You're a starting centre back for Arsenal Women's team, composed, vocal, one of the leaders on the pitch. Fans admire you for your intelligence and calm authority.
Online, though, you have a different kind of voice, a hugely respected writer on Tumblr with an alias, known for deeply emotional, character driven smutty women’s football fan fiction. People in the fandom hang on your updates. You've built a reputation for getting players right, their mannerisms, their dynamics, their quiet moments.
No one knows how close you actually are to the source.
Part 5 Word Count: 8.3K
The next four days pass in a blur so fast it barely feels real, one minute you’re standing in the middle of the Emirates trying to memorise the sound of Arsenal supporters singing your name.
The next you’re surrounded by cardboard boxes and half packed suitcases while movers dismantle your life around you, football moves brutally fast once decisions are made that there’s no real space to grieve properly.
You spend most of the first two days numb, your flat slowly empties piece by piece until it stops looking like your home at all, the walls feel strange without framed shirts and photos.
You find old Arsenal training kits shoved into drawers you forgot existed, match day programmes, academy photos, a hoodie Leah stole three years ago then somehow returned during emotional packing.
“You’re welcome,” Leah Williamson had said solemnly while handing it back.
“You literally stole this.”
“I preserved it.”
The girls help where they can mostly emotionally, Beth and Alessia come over the night before your flight with takeaway and wine and end up sitting cross legged amongst boxes until nearly 2am because nobody really wants to acknowledge this is goodbye.
“You’re gonna become unbearably cultured now,” Beth complains while stealing chips from your plate.
Beside her, Alessia looks emotional every few minutes all over again, “You better FaceTime me constantly.”
“I’ll literally still see you at England camp”
“That’s not the same.”
You laugh softly anyway, but later that night after they leave the flat feels crushingly quiet again, you sit alone on the floor beside packed boxes staring out across London through your apartment windows.
The grief hits strangely then, heavy enough to make your chest ache.
You don’t sleep much.
🔴
Barcelona greets you with winter sun and sea air and complete emotional whiplash, the apartment the club arranges is beautiful, minimalist and modern with a balcony overlooking narrow streets and little cafés below.
It doesn’t feel like yours yet it probably won’t for a while, your Arsenal duffel bag sits unopened in the corner of your bedroom for nearly a full day because looking at it still hurts.
The first night you sleep badly, plane ride tired mixed with anxiety mixed with grief. You wake up disoriented twice before remembering where you are, Barcelona, actually Barcelona, the best team in the world your new club, the thought still feels unreal.
By morning your stomach is in knots, not because of football, football is the easy part, it’s everything else. New dressing room. New language. New people and somewhere inside that training ground Alexia Putellas. You try very hard not to think about that while getting ready.
The club driver talks politely in broken English during the journey but you barely absorb any of it, your pulse has been too loud since waking up.
Outside the training ground photographers already wait, your arrival has been all over football media for days, the biggest January transfer in women’s football history, Barcelona’s statement signing.
You step out the car into camera flashes immediately, you are instinctively composed, Footballer mode sliding into place automatically, even while your stomach twists itself into impossible knots.
Inside, the building smells different than Arsenal, cleaner somehow, Spanish voices drift through hallways you don’t know yet. Staff greet you warmly as you’re guided through medical offices and media rooms and endless introductions that blur together after a while. Everyone is kind, professional and excited, still, you feel slightly detached from your own body through most of it like this is happening to somebody else.
The office you're shown into is warm, too warm actually, or maybe that’s just your nerves. You sit beside one of Barcelona’s sporting directors at a long meeting table while conversations continue around you in rapid Spanish that your brain only catches pieces of. Everyone smiles warmly when they speak to you, you smile back automatically you were professional and polite, but still slightly detached.
The Barcelona hoodie on your shoulders still feels surreal every time you look down at it, Blaugrana colours where Arsenal red should be. Across from you, Pere Romeu talks animatedly about defensive structure and how they envision using you in possession.
You focus on that part gratefully football you understand, “We think you can give us…” Pere pauses briefly, searching for the English. “More aggression in transition moments.”
You nod slightly, “That’s usually what I do.”
A few people around the table laugh softly, Pere smiles too. “You defend very… how you say…” He gestures vaguely with one hand, “Violently.”
That actually makes you grin faintly for the first time all morning, “I’ve heard worse feedback.”
The room relaxes around you slightly after that conversation becomes easier, more natural, for a few brief minutes you almost stop feeling like an outsider sitting in somebody else’s life.
Then there’s a knock at the office door, light and quick, everyone glances over automatically the door opens before anyone answers and suddenly there she is. Alexia Putellas slips into the office wearing training kit and a dark jacket half zipped against the cold morning air.
“Hola,” she says softly.
Your stomach immediately flips over itself, Alexia’s eyes find yours almost instantly across the room and then she smiles, it was small but warm. Like she’s genuinely happy to see you here.
Your pulse becomes deeply unhelpful, “Sorry,” Alexia says to the room in accented English. “I come bit early for tour.”
Pere waves a hand immediately, “No problem Ale”
You blink once, Alexia looks back at you expectantly now, “You ready?”
There’s something almost amusing about the fact one of the most intimidating footballers in the world still sounds slightly uncertain asking things in English. You stand automatically before your brain catches up, “Yeah.”
As you move around the table, Alexia’s gaze flicks briefly down over the Barcelona training gear on you, then back up again, “Blaugrana suits you,” she says with a little smile.
Your chest does something genuinely ridiculous, you huff a quiet laugh mostly to cover it, “Bit early to tell.”
