
Leah wiped at her face, frustrated with herself. “I didn’t date her. I didn’t want her. I didn’t want anyone.”
Your throat closed.
Three years.
Three years of anger.
Three years of imagining Leah replacing you within weeks.
Three years of turning pain into proof because proof was easier than uncertainty.
And now she was standing in front of you saying it had never been real.
“You never called,” you whispered.
Leah’s face crumpled. “I thought you hated me.”
“I did.”
“I know.”
“But I would have answered.”
The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
Leah looked at you like the words had physically hit her.
You turned away immediately, pressing a hand to your mouth.
There it was.
The worst truth.
The one you had never admitted to anyone.
Not Ella. Not yourself.
If Leah had called, you would have answered.
Angry. Heartbroken. Humiliated.
But you would have answered.
Behind you, Leah said your name.
This time, it didn’t sound like a claim.
It sounded like a prayer.
You shook your head, still facing the roses. “I spent three years thinking I was that easy to replace.”
“No.”
“You let me think it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You should have.”
Leah said nothing.
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was crowded with everything you had both ruined by being too proud, too scared, too hurt to reach across the distance.
Finally, Leah spoke.
“I regretted it before the tournament even started.”
You closed your eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I did.” Her voice was rough now. “The first night at camp, I reached for my phone to tell you I’d landed and remembered I wasn’t allowed to anymore because I was the one who ended it. I thought I was being selfless. I thought if I gave everything to the team, then at least losing you would mean something.”
You turned back slowly.
Leah looked destroyed.
“And then we won,” she said. “And everyone kept saying it had been worth it.”
Your heart twisted.
“But it wasn’t?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Leah looked directly at you.
“No.”
The word was immediate.
Certain.
Devastating.
“No trophy was ever worth losing you.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Behind you, the wedding carried on. Music, laughter, applause. Life continuing around the edges of a conversation that should have happened three years ago.
You wanted to believe her.
That was the problem.
You wanted it so badly that it scared you.
Leah took one careful step closer. “Can we just talk?”
You looked at her.
Really looked.
At the woman who had broken your heart. At the woman who had apparently carried pieces of it around her neck for three years. At the captain who had chosen football and somehow still ended up here, standing in a rose garden at someone else’s wedding, asking for five minutes like it might save her.
Your anger had not disappeared.
It was still there.
But beneath it, something older stirred.
Something softer.
Something you had buried because surviving required it.
You looked back toward the marquee. Toward the lights. Toward Ella’s wedding and all those vows about choosing someone when life got loud.
Then you looked at Leah again.
“One conversation,” you said.
Her breath caught.
You lifted a hand before hope could fully reach her face. “That’s not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t mean anything changes.”
“I know.”
You studied her for another long second. Then nodded toward the path that led deeper into the gardens. Leah moved beside you, keeping a careful distance.
For a while, neither of you spoke. But this time, the silence did not feel like an ending. It felt like the first fragile thing either of you had been brave enough to hold.
--
The gardens stretched farther than you remembered.
Or maybe everything felt longer with Leah walking beside you.
The path curved away from the marquee and into the darker part of the estate, where fairy lights had been wrapped around the trees and little lanterns lined the gravel like a trail meant for people trying to find their way back to something. Behind you, the music from the wedding softened into a distant pulse. Laughter rose and faded with the wind. Every now and then, you could hear Ella’s voice above everyone else, bright and unmistakable.
It should have pulled you back.
Instead, you kept walking.
Leah stayed beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her presence, far enough that she wasn’t asking for anything with her body. That was new. Or maybe it was old. Maybe Leah had always known how to be careful with you when she was afraid of losing you.
She just hadn’t known it soon enough.
Neither of you spoke until the marquee was hidden behind a line of trees.
The quiet here was different. Less crowded. The kind of quiet that didn’t demand performance. You could breathe in it without worrying who might be watching your face.
You stopped near a small fountain at the center of the garden. Water moved softly over stone, catching pieces of moonlight.
