warning : sexual content included - minors do not interact
you're used to pressure. you live for it. ninety-minute matches in front of tens of thousands, champions league nights under the floodlights, the roar of fans at the emirates singing your name. you’ve made your name in the football world with more than just talent. precision. composure. class. arsenal through and through. lioness by blood.
the media calls you “the rolls royce of english football.” you never let it get to your head. but there’s no denying—you’re top tier.
so when your agent sends you an invite to an exclusive athlete gala in los angeles—hosted by nike, packed with global stars—you don’t blink. you pack a tailored suit, hop on a private flight, and plan to shake hands, pose for photos, then bounce.
you didn’t plan on meeting her.
the event is all flashing lights and clinking glasses. you’re posted up at the open bar, sipping on whisky, nodding politely to athletes you recognize from the nba, the wnba, even tennis. but none of them really spark your interest—until she walks in.
azzi fudd.
you've seen her on social media. uconn guard. sharp shooter. but in person, she’s something else. her hair is soft and curled at the ends, makeup subtle, dress hugging her in all the right ways. she carries herself like someone who knows her worth, but doesn’t need to flaunt it.
she spots you first. somehow.
“english?” she said, tilting her head with a smirk when she reached you.
you raised a brow, sipping your champagne. “that obvious?”
azzi laughed, and you swear the sound settled something in you.
“it’s the posture,” she teased. “and the accent. and the fact that you’ve been silently judging everyone’s outfits for the last ten minutes.”
“fair,” you said, chuckling. “you lot dress different over here.”
“and what, you dress better?” she asked, eyeing your crisp black suit, your open collar, the single chain at your neck.
you smirked. “you tell me.”
she laughs, eyes lighting up. “azzi.”
“y/n,” you say, offering your hand.
her grip is firm. confident.
“i've watched your highlights,” she says. “you make the pitch look like art.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you’ve been watchin’ football?”
“i’ve been watching you.”
that was the beginning.
the night drifted by like something out of a movie. you talked and laughed like old friends catching up after years apart. she asked about your training, your matches, what it’s like playing in front of screaming north london crowds. you asked about uconn, her rehab, what drives her to push even harder despite the setbacks.
“no one ever asks me about that,” she said at one point, her voice softer, almost vulnerable.
you leaned in. “well, they should. you’ve done somethin’ incredible.”
after about thirty minutes of talking—real talking—azzi glanced around the busy crowd, then looked back at you.
“you wanna get outta here?” she asked.
you raised a brow. “and go where?”
she shrugged, grinning. “somewhere quieter.”
you ended up outside—on the rooftop patio, behind a velvet rope that no one seemed to be guarding. the music from inside was muffled now, just a thump beneath the hush of the evening breeze.
city lights shimmered in the distance. stars peeked between clouds.
you stood side-by-side at the edge of the railing, her arms resting on the stone, yours beside hers.
“it’s loud in there,” she said.
“too loud,” you agreed.
silence stretched between you—but it wasn’t awkward. it was easy. comforting. natural.
“i don’t usually do this,” she said quietly.
“do what?”
“talk to strangers this long. especially at these things. i hate the attention.”
you nodded. “same.”
she looked at you. really looked. “you’re not what i expected.”
you turned slightly toward her. “what did you expect?”
she smiled. “something more... intense. more guarded.”
you grinned. “you’re not far off. i just like your energy.”
that made her blush. you noticed. and she noticed that you noticed.
“you’re smooth,” she said.
you shrugged. “only when it’s worth it.”
and it was. god, it was.
you talked for over an hour out there. about music. childhood memories. dream matches. the kind of goals that weren’t just on the scoreboard.
she told you her favorite movie. you made fun of it. she told you she’d beat you in one-on-one. you challenged her to prove it.
eventually, someone called her back in. some media thing. she looked at you like she didn’t want to go.
“so… this was nice,” she said, playing with the edge of her ring.
“it was more than nice,” you replied. “you wanna do it again sometime?”
her eyes met yours. “i do.”
you both reached for your phones at the same time, laughing. you swapped numbers. she leaned in, gave you a hug—warm, slow, lingering just enough to tell you she meant it.
“don’t be a stranger,” she whispered.
“don’t give me a reason to be,” you whispered back.
and then she was gone.
but your phone buzzed that same night.
azzi fudd:
u made that party 10x better lol. safe flight back. text me when u land? :)
you smiled.
and replied immediately.
your schedules are brutal. you’re back in london before the jet lag even clears, but she’s already waiting on facetime. she calls from her dorm room—head wrapped in a bonnet, hoodie too big, smile soft.
“hey, england,” she teases.
you’re in bed, shirtless, chain resting on your chest, tired from training but wide awake at the sight of her.
“hey, princess.”
you talk for an hour. then two. she plays you music she’s working out to. you show her your boots for the next match. she giggles when you call cleats “boots,” and you tease her for calling football “soccer.”
“you ever gonna come see what proper football looks like?” you ask one night.
she grins. “only if you come to a uconn game.”
“deal.”
you text daily. facetime every night. she sees you in the training room, laughing with teammates. you see her in the locker room, towel slung over her shoulder.
the connection isn’t just romantic—it’s real. she asks about your childhood. you ask about her faith. you start sharing things you haven’t told anyone. and somehow, even thousands of miles apart, she becomes your peace.
you start sending each other care packages. she sends you uconn merch. you send her your match-worn jersey with your name on the back.
one night, as you're lying in bed, watching her yawn on facetime, she says it first.
“i miss you.”
you bite your lip, feeling that warmth in your chest. “i miss you too, az.”
she flies out on her off-weekend.
you pick her up from heathrow yourself, hat low, hoodie up, trying to dodge paparazzi. she runs into your arms like you’ve known each other forever.
you show her london the way tourists never see it—quiet coffee shops in islington, rooftop views in shoreditch, a walk along the thames at midnight. she holds your hand when no one’s watching.
and then, match day.
you’re starting for arsenal. she's in your box seat, wearing your coat, scarf wrapped around her neck.
you score the winning goal. a screamer from outside the box. and when you run past the crowd, you point to her.
the cameras catch it. the internet loses its mind.
@/uclionesshq:
y/n scores an absolute rocket… and points straight at azzi fudd? is this a soft launch or am i delusional??
@/bballxfooty:
azzi fudd watching her girlfriend play for arsenal?? they’re so international it hurts. i’m sobbing.
@/woagzone:
the way azzi’s smiling from the stands... yeah, we lost.
you’re back in your flat. she’s curled up in your bed, wearing your hoodie, skin glowing in the soft lamp light.
“i’ve never felt this safe,” she whispers, tracing her fingers down your forearm.
you kiss her temple. “you’ve got me now.”
you fall asleep holding her. the kind of sleep where nothing aches. where the world can’t reach you.
you show up in connecticut in a long coat, hat low again, but your frame unmistakable. when azzi checks into the game, she looks into the crowd and beams.
you watch her dominate the court—draining threes, quick cuts, fearless. you’re standing before the buzzer even sounds.
@/espnw:
arsenal star y/n spotted court side for uconn vs. tennessee. came all the way from london for azzi fudd. love is real.
@/wosoqueens:
y/n clapping court side like a proud wife is my roman empire.
you’re tangled up in her sheets. she’s wearing just a tee. you’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist as she rests her head on your chest.
“you ever think about what this is?” she asks.
you kiss her knuckles. “i think about it all the time.”
“we’re making it work.”
“'course we are. that’s what happens when you’ve got somethin’ worth holdin’ onto.”
she pulls the blanket over both of you and whispers, “stay a little longer?”
you do.
the world doesn’t know what you are.
not really.
they know you’re something, though.
the glances during games. the posts that show two mugs on a counter instead of one. the matching trainers. the way azzi was spotted in london twice in a single month. and you? you’ve suddenly developed a love for women’s college basketball.
you two never said a word publicly. but the internet doesn’t need confirmation. it’s already in love with the story.
you’re doing press before arsenal’s champions league tie against lyon. you sit on the set in a tailored track jacket, crisp fade, diamond stud glinting under the lights. you’ve done a hundred interviews—but this one feels different. because you know what’s coming.
the interviewer smiles, flipping through her notes with a glint in her eye. “y/n, your form lately has been phenomenal. and off the pitch, you’ve got fans speculating about some… cross-sport romance?”
you smirk, sitting back in your chair.
she pushes, teasing. “you’ve been spotted at a few uconn games recently… and i think the world noticed you pointing to a certain basketball player after your last goal.”
you chuckle, shaking your head. “you lot pay more attention to who i’m lookin’ at than the goal itself, clearly.”
the interviewer grins. “so no confirmation? nothing to share with the romantics out there?”
you lift an eyebrow, grin subtle. “i’m focused on arsenal. and my game.”
a beat.
“but i will say… i’m very proud of certain people in my life right now.”
the clip goes viral within minutes.
azzi’s sitting in front of the press after dropping 27 points against south carolina. she’s radiant—sweat still glistening, hair pulled into a bun, eyes bright.
a reporter raises a hand. “azzi, we’ve seen some famous faces court side for your games lately—one in particular. arsenal’s y/n. are they just a fan of basketball, or…?”
azzi smiles, biting her lip.
“y/n is an incredible athlete. and… a great person to have around.”
the room chuckles.
“would you say they motivate you?”
azzi leans forward. “let’s just say… i like having people in my corner who understand what pressure feels like.”
she never confirms. never denies. but the way she smiles as she says it says everything.
you’re in bed, shirtless, chain glinting in the low light. azzi’s curled up on her dorm bed, hoodie swallowing her frame.
“why do i feel like we’re dating and doing pr at the same time?” she says through a laugh.
you grin. “you handled that well, love. straight outta the ‘don’t kiss and tell’ handbook.”
she mimics your accent terribly. “just proud of certain people in my life, innit?”
you laugh hard, chest shaking. “oi, don’t ever do that again.”
her smile softens. “i miss you.”
you close your eyes for a moment. “i know. me too.”
there’s silence, but it’s full. comforting.
“you coming out for the next match?” she asks.
you nod. “wouldn’t miss it.”
it starts small. a video of you cooking in a kitchen that isn’t yours—azzi’s laugh in the background.
her story the next day: you driving, hand on the gearshift, ring on your pinky catching the light.
you post a photo of two nike duffle bags side-by-side on a hotel floor.
she posts a mirror selfie. you’re blurry in the back, sitting on the bed, scrolling your phone.
comments flood in:
@/bballxwoso:
this is the softest soft launch in history. just say you’re in love already.
@/footyfangirl:
they’ve posted each other’s fingertips and i’m still screaming.
you’ve got a rare week off. you fly to see her and stay in a low-key airbnb outside hartford. no cameras. no noise. just the two of you.
she’s laying on your chest after a movie, eyes half-lidded. you’re playing with her curls.
“you ever get scared?” she asks quietly.
you hum. “of what?”
“this… getting bigger. people knowing. what it means if we go fully public.”
you nod. “yeah. but i’m not afraid of us. just the noise around us.”
she looks up at you, eyes soft. “i’m not hiding you. just protecting us.”
you lean down, kissing her forehead. “i get it. and when you’re ready… i’m right there.”
you fall asleep like that, hearts in sync.
@/wagculture:
azzi fudd just called y/n “someone in her corner” and now i’m crying in international couple.
@/ballinnboots:
they won’t confirm, but my serotonin confirms for them.
@/sportsnships:
this is like if christen press and tobin heath had a gen z reboot.
it’s late. you’re about to kick off in the champions league semis. she’s in her dorm, wearing your tee, facetime tilted just right.
“you got this,” she says, voice soft. “lock in. be brilliant.”
you smirk. “you’ll be watchin’, yeah?”
“always.”
you glance at the camera. “i love you, az.”
there’s a pause.
then her smile blooms. “i love you too, y/n.”
2026 creeps in with quiet ambition.
your days are full of football and facetimes. her nights are full of training and pressure, the wnba draft looming like a bright star on the horizon.
you’ve both gotten better at handling the distance—but the ache never goes away. every goodbye feels a little heavier. every hug at the airport feels like it's not long enough.
but you’re still hers. and she’s still yours.
new york is buzzing. cameras flash. reporters in sleek suits swarm the red carpet. inside the draft venue, azzi sits front and center, dressed in an all-white suit that hugs her like it was tailored by angels. calm on the surface. electric underneath.
you’re there too, seated a few rows back, behind her agent and team. dressed lowkey—black turtleneck, silver chain, dark coat. watching.
not to be seen. just to be near her. just to witness her moment.
when the commissioner steps up to the podium and says her name—
“with the first pick in the 2026 wnba draft, the los angeles sparks select… azzi fudd, university of connecticut.”
—it feels like your chest might crack open with pride.
the crowd erupts. cameras zoom in as she stands, dimpled smile lighting up the world. she hugs her mom, her teammates, her coaches—and just before she walks onto the stage, her eyes flick toward you.
she doesn’t say anything. just meets your gaze and gives you the tiniest, most intentional nod.
you nod back. hand on your heart.
that’s my girl.
later, after the chaos has died down and the press is over, you’re both back at the hotel. she’s taken off her heels, sitting in your lap on the balcony of the suite, city lights flickering below.
she’s still glowing. you’ve got your arms wrapped around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.
"you looked like a goddess up there," you whisper.
she smiles, hands covering yours. "i kept thinking, ‘y/n’s watching.’ that kept me grounded."
you kiss the side of her neck. "you earned all of it. and then some."
she leans her head back against your shoulder, quiet for a beat. “i want you with me. in la. i know we’ve never said that out loud, but… i want you here.”
you hold her tighter.
“i know,” you say softly. “i want that too.”
you knew it was coming. you’ve known for a while.
but when the press release drops, the football world still spins on its axis.
"y/n to leave arsenal after eight seasons, signs with angel city fc in los angeles"
the post goes up on all platforms—black and red graphic with your profile, a quote from you in bold text: “sometimes, even home changes shape. i’m ready for a new chapter.”
you didn’t mention azzi.
you didn’t need to.
@/arsenalwosofans:
y/n leaving arsenal? my world just shattered in four languages.
@/uswntdaily:
y/n to angel city??? she’s really going to be in the same city as azzi. i’m eating this power couple up.
@/footygirlunited:
they won’t say a word and yet i’m crying like they just proposed on live tv.
@/bballxfootycore:
the way azzi went #1 to la… and a few months later y/n signs with angel city… do you believe in fate or do you believe in fudd x y/n?
you move into a place just outside downtown. a three-bedroom loft, all hardwood floors and open windows. azzi’s duffel is already by the door when you arrive.
she walks in, tank top and sweats, smile soft. “welcome home.”
you drop your bag and walk to her, arms sliding around her waist.
“i missed you,” you murmur into her neck.
she exhales, relief flooding her. “missed you more.”
you rest your forehead against hers.
“now i can be there for all of it,” you say. “your first game. your rookie season. your bad days. your best ones.”
she blinks slowly. “we’re really doing this.”
“we’ve been doing it.”
“but now we don’t have to leave.”
you kiss her—slow, deep, and full of promise. “not for a while, love.”
it’s late summer in l.a.
you play first—angel city vs. portland thorns. you assist a goal and nearly score one yourself. the crowd roars when azzi’s spotted in the stands, rocking your kit, hair in a bun, proudly clapping.
later that night, the roles reverse. you’re court side at crypto.com arena as the sparks face the liberty. she hits the game-winning three.
she points to you as she runs back on defense.
and you? you’re already standing, arms in the air, grin splitting your face.
and twitter? still losing it.
@/angelcityhq:
y/n dropping dimes in the afternoon and cheering on her girl court side at night… this is the crossover episode we deserved.
@/wosoxwnba:
power couple. first pick. big leagues. big love. big dreams.
you’d forgotten what it was like to not wake up next to her every morning.
no countdown to goodbye. no long-haul flights. no screen between you and her smile.
just sunlight pouring into the la loft and azzi, bare-faced and warm in your hoodie, mumbling something about coffee as she wraps her arms around your waist.
you’d give up the world to freeze this version of life.
you settle into a rhythm faster than expected. you train at angel city’s complex, she trains with the sparks. you both come home exhausted most days, but there's a new kind of peace in the tiredness—because it leads back to each other.
you take turns cooking. she sings in the kitchen sometimes, off-key but confident, while you season everything with a heavy hand and a smirk.
“why do you act like paprika is personality?” she teases, resting against the counter.
“and why do you act like boiled broccoli is gourmet?” you shoot back.
she throws a dishtowel at you. you catch it midair. she rolls her eyes and kisses you anyway.
you walk hand-in-hand through downtown when no one’s really paying attention—hoodies up, fingers intertwined. you sit together in low-lit corners of cafés, her leg pressed against yours beneath the table. it’s not hiding. it’s guarding.
but the city isn’t blind.
photos surface. grainy shots of the two of you laughing in line at trader joe’s. a blurry picture of you with your hand at the small of her back, guiding her through a crowd. a fan tiktok captures azzi running into your arms outside the sparks’ practice facility, her voice saying “baby” clear as day.
at a post-game interview, a reporter tries to slide it in, casual.
“you’ve been looking more settled off the court lately, azzi. happy. is there someone special we should know about?”
azzi just smiles, grabs her water bottle, and says, “i’m focused on basketball. but i’ve got good people around me.”
at an angel city press day, you’re cornered too.