“No,” Alexia says immediately, “I think yes.” The confidence of it catches you off guard and somehow, weirdly it settles something nervous in your chest too.
The room around you watches the interaction with varying levels of interest, you can practically feel one or two amused looks from staff members already fully aware of football gossip, fantastic, absolutely fantastic.
Alexia either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, she gestures lightly toward the hallway, “Come. I show you round before training.”
So you follow Alexia back out into the corridor the office door clicks shut behind you and immediately the noise dulls slightly, just distant movement through the training ground now, Spanish voices somewhere further down the hall, your footsteps beside hers.
For a moment neither of you speak, then Alexia glances sideways at you, “You sleep okay?”
You laugh softly through your nose, “Not even remotely.”
She nods like she expected that answer,“First days are strange.”
“You remember yours?”
Alexia smiles faintly, “No. I was baby.”
That startles a real laugh out of you, she looks pleased about it immediately.
“Mhm.” She points lightly at you, “You laugh more here already.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, “That’s been like twenty seconds.”
“Still true.”
You shake your head faintly, looking ahead again before she notices how much warmth that stupid observation causes in your chest.
The hallway opens toward the training pitch viewing area ahead sunlight spills through the windows onto polished floors and suddenly it hits you again.
You were in Barcelona, you actually left Arsenal, you actually came here, the grief flickers briefly underneath everything else.
Alexia notices immediately, “You okay?”
The softness of the question nearly catches you off guard, you hesitate briefly, then answer honestly, “Just feels weird still.”
Alexia’s expression gentles slightly, “Yes,” she says quietly, “I understand.” Standing here beside her in a foreign training ground thousands of miles from the only club you’ve ever known you think maybe she actually does.
You keep your hands shoved into the pockets of your hoodie mostly to stop yourself fidgeting, Alexia leans lightly against the wall beside the viewing window, watching you with that same attentive expression she always seems to wear around you now..
“You know,” she says after a second, carefully choosing the English, “when I hear you maybe come here…” She pauses briefly, “I think maybe impossible.”
You glance sideways at her, “Why?”
She shrugs one shoulder lightly, “You are Arsenal.”
The simplicity of it hurts unexpectedly, because that’s exactly how you’d always thought of yourself too, you look out toward the pitches again, “I was.”
Alexia’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer, “You can be sad and still happy for new thing.”
Your mouth twitches faintly, “That sounded suspiciously wise.”
“I am thirty one,” she says dryly, “I have experience. You think I am serious all the time.”
“You are serious most of the time.”
“Not true.”
“You literally terrify people.”
“I terrify you?”
You look at her then, big mistake again, because she’s closer than you realised, close enough you can properly see the warm brown in her eyes and the faint amusement sitting around her mouth. Your stomach flips annoyingly, “No,” you lie.
Alexia’s smile widens instantly because she hears it too, “Liar.”
“Little bit.”
She laughs softly under her breath, that sound is dangerous.
You clear your throat slightly and look away first, “So,” you say, forcing professionalism back into your voice. “You’re giving the new signing a tour?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very welcoming.”
Alexia hums thoughtfully, “You are expensive. We make sure you stay.” That catches you so off guard you actually choke slightly on your own breath, Alexia looks delighted immediately, “I make joke!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You go red.”
“I hate you a little bit.”
“No you don’t.” Unfortunately she sounds very confident about that, before you can recover properly, movement appears down the hallway.
Patri Guijarro and Aitana Bonmatí round the corner mid-conversation before spotting you both, Patri’s face immediately shifts into something dangerously knowing, “Ohhh,” she says.
You physically feel yourself preparing for nonsense, Aitana looks between you and Alexia once, then smiles politely at you, “Hola,” she says warmly. “Finally you are here.”
“Hi.”
Patri folds her arms dramatically, “So this is why Alexia disappear from meeting.”
Alexia doesn’t even look remotely embarrassed, “I say I steal her for tour.”
“Yes but usually you steal coffee.”
You glance toward Alexia immediately, “She left a meeting for me?”
Patri looks delighted by your confusion, “Oh, she has been impossible all morning.”
“Patri,” Alexia warns mildly.
“No no,” Patri continues gleefully, “Very distracted captain today.”
Alexia mutters something sharp in Spanish that makes Aitana laugh quietly, you don’t understand the words, but you understand the tone perfectly. You’re suddenly becoming aware all over again that these women know Alexia far better than you do.
They know when she’s acting differently, when she’s nervous, that thought settles somewhere warm and dangerous low in your chest, Aitana smiles softly at you then, “We are happy you came.”
Something about the sincerity of it catches you off guard, because underneath all the media attention and transfer headlines and record fees you still feel like somebody standing awkwardly in a place that isn’t theirs yet, but none of them are treating you that way, ot even slightly.
“Thanks,” you say quietly.
Patri points suddenly toward your hoodie, “You look weird not in Arsenal red.”
“Thank you, that’s exactly what someone wants to hear on their first day.”
Patri grins, “But good weird.”
Alexia nods once immediately beside you, “Yes.”
Your eyes flick toward her automatically and the way she’s looking at you suddenly feels far too soft for your already fragile nervous system. Luckily, before you can spiral properly, a staff member appears further down the corridor calling players toward the gym.
Training, your first session here, your stomach twists instantly again, Alexia notices again, honestly you’re starting to find it irritating how observant she is.
She nudges lightly against your shoulder as everyone starts moving, “You okay,” she says quietly, not a question, more reassurance somehow.
You exhale slowly, “Yeah… Ask me again after rondos.”
Patri laughs loudly immediately, “Ahh, now she sounds Barça already.”