Leah stopped too.
For a moment, all you did was stand there.
Then you looked at her and said, “Why didn’t you fight for us?”
Her face tightened.
Not because she was offended.
Because she had been waiting for that question.
Leah looked down at the gravel between you. “Because I thought I had already lost the right.”
“You lost the right when you left,” you said. “That didn’t mean you had to stay gone.”
She nodded slowly. “I know that now.”
“Did you know it then?”
Her silence was answer enough.
You crossed your arms over yourself, not because you were cold, but because you needed something to hold together. “I kept waiting.”
Leah looked up.
You hated how quickly her eyes filled again. Hated that your first instinct was still to comfort her.
“For months,” you admitted. “I kept thinking maybe you’d call after the final. Maybe after the celebrations slowed down. Maybe after the interviews. Maybe once the world stopped screaming your name, you’d remember mine.”
Leah breathed in shakily.
“But you didn’t,” you said. “So eventually I had to stop waiting. Or at least I had to pretend I had.”
“I remembered your name every day.”
The words came out quiet, but steady.
Your chest hurt.
“Don’t say things just because they sound pretty.”
“I’m not.”
“Then say something that doesn’t.”
Leah looked at you for a long time.
Then she said, “I was a coward.”
The bluntness of it stole the air from your lungs.
She swallowed, eyes shining beneath the garden lights. “I dressed it up as pressure and responsibility and leadership because those were easier words to live with. They made it sound noble. Like I was sacrificing something for the team. But the truth is, I was terrified.”
You didn’t move.
Leah’s jaw worked as she forced herself to keep going.
“I was terrified I’d fail them. Terrified I’d fail you. Terrified that if I needed you too much, it meant I wasn’t strong enough to lead. And I know how stupid that sounds now.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” you said before you could stop yourself.
Leah looked surprised.
You looked away.
“It sounds sad.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it quickly, but not before you saw.
“I thought if I cut everything down to just football, I’d be untouchable,” she said. “Focused. Unbreakable. The captain everyone needed me to be.”
“And were you?”
Leah laughed once. It was small and humorless. “No.”
You looked back at her.
“I was miserable,” she admitted. “I hid it well enough, I think. For a while. There was too much going on for anyone to look closely. But Georgia knew. Keira knew. My mum definitely knew.”
The mention of her mum hit somewhere soft.
You had loved Leah’s mum. She had always hugged you like you were already family.
Leah saw that too.
“She asked about you,” Leah said.
Your throat tightened. “Don’t.”
“She did.”
“I said don’t.”
Leah stopped immediately.
You turned toward the fountain, blinking hard. “I can handle you hurting me. I can’t handle thinking about all the people I lost because you decided we were done.”
A quiet sound escaped Leah.
Not a sob.
Something worse.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
You closed your eyes.
There it was again.
The apology.
You had imagined hearing it a thousand times, but none of those imaginary versions had prepared you for how little satisfaction it gave you. Apologies didn’t rewind clocks. They didn’t unmake lonely months. They didn’t hand back birthdays missed, holidays spent pretending to be fine, nights where you had reached across the bed and found only cold sheets.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” you said.
“I know.”
You turned around, anger flickering again. “Stop saying that.”
Leah nodded once. “Okay.”
“No, because you keep agreeing with me like if you take enough blame, it makes this easier.”
“I don’t want it to be easy.”
“Then what do you want?”
Leah’s answer came after a long pause.
“You.”
The word was so simple that it knocked the fight out of you.
You stared at her.
Leah looked terrified, but she didn’t take it back.
“I know I don’t deserve to say that,” she continued. “I know I don’t get to walk back into your life at someone else’s wedding and ask for space there. I know I made the choice that broke us. But if you’re asking what I want, it’s you. It has always been you.”
Your eyes burned.
“Leah.”
“I tried,” she said, voice cracking. “I tried to move on the way everyone seemed to think I had. I went out. I smiled. I let people take pictures. I let them write whatever they wanted because correcting them meant admitting who I was really mourning.”