“you’ve been in la for a few months now—fans have noticed you’ve been spending time with a certain sparks rookie. can we expect a power couple debut anytime soon?”
you chuckle, cool as ever.
“i think people should focus more on the way she plays than who she’s with. girl’s a star. let her shine.”
no confirmations. no denials.
just fire. just finesse.
@/wnbaxwoso:
they’re so good at dodging questions it’s actually elite. ballers and pr-trained? iconic.
@/laduo_daily:
they really said “mind your business but also yes we’re in love” and i respect it.
@/cuffingseason:
the way azzi fudd lights up when she’s asked about y/n? i’m writing my vows now.
she’s fresh out the shower, hair damp, wearing just one of your oversized tees. you’re on the couch in grey sweats, watching highlights with the sound low.
azzi crawls into your lap, legs tucked on either side of you. her skin is warm. she smells like vanilla and citrus.
“you okay?” she asks, fingers resting lightly on your chest.
you nod. “just thinking.”
“about?”
you hesitate, then sigh. “feels like we’re on the edge of something. like… people are starting to really see us.”
she leans her forehead against yours. “and?”
“and i don’t want it to ruin this.”
“it won’t,” she whispers. “they can look all they want. what we have? they don’t get to touch it.”
you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her closer.
“you’re everything,” you murmur into her skin.
you start walking her into the tunnel before every sparks game now. you don’t even try to be discreet anymore. you stand behind the barrier while she warms up, nodding to her when she looks your way.
she always does.
before your own matches, she’s there too. in black sunglasses, fitted angel city gear, and your kit number in a chain around her neck.
fans notice. fans scream.
@/angelcityhearts:
azzi waiting in the tunnel for y/n after the game? she’s giving supportive wife energy.
@/sparksxacfc:
this isn’t just a crossover. this is an era.
@/wnbaxnwsl:
they keep acting like they’re not the hottest couple in la. sweethearts, you are.
it’s quiet on the roof of your building. you’ve got a blanket over your shoulders, azzi between your legs, her back against your chest.
below, the lights of la shimmer. but you’re not looking at the city. you’re looking at her.
"you ever think about forever?" she asks suddenly.
you tilt your head, cheek against her curls. "yeah. with you? all the time."
she smiles, closing her eyes, fingers laced with yours.
neither of you says anything else.
because sometimes, love doesn’t need explaining.
it just needs space to breathe.
and in la—together—you’ve finally got it.
los angeles had changed everything.
what used to feel like distance now feels like grounding. you wake up next to her. you fall asleep with your hand resting lightly on her hip. the city buzzes around you, but all you care about is her voice in the morning and her laugh in your kitchen.
you never wanted the fame. you wanted football. but somehow, the world kept looking.
the pitch is clean. nike wants a joint campaign. you, the english footballing phenom. her, the wnba’s brightest new star. both in la. both on the rise.
“power. precision. partnership.”
that’s the tagline.
they film the campaign over two weeks—split screens of you in angel city black and pink, her in sparks gold and purple. shots of you sprinting down the wing. her launching a perfect three. your silhouettes passing in the tunnel. a final moment where you stand shoulder to shoulder, backs turned, “fudd” and “y/l/n” side by side on your jerseys.
the internet loses it.
@/nikewomen:
two sports. two cities. one force.
[#dualforce | coming soon]
@/sapphicsports:
why is this the sexiest campaign in sports history? they didn’t even touch hands and i screamed.
@/ballerbaesunited:
i saw a full second of eye contact in that trailer and now i believe in love again.
still, neither of you confirm anything. just coy smiles in interviews and “we respect each other’s game.”
but something is shifting.
you're tired of loving her in the shadows.
you rent a house away from the city for a weekend. just the two of you. no cameras. no fans. just ocean, pine trees, and silence. she’s been working nonstop, and you’ve watched her shoulders sink lower every time she checks her phone.
on the second night, you cook dinner. nothing fancy—grilled salmon, her favorite roasted potatoes, wine on the deck. she’s wearing your hoodie and her curls are loose and wild in the sea breeze.
you give her the ring after dessert.
no kneeling. no speeches.
you reach into your pocket, pull out the box, and slide it in front of her while she’s mid-laugh.
she freezes. looks at you. then the ring.
“y/n…”
“i want forever with you,” you say quietly. “i don’t care if the world knows. i just want you to know.”
she opens the box with trembling fingers. the diamond isn’t flashy—but it’s clean, clear, timeless.
tears rise in her eyes.
“yes,” she whispers. “yes, yes, yes.”
you pull her into your arms, holding her like you’ll never let go.
you don’t plan to.
back inside, rain begins tapping against the windows.
you lead her to the bedroom with your hand gently cradling her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. she’s still a little breathless, eyes wide and glistening. you kiss her like she’s sacred—like you’re thanking the universe for giving her to you.
clothes fall away in the quiet.
your hands are reverent, movements slow. her name leaves your lips like a prayer, whispered against her neck, her shoulder, her chest. you don’t rush. you trace every inch of her skin like it’s poetry you’ve waited your whole life to read.
she holds your face while you move over her, guiding your rhythm with soft touches and sighs. you kiss her fingers—especially the one with the ring. her hips rise to meet you, and when she comes undone, it’s with her head buried against your throat and your name on her lips like gospel.
after, you lie tangled in the sheets, heartbeats steady, her leg draped over your waist. she looks at the ring again, smiling so hard it hurts.
“this is ours,” she whispers.
you nod, eyes half-closed. “always.”
the invite arrives on crisp ivory card stock. your name printed in gold: y/n y/l/n – nominee, ballon d’or féminin.
you’ve dreamt about this moment since you were a kid in england, dribbling a ball on concrete playgrounds. and yet all you can think about is who you want by your side.
you ask azzi to come.
she says yes immediately.
it’s the first public event you attend together as a pair. no hiding. you walk the carpet first—tailored black suit, clean line fade, quiet confidence. cameras flash. reporters call your name.
then azzi steps out beside you.
she’s in a sleek black gown, hair slicked into a bun, the engagement ring tucked behind subtle waves. she’s radiant. and standing so close to you that it’s impossible not to notice.
reporters pounce.
“azzi, are you two…?”
you grin, arm around her waist. “we’re here to celebrate football tonight.”
a red carpet interviewer smiles slyly. “just football?”
azzi chuckles. “just greatness.”
they laugh. you both redirect. nothing confirmed. nothing denied. but the way you look at each other in between flashbulbs says more than words ever could.
“and the 2026 ballon d’or féminin goes to…”
a pause. a drumroll.
“…y/n y/l/n.”
the applause is thunderous. you rise slowly, heart thudding against your ribs. azzi grabs your hand as you pass, squeezing once, her eyes gleaming.
you take the stage, accepting the golden ball with both hands, blinking into the lights.
“thank you,” you say. “to my clubs. my country. my teammates. and to someone watching tonight… who’s shown me that love doesn’t weaken focus—it sharpens it.”
you glance toward azzi. she beams, eyes glassy.
a photo circulates from inside the ceremony—azzi cheering, hands raised, the ring catching the light on her finger.
@/femmesoffooty:
that’s a ring. that’s an engagement ring. you can’t lie to me anymore.
@/gaysinsport:
y/n just won the ballon d’or and she’s engaged to the love of her life. is this tomdaya all over again?
@/sportslesbians:
azzi in that black dress with a diamond on her finger and y/n winning the biggest award in football. it’s their world. we’re just sobbing in it.
you toss your blazer on the couch, loosen your collar. azzi sits on the bed, scrolling through her phone with a half-smile.
“think they noticed?” she asks, showing you the zoomed-in ring tweet.
you laugh, walking over. “let ‘em.”
she looks up at you, pride and softness in her eyes. “you’re the best player in the world.”
you lean down, hands on either side of her face. “only thing i care about is being yours.”
she pulls you down into her arms.
the world is watching now.
and for the first time… you’re letting it.
you never thought you’d get excited about countertops.
but here you are—azzi by your side, hand in yours, arguing about quartz versus marble with an interior designer who is both frightened and fascinated by how seriously you take backsplash color schemes.
you’re standing in the middle of an empty living room, all high ceilings and sunlight and possibility, and she’s looking at the space like it already belongs to her.
to you both.
you squeeze her hand. she grins. “feels real now, huh?”
you nod. “yeah. real—and forever.”
you buy it just outside west hollywood. a spanish-style bungalow with arched doorways, a tiled patio, a garden in the back where azzi swears she’ll grow tomatoes but forgets to water succulents. you spend weekends building furniture, painting walls, and arguing over where the couch should go.
(it ends up in the exact spot she picked. you don't mind.)
one afternoon, you catch her slow-dancing to no music in the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon like a mic. you lean against the doorframe and watch her with a smile tugging at your mouth.
this is what peace looks like.
this is what love feels like.
the engagement is private. the wedding won’t be.
you both know the headlines are coming. wnba star and ballon d’or winner to tie the knot. you don’t care. not anymore.
you sit at the dining table one night, laptops open, pinterest boards synced, and a bottle of wine between you. she wants an outdoor wedding. you want something small, intimate. you settle on a coastal venue north of malibu—cliffside views, lots of open air, and the sea close enough to hear.
guest list? selective.
just friends. family. teammates. the people who know you, not just your stats.
you make the playlist yourselves—slow r&b, golden-era soul, a few old-school uk garage tracks that make her roll her eyes and laugh when you dance around the room like a fool.
you add “adorn” by miguel and “like i’m gonna lose you” by meghan trainor to the slow dance list. she adds “golden hour” and your eyes almost well up.
“why that one?” you ask softly.
she looks at you, eyes shining. “because that’s what being with you feels like.”
the night of the housewarming party, your home is filled with laughter, music, and the smell of grilled chicken and baked mac and cheese.
angel city teammates show up first, bringing ridiculous gifts—like a neon sign that says “goal diggers” and a framed picture of you mid-slide tackle with “our king” scribbled across it in gold marker.
then the sparks players roll in, loud and rowdy, and immediately start challenging your friends to beer pong in the backyard.
paige bueckers and nika mühl arrive with azzi’s old uconn friends. you’d met them once before, but this time they act like old family. paige throws her arms around you like a sister. caitlin hands you a bottle of wine and says, “if you ever hurt her, i’ll ruin your credit score.”
you laugh. “noted.”
your family had flown in the night before—your mum already tried to rearrange your spice rack, your dad had teared up walking through the garden.
azzi’s parents arrive last. her mom brings a massive casserole dish and her dad immediately grills you about wedding logistics.
“beach weddings get windy,” he warns, sipping lemonade. “i hope your suits are tailored tight.”
azzi rolls her eyes. “dad.”
you just smile and say, “they’re perfect.”
midway through the evening, you find her in the kitchen, crouched on the floor with a plate of cake and a fork in her hand.
she looks up at you, cheeks full.
you laugh. “you hiding?”
“they keep asking about the wedding,” she mumbles.
“mine keep asking when we’re having kids,” you say, crouching beside her.
she snorts. “they don’t waste time, do they?”
you brush a crumb off her lip. “we could run away.”
she hums. “we already did. just in a very well-furnished house.”
you kiss her softly, slow, ignoring the distant sounds of music and shouting and someone—probably paige—trying to start karaoke.
“i like this life,” she whispers.
“i like it with you.”
you collapse on the couch together, lights low, dishes half-washed. she’s in one of your tees again, hair up in a messy bun, bare feet resting in your lap.
you play with her fingers, gently spinning the ring on her hand.
“so this is it,” she says, half-asleep. “i’m excited for forever.”
you nod. “and it only gets better.”
she yawns, then turns into you, her body melting into your side.
and as you hold her in the quiet aftermath of celebration, in the home you built together, you realize something simple and beautiful:
this isn’t the beginning of the end of your story.
it’s the beginning of the best part.
the day of the wedding begins slow.
the world outside is still wrapped in fog, but inside the coastal venue, sunlight begins to filter through glass windows and soft white curtains. you wake up in separate rooms—old school tradition, azzi’s idea—and yet your first instinct is still to reach for her.
you resist. barely.
your suit is classic—clean black, tailored within an inch of its life. your cufflinks are a gift from her. “always yours,” engraved in tiny script.
the ceremony is outside. white flowers, pale green vines, and a view of the cliffs that seems to go on forever. every seat is filled with someone who’s shaped your story. your mum dabs at her eyes. azzi’s grandmother clutches a handkerchief like it’s holy. teammates whisper excitedly.
then she walks down the aisle.
you forget how to breathe.
she’s in a custom off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her body and moves like water. her hair is pinned back with soft curls brushing her cheeks. she meets your eyes and smiles—and in that moment, nothing else exists.
your hand shakes slightly when you reach for hers.
she grips it tight.
after the ceremony, you sneak away. just the two of you. up on the cliff, overlooking the sea.
no audience. no pressure. just love.
you sit together on a low stone wall, legs touching, holding hands.
“i wanted to say this without the world listening,” you begin, voice low. “because some things are too sacred for microphones.”
she nods, eyes already shimmering.
you breathe.
“i’ve spent most of my life being strong. stoic. people expect it. but with you, i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s trust. and i trust you with every part of me. the loud ones. the quiet ones. the ones i still don’t understand. i choose you—every day, in every way.”
she blinks, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
her voice is soft when she speaks.
“i used to wonder if someone like you could ever love someone like me. i never had the answers. but you didn’t give me answers—you gave me home. you gave me safety, joy, laughter i didn’t know i needed. i love you, y/n. all of you. and i’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”
you kiss her like it’s your first and last time.
the wind dances around you.
you fly out two days later, in island villa over crystal blue water. just enough distance from the world to make it feel like paradise.
your days are sun-soaked. mornings with lazy breakfasts, late afternoon swims, dinners barefoot in the sand. azzi wears oversized sunglasses and your shirts as cover-ups. she’s never looked more at peace.
but the nights? the nights belong to you.
you take your time.
that first night, she’s in black lace, skin glowing from sun and champagne. you press her against the glass doors of the villa, the moonlight catching on her ring.
“i married the most beautiful woman in the world,” you whisper, lips trailing down her throat.
she moans. “prove it.”
her back hits the bed with a soft thud, legs parting on instinct as you crawl between them. azzi looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, lips already parted, chest rising and falling with anticipation. she’s already breathless, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.
your hands trail slowly down her sides, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt before pulling it over her head, revealing smooth skin and toned curves you’ve craved all day. she bites her lip when you lean in, mouth ghosting over her collarbone, not quite kissing—just letting your breath skim her skin until she shivers.
you smirk. “so needy already.”
azzi nods, flushed and eager. “please…”
you take your time stripping her, peeling off her shorts, then her underwear, slow and deliberate. she lifts her hips to help you, her thighs already twitching as your fingers graze the inside of them. you press a kiss just above her mound, and her fingers instantly knot into the sheets.
one long lick. that’s all it takes to have her gasping, her hips jolting up into your mouth.
you don’t let her set the pace.
your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you flatten your tongue against her, dragging it in slow circles that have her moaning your name like a prayer. every time her hips buck, you press her down harder, forcing her to take it your way. her taste is addicting, sweet and slick, and every whimper she lets out just drives you deeper.
you swirl your tongue over her clit, then suck it between your lips until she cries out, legs trembling. she’s already close—you can feel it in the way her body tenses, the way her breathing stutters. but you don’t let her go over the edge just yet.
you pull back, fingers replacing your mouth. you slip one inside her, then two—tight, warm, soaking. she clenches around you hard, her hips grinding into your hand as you curl your fingers just right, stroking the spot that makes her eyes roll back.
“more,” she begs, barely able to speak.
you grin. “i’ve got you, baby.”
you reach for the strap, already harnessed and slick with anticipation. you tease her with it first, dragging the head through her folds, making her squirm and whine. then you press in, slow at first, inch by inch until she’s full, until her nails dig into your shoulders and her head drops back, jaw slack.
you set a rhythm that’s all dominance—deep, steady thrusts that leave her a moaning mess beneath you. her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you in harder, and you give her everything she wants. the sound of skin slapping, her desperate gasps, the creak of the bed—it’s all fuel.
you reach down to rub her clit again, syncing your thrusts with the motion of your fingers, and she’s gone—screaming your name as she cums hard around you, shaking and breathless.
but you don’t stop. not until her body’s limp and her voice is hoarse from moaning. not until she’s completely wrecked, ruined by your touch, your control.
and when you finally collapse beside her, she curls into you, lips brushing your shoulder, still trembling.
“god,” she whispers, “you’re gonna kill me one day.”
you just smirk, wrapping your arm around her. “only if you’re lucky.”
her breath is still shaky, skin flushed and damp as she tries to recover, her thighs trembling from the aftershocks. you don’t give her long. you slide your hand slowly up her stomach, fingers trailing lazy circles just under her breasts, watching her twitch under your touch.
“already done?” you murmur, voice low and taunting as your fingers skim back down to her inner thigh. “didn’t think you’d give out this fast.”
azzi’s eyes flutter open, dazed but defiant. “i’m not… done.”
you raise an eyebrow, pleased. “good girl.”
you kiss her—slow, deep, possessive. she moans into your mouth, her body already arching toward you like she’s begging for more. you don’t make her wait this time. one hand slides between her legs again, fingers slipping through the wet heat you left behind. still so sensitive—her whole body jerks when you touch her, but she doesn’t stop you. she spreads wider.
