Our own language || Alexia Putellas x Reader
Entering a new dressing room, in a new country and with a different language can be overwhelming. However, for Y/N, adapting to FC Barcelona Femení becomes much more interesting under the watchful and silent gaze of Alexia Putellas.
Part of the "In Your Language" universe.
Masterlist
---
She had played in Champions League finals.
She had lifted Ballon d'Or awards in front of millions of people.
She had taken penalties with an entire stadium holding its breath.
And yet… She had never taken this long to decide what to wear.
Alexia let out a sigh as she looked at the disaster she had created in her bedroom.
Two shirts rested on the bed, one white and one sky blue, perfectly ironed barely an hour ago. Next to them was a pair of trousers she had already discarded twice only to consider them again five minutes later, a pair of shoes still undecided, and a jacket that had been hanging on the back of the chair for more than half an hour.
She frowned slightly as she looked at the white shirt.
No. Too formal.
The blue one. Maybe too casual.
She looked at both of them again as if, after several minutes, one of them was going to offer the answer on its own.
“It can't be...” she murmured to herself.
It was a dinner. Just a dinner.
So why did her stomach feel so twisted in knots?
She walked over to the bedroom mirror as she finished buttoning up the blue shirt for the fourth time that afternoon.
She looked at it for a few seconds, then slowly shook her head.
No. Too wrinkled.
She sighed and took the shirt off again.
Five minutes later, she was wearing the white one. A minute later, she was wearing the blue one again.
If any of her teammates had seen her at that moment, they would have never believed that this woman, incapable of deciding between two shirts, was the same captain who led Barça with an almost intimidating confidence.
But the captain wasn't there. Just Alexia.
And Alexia had been spending more than twenty minutes trying to find the best way to impress a girl who probably wasn't even going to notice the shirt she chose.
She smiled involuntarily at the thought of you.
She remembered your laugh during the previous day's training session, when Patri had tried an impossible nutmeg and the ball had ended up hitting her own shin.
You had tried to hold back your laughter out of politeness and had only lasted exactly three seconds before bursting into giggles.
The image drew an involuntary smile on her lips again.
“Concentrate, Ale...” she said, as she picked up her phone from the bed.
18:07.
There was still time. More than enough.
Though that didn't stop her from opening the translator app for the third time in less than ten minutes.
She wrote slowly. “Te ves muy bonita.”
The translation appeared instantly. “You look very beautiful.”
Alexia read it once as she sat on her bed, barely moving her lips as she tried to memorize the pronunciation.
“You... look... very beautiful...” she said out loud, only to shake her head immediately.
It sounded weird.
She erased the sentence and tried another one.
“Estás preciosa.”
No. Too much.
She sighed, locking her phone before letting it drop onto the bed again. “I'll just improvise...”
Just as she was about to put on another shirt again, her doorbell rang, cutting through the silence. She quickly grabbed the nearest sweatshirt and pulled it over her head as she went downstairs. It didn't take long for her eyebrows to knit together; she wasn't expecting anyone that day, much less did she remember ordering anything.
When she crossed the hallway that led to the front door and turned the doorknob, she immediately regretted it.
“Surprise!” Kika exclaimed, stepping into the hallway without asking for permission, carrying a bag of potato chips as if she had come to watch a Champions League match.
Behind her, with an apologetic smile that wasn't fooling anyone, Patri walked in, followed by Vicky and Clara, who were already arguing about something they had seen on TikTok.
“What... what are you doing here?” Alexia managed to articulate, blinking a couple of times, still with her hand on the doorknob.
“Well, nothing, we were passing by and decided to make a stop,” Patri exclaimed as she dropped onto the couch.
“You were passing by?” Alexia repeated slowly, closing the door behind her without taking her eyes off them.
Patri nodded with an almost offensive naturalness. “Yeah.”
“Patri,” Alexia said, crossing her arms.
“Yes?”
“You live almost half an hour away from here.”
“Well...” she shrugged. “We went for a walk.”
“A very long one,” Vicky added with a completely innocent smile.
Alexia narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe it for a second.
Kika, meanwhile, had already found the kitchen. “Do you have anything to snack on?”
“Kika...”
“What? The walk builds up an appetite.”
Alexia let out a slow sigh; she knew this wasn't an improvised visit, she knew them too well to believe them.
Patri was smiling more than usual. Vicky was biting her lip to keep from laughing. Kika was rummaging through the cupboards with a confidence she only had when she was trying to distract someone. And Clara kept avoiding looking at her, as if the living room floor were suddenly far more interesting.