You looked down.
She took a breath. “And I dated, eventually. A little. Badly.”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped you.
Leah smiled faintly, devastated and fond all at once. “Very badly.”
“Good.”
Her smile softened. “Yeah. Fair.”
The fragile humor disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
You rubbed your hands over your arms. “I dated too.”
Leah’s face shifted.
There it was.
The small wound she had no right to show.
You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t get to look hurt.”
“I know.”
“Leah.”
“Sorry.” She looked away, jaw tight. “Sorry. I just..”
“You just what?”
Her eyes came back to yours.
“I hate thinking someone else got to know you after me.”
The honesty landed hard between you. You should have been angry. Part of you was. But another part of you understood too well, because hadn’t you done the same thing? Hadn’t you imagined Leah with someone else so many times it became its own kind of torture?
“No one knew me after you,” you said quietly.
Leah froze.
You regretted the words immediately, but there was no taking them back.
You let out a breath. “Not really.”
Something in Leah’s face crumbled.
You looked past her at the trees. “I tried. I met nice people. Good people. People who texted back and made plans and didn’t treat loving me like it was some dangerous thing.”
Leah flinched.
“But every time someone got close, I compared them to you.” Your voice grew smaller. “The worst part is, sometimes they were better for me.”
Leah looked like that physically hurt.
“More available,” you said. “Less complicated. Kinder, maybe.”
“I was kind to you,” Leah whispered.
You looked at her then.
“You were,” you said. “Until you weren’t.”
She had no answer for that.
The fountain murmured beside you. You stepped closer to it, trailing your fingers briefly through the cool water because you needed something real to touch. Leah watched you, quiet now, letting the truth settle where it needed to.
After a while, she spoke again.
“I still have your birthday cards.”
You turned your head.
She looked embarrassed, almost. “All of them. They’re in a box in my wardrobe. Cards, notes, ticket stubs. That photo booth strip from Manchester.”
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
“I thought you would have thrown all that away.”
Leah shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
You looked at the necklace again.
“And that?”
Her fingers rose to the silver chain.
This time, she didn’t stop herself from touching it.
“You gave it to me because I’d lost that stupid bracelet in Ibiza.”
A laugh surprised you, soft and sudden. “You were devastated.”
“It was a nice bracelet.”
“It was ugly.”
“It was sentimental.”
“It was orange.”
Leah smiled properly then.
For one second, the years vanished.
You could see her in that tiny Barcelona shop again, pouting because the bracelet she swore was lucky had slipped off somewhere between the beach and the bar. You had teased her mercilessly for caring so much, then bought her the necklace two weeks later and pretended it wasn’t a replacement.
She had known.
Of course she had known.
“I put this on the day you gave it to me,” Leah said, thumb brushing the pendant. “Never managed to take it off.”
Your smile faded.
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“Leah.”
She nodded quickly. “Sorry. I’m trying to stop saying that.”
You laughed despite yourself, and the sound was so unexpected that both of you went still after it.
Leah stared at you like she had missed that sound more than anything.
The tenderness in her face made your chest ache.
“You can’t look at me like that,” you said.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you remember me.”
Her voice softened. “I do remember you.”
You shook your head. “No. Not like that.”
Leah stepped closer. Still careful. Still giving you room to move away if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
“I remember everything,” she said. “I remember how you take your tea. I remember that you hate folding laundry but get annoyed when I do it wrong. I remember the way you used to hum when you were getting ready and didn’t realize you were doing it. I remember that you pretended to hate my music and then knew all the words by the end of the month.”
Your throat closed.
“Stop.”
“I remember that you sleep on the left side of the bed but steal the middle by morning.”
“Leah.”
“I remember thinking I was the luckiest person in the world because you loved me before everyone else decided I was worth loving.”
That did it.
The tears came before you could hide them.
You turned away quickly, but Leah was already there, not touching, just near enough that her presence felt like a hand held out in the dark.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
This time, you didn’t tell her to stop.