“such a mess for me,” you murmur against her throat, biting gently at the skin just beneath her ear.
she gasps when you push back in with your fingers—this time three—and her nails claw at your back as you set a slow, torturous pace. you feel every twitch, every squeeze, as you curl your fingers deep and press your palm right against her clit, keeping that pressure steady.
“f-fuck—” she pants, legs kicking a little.
you glance down, watching your fingers disappear into her over and over, her slick coating your skin. she’s dripping, her body reacting like you never stopped touching her. you lean in, lips brushing hers.
“you’re gonna take more.”
she nods before the words are even fully out of your mouth. you pull your fingers out with a wet sound and stroke them against her entrance once more before grabbing the base of the strap again. she barely gets a second to breathe before you're inside her again—deeper this time, rougher.
the rhythm is fast and hard, her body bouncing with every thrust. her legs are spread wide and trembling, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room. she’s completely undone—moaning nonstop, voice cracking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the intensity.
you lean over her, one hand gripping her throat—not squeezing, just holding. just letting her feel your control. her eyes roll back when you start rubbing her clit again in quick circles, all while the strap pounds into her harder, deeper.
“i—fuck—i’m gonna—”
“again,” you growl, keeping the pressure on. “give it to me again.”
her back arches and she screams your name, body going rigid before falling apart in your arms. her whole body spasms through the second orgasm, her nails digging into your shoulders like she’s holding onto reality.
you don’t stop until her legs are shaking uncontrollably, until her whimpers fade into soft, overstimulated cries and her hands are pushing weakly at your chest.
then you slow. you pull out carefully, gently. she’s wrecked—flushed and soaked and twitching. you kiss her cheek, her shoulder, her chest, letting her breathe again.
azzi looks at you through heavy lashes, her voice hoarse. “you’re insane.”
you laugh softly, pulling her close. “you love it.”
she doesn’t even try to deny it. she just nods, curling into your chest, her fingers weakly gripping your side like she never wants to let go.
she’s sprawled out, thighs parted, skin slick with sweat and arousal, chest rising and falling like she just ran a marathon. her cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-swollen and slightly parted. you hover over her, watching her body twitch with aftershocks, your hand tracing lazy circles over her belly as her breath stutters beneath your touch.
“you done?” you whisper, voice low and teasing.
azzi shakes her head slowly, even though her legs are still trembling. “no… i want more.”
you grin, dark and hungry. “that’s my good girl.”
you don’t waste time. your fingers return to her swollen, dripping cunt—slicker than before, throbbing, oversensitive. the second you brush over her clit, she whines—high-pitched, desperate—but doesn’t pull away. she arches into you, aching for it.
“look at you,” you murmur, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs. “this pussy’s soaked. so needy. still not satisfied?”
“n-no,” she stutters, face contorting as you press down on her clit with your thumb, making her hips jerk. “please—please, fuck me again.”
you grip her thighs and flip her effortlessly onto her stomach. her ass is round, flushed, begging for attention. you give it a sharp slap and she moans into the mattress, pushing back against you.
“goddamn,” you mutter, palming her ass as you guide the strap back to her soaked entrance. “you’re unreal.”
you slide it in again, deeper this time—different angle, fuller. her moan rips out of her like it’s been building, her hands fisting in the sheets as you bottom out inside her.
you don’t give her time to adjust. you set a brutal rhythm right from the start, snapping your hips forward, the sound of skin-on-skin bouncing off the walls. she’s a mess—drooling into the sheets, crying out with every thrust.
your hand comes down hard on her ass again, then you lean over her, your chest pressing against her slick back, lips brushing her ear. “say my name.”
she gasps, voice breaking. “y/n.”
“louder.”
“y/n! fuck—don’t stop!”
you reach around her body, fingers back on her clit, and she loses it. her body spasms, legs shaking, her moans growing louder, messier. you don’t ease up. you keep fucking into her hard, fucking through her orgasm as she thrashes beneath you, completely undone.
you pull her up by the hair, just enough to whisper against her mouth. “one more.”
she whimpers, nodding furiously. “yes—yes—please—do it.”
you shift again, pulling her into your lap as you sit back on your knees, keeping the strap deep inside her. you grip her hips and bounce her on it, hard and deep, her body limp and pliant in your arms. she’s so far gone—crying, moaning, begging—nothing left but want.
her head falls back on your shoulder as she grinds down, desperate to feel every inch of you.
“good girl,” you whisper, biting at her neck. “cum on my cock again. let me ruin you.”
and she does—again.
harder than before, louder than before. screaming your name, body convulsing, hips jerking erratically. her whole body tenses in your arms, then collapses completely. she falls forward, chest to the bed, shaking and soaked.
you pull out slowly, letting the strap fall against your thigh, then gently turn her over. she’s flushed, sweaty, lips parted, legs still twitching.
totally. fucking. wrecked.
you lean in and kiss her slow, soft, like a contrast to everything you just did.
she breathes against your lips, voice barely there. “i can’t move.”
you grin, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “that was the point.”
you run your fingers down the inside of her thigh, watching her flinch at even the lightest touch. her pussy’s red, used, still leaking from the last orgasm—and you’re not done watching it tremble for you.
her eyes flutter open just enough to look at you, dazed, soaked in sweat, lips swollen from moaning your name for what must be the hundredth time.
“color?” you ask, hand paused right above her inner thigh, even though you already know the answer.
she nods, voice rough. “green.”
“good.”
you kiss her neck, soft and slow—contrast to the way your fingers dip back between her legs. she gasps, the sensitivity making her jolt, but she spreads her thighs again anyway. you hum in approval.
“still so good for me,” you whisper, sucking a fresh mark into her collarbone as your fingers circle her clit again—barely any pressure, just enough to make her body twitch. “still letting me have this sweet pussy.”
she lets out a shaky moan, back arching off the bed.
you press two fingers inside her—tight, so tight, even after taking you over and over. she clenches like her body’s not sure it can handle more, but her hips move, desperate for more depth. you give it to her slow this time—just your fingers first, curling deep, scissoring gently, dragging the swollen heat from her all over again.
“sensitive?” you ask against her ear, licking the shell of it.
she nods, but her legs still try to wrap around your waist. “i don’t care.”
you pull your fingers out, slow and wet, then suck them clean while she watches. her breath catches in her throat.
then you reach for the strap again.
this time, you flip her onto her side, spooning up behind her, sliding the tip between her folds. she whines, body shivering from head to toe as you tease her entrance.
you push in slowly. every inch dragging against oversensitive walls. her mouth drops open, no sound even coming out this time.
“shhh,” you murmur into her ear, hand sliding up to her chest, gripping a breast while your hips start moving. “you can take it. you were made for this.”
your thrusts are deep and angled perfectly. one leg slung over yours, her ass pressed right up against you. you slide your arm under her neck, cradling her as you fuck into her slow and punishing.
your hand drops between her thighs again, rubbing slow circles around her clit in sync with every thrust.
she starts crying.
not from pain. from being absolutely, thoroughly destroyed.
“please,” she sobs. “please, i can’t—”
“yes, you can,” you growl, thrusting harder now. “you’re gonna cum again for me. you’re gonna soak my cock like the filthy little slut you are.”
her whole body shakes.
you bite her shoulder as your pace builds, the slap of your hips against her ass getting louder, faster. her pussy tightens around the strap, and you feel it—she’s right there again. her cries grow high and choked, her legs spasming uncontrollably.
then she screams.
you hold her tight as she convulses in your arms, another orgasm ripping through her so violently she nearly pushes you out. but you hold her there. deep. still. letting her shake around you, her nails digging into your arm, tears wetting the pillow.
and finally—finally—you slow. you gently pull out, her body twitching at the loss, her legs unable to close.
you shift her onto her back, brushing the hair from her face. her eyes are barely open, lips trembling. she looks absolutely ruined. blissed-out. used in the best way.
she tries to speak, but all that comes out is a broken, “f-fuck…”
you kiss her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose.
“you’re perfect,” you whisper, stroking her stomach softly now, letting her finally come down. “all mine.”
she nods weakly, voice barely audible. “yours…”
the first thing you notice is the sunlight creeping across the sheets.
the second is azzi, curled into your chest, naked, her leg thrown lazily over your waist. her skin’s warm against yours, her cheek soft where it rests on your shoulder. you let your fingers trace lazy shapes into her hip, brushing over the faint red marks you left there the night before.
she stirs a little when you shift, letting out a soft, sleepy whine that turns into a broken, “mmm… don’t move.”
you smile. “didn’t think you had energy to complain.”
azzi groans, burying her face against your neck. “i don’t. everything hurts.”
your hand slides lower, brushing over the curve of her thigh. she tenses when your fingers graze the inside of it—still sore, still so used.
“you okay?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
she nods, but her voice is hoarse. “i’m wrecked. my legs feel like they don’t work.”
“mm. wonder why that is,” you murmur, dragging your knuckles slowly along the inside of her thigh, right up to where she’s still slightly sticky between her legs.
she flinches. “y/n…”
“sensitive?”
“you’re evil.”
you chuckle, kissing her cheek as she squirms in your arms, trying to pull the sheet up higher to hide her face. but you don’t let her go. you roll her gently onto her back, sliding your leg between hers and leaning over her. she’s all flushed again, body remembering everything you did to her last night with every shift of her hips.
your hand glides down her stomach, and she catches your wrist—not stopping you, just holding you there.
“i can still feel it,” she whispers, not meeting your eyes. “you. inside me. i swear it’s still there.”
you hum, low and satisfied, kissing just beneath her jaw. “it should be.”
her breath hitches when your fingers drift lower, teasing again—just light pressure, not even pushing in. her whole body tenses.
“god, i’m so sore,” she mumbles, but her legs part anyway, muscles trembling.
you glance down at her—messy hair, love bites scattered across her chest and neck, thighs still flushed and twitching. she looks perfect.
“you want more?”
she bites her lip. “i want… a shower. and breakfast. and maybe… later.”
you grin and kiss her softly. “later, huh?”
she arches an eyebrow at you with a sleepy smirk. “maybe.”
you pull her into your chest again, hand still resting low on her hip, your fingers casually stroking the curve of her ass.
“we’re not leaving this bed for a while,” you say, voice low in her ear. “you’re not even ready to stand up.”
azzi groans, burying her face in your neck again. “don’t remind me. you broke me.”
you hum, satisfied, brushing your lips against her temple. “damn right i did.”
coming home feels… different now.
not because anything’s changed about the house—your keys still stick a little in the lock, the laundry’s still piled in the guest room, and the kitchen smells faintly of that candle azzi always lights when she bakes—but because you’re different.
married. still freshly sun-kissed from spending the days under the golden light. still catching yourself staring at her ring when she gestures in conversation.
still in awe.
azzi steps into the house first, barefoot, suitcase dragging behind her. she turns to look at you over her shoulder, eyes soft, mouth tilted into that half-smile you fell for.
“we’re home,” she says quietly.
you shut the door behind you and drop your bag. “we are.”
the first few days back are quiet. peaceful.
you wake up late, tangled in sheets and her limbs. you make coffee slowly, watching her dance around the kitchen in one of your oversized training shirts. you water the plants you forgot to set timers for before leaving. you rest.
there are no press tours. no practices yet. no calls you can’t ignore.
just her. just you.
one afternoon, you both sit on the living room floor with wedding photos spread out across the rug.
azzi’s in your lap, her head on your shoulder, scrolling through the digitals on your laptop. you hold one of the polaroids in your hand—one her grandmother snapped at the ceremony. the one where you’re looking at azzi like she’s the sun.
“i still can’t believe we did it,” she murmurs.
you glance down at her. “married or survived your mom’s guest list?”
she snorts, nudging your side. “both.”
you kiss her temple. “best decision i’ve ever made.”
she tilts her head up to kiss you, slow and full of quiet joy. the kind that lingers.
training resumes.
you return to the pitch with angel city, sharper than ever. the staff welcomes you with soft smiles and cheeky grins—everyone saw the ring. no one says a word. respect.
azzi’s season is winding down, playoffs approaching, but she still shows up to your practices with smoothies and baby carrots and that proud look she always wears when watching you play.
you find each other in between the chaos.
late-night facetime calls when she’s traveling. her falling asleep on your chest after your matches. cooking together in silence. folding laundry with music playing. sunday mornings spent reading on the patio, legs tangled under the same blanket.
everything feels like a shared rhythm now.
even your space.
you were already living together technically. but this?
this is your first time in your shared home as wives.
there’s a slow reverence to everything now—unspoken meaning behind the little things. when you rearrange the mugs, when she organizes the books by color. when you hang framed wedding photos in the hallway. when you both look at the guest room and wonder if maybe, soon, it’ll be something more.
one night, you’re curled on the couch, both in sweats, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching a documentary neither of you are really paying attention to. azzi’s head is on your chest.
“you know,” she says softly, “i never thought i’d have this.”
“this?” you ask.
she looks up at you. “this love. this life. a home. a future.”
you press a kiss to her forehead. “i didn’t either. but now i can’t imagine anything else.”
your home is louder now.
years has passed.
tiny feet run through hallways. giggles echo off walls. cartoons hum faintly from the living room.
you and azzi are moms to two beautiful children—your daughter, ava, and your son, zion. ava has azzi’s big eyes and your strong jaw. zion has your dimples and her curls.
your lives have changed—but the love? that’s only grown.
you still wake before sunrise for training. azzi still shoots hoops in the driveway with zion on her hip. ava already kicks a football around with frightening precision.
the world still watches. but you’ve built something untouchable.
until now, you’ve never confirmed your relationship publicly.
no statements. no interviews. just love in private.
[first photo]: you and azzi on your wedding day, foreheads pressed together, tears in your eyes.
[second]: a quiet beach shot from your honeymoon—her laughing in your arms.
[third]: you two in your home, ava between you, zion on your hip, the sun pouring through the windows.
[fourth]: ava in an angel city kit and zion in a sparks jersey, both wearing custom “#1 mom” caps.
[last slide]: your hands, fingers intertwined. her ring shining. yours next to it.
@/sportsqueens:
azzi fudd and y/n have kids. kids!!! i didn’t even know they were dating and now i’m crying over a family i didn’t know i needed.
@/lesbianhoopsfc:
we’ve been shipping them since that nike campaign and now they have two babies and a house and rings? i’m emotionally wrecked.
@/ballonbabes:
when y/n said “forever team” i actually ascended.
@/wnbaxnwslfamily:
this is what sports power couples should look like. loyalty. legacy. love.
you read the comments with azzi curled against your side, zion asleep on your chest, ava drawing nearby.
she looks up at you, smiling.
“you happy we posted it?”
you nod. “we’ve never hidden—but it feels good to share. on our terms.”
she kisses your jaw. “we deserve to be seen.”
and you are.
by the world. by each other. by the two beautiful kids who call you mama.
This is pure fiction! I did make Lia is the bad guy here. Let me know what you guys think!
Twelve years.
It's been twelve years.
Twelve years since Y/n and Lia have seen each other or spoken to each other. Lia put her full focus into football and Y/n fell into the background before eventually being forgotten altogether. Y/n went on to become one of the best veterinarians in the world. Pets and animals being flown in from all over to be seen by Y/n. But Lia wouldn't know that. Y/n however knows all about Lia. She can't go online without seeing the Swiss woman's face on her social media.
The two were said to have been soulmates. But Lia let football overtake her life and Y/n paid the price. Y/n tried to move on, but Lia was one of a kind and no one has ever compared to her... Lia's parents still reach out to Y/n. The girl was their daughter's best friend turned girlfriend. They tried talking to Lia about Y/n, but Lia never seemed to listen.
That brings us to now Lia was watching Calvin with Mariona, Mariona having picked up an injury, so the couple agreed to watch Calvin while Steph was in the states with the Matilda's. Lia had also picked up a minor injury during training, so she stayed back from national team duties this international break. Lia, Mariona, and Calvin are currently on a walk in the park near Steph's apartment.
The couple have their hands intertwined, Lia holding onto Calvin's leash, as they conversed. Lia and Mariona are so into their conversation they miss Calvin setting his sights on a bird in the distance, only realizing when his leash is pulled from Lia's hand as he takes off.
"Calvin!"
"Calvin! Get back here!" The two call taking off after the dog. They dodge and weave between the others in the park trying to catch up to Calvin. The couple moving even quicker when they hear Calvin cry out in pain. Finally reaching him they see him sitting on the ground holding up his left front paw as he cries.
"Oh Calvin, what happened?" Lia asks crouching down by the dog and trying to offer him some comfort.
"Excuse me?" The couple look to see a girl around seven or eight and what looks to be her father. "I saw what happened to him. He was chasing a bird, but he stepped on the tree branch and hurt his paw." The little girl explains, the couple glance at the father to see him nodding confirming what his daughter said.
"Thank you …" Mariona trails off.
"Rosie," The father supplies.
"Thank you, Rosie," Mariona says giving the young girl a smile.
"We better get Calvin to the doctor so they can look at his paw," Lia says, grabbing Calvin's leash. She turns to the father and daughter. "Thank you for helping us, Rosie. If you see is or Calvin here again feel free to come say 'hi'. I'm sure Calvin would love to play when he feels better." The girl gasps looking to her father, who nods a smile on his face, before turning to look back at the couple and Calvin a large smile on her face as she nods excitedly.
"Yes, please!" The couple chuckle at the enthusiasm from the young girl.