🔴
The changing room is chaos in a way that feels strangely familiar, music playing somewhere too loud, Spanish overlapping from every direction. Boots hitting tiled floors, laughter bouncing around the room, different club, different language, same football dressing room energy underneath it all.
You stand near your locker for half a second taking it in while trying not to look visibly overwhelmed, then suddenly Kika Nazareth appears beside you seemingly out of nowhere, “You sit here,” she says, pointing toward the empty space between her and Patri.
You blink once, “Oh. Thanks.”
Kika studies you for a second, then nods approvingly, “Good. You look like defender.”
You genuinely don’t know how to respond to that, luckily Patri laughs softly beside her, “She means scary.”
“I know what she means.”
Kika points again immediately, “Good. Important quality.”
You huff a quiet laugh while dropping your bag down beside the bench, the nerves are still there, still clawing around underneath your ribs, but the girls make it difficult to disappear into your own head too much.
Every few seconds someone else speaks to you, questions, jokes, little bits of conversation and through all of it Alexia keeps appearing in your peripheral vision, not hovering, just… around. Checking in without making it obvious, you pretend not to notice mostly because noticing feels dangerous.
🔴
Out on the training pitch the winter sun hangs bright above the complex, the air smells like cut grass and sea salt drifting faintly from somewhere beyond the city.
You tug your sleeves down slightly while listening to the coaches explain the session, your pulse is loud again.
First training session, first impressions, new teammates, new system and no matter how experienced you are there’s always that fear. What if you’re not what they expected? Then the rondos start and football finally shuts your brain up.
The second the ball starts moving your body takes over automatically, pressing angles, weight of pass, defensive positioning, the familiar comfort of football slides into place like muscle memory. At one point Aitana Bonmatí tries threading a pass through a ridiculously tight space during possession work, you read it early, step across, intercept cleanly, one touch out your feet before switching play immediately.
Several girls shout simultaneously. “Oooh.” “Madre mía.”
Aitana turns toward you with narrowed eyes, “You are annoying already.”
You grin slightly despite yourself, “That feels like a compliment.”
“It is.”
Alexia absolutely looks pleased watching it happen you ignore that too, mostly unsuccessfully.
Later during defensive transition drills things become more physical, faster, sharper and you feel far more like yourself. One sequence ends with Caroline Graham Hansen driving toward the box at terrifying speed, your timing has to be perfect.
You wait and wait then step across at exactly the right second and win the ball cleanly with a hard shoulder challenge that sends the ball spinning away. Pere blows the whistle briefly, “Again!”
As everyone resets, Alexia jogs past you slowly, “You enjoy this part,” she observes.
You glance sideways, “What gave it away?”
“The terrifying smile.”
“I do not have a terrifying smile.”
Alexia looks unconvinced, “You absolutely do.”
Then she jogs away before you can answer properly your stomach flips stupidly watching her go.
By the end of training you’re exhausted, physically fine, but emotionally wrung out, still, something inside your chest feels lighter than it did this morning.
The girls drift around the pitch collecting balls and water bottles while conversations continue easily around you, no awkwardness, no feeling like an outsider being assessed. Just footballers, teammates, at one point Irene tosses you a bottle, “You survive first session.”
“Barely.”
She nods seriously, “Good sign.”
You laugh softly. Nearby, Alexia watches the interaction with a faint smile before walking over, “How you feel?”
“Tired.”
“Good tired?”
You hesitate briefly then nod, “Yeah.”
🔴
Your apartment is quiet when you get back not sad quiet this time, just still, you kick your trainers off near the door, drop your keys into the little bowl beside the counter and stand there for a second breathing out slowly.
Barcelona air drifts through the slightly open balcony doors, somewhere below, people are laughing outside a café, a scooter buzzes down the narrow street, it still doesn’t fully feel real that this is your life now.
Your phone buzzes before you can spiral too deeply into that thought.
Leah: FaceTime. Now.
Beth: we miss you already
Alessia: i cried in training btw
You: Shocking behaviour from Russo
Your phone immediately starts ringing, you answer still walking toward the kitchen for water, the screen loads into chaos instantly.
“THERE SHE IS—”
You wince, “Jesus Christ.”
Beth grins from somewhere on the left side of the screen while Alessia waves dramatically beside her, “You survived!”
“Barely.”
Then your eyes land on Leah sitting behind them on the sofa, watching you carefully already, you know that look, assessment mode, checking if you’re really okay, “You look tired,” Leah says immediately.
“Thanks.”
“You do,” Beth agrees helpfully.
“I’m hanging up.”
“You also look…” Alessia tilts her head slightly, “Better?”
That catches you off guard enough you pause halfway through opening the fridge, “Oh.”
The three of them notice immediately, because of course they do, “You do,” Leah says more softly now, “You actually do.”
You lean back against the kitchen counter with your water bottle, looking at them through the screen for a moment, your people, god you miss them already.
“How was it?” Beth asks finally.
You expect your automatic response, fine, good, standard deflection, but instead your mouth twitches slightly, “It was actually…” You hesitate briefly. “Good.”
The reaction on the screen is immediate, Beth gasps theatrically, Alessia’s jaw literally drops, Leah just smiles quietly, “You liked it,” she says.
You shrug faintly, “They’re nice.”
“Nice?” Beth repeats suspiciously, “That’s all we get after abandoning us for European royalty?”
You laugh softly despite yourself, “The football’s ridiculous.”
“Obviously.”
“No seriously,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your jaw, “The technical level is stupid.”
Leah looks unsurprised, “You held your own?”