You pressed your fingers beneath your eyes, furious with yourself for crying at Ella’s wedding, in a garden, over a woman you had sworn would never have this much power over you again.
“I hate you,” you said, but it came out broken.
Leah nodded, crying too. “I know.”
“I hate that I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“I hate that you still smell the same.”
A shaky laugh escaped her through the tears. “Yeah?”
You turned back, glare weakened by everything your face refused to hide. “Don’t sound pleased.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
“I’ve missed failing with you.”
It was such a Leah thing to say that you almost smiled. The space between you felt different now. Not healed. Not safe exactly. But open. Leah looked down at your hand. You noticed. For once, you didn’t pull away when she reached. Her fingers touched yours lightly, a question more than a claim. You should have stepped back. You should have remembered every reason this was dangerous. Every lonely night. Every photo. Every silence. Every version of yourself you had to become because Leah had chosen a life without you in it. Instead, you let her hold your hand. It was unbearable how familiar it felt. Leah inhaled softly, like the contact hurt and healed at the same time.
“I thought I’d forgotten what this felt like,” she said.
You looked at your joined hands.
“Me too.”
Neither of you moved. The wedding music shifted in the distance, slower now, something romantic and aching. The kind of song couples clung to each other through beneath soft lights. You should have gone back. You didn’t. Leah’s thumb brushed once over your knuckles. Your eyes lifted to hers. Everything that happened next lived in the space between choice and instinct. Leah leaned in slowly enough that you could have stopped her. She paused just before your mouths touched, breath trembling against yours.
“Tell me no,” she whispered.
Your heart broke all over again. Because she was asking. Because three years ago, she had made a choice for both of you, and now she was finally giving one back. You closed your eyes.
“I can’t.”
Leah made a quiet sound, half relief, half pain, and then her mouth was on yours. The kiss was not gentle for long. It couldn’t be. There was too much inside it. Three years of silence. Three years of anger. Three years of wanting and missing and pretending not to. Leah kissed you like she was afraid you might disappear if she didn’t hold the moment carefully enough, and you kissed her like you were angry she still knew how to make you feel found. Her hand came to your waist. Yours found the lapel of her suit jacket. For a second, the world narrowed to the heat of her mouth and the familiar shape of her beneath your hands. Then you pulled back sharply. Leah let you go immediately. Both of you stood there breathing hard, faces wet, hearts louder than the fountain beside you. You touched your fingers to your lips. Leah looked wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, then immediately winced. “No. I’m not sorry. I mean, I am if you..”
You laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Small. Shaky. Almost unwilling.
But real.
Leah stared at you like the sound was sunlight.
“You’re still terrible at this,” you said.
“At what?”
“Talking.”
She nodded, breathless. “Yeah. I know.”
You shook your head, but the anger was softer now. Still there. Still part of you. But no longer the only thing in the room.
Leah stepped back, giving you space again. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight.”
The words hung there. Careful. Intentional. You understood what she was offering. Not pressure. Not assumption. A choice. Your heartbeat hadn’t settled. Your skin felt too warm. Your mind was full of every reason to leave and every reason to stay. Behind you, the wedding cheered loudly at something, the sound bursting into the night like a reminder that the world was still turning. You looked toward the marquee. Then back at Leah.
“I don’t want to go back in yet,” you said.
Leah’s eyes searched yours.
“Okay.”
Your fingers were still close to hers. After a moment, you took her hand again. This time, you chose it. Leah looked down, then back up, hope flickering carefully across her face like she was afraid to let it grow too bright. You walked deeper into the garden together, away from the music, away from the lights, away from everyone who thought they knew the story. For tonight, there would be no promises. No forgiveness handed over too quickly. No pretending three years could be undone by one conversation and one kiss beneath the trees. But there was Leah’s hand in yours. There was the necklace at her throat. There was the truth, finally spoken out loud. And there was the quiet, dangerous possibility that maybe not every ending had to stay an ending forever.