"Well, we better get Calvin to the doctor. Thank you again Rosie. You telling us what you saw will help Calvin! See you around!" Lia says leaning down to pick up Calvin, so he doesn't hurt himself further. The couple wave to the two before quickly making their way to the closest vet that Mario found on her phone.
After a quick ten minute walk the couple enter the vet office, Calvin still in Lia's arms. She gently sets him down, handing his leash to her girlfriend.
"Stay here with Calvin while I go check him in. There doesn't seem to be many people here so it shouldn't be too long of a wait." Lia says Mario nods in agreement taking Calvin's leash sitting in one of the empty seats in the waiting room. Lia moves to the reception desk.
"Uh hi, I'm looking after my friend's dog, but he hurt his paw in the park. Is someone able to look? He seems to be in quite a bit of pain." Lia explains. The receptionist nods.
"Is the dog a patient here?" The girl asks.
"Uhm, I'm not sure. Your office was the closest one to the park, so we came just here."
"What's the dog's full name? I can see if he is in our system to save you from having to fill out paperwork."
"Calvin Cately,"
"He is a patient here! The doctor is in with another patient now, but I will take you to a room to let Calvin settle before seeing the doctor." Lia nods, turning to wave Mario over. Mariona picks up Calvin following Lia and the receptionist to a room where she sets Calvin on the ground once more. "As I said the doctor should be almost done, so she'll be here shortly," the couple nod as the girl leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
"I'll text Steph to let her know Calvin is at the vet." Mariona tells Lia who nods continuing to pet Calvin hoping to bring him some type of comfort as he continues to cry softly. The couple look up at the sound of the door opening. Lia freezes when she sees who walked in.
"I heard my favorite boy was here!" the doctor says in a baby voice. Calvin jumps up excitedly as he recognizes the voice. Though he quicky stops and cries in pain when he puts his paw on the ground. "Oh buddy, what happened?" the doctor looks up, expecting to see Steph but is surprised with who she sees instead. She schools her features to not show her shock.
"Y/n." Lia whispers still in shock. Mariona looks at her girlfriend in confusion.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Y/l/n, this I know is Calvin and I know neither of you are Steph so…who might you be?" Y/n asks, directing the question more to Mariona as she already knows Lia, kneeling by Calvin offering him pets and a treat from her pocket. Mariona, seeing her girlfriend still frozen, answers.
"I'm Mariona, this is my girlfriend, Lia. Steph is our teammate. We are watching Calvin while she is away." Mariona explains, her accent heavy as she speaks. Y/n nods.
"Well, nice to meet you. What seems to be going on with my friend Calvin here?" Y/n asks carefully taking Calvin's paw in her hands to inspect it. Calvin calm as Y/n does so, not trying to pull away.
"We were walking him in the park, but he saw a bird and took off. We chased after him, but he stopped and started crying. A little girl explained that he had stepped on a fallen tree branch after we had caught up to him." Lia explains, having broken from her shock but not breaking her stare from Y/n, observing the person she once not only called her best friend but her lover. Y/n is taller and more built than she remembers.
"Well Calvin is okay it looks like he got a splinter from the branch stuck in his paw." Y/n turns on her knees to grab the tweezers from the counter in the room. "Let me just -" Y/n carefully grabs the splinter with the tweezers, "-there!" She holds the tweezers up. The sliver of wood between the ends. "Still crazy to me how something so small causes so much pain, in humans and animals," Y/n jokes, the couple laughing. Lia looks at Y/n a sad smile on her face realizing how much she has missed Y/n.
Is it too late to start over? Lia thinks forgetting about her girlfriend who's in the same room.
"Calvin should be all set! I'll give him a small dosage pill to provide some pain relief before you take him home, but he should be back to normal in a couple of hours." Y/n explains, standing to grab her clip board she had set on the counter when she walked in. The couple nod moving to stand.
"How much do we owe you?" Lia asks. Y/n waves her off.
"Nothing, Calvin is great, and it was only a splinter so no need to charge. A nurse will be in shortly to give Calvin his pill then you guys are all set. It was nice to meet you." Y/n says opening the door and walking out. The door closing softly behind her. Lia quickly turns to her girlfriend.
"I'll be right back," Mariona goes to question her but Lia is out the door before she can.
Lia walks out the room seeing Y/n talking to the receptionist from earlier. Lia walks to the two clearing her throat to gain the attention. Both women look to Lia. Y/n looking at her in confusion.
"Uhm, Y/n? C-Can I t-talk to you?" Lia glances at the receptionist before adding "Alone?" Y/n glances at the receptionist with a look Lia can't decipher before Y/n nods.
"Sure, let's go to my office, Alex I'll be back" Y/n says turning towards her office. Lia follows nervously fidgeting with her hands trying to figure out what she wants to say. Y/n stops in front of a door with her name written on a name plate attached to the door. Photos of Y/n with various animals stuck on the door. Lia smiles seeing a photo of Y/n and Calvin when he was a puppy. Though her heart stutters at the photo of a young Y/n and Lia with Y/n's childhood pet, a sad smile on her face remembering that day well.
----Flashback----
"Y/n/n! Charlie! Wait up!" Six year old Lia laughs chasing after a six year old Y/n. Y/n giggles running ahead of Lia, Charlie right next to her barking as he tries to grab his toy from Y/n's hand. The six year old dog, Charlie, being Y/n's best friend, aside from Lia of course. Y/n's family had just adopted Charlie when they found out Y/n's mom was pregnant with Y/n. Charlie and Y/n got to grow up together, Y/n didn't know it yet but Charlie would be the reason she becomes a veterinarian.
"Gotta be faster than that Lia!" Y/n says gaining speed and growing the distance between her and Lia. Lia huffs pushing herself to run faster to try and tag her best friend.
"Girls! Dinner!" The two stop and turn seeing Y/n's mom, Jean, on the back porch, both turning and running towards her. Both smile at her, dirt all over their faces from where they were rolling in the dirt with Charlie. "What has happened to you both?"
"We were playing with Charlie!" Y/n explains, Lia nodding in agreement. Jean lets out a sigh but smiles at the happiness radiating from the girls.
"You two need to get cleaned up before you eat," Jean says, licking her thumb to brush some of the dirt off of Y/n's cheek. Y/n groans pushing her hand away.
"Mom," Y/n whines, Jean chuckles.
"Let me take your picture then you two need to get cleaned up for dinner." Jeans says. Lia and Y/n nod, sitting on the ground next to Charlie, all three looking at Jean, large smiles on their faces. Even Charlie as Jean snaps the photo. "Okay, now go get cleaned up," Jean says shooing the two off. The girls nod walking into the house. Y/n turns to her mom smiling, her hand resting on Charlie's head as the dog walks next to her.
"Mom? Can we eat with Charlie?" Y/n asks a hopeful look in her eye.
"Not tonight girls. Charlie needs to eat in his spot, and you two need to eat at the table with the rest of us." Jean explains, the two girls nod, a frown on their faces as they move to get cleaned up for dinner, Charlie still following behind.
----End of Flashback----
"What do you need Lia?" Y/n asks leaning back on her desk, her arms crossed on her chest as she looks at Lia. Lia shakes her head ridding her mind of the memory, moving to step into Y/n's office shutting the door behind her.
"Uhm, how are you?" Y/n quirks an eyebrow at Lia's question.
"Really? After all this time that's what you ask me?" Y/n asks. Lia sighs shaking her head.
"No," she breathes out, "I just don't know what to say," Lia whispers. Y/n lets out a scoff.
"You could start with an apology and an explanation." Lia looks at Y/n in confusion. "Do you know how long it's been since we've seen or talked to each other?" Y/n asks instead of explaining. Lia takes a second to think before shaking her head. "Twelve years." Y/n says. Lia takes a step back eyes widening in shock.
Had it really been that long? Lia thinks.
"Twelve years since you last responded to one of my messages." Y/n lets out a humorless laugh, "I didn't even know if we were still together. Your parents tried to talk to you, but you kept brushing them off. I eventually gave up trying with you. We had been dating for three years, best friends since we were five and you didn't even have the decency to break up with me. You just left." Y/n says tears building in her eyes as she voices what she's been wanting to for the last twelve years since Lia disappeared.
"I-I don't know why I did what I did." Lia sighs, starting to pace the room as she tries to gather her thoughts. "I guess I was scared," Lia stops turning to face Y/n who looks at her confused. "We were 18, you were getting ready for college, I was going to play in Germany, things just didn't feel possible with the distance." Lia explains. Y/n lets out a laugh, Lia looking at her in confusion.
"I got accepted to a college in Germany!" Y/n exclaims. Lia looks at her in shock, "If you had answered your phone and talked to me instead of running away like a coward, things would have been fine." Y/n says throwing her arms up in frustration. Lia shrinks in on herself at the tone of Y/n's voice.
"I'm sorry. Maybe if I never ran, things would have been different." Lia says moving to stand between Y/n's legs where she still leans on her desk, her hand coming to rest on Y/n's cheek. Y/n sighs but doesn't pull away. She needs closure on this part of her life.
"Do you regret leaving? Leaving me?" Y/n asks. Lia sighs her thumb brushing over Y/n's cheek.
"Yes. You were are my soulmate and I was too dumb to see that then. I still love you Y/n." Lia says, Y/n sighs and goes to speak but her office door slams open. Little feet barreling through the now open door as a little voice screams.
"Mama!! Look!" a smile instantly forms on Y/n's face as she pushed away from Lia to bend down and grab the little body and standing with them now securely in her arms.
"What is it you have there Lila?" Y/n asks, noticing the familiar stuffed animal in Delilah's hand, sparing a glance at Lia noting the look of recognition on her face at the item in her four year old daughter's hand.
"Auntie Val was cleaning at grandma's and found it! She said I could have it!" Deliliah exclaims, holding the stuffed bunny out in her arms for her mama to see. Y/n smiles sadly as she looks at the bunny that holds so many memories. Y/n places her hand on the bunny brushing her thumb over the patch that had to be sewn on the bunny's head from where the material was torn.
"This bunny was very special to Mama when she was little, you know." Y/n says, Delilah looks at her mom eyes wide In wonder.
"Really?" Y/n nods, sparing a glance at Lia seeing her with tears in her eyes.
"Yup, Clover was given to Mama by Mama's best friend. Clover went with Mama everywhere. I thought Clover was gone forever. I had her one day then she was gone the next. Grandma must have found her and forgot to tell me. I'm glad she found you though." Y/n smiles, poking Delilah's stomach, eliciting a laugh from the child. That same bunny Lia had given to Y/n was meant to be passed down to their child. Now Clover belongs to only Y/n's child. Y/n has a knowing smile on her face as she hears someone running down the hall.
"Delilah! You can't run just run past me like that!" Lia looks up, her heart stopping at the sight of the receptionist from earlier, the woman looking exactly like the child in Y/n's arms, aside from a couple features that are all Y/n.
"Sorry, Mommy." The child says, a pout forming on her lips. "I was excited to show Mama the bunny Auntie Val gave me," Deliliah says.
"It's alright sweetheart, just don't do that again, you scared Mommy." The woman says moving to stand next to Y/n pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"You can't keep scaring Mommy like that love," Y/n says ruffling Delilah's hair. "Sorry love," Y/n gives the woman a smile pressing a kiss to her lips. The child gagging brings a laugh out of the two.
"I'm sorry did you want kisses too?" Y/n asks sharing a look with her wife before both lean in pressing kisses to the child's face, causing Delilah to erupt into a fit of giggles. Lia clearing her throat to hold back her tears breaks the little family from their moment. Y/n's eyes widening having forgotten Lia was there. "Oh, I'm sorry. Uhm Lia this is Alex, my wife, and Delilah, our daughter. Alex, Delilah this is Lia… an old friend." Y/n says. Alex now looks at Lia with a glare, knowing all about Lia and the hurt she had caused Y/n, compared to the sweet smile she had earlier before she knew exactly who Lia was.
"Delilah, why don't you go see Auntie Val at the front. Mama and Mommy will be there shortly." Alex says giving her daughter a smile. The little girl nods, wiggling out of her Mama's arms and running out of the room to find her Aunt. Alex shuts the door behind her daughter, walking to stand next to Y/n. Y/n sighs knowing this isn't going to end well now that Alex knows who Lia is.
"Y/n I -" Lia is cut off by Alex.
"What more could you possibly have to say to my wife? Haven't you done enough damage to her? Do you have any idea of the walls you made her build up? It took me years to break those down. You broke her and now you think you-" Alex stops her rant at the feel of Y/n's hand on her back, drawing soothing circles trying to keep Alex calm.
"It's okay honey," Y/n whispers pressing a kiss to Alex's head. Alex lets out a sigh, leaning into Y/n's side, her hand gripping the bottom of Y/n's shirt as she remembers all of the nights she held Y/n as she cried wondering what she did to lose her not only her lover but her best friend. Alex was jealous at first but she realized, even if Lia did come back into Y/n's life their relationship would never be what it once was. "Let me," Y/n whispers to Alex before looking at Lia. "Look Lia, I heard what you said but I'm sorry I don't love you anymore. I may have been your soulmate and I once thought you were mine too. But you broke me by just disappearing. You don't get to show up after twelve years and declare your love to me. Alex helped rebuild me. She brought me back to life. She is my soulmate." Y/n glances behind Lia a sad smile on her face when she notices Mariona and Calvin entered the room, "You can't be declaring you still love me, especially when you already have someone in your life." Lia turns seeing Mariona there, tears in her eyes.
"Tell me she's joking Lia," Mariona says, her voice breaking from the emotion she is feeling. Lia opens her mouth to explain but nothing comes out. Mariona scoffs shaking her head. "I left my home for you, I left the club I played at for ten years for you. I left my friends for you. This is what I get in return? You declaring your love for someone else? Someone who is married?" Mariona asks, her voice raising.
"Mario I'm-" Lia says trying to apologize. Mariona shakes her head. Y/n and Alex are sitting by Y/n's desk watching the scene unfold, Y/n feeling especially sorry for Mariona knowing what it feels like to be left behind by Lia.
"Save it. I'm taking Calvin back to Steph's, then I'll be staying with Laia until I can get my own place. We. Are. Done." Mariona spits, leaving the room, Calvin following behind. Lia lets out a sob realizing what she's done.
"I think you need to leave," Y/n says. Lia turns to look at Y/n tears in her eyes. She nods and walks out of the room making her way to her apartment she used to share with Mariona.
"I regret everything." Lia whispers as tears stream down her cheeks.
About when, on a Wednesday in a restaurant at Barcelona, you watch it begin again
》 Alexia Putellas x Reader
》 words count: 12.8k
》 fight a losing battle [idiom]: also known as “losing game”, to try hard to do something when there is no chance that you will succeed, a failing effort or activity
Your last relationship ends so badly that you consider abstinence from everything – processed sugar, alcohol, and even people. A period of deep cleansing, as if you could purify every cell of your body, like a celebrity spiraling from rehab to full-blown identity crisis.
This emotional state explains why you find yourself on a one-way flight to Barcelona, all your things crumbled in a backpack. A rash impulse led you to declutter your belongings, a wishful attempt of turning into a completely new person just because your closet is now half what it used to be.
The decision to straight-up flee is rushed and quite terrifying, much like many of your recent choices.
Elena, your best friend since you were barely old enough to share made-up stories and Barbie-like careers, thinks you’re going mental. She nearly cries when you decide to donate your vintage Christian Lacroix jacket, but you’re convinced it’s the only way to get a new lease on life, so she mourns in silence.
The loudest reaction comes from your brother, who, if you could be mature enough to admit it, is the only voice of reason that almost resonates in your head.
Almost.
Despite your stubbornness, you accept the offer of hospitality from one of his university friends, who gives away a spare room. You don’t plan on staying in a hotel for gods know how long, and you certainly don’t have the patience to search for an apartment. You’re not completely out of mind, if they want to help, so be it.
Barcelona is brighter and feels as welcoming as you hoped, though that might just be the nicer weather and the fact you’re far from your problems. And your ex.
The first month flies by in a rush of Catalan cafeterias, art galleries, and little boutiques that refill both your closet and your spirit.
The people here are kind enough to put up with your attempts to speak the language, humoring you since you’re oh-so-sure that eleven consecutive days on a passive-aggressive app have made you fluent.
The places you visit and the ones strangers recommend are loud enough to ignore the voices of reason in your ear that start to sound a lot like your brother’s.
Still, there’s only so much one can do to avoid responsibilities and self-consciousness.
“You need a job”, Ricardo states one morning, finding you in the kitchen eating cold pizza, still in the clothes you wore two nights ago.
Your closet isn’t as limited anymore.
“I’ve saved enough money to enjoy my vacation, thanks for your concern”
“I thought that was the money saved to buy a house with your ex”
“I do not have an ex nor a house to worry about, do I?”
As soon as the pizza starts to taste like regret, you’re ready to end the conversation to sleep the rest of day away.
Ricardo means well, you know that.
He’s a nice guy and a good roommate, but, like your brother, he’s overprotective and likes to gossip a little too much. Sometimes, it’s surprising how much he knows about you. Most of the time, it’s just annoying.
“I’m want to say– maybe a routine could be good for you”
“I have a routine”, you retort, knowing it’s a fat lie.