That part finally makes something warmer settle in your chest, because yes you had, “I think so.” You roll your eyes slightly, “But it was one session.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Leah studies your face quietly again, “You’re smiling.”
You blink, “Hm?”
“You’re smiling while talking about it.”
Your stomach twists slightly because she’s right you hadn’t even noticed, all three of them are looking at you with this awful mix of relief and sadness like seeing you happy somewhere else hurts a little too.
“I miss you,” Alessia says suddenly.
“Russo,” you warn softly because she already looks emotional again.
“I do though.”
Beth leans into the frame dramatically, “She’s been unbearable all day.”
“I have not.”
“You cried because someone mentioned tapas.”
“That was unrelated.”
Leah shakes her head fondly behind them before looking back at you, “You deserve for this to be good, you know.”
The sincerity of it nearly undoes you all over again, because underneath the grief, there’s still guilt somewhere deep inside you for not feeling miserable every second here.
You glance down at your water bottle briefly, “It’s weird,” you admit quietly, “I still feel sad all the time about Arsenal.”
Leah nods immediately, “Of course you do.”
“But…” You hesitate.
“But?”
You look back up at them, “I think maybe this could become home too.”
Silence settles briefly across the call, Beth’s eyes visibly soften, Alessia looks seconds from crying again, Leah smiles, “That’s all I wanted,” she says quietly, “For them to make you happy properly.”
Your throat tightens instantly, you cover it quickly with a scoff, “Bit emotional for a Tuesday.”
“Shut up,” Leah says affectionately.
🔴
The first few weeks in Barcelona pass faster than you expect, which helps, because if you stop too long and think too hard about everything you left behind in London, the grief still catches you unexpectedly.
Usually late at night, or when your apartment is too quiet, but the football helps, the football always helps and Barcelona football is ridiculous.
The rhythm of it starts settling into your body surprisingly quickly, at first it feels almost overwhelming how technically clean everyone is all the time, but gradually your instincts adapt. You stop hesitating on the ball, start stepping higher into midfield, start trusting the structure around you and then you’re thriving.
The media starts talking about it by your third match, how quickly you’ve adapted, how naturally your aggressive defending balances Barcelona’s possession heavy system. Pundits rave about your partnership with Irene, one headline literally calls you 'the missing piece.'
You try not to read too much of it mostly unsuccessfully, the football itself feels good again for the first time in months, really good, you start playing free and the girls make settling in easy too.
The dressing room becomes familiar quickly, Kika loud and chaotic, Patri Guijarro relentlessly sarcastic, Aitana Bonmatí quietly competitive about absolutely everything. Someone always trying to drag you out for coffee after training. Someone always translating when conversations move too fast around you.
It starts feeling less like visiting, more like belonging which honestly surprises you.
Then there’s Alexia Putellas.
And that becomes complicated not outwardly, outwardly Alexia is kind, consistently kind, she checks in after matches, makes sure you understand tactical meetings. Translates quietly for you when staff speak too quickly in Spanish. During games she’s always there too calm and commanding beside you.
A captain exactly the way everyone always describes her, reliable, steady, protective of her players, but there’s still something slightly careful about her around you, something restrained. At first you tell yourself you’re imagining it, because honestly maybe you’re hyperaware after everything that happened, but gradually you realise you’re not.
You notice it in little moments, Alexia always warm in group settings but somehow harder to pin down alone, conversations that stop just slightly short before becoming personal. The way she sometimes looks like she wants to say something then changes her mind halfway through and the stupid thing is it bothers you more than it should.
One afternoon after a home win, the team spills into recovery in usually good moods, music echoing around the gym, players laughing between stretches. You’re sitting on the floor beside the recovery mats rolling out your calves when Alexia walks over holding two water bottles.
She hands one to you automatically.
“Thanks.”
“You defend like psychopath today,” she says casually.
You snort softly, “Constructive feedback again.”
Alexia smiles faintly before sitting beside you close enough your shoulder brushes hers briefly. Your stomach still does that deeply irritating thing every single time, “You settling okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.” And you mean it, that’s the strange part, you really are.
Alexia nods softly, “Good.”
Then silence settles briefly between you, you glance sideways at her. God she’s beautiful. That thought remains genuinely inconvenient, Alexia catches you looking and your eyes immediately flick away toward the gym floor instead. Smooth, very subtle.
“Well handled,” she says dryly.
You huff a quiet laugh, “Thought so.”
A smile pulls briefly at the corner of her mouth again then almost instantly gone like she remembers herself, like some invisible line reappears between you both and there is again that carefulness. Your chest tightens unexpectedly, because suddenly all over again you’re back in England hearing her ask quietly if you only became interested in her because of the stories.
You stare down at your water bottle for a second too long then before you can overthink it, “Do you trust me?”
The words slip out accidentally, Alexia stills beside you immediately.
You regret it almost on contact, you clear your throat lightly, “I just mean”
“I don't know,” Alexia says softly.
You blink, “What?”
She looks down briefly at the bottle turning slowly between her hands, “I trust you”
The answer comes too quickly, too rehearsed almost, your stomach sinks slightly anyway. You nod once, “Okay.”
But Alexia notices immediately that you don’t fully believe her, she exhales quietly beside you, “It is not…” She pauses, searching for the English carefully, “Easy in my head sometimes.” Your chest aches instantly, Alexia keeps her eyes lowered while she speaks. “When people know things about you… but not really you…” Her brows pull together slightly, “I think maybe I become little…” She gestures vaguely with one hand, “Protected.”