--
You didn't make it back to the reception for another hour.
By then, the band had started their second set, the dance floor was full, and Ella was laughing so hard she nearly spilled champagne down the front of her wedding dress. Nobody seemed to notice how long you and Leah had been gone. Or, if they did, they were kind enough not to mention it. You slipped back into the marquee separately. Leah entered through one side. You came through the other. It wasn't planned. It just happened. Old habits. Protecting each other even when neither of you was sure you still belonged to the other.
Ella caught your eye almost immediately. She was dancing with her husband, beaming from ear to ear, but the second she spotted you, one eyebrow lifted.
Where were you?
You simply smiled. Not a fake smile. A real one. Ella's expression softened. She didn't ask another question. She didn't have to.
The rest of the evening felt strangely lighter. Nothing had been fixed. Nothing had been forgotten. But the anger that had lived between you all weekend wasn't sitting in your chest quite so heavily anymore. You even laughed when Georgia tried convincing the DJ to play early-2000s club music.
"You are absolutely not getting ABBA after Pitbull," Alessia argued.
"It'll work."
"It literally won't."
"It'll work because I believe."
Georgia somehow won. Nobody was particularly surprised. For a few songs, you forgot to be heartbroken. Leah did too. Across the dance floor, your eyes kept finding each other. Neither of you looked away this time.
Much later, after the cake had been cut and half the guests had disappeared toward the cottages, the estate settled into that strange, quiet hour weddings always reached. The loud part was over. The important part remained. You stepped outside with a fresh glass of water. The night air had turned cooler. You leaned against the stone railing overlooking the gardens where everything had changed only a couple of hours earlier. Footsteps approached behind you. You smiled before you even turned around.
"I was wondering how long you'd make me wait."
Leah smiled sheepishly.
"I didn't want to assume you wanted company."
"I don't."
Her face fell immediately.
You let the silence stretch just long enough.
"...I wanted to choose it."
Leah laughed.
Softly.
"You really are getting revenge."
"A little."
"I deserve it."
"You do."
She came to stand beside you, both of you looking out over the gardens instead of at each other. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
It was familiar.
Comfortable enough that you found yourself leaning your elbows against the stone exactly the way you used to. Leah noticed. Of course she noticed.
"I forgot you do that."
"You remember everything."
"I told you."
Another comfortable silence.
Then...
"I'm scared," Leah admitted.
You looked at her.
"I made the worst decision of my life those years ago."
Your heart pinched.
"I can't promise I won't hurt you again."
"No," you agreed quietly.
She frowned.
"I wouldn't believe you if you did."
Leah looked surprised.
"That's the thing about loving someone," you said. "Eventually they're going to hurt you somehow."
"I'm very good at it."
"You've certainly had practice."
She winced.
You immediately felt guilty.
"I'm sorry."
Leah smiled sadly.
"See?"
"What?"
"You still apologize when you think you've hurt me."
You looked away.
"I never stopped caring."
"I know."
You rolled your eyes.
"If you say 'I know' one more time..."
She laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind you hadn't heard in years.
You realized then that you had missed that sound almost as much as you had missed her. Leah reached into the inside pocket of her suit jacket.
"I've got something."
Your stomach dropped.
"If this is a ring, I'm leaving."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I'm serious."
Leah burst out laughing.
"No!"
"Good."
"I'm not completely insane."
She pulled out something folded several times over. A piece of paper. Worn around the edges. She handed it to you. You unfolded it carefully. Immediately recognized your own handwriting. It was a grocery list.
Milk.
Bread.
Pasta.
Orange juice.
Chocolate.
At the bottom...
In much smaller writing...
Don't forget I love you.
You stared at it.
"I found it in my wallet after we broke up," Leah said quietly.
"I... kept meaning to throw it away."
"You didn't."
"No."
You laughed through tears.
"Leah..."
"I couldn't."
You looked back down at the paper.
Three years.
She had carried this around for three years.