“What have you done?”
“Us?” Vicky asked with an innocence so poorly acted it was almost cute.
“Yes. You.”
“Nothing.”
“Vicky.”
“What?”
“Every time you say 'nothing' it means you've done something.”
“That is a very serious accusation.”
“It's an accusation based on real events,” Alexia countered, without relaxing her arms and taking a step toward the center of the living room. “Clara. Look at you. You can't even hold my gaze for two seconds. Who was it?”
Clara cleared her throat, glancing sideways at Patri as if asking for permission.
“Clara,” Patri murmured.
“Yes?”
“Don't.”
“But she's asking me!”
“Well, make something up.”
“I don't know how to lie,” she said as she sank into the armchair.
“Irene,” Alexia blurted out suddenly, and the realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples. “I asked her for advice yesterday about a restaurant and she swore on her children she wouldn't say anything.”
“Look, it didn't completely slip out from Irene,” Patri defended her, stretching her legs out on the coffee table with total confidence. “She only said you were being very mysterious looking for romantic places and that, to quote her exactly, 'Ale has been murmuring things in English on the massage table for three days as if she were possessed.' The rest we deduced ourselves. We're midfielders. We read the game.”
“Hey, Ale!” Vicky's shout came from upstairs, interrupting the confession. “Is the white linen shirt for tonight? Because it looks like you're going to a communion, not a date! Kika, come up and see this!”
Alexia's eyes widened, feeling a sudden and uncontrollable heat rising up her neck.
“Don't touch anything!” she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Patri and Clara before turning on her heels and taking the stairs in quick strides.
When she reached the threshold of her bedroom, the disaster was total. Vicky was holding the white shirt against her own body in front of the mirror, while Kika, fingers still inside the potato chip bag, critically evaluated the dark trousers Alexia had discarded twenty minutes ago.
“The blue one, one hundred percent,” Kika sentenced, turning toward her with a chip in her hand and using it to point at the bed. “The white one makes you look too serious. You want to go casual, but... you know, attractive.”
Alexia stood static under the doorframe, the sweatshirt she had put on in a rush suddenly feeling much too hot.
“Can you... get out of my room?”
“No.”
The answer came so fast and synchronized it almost felt rehearsed.
Alexia blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, Ale,” Patri repeated, having just shuffled up the stairs and now leaning against the doorframe next to Clara. “We have come on an official mission. You are in the middle of a crisis.”
“It's not a crisis,” Alexia lied, crossing her arms, although the pile of discarded clothes on the corner armchair gave her away completely.
“Ale, you have three shirts on the bed, two pairs of trousers on the floor, and you're wearing a sweatshirt backwards,” Vicky pointed out, gesturing to the collar of the sweatshirt that, indeed, Alexia had thrown on in a rush with the tag in front.
Alexia looked down at her own chest, noticing the mistake, and let out a huff of pure frustration as she rubbed her hands over her face, her composure completely evaporating.
“It's just a dinner,” she murmured, almost to convince herself, letting herself drop onto the bed. “A normal dinner.”
“Sure, to make a girl fall in love with you,” Kika declared, moving her eyebrows exaggeratingly.
“Kika, please,” Alexia pleaded, feeling the heat in her cheeks intensify as she buried her head in her hands.
“Don't get dramatic, capi,” Patri said, finally entering the bedroom and carefully moving one of the pairs of trousers to sit next to her on the edge of the mattress. “If we're here, it's because we know you find it horribly difficult to ask for help.”
Alexia slowly looked up, letting her hands fall to her knees. She observed her four teammates spread out across her room: Clara still apologizing silently with her eyes, Vicky smoothing out the seams of her shirt, Kika cheekily offering her the bag of chips, and Patri looking at her with that sisterly patience that characterized her so much.
She let out the breath she didn't even know she was holding. The knot she had been carrying in her stomach since the afternoon hadn't gone away, but their presence made it feel less heavy. Less lonely.
“I just... don't want to mess up,” she confessed in a whisper, her voice losing all authority. “It's not my language. Every time I try to put a long sentence together with her, I feel like my brain is going at three different speeds and only random words come out of my mouth. I don't want her to get bored. Or for her to have to make double the effort to understand me.”
“My goodness...” Vicky whispered, unable to help herself. “You really like her.”
Alexia closed her eyes for a moment, knowing it was no longer worth trying to deny it. “A lot.”