You’re out of the bed before eleven only if you didn’t sleep through the night before, wandering around the city with no real destination until something, somehow, catches your attention.
It’s not a bad thing per se, but it’s not a sustainable lifestyle.
“You quit a well-paid accounting job, right?”
“Ricardo, I swear, I’m this close to reporting you for stalking”
His laugh is too loud this early in the morning, but the comfort of bantering with someone who knows you is too familiar to ignore. Even if most of his insight comes from your nosy brother.
They both need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve judging your questionable life choices.
He sips his coffee while studying you, assessing how risky it would be to keep pushing the subject.
Apparently, he feels brave enough.
“My friends’ restaurant could use some help”
~
You’re not sure if Ricardo downplayed it or if he’s just blissfully unaware, but his friends don’t need some help – they need a miracle.
That’s what happens when you get scammed by your bookkeeper.
Despite not being really familiar with Spanish tax laws and regulation, it’s clear as the day someone exploited every possible loophole in the profitable business run by three way-too-trusting men. The truth becomes evident as you examine their accounting ledger, your frown deepening with each passing moment.
You have been to their restaurant before, and have loved it.
The place is cosy and carefully maintained. The food is prepared by a grumpy man from Puerto Rico named Paco, who, after twenty years in Barcelona, learned just enough cursing in Catalan to run the kitchen. Local bands play live on the weekend and someone’s mom made sure everyone is nice and well mannered. The worn wooden tables are witness of countless shared meals.
Pedro and Paul, the other two owners, can only be described as a comedy duo with a really questionable sense of style and even worse jokes. But they’re nice enough, definitely good company when you have a bad day. They can turn it upside down so quickly, for the better or the worst.
However, Ricardo tells you how much the restaurant means for his friends and the local community, guilt-tripping you into helping them to fix their finances.
The truth is, you love math and numbers so much that a challenge like this excites you more than it’s appropriate to admit.
Hence, you agree to help them for far less money you could have asked anyone in the same situation.
They take it as a promise to make sure the business keeps running and organise a dinner with way too many people to celebrate your help.
“I’ve barely started looking into it, Pedro”, you complain, not used to such enthusiasm.
“¡Cállate y bebe tu sangría!”
You meet Alba that same night.
She’s nice and quick-witted, no one is safe from her clever remarks. It feels nice, the way she makes sure you’re included when everyone seems to forget you’re still learning Spanish from a green bird on your phone, and that, in most conversations, you relate more to vibes than actual words.
Flirting is a universal language, though.
If her hand brushes on your arm a couple of times you make sure to smile and get closer, and if you lean into her with the excuse of needing a translation she makes sure to whisper right into your ear. There’s a note in her voice that makes you feel at ease.
Of course, Ricardo ruins everything.
“I’m starting to think you’re running from tax collectors, not your ex”
It’s a good joke, you know it is nothing more than that. But it suddenly reminds you how messy your life is and how out of place you feel sometimes.
Not just far away from home, but also far away from everything familiar.
A job for a company you hated but paid good money; friends you didn’t see as you’d liked, but who knew damn well when to drag you out of your apartment – and out of your own head. A boyfriend who barely tolerated your love, but somehow always managed to say and do the right things at the right time.
Every morning, you wake up knowing what to wear for work, what numbers to punch into the computer to get the needed results, and how to act to be sure you’re not too much.
You’re not running away from just your ex, you’re running away from your life as known until finding out about the cheating.
“¿Todo bien?”, Alba asks, noticing how you miss the opportunity to jab Ricardo.
It takes you a moment to register her reassuring hand on your arm and the talks moving to a completely different topic.
“Yeah, sorry, just tired”
“You better get used to the Spanish nightlife”
“It’s pretty much all I’m doing so far”, you admit, slowly sipping a beer and making sure your annoying roommate doesn’t hear a word about this.
The rest of the dinner passes without too much trouble, despite not remembering most of the names and following even less of the conversations.
Alba stays close and you blame the spicy food for the way your face reddens when she bids her goodbye with three kisses and a promise to meet up with less people.
“It’s a surprise”, Ricardo comments, his grin spreading across his face as soon as you settle onto the couch to debrief the day’s events.
It’s starting to look a lot like a new routine, a tradition in the making.
“What? Something my brother didn’t mention?”
“¡Ay, claro!”
“I hate you”
“I had no idea Alba is your type”
You have to give credit where due, he displays incredible reflexes. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, your punch barely grazes his arm, and your kick misses his shin by a mile.
To be honest with yourself, you’re not really sure who is your type.
Not even getting in the mind-space to think about your ex, the past relationships you care about to recall all look pretty different. There’s no consistent pattern, not a clear preference in haircuts or any kind of colours, not a style that catches your attention more than another.
The only thing most of your exes have in common is tiring you to the bones and leaving your life making you trust less and less in others.
Maybe you do have a type.
~
It’s not a date, you both agree on that.
She doesn’t ask about the infamous ex, she’s good company and even a nicer distraction.
But your mind drifts and, as you recount the highlights of how that relationship crumpled in slow motion, it becomes clear as the day you shouldn’t be with someone until you’ve committed to a good therapist.
It’s not fair to anyone, but it’s definitely not fair to Alba.
You kiss her anyway, and she makes you promise to let her be your first date as soon as you’re ready to get back into the game again.
~
“Ricardo told me your ex is un cabrón”
If not for the possibility of blemishing your otherwise spotless record, you could have shoved Pedro down the hill you’re currently struggling to climb, losing too much dignity.
The guy looks like he had one beer too many, but he’s surprisingly in shape and apparently unaffected by the whole hike so far.
“Am I the only topic of conversation he has?”, you ask, mostly to buy a few more seconds to catch your breath.
“Creo que sí”
You raise the finger as you outpace him to keep going.
The sun has set, casting a warm, golden hue across the clear Barcelona sky. Despite Pedro knocking on your door when it was barely socially accessible to be at someone’s place, it takes the two of you more time than necessary to reach this point of the trail.
Not close enough to the top yet, but definitely too late to turn back without regrets.
It’s mostly his fault.
The view is impressive, and the Catalan knows too many fascinating details to not be amazed by the nature around.
“¿Estás bien?
“Cabrón is a nice word”
“It’s not”
“No, it’s– I mean it’s not a bad enough word to describe him”, you clarify with a faint smile as Pedro slows his pace.
Your final destination is just a few steps away.
It may be the pleasant company, a good friend you’ve discovered in an unexpected place at the most unexpected time of your life. It may be the warm rays of sunshine that tickle your skin or the ache making your legs feel alive. It may be the weight on your chest, the one that crushed good intentions and caused too many sleepless nights, now becoming smaller under a new sense of resolve.
It may be for many different reasons, but for the first time in more than you’re comfortable looking back, it feels better.
“It was a good relationship”
He gives you a moment, sitting on the slightly damp grass next to your sprawled figure.
“It was good, until it was really bad. But it’s hard to do anything about it when you’re doing such an impressive job at hiding all the signs”
“A bad relationship can’t be blamed on just one person”, he tries to reason.
“It can”
“Guapa, mira–”
“No, it can. He was controlling, aggressive, and incredibly talented at making me take all the blame and the shame”, you admit, for the first time out loud, “My only fault was pretending to ignore when I finally saw it all for what it really was”
As you gather the strength to rise to a more dignified position, you almost expect Pedro to hug you or be the over affectionate Spanish stereotype he usually is.
Instead, he’s looking somewhere away in the sky, pensive.
You feel the need to reassure him, “I’m fine now, I–”
“No, lo siento, lo siento”, he turns with a small, yet genuine smile, “We don’t know each other that well”
“You’re hurting me now, I thought we were friends”
“We are, tonta!”
Pedro raises and his large hands, marked with tiny cuts, extend to pick you up. He paves the way down the hill with no words, and for the first time since you meet the man, the silence it’s a surprise.
It’s not uncomfortable, maybe just a little unsettling.
And short-lived.
“We don’t know each well”
“You already said that”
He shoves you playfully, not impressed by your attitude, but used to it.
“Lo que quiero decir es que– you’re a good person, I can tell, even if we don’t know each other for long”
“Don’t get soft on my right now”
“You’re a good person and you love good, you have to keep loving”, he states, so casually, “Once you know love, you should never try to forget”
~
“At this point, I’m pretty sure you hit your head hard enough to go mental and somehow no one noticed”
“I miss you so much, Elena”
Your phone is precariously balanced on a glass of wine as you cook a recipe Paco scribbled on a piece of paper. In Catalan.
It makes less sense than his finance decisions, but you’ll take it.
Your best friend’s face is half out of frame but you can clearly point out every step of her beauty routine. It’s a grueling and painfully long process, her boyfriend is way more patient than you about it.
But tonight Ricardo is out for his bi-weekly pottery class, and you’re happy to indulge her just for the sake of spending some time together, even if it’s through a screen.
Not like there’s a slight chance you’d say it out loud.
“What are you trying to cook?”, the eyebrow in frame raises skeptically.
“No idea”, you admit, coming to the conclusion the number you’re looking at is five and there’s no way this dish needs so many onions.
“Good, now, let’s track back to your mental instability”
“And you ask why I am in different country?”
The wasp she lets out is so loud, and the silence that follows is so deafening you look at the screen to make sure the call is still on. She can be so dramatic.
“Don’t joke about it, I’m still grieving”
“I’m still alive”
“Barely”, she mutters.
Elena is a good friend, despite the theatrics.
When the world seems a little too much to handle, she turns into a safe space for you to be at peace. When you’re overthinking the stupidest choices, she always has a comforting, new point of view.
To people who don’t have the privilege to know her well enough, she may look shallow and too noisy. The truth is, you’ve never met someone so aware of herself and her life that she perfectly understands how to give due weight to even the smallest things.
And she doesn’t keep quiet, she loves loud and proud.
You learned to hold yourself back. You were forced to.
That’s the biggest lesson she’s still teaching you.
“Just saying, you’re surrounded by hot, Spanish people–”
“Happens when in Spain”
“You’re allowed to have fun!”
“I have plenty, thank you very much”
A strange smell comes out of the pan as the lid is lifted, prompting you to close it and pretend it’s not even there for the rest of the night. Not planning to call a poison center, ordering takeout is how you opt to end this cooking attempt.
If Elena thinks you paused the video to piss her off, it is on her.
When your best friend’s face pops up on the screen again it’s so serious you’re tempted to hang up for real.
“I mean it in a good way, don’t get me wrong, but taking a leave of absence and flying to Barcelona is the most selfish thing I witnessed you do in forever”
“I’m actually thinking of quitting for good and going freelance”
“See?”, she gushes, although she can’t be taken seriously with a panda-shaped face mask on, “You like to do your nerd-numbers-shit again, you’re trying new things, even if you clearly can’t be trusted in the kitchen–”
“Fuck you, that man can cook, but for sure can’t write”
“You’re making friends, not as amazing as me, but we’ll take it!”
Trying to argue could be useless and, honestly, you have no arguments.
“You’re fine, you’re doing good”, she smiles, and you miss her a little bit more.
This time you say it out loud, and she cries.
~
The guys are planning something.
By now, you know them well enough to sense trouble the moment you step into the restaurant.
Paco wears a grin that’s almost creepy, a beam blasted across his face, while Pedro is cleaning the tables with unnecessary vigour and his usual commitment is taken to an unusual level.
They’re clearly waiting for something to happen, lingering around as you try to explain to Paul, the musketeer you pointed as the most reliable when money is on the line, how to delay a payment reminder.
“Okay, what is wrong with them?”, you ask, trying to recall a single reason why you put up with these people’s ethics.
You only need one.
“No te entiendo”
“Tú me entiendes perfectamente”
“Your español is getting so good, ¿lo sabes?”, Pedro chimes in, and you’re sure whatever they want, you’re not going to like it.
Paul is usually the voice of reason, the emotionally adult one. Why is he looking at you like he’s about to commit the worst betrayal?
“We were thinking–”
“I’m scared when you guys think”
“We are allies, feminists, and strong supporters of women in male dominated fields, equality–”
“Please, shut up”, you interrupt as if the conversation is physically hurting you.
“Barça is playing the Copa on Saturday. We organise una fiesta every year when they come back, es una tradición”, Pedro cuts in, feeling like the best way to get to the point is to dive straight into it.
“What if they lose?”
“Ellas no pierden”, Paul’s voice is so final you don’t dare to object.
“Cool, fine, why are you acting like this party is something I’ll not like?”
“We pay for it all”
It’s nice.
It is a really nice gesture, knowing how much they care about their community and their friends and apparently the women’s side of their favourite club.
Then you remember they have a huge debt to pay up because an asshole took advantage of their kind hearts and the accounts are just starting to make sense again.
“It’s a good thing”, you admit out loud, “But–”
When Paul starts a passionate rant about the team’s season so far and how sure he is they are gonna win those trophies all over again, apparently setting a new record for the sport itself, it’s not strange to feel thrilled too.
Even Paco joins the excitement at the prospect of adding another title to the collection.
You have been in Barcelona long enough to understand football is a big deal here, and you can’t deny it’s really wonderful to see three big guys hyping up their club – women’s and men’s side alike.
Pedro looks at you like he knows you’re about to crumble.
“They better win then”, you agree, pretending it takes a lot of thinking.
They wrap you in a group hug so welcoming you don’t have the heart to tell them the restaurant can’t really afford to pay out an entire party right now, on a weekend, literally planned for a football team and their mothers.
You’ll make sure the numbers check out later.
You meet Alexia that same night.
Alba makes the introductions, and you shake her hand a moment too late and too long than socially acceptable.
You’re busy shifting your gaze back and forth.
They look alike. A lot. But somehow, they’re also so different.
You make a mental note to dig up some old pictures of a younger version of yourself and your brother.
“She’s the reason this party won’t bankrupt the guys”
“I’ve heard only good things about you”, Alexia admits.
If a slight redness tints your face it’s due to the compliments, not the feeling of her eyes on you, or the way your body seems to jolt awake.
“All lies, probably”, you try to compose yourself – get a fucking grip, “They’re just impressed ‘cus they can’t count to save their lives”
The laugh that leaves the older woman’s lips is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard. Something in the way her face lights up and her features relax makes your chest ache with a surprisingly comfortable feeling.
A desire to make her laugh again.
And that is what you do all night.
The girls are way too excited – deservedly so, after another title added to their already impressive collection. The live music is loud, the food and the drinks come in flows. You’re too busy to mentally estimate the costs.
When one of Alexia’s teammates decides you’re her new favorite person in the whole restaurant, you’re perfectly fine with it. Just because she’s funny, not because she seems to have an impressive amount of stories to tease her captain with.
When Paul hands you another beer, you sip it without a care of keeping count. Just because you’re allowed to get loose, not because you noticed Alexia is making sure everyone will not regret a drink too much tomorrow.
When Alba drags you to the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music and the bodies around. Just because the party is definitely worth it, vibrant, not because her sister joins the group at the same time.
You go home, much later than intended, with an unfamiliar feeling prickling beneath your skin and a somehow familiar pair of eyes stuck in your head.
~
The first time you end up in the stands for a football game is purely by accident.
An unmistakable electric buzz fills the air, lingering all the way from the parking lot to the seats that seem to keep filling. Everyone is smiling and chanting, sporting just two different colours but expressing their support in an unique way.
The games you endured watching on TV to spend a few hours with your brother as a kid can’t compare to the real thing.
You never imagined finding yourself in such a place, but when in Rome. Or, well, when in Barcelona.
It’s all on the Putella sisters, to be honest.
You meet Alba in the most unusual place you could think of, or being yourself in the first place. A sports shop.
Planning to go on the hike a stranger at the restaurant pointed out, you need appropriate trekking shoes. Since the decluttering phase is officially over, you looked up one of those obnoxious places that sell overpriced sports-related shit.
Not the kind of shop you’d picture Alba willingly entering.
“Mind you, I actually like sports”, she objects.
“Do you?”
She giggles as your head tilts in a mocking way, “Vale, I like watching more than doing the sports”
“No way!”
The bags she’s dragging out of the shop are the only thing stopping her from not-so-playfully smacking you. It’s surprisingly easy to tease each other.
She reminds you of Elena, who called this morning to discuss how to act now she discovered where her boyfriend hides the ring. As if she hasn’t been snooping around for months.
Not entirely her fault, the poor guy left the jewelry’s receipt with the car keys at the entrance.
“Are you?”, the younger woman asks.
“What?”
“A sports person”
“My brother used to kick footballs at me when we were kids, the only sport I ever pretended to be remotely interest in”
Her smile dims slightly.
For some reason, that seems to have been the wrong thing to say.
“Have you been to a Barça game yet?”
“What if I’m a Madridista?”
That’s even worse, apparently, since Alba dramatically drops the bags to gasp in shock. Her acting of a heartbreak is surprisingly convincing.
A second voice chimes in out of nowhere, “Don’t even joke about it”
Alexia’s comment is dead serious, you can tell, with just the hint of a grin on her lips as a clear giveaway that she’s more than comfortable teasing a person she barely knows.
You’re definitely not going to complain.
The hat she’s wearing hides half her face, but you can see her lighting up behind it.
“What if I’m not joking?”
“Alba, you said she is a nice person”, the midfielder complains, a huff escaping her lips as she adjusts the weight of the bags she’s carrying.
Did they just raid the whole shop?