Guarded, you understand the word she means even if she can’t find it immediately and honestly you can’t even blame her, because she’s right. You stare ahead quietly for a second, “I never wanted you to feel exposed by it.”
Alexia nods faintly, “I know.”
“You sure?”
Finally she looks sideways at you then and the expression on her face is complicated, soft honesty, still uncertainty underneath it all, “Yes,” she says quietly. “But sometimes knowing something and feeling something are different.”
That lands directly in your chest, because unfortunately you understand that too well, for a moment neither of you speak, the gym noise hums around you both in the background, then Alexia nudges your shoulder lightly against hers.
“But,” she says softly, “I try.”
You sit there quietly beside her for a moment after that, the recovery room buzzes softly around you both, players drifting in and out between stations, but your focus stays entirely on Alexia beside you.
On the honesty of what she’d just admitted, most people would’ve lied, would’ve smoothed it over to avoid awkwardness, but Alexia never really does that.
You’ve noticed that about her, even when it would be easier, you roll the water bottle slowly between your hands before speaking, “I think I’d probably feel weird too.”
Alexia glances sideways at you, “You would?”
You nod once, “If I found out someone I didn’t really know had spent years writing fictional versions of me having sex online?” You huff softly through your nose. “Yeah. I think I’d have questions.”
That startles a laugh out of her, a real one this time, head tipping slightly back, that sound still catches you off guard every time, “You say it very direct,” she says amused.
“It sounds worse when you phrase it honestly.”
“It is honest.”
“Exactly my point.”
Alexia shakes her head faintly, still smiling a little, “You are strange person.”
You glance sideways, “I bet you still signed the petition to buy me.”
That earns another soft laugh, “No regret yet.”
You narrow your eyes slightly at her, “Comforting.”
Alexia’s smile lingers briefly before fading softer again, “I trust you fully on pitch.” The sentence lands instantly, no hesitation whatsoever, Alexia notices the way your expression shifts slightly and continues carefully, “When you defend behind me…” She shrugs lightly, “I never worry.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly hard at that, because coming from her, from someone like Alexia, that means a lot, “You trust me there,” you say quietly.
“Yes.” Then the pause comes and you already know before she even says it, “Off pitch…” Alexia exhales softly. “I not fully there yet.”.
You stare ahead at the gym floor for a second, absorbing it properly and weirdly it hurts less hearing her say it directly than feeling it sitting unspoken between you both all these weeks, at least now you understand. You nod faintly, “That’s fair.”
Alexia’s brows pull together immediately, “You don’t need say fair like you are okay with everything.”
You glance toward her, “I mean… what else am I supposed to say?”
“The truth.”
You laugh quietly under your breath at that, “Right now the truth is mostly that I wish I could go back and stop the whole thing from happening.”
Alexia studies you carefully, “You miss writing.”
Your throat tightens slightly because annoyingly she’s right, you look down at your hands, “Sometimes.” The admission comes quieter than you expect, “I didn’t realise how much it was part of me until it disappeared.”
Alexia stays silent beside you, listening.
“It wasn’t even about posting stuff half the time.” You shrug faintly. “I just… liked disappearing into something for a while.”
The words settle heavier than you intended, because underneath them sits months of anxiety and pressure and heartbreak you still haven’t fully unpacked.
Alexia hears that part too, “You disappear in your head often,” she says softly.
You blink once, then huff a quiet laugh, “That obvious?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic.”
Alexia nudges your shoulder lightly against hers again, “I think maybe…” She pauses carefully, searching for the English again, “You are hard on yourself in very lonely way.”
That one hits frighteningly accurately, you stare at her for a second longer than you mean to, you clear your throat first, looking away, “You always psychoanalyse your centre backs or am I special?”
Alexia smiles faintly, “Only expensive ones.”
You laugh then after a beat, more quietly, “I don’t expect you to trust me straight away, by the way.”
Alexia looks at you again, “You don’t?”
You shake your head, “Trust takes time.” You shrug slightly, “Especially after something weird.”
Alexia watches you for a long moment, “Good.”
You blink, “Good?”
“Yes.” Her mouth softens slightly at the corners, “Because I think maybe… I want time.”
Your stomach flips instantly, not rejection, or distance, something that sounds dangerously like possibility and judging by the way Alexia looks away immediately after saying it she knows exactly how that sounded too.
🔴
Training leaves you exhausted in the best way today one of those sessions where everything clicks just enough to make football feel fun again instead of heavy.
You and Irene spend most of the final defensive drill aggressively bullying the forwards which apparently everybody finds deeply entertaining except the forwards themselves.
At one point Clàudia Pina actually throws her arms up dramatically after you shoulder her off the ball, “This is abuse.”
“Win your duel then,” you reply automatically.
Irene looks at you with visible pride, “She learns fast.”
By the time training finishes the mood around the group is light, girls lingering on the pitch, staff laughing nearby, music drifting faintly from the gym speakers.
You’re pulling your training bib off near the bench when a shadow stops beside you, you glance up, Alexia stands with her arms folded loosely across her training jacket, hair still slightly damp from sweat, “You eat with us after?”
Your stomach immediately does something deeply irritating, because the phrasing with us feels safe, no reason whatsoever for your nervous system to react like this. “Yeah,” you answer casually. “Course.”
Alexia nods once, “Good. I drive.”
You blink, “Oh.”
Her mouth twitches slightly like she notices your surprise, “You have problem with my driving?”
“I’ve literally never seen your driving.”
“Very smooth.”
“Confident answer.”
“Because true.”