The word came out so low it was almost lost in the room. For the first time since they had arrived, none of them made a joke.
Because they all knew Alexia Putellas, and they knew how difficult it was for her to admit something like that.
“Ale,” Patri said as she gave her a soft pat on her thigh. “You've been talking to her for months in the gym, in the dining room, sharing footballs. If she had wanted to say no to you, she would have said no. But she said yes. She isn't going to dinner with the player of the year; she is going to dinner with you. She doesn't care if you put a verb where it doesn't belong.”
“What if she only accepted out of politeness?”
The silence lasted exactly one second before all four of them burst out laughing at the same time.
“Excuse me?” Kika asked, still laughing.
“Are you being serious?” Vicky added.
Patri shook her head. “Ale... I think you've been inside your own head for too long.”
Alexia frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“That maybe you are too busy worrying about your English... and you haven't noticed a few things,” Patri said.
“What things?”
“Well...” Clara started, shrugging. “That Y/N does her part too.”
“What do you mean 'her part'?”
Kika left the bag of chips on the chest of drawers before speaking. “The first day we thought she was simply trying to integrate. You know, new country, new dressing room...”
“But then it started to become too specific,” Clara continued with a small smile.
Alexia looked at them one by one, completely lost while Patri took the floor again.
“Do you know how many free seats there were the other day in the dining room?”
Alexia blinked. “Many.”
“And where did she sit?”
Alexia opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. Because she knew the exact answer.
Next to her.
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“Okay,” Patri accepted immediately, raising a hand. “In yesterday's drills, there was a free spot with Vicky and with Kika. And what did she do?”
It took Alexia barely a second to remember the scene.
She had finished putting on her shinguards while the rest of the team was already taking positions for the rondo. You looked up, observed the circle for a moment, and walked directly until you stood right in front of her.
She had thought it had simply been a coincidence.
“She got in my group.”
“Exactly,” Patri said, pointing a finger at her. “And it wasn't because there was no space. It was because she wanted to.”
“It still doesn't mean anything.”
Vicky let out a laugh. “How optimistic of you.”
“Ale, that girl has been looking for you every time we take a water break for two weeks,” Kika intervened.
Alexia arched an eyebrow. “That's not true.”
“No?” Clara asked with a calm smile. “On Monday, Pere was explaining the next drill and she looked three times over to where you were before paying attention.”
“Did you count them, or what?” Alexia asked.
Clara shrugged. “I was bored.”
“And that's not even the best part,” Vicky said, crossing her arms and visibly enjoying the moment. “Esmee told me the other day that Y/N was asking her for help to learn Spanish.”
“Esmee?” Alexia repeated, blinking in surprise. “But Esmee speaks Dutch and English, why would she ask her for help?”
“Exactly because of that, genius,” Vicky huffed, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Because she needed someone who understood her own language to explain things to her properly.”
A huge smile began to form on Alexia's face, so wide it threatened to split her cheeks.
“She's learning Spanish?” she asked, unable to hide the excitement that had slipped into her voice.
Vicky nodded with a little smile. “For a few days now. She asks Esmee things when she doesn't understand an expression, how something is pronounced, or what the difference is between two words.”
Alexia looked down for a moment. She felt that strange warmth settling in her chest again.
The same feeling that appeared every time she thought of you.
“See how you are exaggerating?” Kika reproached her, opening her closet with total naturalness to start taking a look. “Neither of you has any idea how to talk to the other, but you are going to understand each other anyway. In the end, you're going to end up inventing your own language, you'll see.”
“Okay...” she murmured finally as she took a deep breath. “I think I'm a little less scared now.”
Patri gave her a little nudge with her shoulder.
“That's the Alexia we know.”
“Now there's only one important thing left,” Vicky announced, clapping her hands together with enthusiasm.
Alexia arched an eyebrow. “What?”
All four of them pointed at the exact same sky blue shirt.
“Put that one on already.”
Alexia rolled her eyes, unable to hold back a laugh. “You're annoying.”
---
When Alexia finally left her house, she was wearing a grey suit, black loafers, and the famous blue shirt they had insisted so much on to convince her that she looked good.
She took advantage of the fact that she still had plenty of time before picking you up to stop by a florist, choosing a small bouquet of tulips that she hoped you would like.
The drive felt absurdly short.
Perhaps because she had spent the whole week imagining that moment.
Perhaps because, for the first time in a long time, she was more nervous about a simple dinner than about a final.