“Bold to you to assume I can’t be a nice person and a Madridista”
“Please, don’t fight her on this, she’s gonna be insufferable”, Alba complains, playfully rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics and your teasing.
“No, she needs to be educated. She’s coming to El Clásico with us”
As simple as that.
You find yourself in the home section of the stadium for one of the most anticipated games of the season.
Or that’s what Alexia is ranting about all the way to your seats, going off about the rivalry and basic football knowledge you have to thank your borther for drilling into your brain against your will.
It’s all worth it when her blush spreads across her face as she realises, in the middle of her fourth attempt to explain with yet another example, that you actually do know what offside is.
Alba watches the interaction closely, amused by how easy it is for you to tease Barcelana’s captain and how comfortable she seems to be around you, despite not having known each other for long.
A couple of minutes before kick-off, Alexia returns from wherever she went – one mission in mind. She takes her place on your side, handing you a Blaugrana jersey, “You can’t sit here without wearing the right colours”
Maybe wearing a white t-shirt was a bit too much.
You burst out laughing, opting to put in the item immediately to avoid upsetting the filled seats around you, “How’d you find your own at a men’s game?”
“I happen to be pretty beloved around here”
“Did you hear that, Alba? La Reina is bragging!”
The only reason she doesn’t retort is due to the referee’s whistle announcing the start of the game, followed by a surprisingly enjoyable night with the two sisters.
~
Summer in Barcelona is nothing like you pictured it.
The streets are filled with tourists, too many people crammed in too little spaces. Complaints about the crowds and the chaos drown out any excitement. You have to remind Pedro that it’s awful, but it’s good for business.
Sometimes, it’s too hot to even think of leaving the comfort of your place. Fans blow in every room because, of course, the air conditioner broke the day it was turned on.
Sometimes, it’s so loud you don’t need to ignore the voices of doubt in your head, subdued by everything that’s happening around you.
Sometimes, it’s exactly the kind of life you can see yourself living.
Your brother came to visit for a week, spending more time teasing you with Ricardo than doing anything else. You hate it, but you missed him too much to complain.
Maybe you pulled some strings to make his dream of visiting Camp Nou come true, just so you could look cool, but then what?
He’s as happy as a kid in a candy store, and all you have to do is endure an overexcited guided tour and bribe Alexia with overpriced drinks the night after. Totally manageable.
Your therapist announces her vacation like it’s not the worst news she’ll be sharing, leaving you with tasks to occupy the time. You dutifully completed them all, never quite managing to shake the nerd label off, and, quite frankly, you pay her too much to not do her homework.
Some tasks seem a little over the top, though – signing up for a dating app is definitely not how you’ll get over your ex.
You started hanging out with a group of passionate excursionists. Perhaps a bit too excited about life in general, but nice enough to follow during their hikes.
Pedro joins when he can, most of the time, someone from the Barcelona team manages to invite themselves.
Since you and María aren’t allowed to be on your own, Ingrid or Esme supervise. It may be an overreaction, but the last time you two were alone, you sprained your ankle and the defender got nasty cuts on her legs before the trip even started, so you can’t really judge them.
If you say Alexia is a better hike partner than most is just to piss María.
That summer in Barcelona makes you miss your family and friends back home a little more than usual, but it’s also the first time in months that you feel like you’re actually living your life – not just letting it flow right through you.
~
When the new school year starts, Irene and her wife come to the restaurant a couple of times before Paul suggests that you could be the perfect person to help their son with his math homework.
Your attempt to explain that you really are not qualified to teach in a different language goes completely ignored.
They’ve already tried different tutors, and Mateo seems to hate them all. You accept, mostly because of the kid’s puppy-dog eyes.
The two of you fell into an easy routine. Once a week, he would lend you basic grammar school manuals and children’s books to help with your Spanish, and you would explain math to him in the simplest way possible.
It goes well.
Mateo decides pretty soon you’re his new favourite person, and you basically become one of Irene’s as well.
That’s how you find yourself on the sideline during a Barça training session, reading a book about a dog that doesn’t know how to bark while Mateo is too pleased with himself, checking all the math exercises he nailed.
“Good one?”
You raise your gaze, shielding your eyes from the sun enough to point out Alexia’s silhouette.
The weather is still too warm for your comfort, making you question the girls’ mental stability for running lap after lap under such conditions with a smile on their faces.
Sports people are scary.
“You look too good to be someone who just finished training”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Derogatory”, you clarify, pushing your stuff aside so that Alexia can sit beside you on the sideline.
She’s drinking some sort of sport drink like she’s just eaten sand, and this close, she looks human. She’s grinning, enjoying the sun picking at her skin and Mateo’s passionate explanation of the math exercises he’s done all by himself.
The training session is wrapped up, she stays until Irene comes back from the changing room, washed and dressed, ready to take the little boy home.
The blonde lingers a bit longer, talking about books she loved growing up and how she takes management courses when she can. You find out Penélope Cruz is both your favourite actress, but the midfielder acts shocked when you tell her you haven’t watched her favourite film.
That night, you put it on and change the language setting, live-texting Alexia all your reactions.
Halfway through, you’re pretty sure she’s watching it too.
~
Almost nine months after booking that life-changing one-way ticket to Barcelona, you buy another one to go back home.
With a return ticket in hand.
It’s your mother’s birthday, so you kind of have to.
Recently, she’s been repeating a new favorite line, rambling about the uncertainty of life and the precariousness of old age. She’s barely in her 60s and has less back pain than most people of your generation, but she’s not willing to listen to reason.
You come to the conclusion you can’t lose any more points against your brother in the unspoken sibling race for your parent’s love. So you book the flight, pack a suitcase big enough, because you literally have nothing to wear left behind, and mentally prepare for the investigation your family will conduct.
The tension in your shoulder melts away the moment your brother wraps his arms around you in the airport terminal.
“You grow up so much”
And, just like that, he’s your annoying, stupid older brother again.
“I didn’t miss you at all”
“I can see you holding back tears”
“You’re literally crying!”, you accuse with a grin on your lips, lightly punching him.
“Just wait until mum sees that new tattoo”
The truth is, your mother is too busy peering deep into your soul to care about the tattoo.
It takes two days of constant reassurance that you’re working, eating, and sleeping properly; a ceramic salamander figurine – maybe overpriced, but a gift meant to make an impression; and Elena backing up your story to calm her worries.
Barely enough to get you through the rest of the week unstretched.
“She’s just worried”, your best friend tries to reason, sipping a flashy pink drink that you’re not even sure is made from real fruit.
“I moved to Barcelona, not a war zone”
“Oh, so now it’s permanent?”
The shit-eating grin spreading across her face should annoy you, but you have to admit she has a point.
At first it was just an impulsive decision, an urge to run away from everything and everyone. Then, without really realising it, the Catalan city started to feel a lot like a place to settle in, to let your wings spread wide open.
Now you almost call it home.
The waitress interrupts your flow of thoughts, saving you from Elena’s pointed gaze long enough to be properly distracted by the huge amount of food presented. He leaves with a charming smile, but you’re genuinely too focused on the salty chips to notice.
“Are you pregnant?”, you ask, looking as she almost chokes to avoid comically spilling her drink on you.
“The Spanish heat fried your brain?”
“What? You didn’t even have soft drink when we were underage”
Elena pauses for a moment, weighting if knocking over you the rest of the pink beverage could be worth it. It takes genuine pondering.
She decides to take the highest road.
“Are you dying?”
“Are you taking comedy classes in Barcelona?”
The last time your best friend was this over the edge it was because of a pregnancy scare. First year of university, and her boyfriend at time wasn’t really the guy you’d take home for Christmas. A memory that doesn’t help her case right now.
You slip under the dim lights of the bar, a classy spot where she hangs out with the women from her pilates class. A shiver runs down your back, a bad feeling overcoming deep inside you.
Then, she speaks up.
“I’ve already bought a wedding dress”, she admits, as if she’s confessing a crime, “It’s a size smaller and I have to–”
“Elena, for fuck’s sake, I thought you were actually dying!”
“It is, indeed, a tragedy”
“He hasn’t even proposed yet”
“Details”, she chugs the rest of the drink, smirking and grabbing the last chips you’re too shocked to care about.
The same waitress hovers around your table, drawn in by the loud exchange and your clear distress, “Excuse me, is everything okay?”
He’s young, charming enough for this to be just a gig while he waits and hopes for his acting career to take off. However, he looks genuinely concerned, his gaze shifting between the deep frown and your friend amused grin.
“All good, she’s just dramatic”, Elena points at you with the straw, before delivering the final blow, “And she is single”
The poor boy’s face lights up, naively thinking the commotion was a creative way to play matchmaker.
What a mistake.
You don’t even dignify her with a glance, rolling your eyes before addressing him directly, “Excuse her, she’s panicking because her long-time, overly in-love boyfriend still hasn’t popped the question”
“That’s not–”
“And I’m not interested”, you finish, kind but firm.
He leaves with a nod, cheeks slightly red.
Elena watches him disappear as you sip your own drink, studying you the way she used to when you were confused teenagers who didn’t know how to deal properly with all those feelings and real-life emotions.
“Oh”
The reason you still encourage her goes beyond your understanding.
You’re not starting to question it now, “What?”
“You like someone”
“Elena, I swear–”
“No, no, it’s just–”, her gaze softens as she looks at you, teasing and playful attitude making space for her most supportive side, “It’s good to see you, you know, welcoming back some happiness”
It doesn’t matter how she’s always capable of reading you like a book, like you’re a poem she knows by heart but she’s never tired of.
After all the years and the lessons you’ve learned together, it feels so comforting to know there’s someone out there who deeply understands you. Who truly sees you.
You don’t deny it, you don’t retort to her observation.
That's not the point right now.
~
You break the promise made to Alba.
Kind of.
It’s early in the morning, the sun has barely risen in the sky, but it’s the perfect time to arrive at the little market. It arrives every two weeks, with vibrant stalls full of everything – though you understand half the things the vendors say. The freshness of the fruit and the unique clothing finds you always manage to come home with are totally worth it.
Alexia is buying vegetables and, judging by the passion she shares with the old lady in front of her, discussing important geopolitical questions.
You enjoy the exchange, taking a moment before approaching.
She jokes about the fact you’re up before the clock even hits double digits, laughing at your retort about fighting with the elderly over groceries.
The footballer suggests breakfast in a cosy place not far from the market, the promise of fresh bakeries enough to convince you.
It’s not a date.
But you walk side by side, bags lightly colliding sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the café. Alexia holds the door open, pointing out her favorite pastries. She scoffs, unamused, when she realizes your questions distracted her long enough for you to pay for both your orders.
It’s not a date, obviously.
But you sit at a table in the far corner of the café for almost three hours, talking about everything and nothing. The bubble you find yourself in bursts when Ricardo calls, complaining that you’re late for lunch, despite insisting on making a reservation.
“We should do this again”, she says as she hugs you goodbye, a smile lighting her entire face.
It’s not a date, but it definitely feels like it.
You remembered the promise you made to Alba, to save your first date for her once you feel ready, just a second after realising how badly you wish to go on a real one with her sister.
~
You refuse categorically to celebrate your birthday at the boys’ restaurant.
They could make a big deal out of it, insist on paying for everything, and you couldn’t let that happen. After months of knowing them and the “Barcelona way” of celebrating loved ones, you can’t let them be in charge of this.
Also, the bills are finally adding up. They can afford it, you can’t let them do it – at least, not emotionally speaking.
So you host a little party at your place – your place, because Ricardo says you basically own it as much as he does after the bathroom’s makeover.
The small kitchen quickly turns into chaos the moment Paco takes charge and ropes Ricardo into helping. Pedro shows up with decorations and a banner that was most likely used for his little sister’s. Paul, however, closes the restaurant that same afternoon, brushing off your protests and reassuring you that your birthday is more important than the evening’s earnings.
You can’t find it in yourself to fight them.
The apartment fills with laughter and a vibrant energy that eases the weight pressing on your chest when overthinking takes hold. Balloons cover nearly the entire floor, raised voices and the scent of spices travel from the kitchen.
Your friends from the hiking group arrive in waves, immediately hitting it off with some of Barcelona’s team. You’ve grown close to a few of them through your relationship with Irene’s family and the one Ingrid and Frido practically forced on you.
Some regular customers from the restaurant also show up, people you’ve grown pretty comfortable with after spending so much time there during the first weeks of taking over the accounting job.
There’s also a nice girl you met at a concert, who Elena stalks on social media to make sure she’s not a serial killer.
Alba and Alexia are the last ones to arrive.
Your life in Barcelona is full of new people, new experiences and adventures.
At your lowest point, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved out loud.
And those people are the loudest you ever met.
The noise around the apartment subsides just as most of the guests leave. The music is turned down to a minimum, because of the late hour and Pedro’s questionable taste, as he hasn’t let go of the speaker once all night.
The small group gathers around the couch, drinks in hand, still willing to celebrate with you.
“I’m just saying, I think they taste the same”
The entire room erupts in protests at Ricardo’s comment.
“Absolutely no”, Pedro chimes in, seated on the edge of the armchair with a half-drunk beer in hand, “Black olives are made to be a pizza topping, green ones are perfect for everything else”
“What do you even know about pizza topping?”, you interrupt with a grin, “You put pineapple on yours”
Somehow, the complaints grew louder, the room buzzing with indignation.
“What’s wrong with that? Pineapple is a great pizza topic, you’re just too pretentious to admit it!”
“Can we move on from the pizza argument?”
“Oh, no, let’s get into it!”, you wave your hand dismissively, “Pedro, please, tell everyone what you put on first, cheese or sauce?”
“Fuck you”
“You work in a restaurant”, Alba says, her voice laced with disbelief.
“I’m not the one cooking, am I?”
“Thank God!”
The conversation quickly turns on poor Pedro, who now finds himself defending his questionable taste and own belief.
Alexia, who’s been quietly sipping from her glass, looks at the scene with a raised eyebrow before turning to you, relaxed on the couch beside her, “Honestly, I never imagined pizza to be the thing that ends a friendship”
“I’m just happy we’re not talking about pineapple anymore, that’s a sin”
“You started this”, she points out, giggling.
Ricardo shrugs from his spot on the floor, amused but staying out of it for now.
“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want”
“Oh, por favor”, Alexia says with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging the paper crown still perched on your head, “This must have cut off circulation to your brain”
You gasp, your dramatic antics in full display, fueled by the time, the alcohol, and, likely, the footballer’s shoulder still brushing against yours.
“You’re just jealous you’re not the only reina in the room”
“Keep dreaming”, Alexia responds with a grin.
The proximity lingers in a way that’s not just playful. It’s comfortable, like an inside joke no one else is allowed in on.
Ricardo watches the interaction from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you and the blonde for a moment longer than necessary. He notices how her cheeks redden slightly, the way you look a little different – softer, at ease.
Alba catches the moment too, still pretending to be involved in the pizza argument. She notices the quiet exchanges and private moments that have unfolded all evening. The way you and her sister have fallen into a different rhythm, a different world.
She’s seen it before.
There’s something between you two, something unspoken, but not quite hidden. She wonders how long it’s been there, how long it’s been that way.
But, like Ricardo, she keeps her thoughts to herself.
The rest of the group laughs, the debate seems to fade into a more relaxed conversation that doesn’t involve food or questionable life choices.
As the night goes on, the teasing continues, but, underneath the surface, there’s something deeper.
There’s the way you lean in a little closer to Alexia when someone says something ridiculous, how your eyes linger on her when Pedro makes a joke and you think no one is watching.
There’s the way Alexia’s knee brushes yours when you laugh, how her fingers dance on your arm simply because you’re close enough to.
There’s the exchange of gazes and smiles, quiet signs of complicity in the loud room.
~
Ricardo waits to the tune of three days before cornering you.
You mention being a bit homesick after your birthday and the Putellas sisters literally drag you to have dinner with them at their mom’s. Eli is the sweetest woman ever, going above and beyond to the point of making that one pie you mentioned once being your favourite.
The house is filled with memories and tender gestures, a haven of support and a desire of caring for your own that squeezes your heart with a bittersweet beauty. Spending the night there makes it clear how Alexia and Alba were raised, revealing the roots of their kindness.
“You had fun?”
It’s a miracle you don’t drop dead on the floor right there, Ricardo’s voice echoing from the middle of the couch in the dark room.
“Why are you lurking like a fucking killer?”, you shout at him when your heartbeat slows down enough to let you come up with proper words.
“I was waiting for you”
You don’t even dignify him with a response, watching how he’s sipping from a mug like a scene from the shittiest b-movie you can think of.
Crossing the room to sleep the unease away, the guy’s next words make you stop right where you are, “You need to come clean with her”
“What are you talking about–”
“You like Alexia”
It’s not a question, there’s no doubt in his voice.
There’s not a single reason to even try to fight his assumption or your own overthinking.
You reach for the seat next to him on the couch, noticing the second mug just when he offers it to you. It’s a fruity tea you enjoy hot, with way too much honey and not a drop of milk – exactly like the one in your hands.
The silence wrapping around is comforting in a way that makes sense just because it’s the two of you, sipping tea in the quiet darkness of the room.
“I do”, you admit after a while, even if you don’t need to.
“I know”
“That obvious?”
“Yeah”, your roommate confirms with a soft smile.
He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t accuse you of anything.