You snort softly, “I'll just meet you there, I need to nip home anyway”
Alexia gives you one last small smile before walking away toward the changing rooms and despite the fact the invitation sounded entirely casual you still spend the next hour overthinking it like an idiot.
About forty minutes later you get to the restaurant location Alexia texted you earlier, it's a small place tucked along a quieter Barcelona street not far from the beach. Warm light glowing through the windows, busy enough to feel alive without being crowded.
You pause briefly outside after getting out the taxi, because suddenly it hits you, you don’t actually know who else is coming, you assume some of the girls something relaxed and team like.
You push through the restaurant doors anyway immediately warm air and the smell of garlic and olive oil wraps around you, a waiter greets you in rapid Spanish. You manage enough broken response for him to smile politely before he gestures further inside.
You spot her, just her, Alexia sitting at a table near the back corner of the restaurant, alone on a table for two, your steps slow automatically. Alexia looks up at the movement and smiles immediately when she sees you.
Your stomach flips hard enough to genuinely annoy you now, because this is apparently not group lunch, you walk over trying desperately to look normal, “Hi.”
“Hola.”
Alexia gestures toward the seat opposite her, “You find okay?”
“Yeah.”
You sit down slowly, still trying to recalibrate mentally, Alexia notices immediately, “You thought more people come.”
Not even a question, you exhale a laugh through your nose, “A little bit, yeah.”
Alexia’s eyes soften with amusement, “You disappointed?”
Your eyebrows lift, “That feels like a trap.”
A grin flashes quickly across her face, “Smart.” She’s prettier when she’s relaxed like this, that thought arrives entirely uninvited.
The restaurant noise hums quietly around you both while a waiter appears with menus, Alexia speaks easily in Spanish before glancing toward you, “You trust me choose?”
You look at the menu filled mostly with words you still only half understand, “Honestly at this point yeah.”
Alexia nods approvingly and orders for both of you, you watch her while she speaks, something you could do for hours, hands moving slightly while she talks. Comfortable here nothing like the more guarded version of herself at training sometimes.
When the waiter leaves, silence settles briefly between you both, you lean back slightly in your chair, “So,” you say carefully, “Was there actually a team lunch or did you fully trick me?”
Alexia smiles into her water glass slightly before answering, “Maybe little trick.”
You stare at her, “You’re unbelievable.”
“No.” Her eyes flick up to yours again, “I just think easier without ten people interrupting.”
The implication sits there quietly between you both, she wanted time alone with you, Alexia seems to realise how that sounded about half a second later.
You watch the exact moment awareness crosses her face, a faint pinkness touches her cheeks almost instantly and weirdly that makes your own nervousness worse somehow.
You look down briefly at the table just to stop staring, “Well,” you say lightly, “You could’ve warned me.”
Alexia tilts her head slightly, “You would say no?”
The honest answer arrives far too quickly in your head. No, absolutely not. Which feels like information you should probably keep to yourself. So instead you shrug casually, “Guess we’ll never know.”
Alexia’s smile returns slowly.
The food arrives gradually across the next twenty minutes, little plates spread across the table between you both, bread, patatas bravas and something Alexia insists you try despite you not fully understanding what it is.
“I trust you too much,” you mumble after taking a bite.
Alexia looks smug immediately, “But I correct.”
You point at her slightly with your fork, “This is becoming dangerous for me.”
“What?”
“You being right.”
Alexia laughs softly, the sound settles warm somewhere low in your chest, conversation comes easier than it probably should. Football first, always football first, training, Barcelona tactics. The differences between Liga F and the WSL, Alexia asks thoughtful questions too, real ones, not media trained small talk.
“What hardest thing so far?” she asks at one point.
You lean back slightly in your chair considering it, “The language maybe.”
Alexia nods immediately, “Yes. It exhausting.”
“Everyone switches to English for me all the time.”
“Because they want help.”
“I know but…” You rub lightly at the side of your neck, “I need to learn and I hate feeling behind conversations.”
Alexia watches you for a second, “You understand more than you think.”
“Debatable.”
“No.” She shakes her head lightly, “You listen very carefully and take in.”
That catches you slightly off guard, because it means she’s noticed, you glance down briefly toward your drink, “Occupational hazard of being anxious.”
Alexia’s brows pull together faintly, “You say these things like jokes.”
You huff softly, “Mostly because otherwise people start looking at me weird.”
“I do not think weird.”
The reply comes immediate, steady, sitting here across from Alexia suddenly feels strangely easy, dangerously easy, which becomes a problem when conversation drifts away from football.
It happens gradually and naturally, you talk about London, Barcelona, books, music and the pressure of being recognised constantly, Alexia tells you about recovering from her ACL injury and the way silence felt during rehab.
“The quiet was worst part,” she admits carefully, “Too much time in my head.”
You understand that immediately, “You ever get tired,” you say slowly, “of everybody wanting something from you all the time?”
Alexia looks at you for a second longer than usual after that, “Yes.”
You look down at your hands briefly, “At Arsenal sometimes…” You hesitate, “I used to sit in my car after training for like twenty minutes before driving home.”
“Why?”
“Because once I went home my phone would start again.”
Messages, interview requests, social media obligations, so many expectations and noise, Alexia’s expression softens slightly with understanding, “You disappear there too,” she says quietly.
You blink once, “Sorry?”
“In car.” She gestures lightly toward you, “You disappear little before going back.”
Your mouth twitches faintly, “That sounds slightly concerning when you phrase it like that.”
“But true?”
You sigh dramatically, “Unfortunately.”
Alexia smiles softly, “I think maybe this why I worried before.”
You still slightly, “The stories?”