"You really are dramatic."
"I've been told."
You folded it carefully again before handing it back.
"No."
Leah frowned.
"No?"
"You keep it."
She looked confused.
"I want you to stop carrying around pieces of the past because you're punishing yourself."
She swallowed.
"I don't want you punishing yourself anymore."
Your voice softened.
"I've done enough of that for both of us."
Leah looked like she might cry again.
Instead, she nodded.
Very slowly.
"I'll try."
"I know you will."
She smiled.
"You said it."
You groaned.
"Oh, shut up."
You look at her for a few moments. Taking in her side view. You missed this. But ultimately you missed her. Deep down. You reach out a take her hand in yours. She looks at you.
"Come on, my cottage is this way"
You reach your cottage and close the door. Leah looks around before stopping to look you in the eyes. She can see the glimmer of want in them. You both just stood there staring at each other. Neither one moving. Waiting for the other to make the first move.
"Fuck it"
You go straight to Leah. She grabs your face. You throw your arms around her neck. Lips smashed. Every emotion since seeing each other being poured into the kiss. You stand there for a few more moments before Leah picks you up and heads to the bedroom. Immediately you both strip all clothes and get back on the bed. Leah pushes you down and gets on top of you. She looks down at you.
"I have thought of this every day since I left"
"You have me now"
Leah kisses you again and starts to move downward. She marks your neck. The your collarbone. Kisses and bites both breasts. Down your stomach until she reaches where you want her. She doesn't tease. Immediately licks a broad strip up your pussy. She latches onto your clit and sucks.
"Oh fuck Leah. You haven't forgotten a thing"
She smirks while she pushes two fingers inside. She begins to thrust her fingers in at a good pace as she circles your clit with her tongue. You knew you wouldn't last long at all. You can see yourself start to cum already. Leah can tell as well. You start to clench around her fingers. She starts moving at a faster pace to get you there.
"Keep going. I'm going to cum. Fuck. Shit. Leah baby keep going. I'm right there"
Hearing you call her baby again sent something inside of her a flame. She sits up and kisses you hard while pistoning her fingers faster now. It doesn't take much before you start convulsing and finally you snap and your body goes tense as your orgasm arrives. You lay there for a second before leah brushes hair of out your face and asks if you're okay. You turn towards her and say "I have a double ended strap, grab it"
Leah jumps up so quick and grabs it. She walks back over to you.
"Do you want to ride it?"
"I want you to fuck me like you've missed me" you smirk
Leah gets back on the bed and situated on top of you again. She puts on end inside her and then moves to insert the other end inside of you. She enters fully and lays down chest to chest with you. Her arms on either side of your head. She starts to move slowly at first until you tell her to start going faster. She speeds up her pace. The wetness from your orgasm helping her move easily in and out of you.
"Fuck I have missed this feeling" Leah says
She moves one hand down to your breast and twists a nipple. Making you let out a loud moan. She starts thrusting faster now. Chasing her own orgasm and she feels it start to creep up.
"Holy hell Y/N, You still feel amazing. So good for me. I'm going to cum any minute now."
You can still tell when she gets close by the way her face contorts. You also remember how to get her there faster. You lean up a bit and grab her ass. Leahs ass has always been a subject of arousal for herself. The second you touch her she starts to lose it. She leans back onto her knees. Grabs your waist. Starts pounding into you.
"Come on baby! I'm right there! Fuck! I'm cumming! Fuck! Fuck! Ahhh!"
Leah cums and you follow right after her. She collapses on top of you and stays there a minute to catch her breathe. You both eventually get up off the bed. Sweat stains mixed with both of your juices. You get cleaned up in the bathroom. Find new sheets and put them on the bed. You both get in and lay there. Looking at each other but not saying a word. Sleep comes between both of you as you drift off.
Sunlight found you far too early.
You woke in your cottage to birds outside the window and the dull ache behind your eyes that only weddings and emotional exhaustion seemed capable of creating.