It’s so typically Ricardo that you feel a surge of affection, a need to embrace him and accepting the support of someone who, in a twisted and brotherly way, looks out for you – and your heart. So you do just that, jumping into his arms without a care of your reputation or of the almost-empty mugs.
The man, despite the surprise of your reaction, is ready to hold you for how long you need.
Turns out, you need it a lot.
“Sorry, sorry”, you say after a couple of minute, trying to pull yourself together, “I didn’t see it coming”
“Me being so observant and clever or you falling in love with Alexia?”
“I’m not in love with Alexia”
“Yet”
He’s lucky the tea is not hot anymore.
“I’m not in love with Alexia”, you repeat.
Not yet, resonates in your head – your own mind betraying you.
Yes, Alexia is beautiful. Yes, you two apparently clicked perfectly right the moment you met. Yes, recently the time together doubled the time spent with anyone else. You can admit you like Alexia, the therapy is worth the commitment and the money put into it.
But being in love?
It’s a good feeling, the one that makes her cheeks flush crimson when your smile catches her gazing. Even better, the one that fills you with pride when Alexia’s laugh resonates in the room because of something you say or do.
It’s an exciting force, the one that unsettles your stomach when she reaches for you just for the sake of touching – of feeling you close. Even better, the one that makes you two sure of finding the other in a room full of people just when needed.
It’s so terrifying close to love, what it’s blossoming.
You want to fall in love with Alexia.
Ricardo raises from the couch, taking the mugs and putting them on the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. An annoying habit you’re sure he keeps up with just to annoy you.
He returns a minute later, “Are you going to do something about it?”
You don’t miss a bit, “Yes”
“Let Alba know first”, he says with a serious note in his voice, “She liked you”
~
The stadium buzzes with the loud roaring of fans and the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass under the rain. Barcelona dominates the pitch, their control of the midfield a suffocating grip as the opponents scramble, desperate for a counterattack.
Between miscalculated slides and short passes, Alexia weaves through defenders in a blur of motion and focused energy. She’s calm when the ball is glued on her feet, sparkling to light, her presence igniting the pitch, as soon as her teammates take over.
Patri finds her captain just outside the box and you lean forward, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
You may be new to the whole thing, new in the Blaugrana’s home stands, but you learn quickly and you know exactly what Alexia’s movement means.
The shot curves perfectly, the stadium exhales a collective gasp as the goalkeeper’s fingertips fail to reach it. The ball hits the bar loudly, the sound echoing before it flies out of the pitch.
Beside you, Alba lets out a whoop, clapping her hands with a grin stretching across her face, “She’s out for blood”
You laugh, not like anyone could disagree.
Barça is winning by three goals, outrunning the defence and shooting as if they need to score at least three more to sleep peacefully tonight.
The poor goalkeeper will have nightmares for sure.
“She really want to take home that ball”
“She’s playing to impress”, Alba points out, not so subtly.
You chuckle, her remark flying over your head, “She’s just– good, I guess”
“Good? ¡Por favor!”, the younger Putellas scoffs, rolling her eyes, “She’s acting like a ballet dancer out there, doing pirouettes and running around like she has two sets of lungs”
As to prove her sister’s point, Alexia nutmegs another midfielder and executes another perfect movement, clearing the field for Aitana to set up Vicky for a chip goal.
The crowd erupts, but Alba’s attention remains fixed on you.
“¡Mirala!”, she says, pointing at the pitch where the team is hugging and celebrating, “That was another ‘look at me, soy la Reina’ moment!”
“Your sister is the most competitive person I’ve ever met”
“Competitive? Chica, she’s showing off! And don’t even get me started on the way she keeps looking up here, fixing her hair between plays– It’s ridiculous”
You watch as Barcelona’s bubble dissipates and they get back at their positions, Alexia waves towards your seats, her face illuminated by a radiant grin.
Your cheeks flush slightly, a mixture of amusement and something else.
The game keeps on with the same level of excitement, and even more shots on target. They win narrowly, unconcerned by their soaked clothes, lingering happily in the rain to sign autographs and chat with supporters.
Alexia immediately seeks out you and Alba, trying to embrace you both despite your not-so-playful protests. The damp material of her kit clings, accentuating her defined muscles, and your thoughts stray to less innocent territories.
Alba sends her sister to the changing room, accepting the kiss landed on her forehead and watching as you nod like an idiot when she leaves with the promise to be back in no time, her hand lingering on your arm.
“¡Ay, esto es increíble!”, she interrupts your thought flow, tilting her umbrella just enough for a stream of rain to drop on your face.
“Alba!”
“You’re not exactly subtle either, ¿sabes?”
The stadium noises fade into a distant hum. The air between you thickens, the playful banter morphing into something more charged and intentional. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, avoiding the younger woman’s gaze.
“How long have you known?”, you ask.
“The moment I introduced the two of you, idiota!”, she says, her voice teasing, “But I knew for sure at your birthday’s party”
“Nothing happened between us”
Alba’s smile softens, a gentle understanding dawning in her eyes, “I’m not blind and I know my sister pretty well. And honestly? I think it’s cute, you two glow when you’re together. She likes you. A lot. And you like her too"
Your shoulders relax, “I do. I really like her, Alba”
The wave of relief that washes over you is comforting.
You don’t owe her anything, and Alba definitely doesn’t owe you anything. But it’s good to know this love growing between you and Alexia is real, people around you see it too. People you care about support it.
Your smile spreads naturally on your face when you spot Barcelona’s captain approaching, hair still wet but changed in warm clothes.
Alba doesn’t miss it, nudging you with her elbow just before her sister’s close enough to hear, “It’s good you feel ready to date again, and I’m happy it’s her”
~
“I’m going to say it just once, so listen carefully”, you stop in the middle of the road with a stoic face, “Please, don’t make me regret our entire friendship”
The grin on Elena’s lips tells you everything you need to know, but you give her the benefit of the doubt. Because she’s your best friend, because she knows how to behave.
But she’s your best friend, and she’s not going to behave.
Her visit is not unpleasant, just unexpected.
It’s barely six in the morning when loud bangs on the front door wake you up and almost scare Ricardo to death. He takes it well enough, greeting Elena and going back to sleep the shock away. You, on the other hand, think of leaving her waiting outside until it’s socially acceptable to show up. Her immediate embrace is a clever attempt to smooth your annoyance.
She booked a red-eye flight for a hit and run, so you take her around Barcelona all day and agree to a late night out in a club Alba suggested you join with some of her friends.
“Relax”, she says, skipping steps like a kid as you approach the place.
“Elena, I’m serious”
“Why are you so stressed? Oh– oh, I know!”
She turns around in her heels, too graciously for someone with shoes so high and such low alcohol tolerance – you two may not be in your early 20s anymore, but you figured pregame was necessary this time around.
Her good resolution of not drinking alcohol crumbled as soundly as it started.
“Is she here too?”
“I don’t know what–”
“This mysterious woman you can’t shut up about, who is so great you have heart-shaped eyes but I can’t know her name”, she interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulder as you approach the club’s entrance.
It’s not like you’re hiding Alexia, or your feelings for her.
She’s a frequent topic of conversation with your best friend, you’re comfortable sharing the moments between the two of you and the way your heart beats at a completely different rhythm around the Barcelona’s captain.
But Elena can be protective, and curious.
All she needs is a name, and she’s going to find out if Alexia has ever got a bad grade in primary school. The teasing for liking a football player? You aren’t ready for that either.
“Yes, she’s here and I need you to–”
“This is the best day of my life!”, she doesn’t even let you finish, leaves you right there, flashing the bodyguard at the entrance a huge smile and sweet talking her way in – even though they have your names as vip guests.
“This is going to be the worst day of mine”, you mutter to yourself, following after her.
The energy in the club is charged with a dangerous combination of freewill and alcohol. The place is packed and colored lights go on and off with the music, bright enough to see who’s in front of you, but not enough to make your decision clear. Not tonight.
Alba sees you first, waving her hand to catch your attention so you join them in a secluded table in a corner of the place.
You don’t even ask how Elena is already seated in the cool leather booth, talking animatedly.
“She’s funny”, Alba comments after greeting you with a hug.
“Don’t believe a word she says”
The younger girl’s laugh mixes with your best friend’s, and you know your fate is sealed when a guy hands her a drink.
You look around the table, noticing some people from Alba’s close circle and some you met in passing at the restaurant or at a Barcelona’s game.
“She’s in the bathroom”
Your body betrays you before a coherent thought can leave your brain, your cheeks redding to the tips of your ears.
“Told you, you’re not subtle”, Alba comments, too amused at your reaction.
As if she knows you’re talking about her, as if a magnetic energy forces your body to get closer and closer, Alexia’s gaze locks with yours as she approaches the table, followed by a vaguely familiar face.
She greets you with a dimpled smile and a welcoming hug, it may look like months passed but it’s been a matter of days. The black top she’s wearing emphasizes her toned stomach, and your fingers itch to trace the subtle sheen of sweat crossing her back – a sign she’s been dancing for a while now.
You’re fashionably late, regardless of the time Alba suggested you to be here. Spanish people are stragglers, you have learned it at your own expense.
“Are you ready?”, the footballer asks.
“For what?”
“You owe me a dance”
“Absolutely not!”, you protest, trying to escape her hug.
“Oh, yes”, she smile, her arm around your waist dragging you even closer, “You made fun of my dancing moves, now you have to prove yours”
Next time, you will think twice before sending the blonde every single comment you found online about a TikTok video one of her teammates posted after a huge win. In your defence, you find it very cute.
The dance floor is filled with people, dancing in fluid movements like you learned Spaniard are comfortable with. A sea of arms fling around, bodies smoothly moving to feel each other. The music vibrates with a bass so deep that your ribs pulses at the same rhythm.
Alexia guides you in a less crowded section, far enough from the table so Alba and Elena can study every single movement, but out of earshot.
You try to ignore the thought of your best friend gossiping with Alba.
Thinking, however, is the last thing you do when Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, skin waking up by the slight hint of touch.
It doesn’t really matter how you managed to get this close, how the music runs through your bodies with an unmistakable energy and desire to get even closer. Your arms rise to frame the blonde’s face, her grin growing as soon as she notices your reaction.
It’s not like either of you is hiding the attraction, the pulsing needs to be together. To talk, to touch, to be around one another. It’s always been there, you just never acted on it.
“Are they like that all the time?”, Elena asks, still studying the way you seem to speak a different language with Alexia.
“I’m thinking about locking them somewhere until they kiss or whatever”
The disbelief is clear in Elena’s voice, “Are you sure they haven’t kissed yet?”
“If I know my sister, she must be really fucking scared”
“If I know my best friend, she must be really fucking stupid”
The two nod before bursting in a loud laugh, clicking their glasses.
Almost an half an hour later, you find them like that, giggling and talking as if they have known each other for years and not just met. Alexia raises an eyebrow, silently questioning if she needs to hold back Alba’s enthusiasm – Elena is matching it without a problem, and that’s what really worries you.
“And that’s how she ended up with the sister of her blind date”
“That’s not how it happened, at all”, you complain, hitting your best friend’s arm as she decide telling the worst stories possible is the best way to spend the night.
“Must have been a great date”, someone jokes.
“I’m a fantastic date, thank you so much”
“I can confirm”, Alba says with a teasing grin, raising her empty glass as you flip her off with an equally open smile on your lips.
Alexia, on the other hand, straightens up a bit at the exchange, switches her gaze between the two of you, almost taken aback, “You two dated?”
“I told you”, the younger girl retorts.
“I thought you were messing with me”
The change in her posture is subtle, but you’re close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice the way she moves her knee, breaking contact with yours, her fingers toying with the ring on her pinky.
Alba is a bit too drunk to pay attention to the footballer’s dampened mood, not affected anymore by that one date with you so long ago.
She told her sister about it when she first clocked in her interest for you, hoping to clear the way for her to do something about it – a sort of blessing.
Turns out, Alexia’s so sure she was teasing her, lying about it just to annoy her.
Thankfully, your best friend reads in your face the panic and drifts the conversation on a completely different topic.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughs, questionable drinking choices, and more dancing.
Every single attempt of catching Alexia’s eyes fails miserably. She’s not ignoring you, she doesn’t leave her seat next to you, and her touch is light but grounding. Your mind, however, spirals in a way it hasn’t in months.
It’s late when the group decides to call it a day, stumbling out into the cool, damp air of Barcelona. No one is sober enough to even think of driving, the decision to summon taxis rather than risk the roads is unanimous.
A strange intimacy settled inside the car. You and Alexia sit in the back, while Alba, in the middle, sleeps on the older woman’s shoulder with soft snores. Elena is deep in conversation with the Catalan driver, despite not speaking a word of the language. The city lights flash outside, blurred by a light drizzle that you trace with a finger against the window.
Upon reaching Alexia’s apartment, you insist on helping her carry her sister inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Your best friend, armed with a winning smile and a ‘thank me later’ attitude, somehow manages to convince the driver to wait for you outside.
The place is quiet when you enter, amplifying the tension that crackled between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable.
You and Alexia carefully settle Alba onto the bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the guest room. Each gentle adjustment of her sister’s blanket, each soft whisper to ensure her comfort, stretched out the delicate balance.
It’s minutes later, right by the front door, that something snaps.
Before you can reach the handle on the way out, the footballer’s fingers wrap around your wrist.
There’s urgency in the way her body feels stirred by an electric discharge all of a sudden, her voice low, “You dated?”
“What?”, your confusion is mostly prompted by Alexia’s distressed tone.
“You dated my sister?”
“No, we– I mean, we went out like one time and I was, clearly, still fucked up by my ex– It’s not like we actually dated or something”
“She said–”
“She was joking”, your hands cupping the blonde’s face seems to do wonder at calming her, but you still feel the need to clarify the situation, “I kissed her, once, then found a good therapist and said to her I wasn’t interested like that”
“Are you interested like that?”
“Alexia, I just said–”
“No, no”, she interrupts shyly, never dropping her gaze, “Are you interested in me like that?”
Despite the voices still filling doubts in your head, kissing her is the easiest, most natural thing to do at that moment.
Her lips are soft, warm, and taste faintly of sweet drinks. Her breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the quiet intimacy of the kiss.
A current of interest, desire, and care pulls you closer. There’s complicity and belonging, mingling with curiosity, and the thrill of uncharted territory.
And there’s Alexia, right in front of you, vulnerable and exposed and trusting enough to lay her emotions in your hands. Making you feel so safe that you don’t even have to think about doing the same.
So you kiss again, trying to convey how sure you are about your feelings. Because the insecurities and the questioning silence when Alexia’s heartbeat syncs with yours and her hand caresses your face.
The sharp honk coming from the taxi outside is the only reason why you separate.
~
The late afternoon sun drapes over the Barcelona streets as you and Alexia stroll, fingers laced together.
It’s a familiar feeling now, holding hands after a date.
You have explored hidden hikes, shared tapas after her games, and even attended a couple of flamenco lessons. Nothing too different from what you’ve already experienced.
Except, of course, for the kissing.
And there’s been a lot of that.
Your phone buzzes, interrupting Alexia’s recall of Vicky’s last attempt of convincing her to do another stupid trend. You drop her hand, your fingers flying across the screen, muttering in concentration.
The footballer raises an eyebrow, complaining playfully, “Am I annoying you?”
“It’s this stupid bird!”
“Still fighting with ser y estar?”
“I’m sorry, my Spanish teacher is a tease and gets distracted five minutes after promising to help me study”
“She sounds like an incredible teacher”, she counters, too pleased with herself as she hints at your last private tutoring.
Despite your best effort, the other woman had other plans. The sentences she whispered right at your ear, with a raspy voice and a note of teasing in every single movement of her lips, made your resolution crumble in a matter of minutes. The books, not even opened, fell off the bed with a kick of her foot.
You do, however, learn some new words.
Your cheeks flush at the memory, “Shut up!”
“I said nothing”
You ignore her grin, still welcoming her embrace as she pulls you closer to help with the lesson.
“This app is useless! Why do those Spanish animals always do weird things? It’s making me questioning my entire existence”
“Tan dramática”, Alexia snorts, nudging you with her hip, “Why are you even using that thing? You can learn everything you need from me”
“I’m trying to actually learn something here”, you retort, faking annoyance, “Besides, you’re not always available for Spanish lessons. I want to get better, impress the locals”
“After more than a year?”
“Never too late”, you grin, “Just wait, I’ll be ordering in flawless Catalan in less time than it took you to ask me out”
Alexia stops in her tracks at your teasing, taken aback by your admission and by way of calling her out for the stalling after the first kiss you shared. She may have needed a little push then, trying to find the best moment to ask you for a real date to just blur it out in the rush of a late game night you attended.
You continue walking, too focused on the lesson to acknowledge the blonde’s momentary pause.
“Wait, I thought you were taking Spanish lessons”
“Yes, from you and the stupid bird, but I have an actually tutor for Catalan”
“You’re learning Catalan?”
“I live in Barcelona”, you say, matter of factly, but the flush creeping up on your cheeks betrays you.
The truth hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. It isn’t about fitting in, not anymore. It’s about her.
To understand her better, wrapping deeply into the fabric of her world. It’s commitment, to the city and to a future that you can’t picture without her in. It’s a promise, somehow, to bridge any gap and to learn her culture, her soul.
Alexia’s gaze lingers, the weight of your growing feelings both exhilarating and inevitable.