She nods faintly, you let her continue, “You understand people…” She searches briefly for the wording, “Deeply. Quickly.”
That surprises you, “I don’t know if that’s true.”
Alexia gives you a look like she disagrees completely, “You see things.”
Your stomach flips again, because the way she says it feels dangerously close to being seen back. You glance away first and the waiter appears then thankfully to clear plates and refill drinks, briefly breaking whatever the hell that moment was becoming.
You exhale quietly once he leaves, Alexia notices, “You nervous with me?”
The question nearly kills you on contact, you cough lightly into your drink buying yourself half a second, “Are you always this direct?”
“Yes.”
“Right.” Alexia waits patiently absolutely not letting you escape the question. You stare at her for a second at the calm curiosity on her face, at the slight amusement sitting underneath it. Then decide if you’re going to die you may as well do it honestly, “A bit,” you admit.
Alexia tilts her head slightly, “Why?”
You laugh softly under your breath, “You genuinely don’t know?”
“No.”
You drag a hand slowly across your jaw before answering, “Because you’re Alexia Putellas.”
That earns an immediate frown, “That means nothing.”
“It means quite a lot actually.”
Alexia shakes her head lightly like she fundamentally disagrees, “You talk to me normal now.”
“Internally I’m going through several medical emergencies.”
That startles a real laugh out of her again warm and bright and completely unguarded this time, the awful thing is you think you’d do almost anything to hear it again.
Alexia’s laughter fades slowly into a smile she doesn’t seem fully aware she’s still wearing, you’re staring again, so you clear your throat lightly and look down at your drink before she catches you this time.
Too late, “I make you nervous and you still look at me like this?”
Your head snaps back up immediately, “What does that mean?”
Alexia shrugs one shoulder casually, though there’s something very deliberate in her eyes now, “You know.”
“No I don’t.”
“Liar.”
You let out one disbelieving laugh through your nose, “This feels hostile suddenly.”
“It is observation.”
“You’re very observant for somebody accusing me of observing people too much.”
That earns another small smile then the expression softens slightly, “You are different here.”
You frown faintly, “What, compared to Arsenal?”
“Yes.”
You lean back slightly in your chair, “How?”
Alexia thinks for a second before answering, “Still quiet.” She gestures lightly with her hand. “Still in your head a lot.” Then her voice softens. “But less heavy.”
She’s right again, you hate how right she keeps being. You glance out the restaurant window briefly toward the evening light spilling across the street outside, “I think Arsenal made me tired before I even left.”
Alexia stays quiet listening carefully.
You continue after a second, “I loved it there so much that I think I stopped noticing how much pressure I was under all the time.”
Saying it aloud feels strange disloyal somehow, but true.
“At Barcelona…” You hesitate briefly. “I feel like I can breathe during football again.”
Alexia watches you carefully across the table, “Good.”
The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard slightly, you look back at her fully then and you become aware again that this is not normal teammate lunch. The lighting too soft, the table too intimate, your pulse kicks harder suddenly. So naturally your brain decides now is the perfect moment to malfunction entirely, “You know,” you say before thinking properly, “this is dangerously close to a date.”
Silence, immediate silence. Your own brain short circuits the second the words leave your mouth. Oh my god, why would you say that? You actually feel heat crawl up your neck instantly. Alexia blinks once across from you, Alexia Putellas looks genuinely flustered, completely and utterly. Her eyes widen slightly before darting down toward the table, a faint flush spreads across her cheeks almost immediately and that’s worse way worse, because now you know you affected her too.
You stare at each other for one horrible suspended second then you immediately lean back in your chair slightly, “Right,” you mutter. “Fantastic. Ignore me.”
Alexia laughs suddenly, soft and startled and nervous all at once, “No no”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You apologise too muh.”
“I’m actively trying to leave Spain through the floor currently.”
That only makes her laugh harder, she drops her head briefly, smiling into her hands for a second before looking back up at you, still pink cheeked, still visibly flustered. Which honestly feels like dangerous information for you to possess, “You think this is date?” she asks finally.
You drag a hand down your face, “I think I should stop speaking.”
“But maybe you right little.”
Your head lifts immediately, Alexia meets your eyes this time when she says it, no escape route built into the sentence just quiet honesty. Your stomach flips so violently it genuinely feels unfair, “Oh.”
“I not ask because…” She gestures vaguely between you both.
You nod slowly understanding immediately, the fanfiction, the strange complicated history between you both.
“But,” she continues carefully, “I think maybe I want know you properly anyway.”
That sentence means more than flirting, more than attraction, trust or at least the beginning of it. You look at her for a long second before answering honestly, “I’d like that too.”
By the time the plates are cleared and the restaurant starts thinning out around you, the nervous energy between you and Alexia Putellas has settled into something quieter.
Outside the windows the streets have darkened fully, warm amber light spilling from bars and little cafés further down the road.
You glance toward your phone briefly when the bill arrives automatically reaching for your card you kept behind your cover, Alexia immediately reaches first for the bill, “I pay.”
You look up instantly, “No chance.”
“Yes.” Alexia already has her card halfway out, “I ask you. I pay.”
You narrow your eyes slightly, “That feels very old fashioned.”
Alexia looks completely unbothered, “It feels correct.”
You snort softly and pull your own card out anyway, “Absolutely not.”
The waiter stands there awkwardly between you both while an entirely unnecessary standoff begins, Alexia switches into rapid Spanish with him before you can argue further.
You stare at her, “You can’t use fluent Spanish against me in arguments.”
“I can.” She hands the waiter her card calmly, “And I do.”