For a long time, you simply lay there. Wondering if the night before had actually happened. Eventually your phone buzzed.
Ella: Brunch. Thirty minutes. Don't be dramatic and skip it.
You smiled.
I'm coming.
The breakfast room smelled of coffee and bacon. Everyone looked slightly worse for wear. Georgia was wearing sunglasses indoors.
"No questions," she announced to the room.
"No one asked," Alessia replied.
"Good."
You laughed as you poured yourself coffee.
Then you felt it. Leah. She'd just walked in. Her eyes found yours almost instantly. Neither of you smiled. Not because you weren't happy. Because whatever had changed last night deserved something quieter than a grin across a crowded room. It deserved respect.
Ella watched the entire exchange over the rim of her coffee mug.
When you caught her looking, she mouthed... Finally?
You shook your head.
She frowned.
Not exactly.
That answer seemed to satisfy her.
After brunch, guests slowly began collecting luggage and saying their goodbyes. Cars pulled onto the gravel drive one by one. Hugs lasted longer than usual. Promises of visits and holidays filled the air. You loaded your overnight bag into the boot of your car. One last check of the cottage. One last look at the gardens. You were about to climb into the driver's seat when someone called your name.
"Ella?"
She hurried across the drive in trainers and her wedding jumper, carrying a small cream envelope.
"I nearly forgot."
She held it out.
"Disposable cameras."
You smiled.
"I had them developed this morning."
"Already?"
"My photographer knows a guy."
You laughed.
"Of course he does."
Ella hugged you tightly.
"So..."
"So..."
"You okay?"
You looked toward the gardens. Then toward Leah, who was talking quietly with Georgia a little farther away.
"I don't know."
Ella smiled.
"I think that's the healthiest answer you've given me in years."
She kissed your cheek.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She walked away before you could say anything else. You opened the envelope. Twenty-four photographs. Friends dancing. Georgia making ridiculous faces. Ella crying during her vows. The cake. The flowers. You smiled at each one. Then you reached the second-to-last photo. It was blurry. Someone had clearly taken it by accident. You were standing near the dance floor, laughing at something out of frame.
Across the room... Leah. Looking at you. Not smiling. Just... Looking. Like you were the only person in the marquee. Your breath caught. The final photo was even better. Neither of you had noticed it being taken. You were standing in the garden. Hands linked. Foreheads almost touching. No kiss. Just... Home. You blinked hard.
"You found them."
You turned. Leah stood a few feet away. Two takeaway coffees balanced carefully in her hands. She held one out.
"I wasn't sure how you take it anymore."
You accepted it.
"One sugar."
She smiled.
"Still."
"Still."
Silence. Not awkward. Hopeful. Leah shifted her weight.
"I meant what I said last night."
"I know."
"I don't expect everything to be fixed."
"It isn't."
"I know."
You laughed.
She laughed too.
"I'd like to try again," Leah said.
"Not where we left off."
You looked at her.
"No pretending those three years didn't happen."
She nodded immediately.
"No pretending."
"No rushing."
"No rushing."
"And if this doesn't work..."
Leah took a slow breath.
"...then at least we'll know we chose each other this time."
Your eyes filled. That was the difference. Three years ago, Leah had chosen football. Today... She was choosing you. Not instead of football. Alongside it. Like she should have all those years ago. You stepped closer. Not because you had forgiven everything. Not because trust magically repaired itself overnight. But because love wasn't the problem. It never had been. You reached for her free hand. She met you halfway.
"So," you said.
"So?"
"You owe me three years' worth of dates."
Leah smiled wider than you had seen all weekend.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
You lifted your coffee.
"I'll start with one."
She nodded.
"One."
You walked toward your cars together. Hand in hand this time. Talking about nothing important. The drive back to London. Ella's speech. Georgia's terrible dancing. The ordinary things. Because sometimes love wasn't rebuilt through grand declarations.
Sometimes... It started with two coffees. One conversation.
And finally, after three years apart, Choosing each other.