She parked in front of the building a few minutes before the agreed time. She turned off the car engine and sat in silence for a moment, staring at the bouquet of tulips resting on the passenger seat. The color of the flowers stood out under the dim twilight that was beginning to fall over the streets of Barcelona.
Before getting out, she let out a slow sigh, trying to empty the air from her lungs. She looked at herself in the rearview mirror, adjusting the hair that fell over her shoulders, and finally got out of the car, taking the flowers to head toward your door.
She rang the doorbell and for a few seconds absolutely nothing happened. Until she heard footsteps approaching from the other side.
The sound made her heart beat so hard against her chest that she was convinced you could hear it even before opening.
When the front door opened, all the mental noise of the afternoon shut off completely.
Alexia was left speechless. She looked you up and down, taking in how beautiful you were in a simple outfit that suited you wonderfully.
The whole speech she had rehearsed during the drive disappeared instantly. She could only stand there, completely still, with the bouquet in her hands and a smile so sincere that not even she herself was able to contain it.
“Hola...” she greeted at last, with a small nervous laugh. Her fingers gripped the bouquet a bit tighter. “These are... for you.”
She held out the tulips to you with a shyness that would have surprised anyone who knew her on the pitch.
Your eyes lit up instantly. “They're beautiful. Thank you.”
You took the bouquet with a lot of care, bringing it closer for a moment to admire it before looking back up at her.
“I love tulips.”
The relief Alexia felt was so evident it was almost endearing. “Really?”
You nodded with a smile. “I do.”
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything.
Not because the silence was uncomfortable. But because you both seemed too busy looking at each other.
Alexia cleared her throat softly, trying to remember any of the sentences she had practiced all afternoon.
“You... look...” Her brain went completely blank again.
She saw you hold back a smile, amused by the effort she was making.
“Beautiful... very beautiful.” She said it slowly, pronouncing each word with a lot of care, as if she were afraid to break them.
Hearing her, you felt the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Thank you.”
A laugh escaped Alexia's lips, a mix of relief and embarrassment.
“Sorry... My English...”
She shook her head before even finishing the sentence.
You smiled with so much tenderness that the knot that had been settled in her stomach for hours finally began to loosen.
“Then we're even,” you reassured her.
Alexia tilted her head slightly. “Hmm?”
You raised a hand and, pointing to yourself, said with a heavy accent:
“Mi... español... muy malo.”
“No, no...” she corrected immediately, taking another step toward you. Her voice sounded soft, stripped of any trace of the shyness from a moment ago. “Ha sido... perfecto. Very perfect.”
Your cheeks took on an even deeper crimson tone, and you looked down at the tulips with a timid chuckle. Alexia couldn't help but notice how you bit your lip, the exact same gesture you made when you were concentrated, and she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Gracias,” you answered in a low voice, looking back at her. You made a small mental effort before letting out the next sentence you had reviewed with Esmee: “Tú... estás... muy guapa, Alexia.”
Alexia felt the world stop for an instant.
She blinked just once, completely unable to respond.
Not because she hadn't understood.
But because those four words, pronounced with a clumsy and adorable accent, felt to her, without exaggeration, like one of the most beautiful things anyone had ever said to her.
“¿Has... has practicado eso?” she asked almost in a whisper, still unable to believe what she had just heard.
You bit the inside of your cheek, embarrassed.
“Un... poquito,” you said, making a tiny gesture with your fingers to accompany the word. “Esmee... helped me.”
Alexia let out a small laugh, unable to hide the emotion filling her chest.
“Gracias...” she murmured sincerely. “Eso ha sido... muy bonito.”
She took another step, closing the distance with a naturalness that gave you goosebumps. She leaned in slowly to press two soft kisses on your cheeks. You felt the warmth of her touch, the subtle brush of her jawline, and that elegant perfume that perfectly completed the effect.
When she pulled back, her eyes were still shining with that nervousness that had accompanied her all afternoon, though now it no longer seemed to weigh on her. The smile she had been wearing since you had pronounced those words in Spanish was still there, impossible to hide.
“¿Nos vamos?” she asked softly.
You nodded immediately. “Just... a second.”
You went back into the apartment to put the tulips in a vase with water. While you arranged them on the countertop, you couldn't help but smile to yourself.
When you returned to the entrance, Alexia was still exactly where you had left her.
With her hands tucked into her trousers pockets, rocking slightly on her heels while she waited.
Seeing you appear, she looked up almost immediately.
“¿Lista?” she asked, offering you one of her arms.