She told herself she set a pace comfortable for you, respecting your need to get better with loving yourself and trusting others.
But you’ve been ready for this love for quite some time now.
The way you open up with her, hold her after a long day, and gently kiss the creases around her lips when she smiles. The way you not just proudly wear your heart on your sleeve, but you hand out your emotions to be seen. The way you make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to be taken care of.
The way you’re learning to love her by learning to love everything that makes her who she is.
A nervous flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in your stomach as Alexia catches up to you. You could feel the energy radiating from her, the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of wood and something undeniably her.
“Estic enamorada de tu”, she confesses, cheeks slightly tinted but her voice so firm, so sure.
“I know what that means”
A smile, genuine and carefree, grows on both your lips. You study her face for a moment, finding nothing but pure care and a force that feels like arms keeping you safe and warm.
Nothing but love.
The way you kiss her is almost too intense for a late afternoon in the streets of Barcelona, but barely enough to convey all the emotions that you discovered and learned to welcome in your life again.
You may not be ready to say out loud you’re falling in love with her too, not yet. But the firmness of your hands on her face, the happiness lightning in your eyes, the resolution conveyed by your kiss.
She knows.
~
On the day you declare the restaurant officially debt free, Paco lifts you up off the ground, spins you around with ease and plants a loud kiss on your forehead.
Paul’s reaction is a bit tamed, even if he declares he’s going to name his firstborn after you. Still single and hopeless romantic, you’re not sure how much to read into his words.
Pedro cries, of course he does, but he also hugs you in a way that conveys almost too much not to shed a few tears yourself.
It’s not difficult for you to admit you own them more than they own you.
Taking care of the restaurant’s ledger and the guys’ enthusiastic opinion about your accounting job opened a lot of small businesses’ doors. The idea of opening your own office never even crosses your mind, not planning on entangling yourself in a structured system anytime soon. The new apartment you rent has a small room that works just fine as a study.
You will still keep an eye on them, though, not sure enough your finance lessons really drilled in their heads.
“So, you’re finally letting us treat you with dinner?”, Paul asks, serving you up with way too many pleasantries.
“I already have someone who pays for me”, you retort, playful smirk on your lips.
“¡Ay, I thought you were taking me out tonight!”, Alexia complains next to you, keeping up with the joke as she pretends to not be interested in the food anymore. She can be such a dork.
“Wait, am I crushing a date?”, Alba intercepts from the other side of the table.
“You’ve been crushing our dates since the day we met!”
The laughs that erupt are loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons, thankfully not really annoyed by the chaos. The truth is that, despite being a menace of a group, it is not like you can drag your friends in any other place without the risk of getting banned forever.
It’s a familiar scene. The restaurant feels like a second home now, one that you built on your own around people that truly see you, support you and never miss a chance to tease you.
So you shake your head at Ricardo’s antics and glare at Alexia when she keeps teasing her sister, effortlessly distracting her with light movements of your fingers on her knee.
The conversation flows between shared memories and inside jokes, carrying the night away until your table is the only one left. Not planning on leaving the place anytime soon. And as you sit there, surrounded by your friends, questionable recalling of stories, and the magnetic pull of Alexia’s presence, you just know that this is it.
This is your life, your love, your chosen family.
Then Pedro has to ruin the moment, persuading everyone you have to make a toast for whatever reason. You try to fight it, embarrassed and quite frankly taken aback by the respect and genuine admiration this people seems to feel for you.
A subtle nod of your girlfriend’s head, her hand finding yours beneath the table, is all you need to indulge with their antics.
“To us”, you say, raising a glass, “To finally getting our shit together!”
Laughter and cheers fill the restaurant, everyone congratulating each other for the most random things and joking around as if life could always be this simple.
Alexia’s hold tightens, her eyes meeting yours. Her face lights up in a way that never fails to make your own heart grow.
“T’estimo”, you whisper, just for her to hear.
Your love is usually so loud. A love that grows unexpectedly, but burns with a fierce and tender flame. But your promises are quiet. A silent acknowledgment of commitment that goes beyond, that stretches confidently into the future.
The moment your car collides with his, two things hit you harder than the airbag that just exploded in your face:
1. This was absolutely not your fault. (Technically.)
2. You did not deserve this.
For a second, everything is still. Your hands are locked around the wheel, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. The scent of burnt fabric and chemicals fills the car, the deployed airbag sagging pathetically in your lap like it just gave up on life.
Then—
"Are you fucking serious right now?!"
A voice—loud, pissed, and very much alive—cuts through your haze.
Your pulse stumbles.
Right. The other driver.
Slowly, stiffly, you peel your fingers off the wheel, every nerve in your body still humming with leftover adrenaline. The heat outside is relentless, pressing against the windshield, turning the inside of the car into an oven. Your skin feels sticky, your dress clinging uncomfortably as you try to process the disaster you just walked into.
You force yourself to move. The door groans as you push it open, and the second you step out, the sun slams into you like it's personally offended by your existence.
The man standing by the other car is fuming.
He's tall, broad, dressed in a crisp white button-down that’s now slightly wrinkled—probably from the sheer force of his frustration. His tie is loosened, his hands are on his head, and his expression is pure disbelief.
"You weren’t even looking!" he accuses, waving a hand toward the wreckage like it’s some kind of crime scene.
You inhale slowly, adjusting your sunglasses, trying to summon even a shred of calm. "Okay, first of all—let’s not jump to accusations."
His nostrils flare. "Look. At. My. Car."
You do.
And—okay. Yeah. It’s… seen better days. The bumper is hanging on by a miracle, the front crumpled in like a crushed soda can.
Then you turn to Alexia’s car.
And feel actual fear for the first time.
The front end looks exhausted. Like it’s seen things and would like to never be perceived again. The airbag is fully deployed, slumped over the steering wheel in silent, tragic judgment. The scent of burnt chemicals still lingers in the air.
You swallow hard. Maybe you should’ve just stayed home today.
"Are you even listening?!" the guy snaps, dragging a hand down his face. "You literally just crashed into me, and you’re acting like—"
"Okay, I hear you," you interrupt, forcing a smile. "I do. But, like… have you ever tried deep breathing? It’s amazing for stressful situations."
His eye twitches. "We're calling insurance."
You're already pulling out your phone. "Great idea!"
Of course, you’re not calling insurance.
You're calling her.
Alexia picks up after two rings.
"Bebé” Her voice is soft, familiar, but there’s an edge to it—like she already knows.
You hesitate.
The airbag. The crumpled hood. The fact that this isn’t even your car.
"Before I say anything," you start, voice syrupy sweet, "just know that I love you."
Silence.
Then—
"What did you do?"
You glance at the guy, who is still pacing beside his ruined car, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like legal threats.
You wince. "Hypothetically speaking, if something happened to your car—"
The silence sharpens.
"—not saying it did, but if it had a little accident—"
"Define ‘little.’"
You peek back at the scene. The wreckage. The airbag’s limp, tragic existence. The guy still looking like he’s one second away from suing you for emotional distress.
"Like… a kiss. A car kiss. Just a very unfortunate, high-speed one."
"You said you needed my car for work."
"I did. And I used it so responsibly. Except for this… one tiny—okay, medium—moment."
She exhales, long and sharp. "Is it bad?"
You hesitate. "...Define bad?"
"Is it drivable?"
"Technically."
"Is anything hanging off?"
"...Define ‘hanging.’"
"You’re actually unreal."
"It’s mostly cosmetic!" you argue. "Like, it still looks like a car! Just… also like it needs a nap. And a therapist."
"Where are you?"
"Outside work. I just parked. But the guy’s yelling about insurance and—wait, hold on—" You lower the phone. "Sir, are we exchanging info, or are you just gonna keep pacing?"
He glares. "Someone’s paying for this."
You sigh, lifting the phone back. "Ale, babe. Help."
"Send me a picture."
"...Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather hear about it first?"
"Now."
The call ends.
You groan and snap a photo of the wreckage. Then, because you’re already in deep shit, you send another one.
Of your boobs—one of the many emergency nudes you keep saved, because honestly, who doesn’t have a backup plan?
Her reply is immediate.
Alexia:
You are actually deranged.
A few more seconds. Then—
Alexia:
I’m leaving training. Stay there.
Uh-oh.
Fifteen minutes later, an SUV pulls up fast.
Too fast.
The tires bite into the pavement, rolling to a sharp, precise stop. The door swings open, and she steps out.
And suddenly, the heat of the sun feels second to the way she carries herself.
Alexia looks dangerous in the way only someone completely in control can. She’s still in her training gear—dark compression shorts hugging her legs, a fitted Barça tee damp with sweat. Her hair is tied back, loose strands framing her face in a way that should not look as good as it does. She shuts the car door with purpose, her sharp gaze sweeping the scene like she’s assessing an opponent.
First, the damage.
Then, the guy.
Then, you.
You smile delicately, clasping your hands together like the very picture of innocence. "Hi, my love."
"Are you hurt?"
The question takes you by surprise.
You blink. "Huh?"
Her eyes soften—just barely. "Are you hurt?" she repeats.
Your stomach does something weird.
You clear your throat. "No. Just—bruised ego."
She nods once, accepting that, before turning to the guy.
"We’ll handle this through insurance," she states, her tone cool, absolute.
The guy, who had previously been full of righteous anger, suddenly looks… uncertain. "Well, yeah, obviously, but—"
"Give me your details," she cuts in, leaving zero room for argument. "The tow truck is already on its way. We’ll handle the paperwork."
You glance at your phone, realizing you missed the call she must’ve made while driving.
The guy hesitates, then sighs in defeat. "Fine."
Alexia doesn’t waste another second. She turns to you, jaw tight. "Passenger seat."
You hesitate. "I can explai—"
"Passenger. Seat."
Your stomach flips.
Something about the way she says it—calm, but final—sends a thrill through you. You don’t argue this time.
The tow truck arrives as you settle in, the driver stepping out and immediately greeting Alexia with a handshake. She’s already handling it, already making the process smooth, efficient. You watch her through the windshield, chin propped on your hand.
Eventually, she gets back in. Silence settles between you as she pulls onto the road. It lingers for a while, heavy with everything that just happened.
Inside the car, you watch her, awed despite yourself. The way she carries herself. The way people listen to her. Honestly, kind of hot for someone who’s about to yell at you.
You reach over, fingers brushing against hers on the console. Her grip loosens slightly.
"You're mad," you murmur.
She exhales through her nose. "You sent me nudes after crashing my car."
You grin. "Did it help?"
Her lips twitch—just slightly. "You're impossible."
You smile. "But you’re not mad about the boobs, right?" A pause. Then, carefully—
"You crash my car and send me nudes." She shakes her head, half in disbelief, half in something else you can’t quite place. "Honestly. Who raised you?"
You shrug. "A woman with taste."
A pause. Then, carefully—
"Your driving privileges are suspended."
You gasp. "You can’t do that."
"Watch me."
"Babe. My freedom."
She glances over, lips twitching. "I’ll think about it."
You grin, leaning in, voice low, teasing. "I can be very persuasive."
She hums, eyes still on the road but amusement curling at the edges of her mouth.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
I watched Seven Ounds ages ago and had completely forgotten about it. The story, even though I knew exactly how it was going to end, wrecked me! Very good idea to take the movie and put it into a story :)
thank you so much!
i loved the movie and idk decided to make a fic out of it. i had to watch it so many times that it’s engraved in my brain. i also cried every single time watching it that i had tears while i wrote.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
If you do requests could you do a Caitlin Foord x Reader: Caitlin being extremely nervous on their first date. Fumbling over her words, knocking into stuff, etc. Reader just finding it cute?
i unfortunately don’t take requests anymore. i also don’t write much anymore besides the once every few months motivation that i get.
maybe some other great writers on here would be able to but thank you for believing in my writing abilities
I can't lie, Limited made me cry 😭 that hit so hard and even though I could see where the fic was going, it still made me so emotional
Thank you for writing that, it was truly beautiful ❤️
thank you! it took me so long to write it and i’ve cried so many times during writing it. this story was always gonna go in one direction, i just needed to make sure not to rush it to get to the ending.
thank you for taking the time to let me know what you thought, i appreciate it so much! ❤️
this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.
i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.
let me know what you think
wc: 8.8k
trigger warning: suicide
———
in seven days,
god created the world.
in seven seconds,
i shattered mine.
Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.
Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until.
Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…
“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”
The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.
“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”
Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”
More waiting.
“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.
“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.
“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”
“What?” She was speechless.
“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”
“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”
The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”
Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?
The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her.
You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.
The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is.
“What?” you grated out.
“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.
“What d’you want Samuel?”
“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”
“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”
You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.
“I wanna come see you.”
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.
You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.
Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.
“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.
“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.
“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”
You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”
“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.
“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”
“Do you recognize me or something?”
“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.
“Story for another time.”
You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.
“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.
“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”
A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.
“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”
“Alessia.”
“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.
Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.
“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“How many hours?”
“A couple weeks.”
Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.
Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition
That night kept replaying in your mind.
The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.
“Hey, come in.”
Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”
You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.
“What’s your story?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”
You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.
“I used to play football.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”
You chuckle, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”
You pause, your mind going back to your memories.
You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.
“Wh-where am I?”
“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”
You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”
“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”
Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.
“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”
Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”
You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.
You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.
“You know you can’t take that in.”
“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.
You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.
“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.
You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.
“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”
“It better be good then baby.”
You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.
“Oh, you have no idea!”
It happened so fast.
You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.
Your heart was full.
And then—
Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.
You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives.
Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.
You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.
The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.
Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.
You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.
You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.
Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.
This is your fault.
You scream.
You killed the person you loved.
Tears stream down your face.
The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.
You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet.
For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.
“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.
“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”
You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.
“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.
“Of course. How could I say no?”
“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”
“You will.”
Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.
You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.
You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.
“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.
“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.
Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”
You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”
Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.
“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”
Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”
You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.
The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you.
“Have a good night Alessia.”
“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.
“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”
Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”
Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.
“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.
“It’s Dave.”
You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.
You stand there for a moment, just watching.
The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.
You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.
But it doesn’t matter.
You pull your hand away from the glass.
The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It doesn’t know what it’s here for.
But you do.
“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.
“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”
“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”
“Same one.”
“Same answer then.”
“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”
“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”
“What, you think I’m…”
“Do what you promised me.”
“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”
You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room.
Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.
“Hello?”
You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”
“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”
“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”
You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”
“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”
“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.
“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”
“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”
“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”
“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”
You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”
“I like the name Jane. Go on.”
“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”
“‘Kay. Then what happened?”
“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”
Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”
“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”
“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”
“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking.
“I thought you said this was a good story?”
“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”
“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.
“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”
“I see.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.
“M’kay. Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”
You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep.
You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.
Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.
The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.
“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.
You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead.
You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.
Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.
She’s awake.
You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.
“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.
“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”
“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.
Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.
“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”
“I’m as good as I can be.”
“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”
Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.
“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.
“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”
“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”
“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”
“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.
Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.
You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.
Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—
The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.
The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.
“Have you- have you ever been in love?”
You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.
“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Um, yes. But it ended.”
“What happened?”
“Stop it.”
“No, tell me.”
“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”
She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car.
“Alessia, hold on.”
“Just leave.”
“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.
You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.
“Thank you for everything.”
You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.
A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.
She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.
“Is this your way of saying sorry?”
“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”
She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.
She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.
Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.
You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.
“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”
You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.
“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”
You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.
As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”
You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”
She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.
“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”
“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.
Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”
You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.
It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking.
You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”
“Motel,” you correct him.
“How much longer?”
“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.
“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.
You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”
“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”
“Busy? Uh—”
“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.
“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.
At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after.
“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over.
“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.
“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.
“No, um, um. No.”
“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”
“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”
You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.
“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.
“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”
“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.
“You’re so nice.”
“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”
Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”
You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked.
She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.
“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”
“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.
The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.
You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.
But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.
With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.
You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.
You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.
Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.
For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.
Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.
“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.
“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.
“What if game.”
“The what if game.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”
You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.
“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.
She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.
You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.
You run.
The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.
You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.
“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.
“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.
“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”
“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.
You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.
“Hey.”
“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”
“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”
“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”
“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”
“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.
The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.
“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.
Stepping into your room, you pause by the door.
You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.
You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.
The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.
“999 emergency.”
You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.
“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.
“I have you at 9216 Street.”
“That’s room number two.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.
“Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.
“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.
“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.
“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”
“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”
“Y/N!”
You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.
You’re flipping.
Flipping.
Flipping.
Then everything stops.
Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.
Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.
You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.
Then you feel it.
A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you.
You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.
You’re running.
You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.
You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating.
You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.
Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.
You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.
Red.
The color of her dress.
Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining.
You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.
Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.
“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”
Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”
But she doesn’t.
A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright.
But she doesn’t.
A sigh of relief escapes you.
Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.
Then — nothing.
The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.
But they couldn’t.
Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.
“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.
Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room.
“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.
Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.
Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.
Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.
Now he does.
He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.
“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face.
Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out.
My Dearest Alessia,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.
I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.
I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.
I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.
Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.
Forever yours,
Y/N
She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.
Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.
Then she saw him.
A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.
Your eyes.
Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.
She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.
Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”
Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”
A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.
She was back.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.
The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.
None of it mattered now.
With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down.
She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.
Thank you.
Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
ellievsbear
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theartofmadeline
areudirty
origamiaround
pixelskylines
snowghoul