You shake your head under your breath while the waiter escapes quickly before the situation escalates further, “This is a dictatorship.”
Alexia smiles faintly, “You survive.”
You lean back in your chair dramatically, “Barely.”
The smile lingers on her face a second longer this time, you really are in trouble here. A few minutes later once the bill is dealt with, you both stand gathering jackets and phones from the table. You pull your phone from your pocket automatically already thinking about ordering a taxi.
Alexia notices immediately, “What you do?”
“Getting a taxi.”
“No.”
You blink once, “No?”
“When I drive,” she says simply, pulling her own coat on, “no, I take you.”
You stare at her, “I can get a taxi, Alexia.”
She looks almost offended by the suggestion, “I not let you walk home. It late.”
“I’m not walking home.”
“Taxi alone then.”
You blink slowly, “You realise I survived London for years, right?”
Alexia steps closer while sliding her keys into her hand, “Yes.” Her eyes flick over your face briefly, “But now you in my city.”
Your stomach flips instantly, you fold your arms lightly, “And what if I refuse?”
Alexia tilts her head slightly, “You won’t.”
The confidence of it makes you laugh softly through your nose, “Very arrogant.”
“Still correct.”
You hate how attractive her confidence is, actually hate it. The two of you step outside into the cool Barcelona night together, streetlights glow gold across the pavement. The city still alive around you despite the hour, Alexia falls into step beside you naturally as you walk toward where her car is parked further down the street, close enough your shoulders almost brush every few steps.
“You do this with everyone?” you ask casually.
Alexia glances sideways, “What?”
“Insist on driving them home like an overprotective dad.”
That startles a laugh out of her, “I think maybe only you.”
Your heartbeat stutters annoyingly hard at that, you look ahead quickly before she notices the effect. When you reach the car Alexia unlocks it and opens the passenger side door before you can reach for it yourself.
You stop, stare at her, “Oh, so you’re properly doing gentleman behaviour.”
Alexia looks confused briefly, “What?”
“The door.”
Realisation crosses her face, then a tiny shrug, “You say old fashioned before.”
“You’re proving my point.”
“But you smiling.”
You immediately attempt to flatten your expression, “I’m literally not.”
Alexia’s grin widens slightly, “Liar.”
You shake your head while climbing into the passenger seat anyway, muttering something under your breath about Spanish hospitality and manipulation.
Alexia closes the door with another tiny smile before walking around the front of the car, the second she slides into the driver’s seat beside you, your nervous system immediately becomes aware of her all over again.
The smell of her perfume faint beneath training shampoo, the rings on her fingers catching briefly under the dashboard lights, the way she drives one handed backing smoothly out into the narrow Barcelona streets.
You stare out the window almost immediately just to give yourself something else to focus on, outside, the city glows warm and alive, scooters weaving through traffic, groups of people spilling from restaurants onto pavements.
Alexia drives comfortably through it all like she belongs to the city itself which she does, “You quiet again,” she says after a couple minutes.
You glance sideways briefly, “Thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
You snort softly, “Bit rude.”
“But true?”
You settle further back in the seat slightly, “I’m just tired.”
Alexia hums softly like she doesn’t fully believe that’s the only thing the silence that follows isn’t awkward though, that’s the dangerous part sitting beside her feels easy now too easy. Your brain keeps trying to remind you that this is Alexia Putellas and not some normal girl driving you home after dinner, but then she reaches over casually at a red light and turns the heating down because she notices you tugging at your sleeves from being too warm and suddenly she just feels like a person.
“You know,” you say eventually, “if this gets out the internet will become genuinely unbearable.”
Alexia glances sideways, “What gets out?”
“This.” You gesture vaguely between you both inside the car, “You taking me to dinner. Driving me home. Looking at me like that.”
Alexia’s brows lift slightly, “Like what?”
You immediately regret speaking, “Nothing.”
“No no.” Her mouth twitches slightly, “Tell me.”
You look out the window again stubbornly, “Absolutely not.”
Alexia laughs softly under her breath, “You become shy sometimes. I like it.”
“I’m not shy.”
“You are now.”
You groan quietly and drop your head back against the seat, “This is awful for me.”
Alexia’s smile lingers as she turns down another quieter street, “Why?”
“You flirt like it’s an Olympic sport.”
She looks genuinely thoughtful for a second, “Maybe.”
“Oh my god.”
That earns another laugh from her, “You flirt back.”
Your stomach flips so hard it’s genuinely embarrassing, you stare at her profile for a second before you can stop yourself, streetlights spill gold briefly across her face as she drives, relaxed, pretty, completely unfair.
Then she glances sideways and catches you looking again, this time neither of you look away immediately, Alexia’s voice drops softer when she speaks again, “You know what funny?”
You clear your throat lightly, “What?”
“When I first find out about stories…” She shakes her head slightly, “I think you maybe create version of me that not real.”
Your chest tightens a little, “Ok?”
“I think maybe you understand me little too well.”
The honesty of it hits you directly in the ribs, you look down briefly toward your hands in your lap, “That’s slightly terrifying information.”
Alexia smiles faintly, “Yes.”
Eventually the car slows outside your apartment building you hadn’t even realised how quickly the drive passed, Alexia shifts the car into park but neither of you move immediately.
You glance toward her, “Thanks for dinner.”
Alexia looks back at you, “You welcome.” Neither of you reach for the door, your pulse starts climbing for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Then Alexia says softly, “I am glad you came to Barcelona.”
There’s no flirting in it this time, no teasing, just sincerity, you swallow once before answering honestly, “Yeah,” you say quietly. “Me too.”