“More than ready,” you answered, intertwining your arm with hers without hesitating for a single second.
Alexia looked down at your intertwined arms.
It was a small gesture. Almost insignificant.
But the smile that appeared on her face was not.
“Good,” she murmured.
“Good?”
“Good.”
You looked at her sideways, amused. “Is that all you have to say?”
Alexia looked up at you. “No.”
“Oh, really?”
She shook her head, though it took her a few seconds to find the words.
“You look... very nice.”
The smile that appeared on your face was immediate, wanting to play with her a little. “Again?”
Alexia stopped in her tracks. “What?”
“'Very beautiful' and now 'very nice'. You're recycling vocabulary.”
Alexia's expression transformed into a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No. I have... many words.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me another one.”
Alexia observed you in silence.
The confidence she had shown for exactly three seconds vanished.
“¿Ahora?”
“Yes. Tell me another word.”
Alexia frowned, clearly concentrating.
“You are...”
She paused. You waited patiently.
“You are...” she tried again.
“What?”
Alexia looked at you with a seriousness you didn't expect.
“Distracting.”
The word took you completely by surprise.
Not because of the meaning.
But because she had pronounced it with such naturalness that it took you a second to process it.
“Distracted?”
Alexia shook her head. “No. You are distracting me.”
And then it was your turn to be left speechless.
Alexia seemed to realize what she had just said only after she had said it.
Her eyes widened slightly. “That was good?”
“More than good,” you answered in a whisper, feeling an electric tingling sensation run down your spine.
Alexia exhaled a sigh of pure relief, and that laugh of hers, so husky and contagious, appeared again. She ran her free hand over the back of her neck in a gesture that gave away that, no matter how much she tried to look like the imposing captain she always was, with you she was completely at the mercy of what she felt.
“Okay... target achieved,” she joked.
They continued walking toward the car.
This time, however, the smile on neither of your faces disappeared.
Alexia opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in before walking around the vehicle.
As she started the engine, the car screen turned on, revealing the map with the route to the restaurant and, right next to it, the music player app. Alexia looked at the screen for a second, then at the phone in her hand, and finally turned toward you.
“No more translations for ten minutes, please,” she joked, letting her shoulders drop with a sigh of relief. “Mi cerebro... needs a break.”
You let out a laugh, settling into the seat.
“You can speak Spanish, you know.”
Alexia looked at you quickly before turning her eyes back to the road. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Alexia paused, as if the answer were so obvious that she didn't understand why you had to ask.
“Because...” she started, frowning slightly as she searched for the words. “This is your language.”
You looked at her in silence for a few seconds. Knowing that she was voluntarily exhausting her mental energy just so you wouldn't have to strain yourself squeezed your heart in an incredibly sweet way.
“Alexia...” you repeated, your voice much softer now. “You don't have to do that. Really. I don't want you to get tired because of me.”
She took advantage of a red light to stop the vehicle and turn completely toward you. She rested an elbow on the center armrest, looking at you with a calm and sincere seriousness.
“No es...” she explained, searching for the exact word in her mind before continuing. “No es una obligación. I want to. Quiero hablar tu idioma. Para... to understand you better.”
“But I also like hearing you speak Spanish,” you confessed, closing the distance between the two of you by placing your hand near hers.
Alexia blinked, and for an instant, she seemed to lose her breath. A subtle blush stained the tips of her ears again, and she diverted her gaze toward the dashboard with a timid smile she tried to hide without success. The traffic light turned green, forcing her to return her attention to the road.
“Vale...” she conceded at last, shifting gears smoothly. “A deal, then. Un trato.”
“What deal?”
“Half and half,” she proposed, looking at you sideways with a playful spark in her eyes. “Cincuenta por ciento español, cincuenta por ciento inglés. Si yo... if I block, tú me ayudas. Y si tú no entiendes, yo te explico. Deal?”
“Deal.” You gently locked your pinky finger with hers.
Alexia looked down at your hands and, for a moment, seemed to completely forget she was driving.
“Is that an official deal?” she asked.
"Completely official.”
“Good.”
“Ale...”
“What?”
“We just said we are going to speak half in Spanish and half in English.”
Alexia frowned slightly. “Yes.”
“And you just said 'good'.”
“Is a very important word.”
“It's a very easy word.”
“Exactly. I start easy.”
You burst out laughing. “Conveniente.”
“Very.”
You looked at her for a few seconds, amused. “So... what percentage are we at?”
Alexia thought about it with exaggerated seriousness. “Hmm...” she murmured. “Fifty percent.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You speak English. I speak English. Fifty-fifty.”
“That's not how it works.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are both speaking in English.”
Alexia remained silent for a few seconds and then made a face.
“Okay. You are right.”
“I know.”
“Don't be too happy.”
“Why?”
Alexia looked at you sideways, with a small smile on her lips.
“Because now I have to find another argument.”
“And do you have many?”
“Many.”
“Yeah?”
“No.”
The laugh that escaped your lips filled the inside of the car again.
Alexia smiled as she heard you.
And even though the drive wasn't very long, neither of them seemed to be in a rush to arrive.
---
When they arrived at the restaurant, the conversation moved forward in little leaps.
Sometimes in English.
Sometimes in Spanish.
And, on more than one occasion, in a strange combination of both languages that neither of them bothered to correct.
You discovered that Alexia tended to move her hands while she spoke, especially when she was telling a story she was passionate about, as if her fingers needed to draw in the air the words that her English vocabulary still struggled to reach.
You also discovered that when she couldn't find a word, she would frown the exact same way she did during training sessions when she was trying to find an impossible pass.
And Alexia discovered that you had a habit of repeating new Spanish words in a low voice.
As if you were savoring them, or perhaps saving them in a corner of your mind so you would never forget them.
“Cerveza...” you whispered, scanning the menu with your index finger. “Croquetas...”
Alexia rested her chin on the palm of her hand, her elbow steady on the table. The candlelight flickering between the two of you outlined her features and painted golden glints in her eyes. She was looking at you with such absolute attention that, for a moment, the background hum of the restaurant—the laughter from other tables, the clinking of glasses—seemed to fade away completely.
“Your accent...” she commented softly, interrupting your reading.
You looked at her over the edge of the menu. “What about my accent?”
“It's... cute,” she admitted, widening her smile and searching for the right word in her mind. “Tierno. Muy... suave. When you say 'croquetas', it's like... music.”
You felt a warm tingling sensation rising straight up your neck. “Don't make fun of me, Putellas. I bet my Spanish sounds like I'm reading an instruction manual.”
“No, really,” she insisted, leaning in a bit over the table with that characteristic seriousness of hers that she usually put into press conferences, but this time tinged with a sweetness that disarmed you. “I like it. A lot.”
To prove it, she stretched out a finger and gently touched the edge of the menu you were holding, lowering it a few centimeters so she could look you directly in the eyes.
“Dime otra palabra,” she asked in a low voice.
“Another one?”
“Yes. La que quieras. Any word.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of her gaze locked onto yours. You thought about what you had been feeling since you saw her outside your door, the drive in the car, the complicity that had settled between the two of you so naturally.
“Contigo,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. (with you)
Alexia blinked, and for an instant, she seemed to lose her breath. The finger she kept on your menu slid millimeters down, brushing the back of your hand almost imperceptibly. The subtle blush you had seen in the car stained the tips of her ears once again.
“Contigo...” she repeated slowly, savoring the word as well, but giving it back to you in a much deeper tone. “Me gusta.”
“The word or the pronunciation?” you asked with a thread of boldness, wanting to regain control of your own heartbeat.
Alexia looked down at your hands, which were now just inches apart on the table. With a deliberate slowness that gave you goosebumps, she closed the distance and brushed your pinky finger with hers, imitating the deal from the car.
“Both,” she answered, looking back up at you with a bright spark in her eyes. “Pero más... el significado.”
And suddenly, the word game stopped feeling like a simple joke.
Because that was exactly what Alexia had been doing since day one.
Trying.
Trying to talk to you.
Trying to understand you.
Trying to find a way to get closer to you even when she didn't have the right words.
The realization hit you with a warmth so sudden and profound that it left you breathless, much more than any of the words you had said to each other so far.
It wasn't just about this restaurant, or the small crisis caused by her friends choosing the right clothes, or even her insistence on using English throughout the drive. It was about the previous weeks, the little details you might not have paid much attention to at the time; the texts that took a little longer than usual to arrive because she was probably polishing them with a translator, the patience with which she would repeat an idea if she saw your brow furrow just a millimeter, or that way of hers of staying silent, observing you, memorizing your gestures to make up for the lack of vocabulary.
Alexia wasn't playing at learning a language for fun. She was building a bridge to you, stone by stone, word by word.
---
It took a little while for this continuation to come out, sorry to everyone who was asking for it, I hope you liked it! :)
