You woke up with Jenni’s name glowing on your phone.
For one disorienting second, you forgot where you were. The hotel room was still mostly dark, the thick curtains blocking out the morning sun except for one thin line of gold stretching across the carpet. The air-conditioning hummed quietly overhead, and somewhere beyond the walls, a door slammed before muffled footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
You blinked at the ceiling. Then your eyes dropped to the phone resting beside your pillow. The screen had gone dark again, but you didn’t need to open it to remember what was waiting there. Jenni had texted you the night before. Not long after you had returned to the hotel, still slightly dizzy from the drinks and the way her fingers had brushed your hair away from your face as if touching you was something she had done a hundred times before.
At first, the message had been simple.
Did you get back safely?
You had stared at it for longer than necessary before answering.
Yes. Did you?
Her response came almost immediately.
Unfortunately.
You had laughed quietly into the darkness. Then another message had appeared.
Coffee tomorrow?
You should have said no. That was the obvious answer. The responsible answer. The answer any person with even the smallest amount of common sense would have sent after spending an entire evening flirting with her sister’s ex-girlfriend.
Instead, you had typed:
What time?
You groaned now and dragged the blanket over your face. What were you doing? This wasn’t some stranger you had met at a bar.
It was Jenni.
Jenni, who had spent years existing in your memories as someone entirely untouchable. Someone who had belonged to a part of Alexia’s life that you had learned not to examine too closely. Someone you had been painfully, embarrassingly attracted to long before you had been old enough to understand how dangerous that attraction might become.
And now she wanted coffee. Alone. With you. You pushed the blanket down and reached for your phone. There was a new message waiting.
Ten?
Sent twelve minutes ago.
You checked the time.
8:17.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You could still get out of it. You could tell her you had plans with Alexia. You could say you weren’t feeling well. You could pretend the drinks from last night had left you with a headache strong enough to require a full day in bed.
Instead, you wrote:
Ten works.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
I’ll send you the address.
Your stomach tightened.
You locked the phone and dropped it against the mattress as though putting distance between yourself and the conversation might somehow restore your ability to make rational decisions. It didn’t. You lay there for another minute, staring at the ceiling.
Coffee was harmless. People had coffee every day. Friends had coffee. Former almost-family members had coffee. There was no rule stating that you couldn’t sit across from Jenni in broad daylight and speak to her like a normal person. You were both adults. Alexia and Jenni had been over for years. There was absolutely nothing wrong with meeting her. The fact that you had to repeat that thought so many times probably should have concerned you.
A sharp knock sounded against the door. You nearly launched your phone across the room.
“Who is it?”
“Your favorite sister.”
You closed your eyes. Of course. You climbed out of bed and crossed the room, pulling the hem of your T-shirt lower before opening the door.
Alexia stood in the hallway wearing training shorts and a team shirt, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She held two takeaway coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
"You're not Alba"
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Good morning to you too.”
She walked past you without waiting to be invited.
“You disappeared early last night.”
“I was tired.”
Alexia placed the drinks on the small table near the window.
“You weren’t tired when you were ordering tequila.”
“That was before the tequila made me tired.”
She gave you a suspicious look but didn’t argue. Instead, she began removing pastries from the paper bag and arranging them across the table as though she had personally prepared breakfast. You shut the door and followed her.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because if I didn’t, you’d live on hotel coffee until lunch.”
“That isn’t true.”
Alexia glanced toward the untouched packet of instant coffee beside the kettle. You crossed your arms.
“It’s only mostly true.”
She smiled and pushed one of the cups toward you.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal. You sat opposite each other, picking apart pastries and listening while Alexia complained about the team’s schedule. There was training that morning, media responsibilities afterward, and some official dinner that evening she had already decided she didn’t want to attend. You listened, nodding at the appropriate moments. Or at least you tried to listen. Your phone lay face down beside your elbow.
Every few seconds, your eyes drifted toward it. Alexia noticed.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Your gaze snapped back to her.
“What?”
“You keep staring at your phone.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’ve looked at it six times.”
“You counted?”
“I was testing a theory.”
You lifted your coffee.
“And?”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Different weird.”
Your pulse quickened.
You took a long sip, mostly to give yourself time to think.
“I’m just trying to figure out what I’m doing today.”
Alexia leaned back in her chair.
“You could come to training.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I have watched you train approximately one million times.”
“That number seems high.”
“It’s actually conservative.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no offense in it.
“You could explore with some of the others after.”
“I might explore alone.”
The answer came too quickly. Alexia’s expression shifted slightly. Not suspicion exactly. Interest.
“Alone?”
You looked down at the pastry in your hand.
“Maybe.”
There it was. The opportunity to tell her. You could have said Jenni’s name right then. You could have made it casual.
Actually, I’m meeting Jenni for coffee.
It might have surprised her. She might have asked questions. She might even have looked uncomfortable. But it wouldn’t have been a secret. Your phone buzzed against the table. The sound seemed impossibly loud. Alexia’s eyes dropped toward it. Before she could read anything, you turned it over and pulled it closer. The movement was too quick. Too obvious. Alexia stared at you.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
She pointed at the phone.
“That.”
“It’s a notification.”
“I know what a notification is.”
“Congratulations.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Who is texting you?”
You forced yourself to laugh.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I asked one question.”
“And I’m choosing not to answer.”
Alexia stared at you for another moment before reaching for her coffee.
“Fine.”
The word was light, but you knew her well enough to hear the curiosity beneath it. Guilt settled heavily in your stomach. You had never been particularly good at hiding things from Alexia. Growing up, she had always known when you were upset before you did. She knew when you were lying, when you were avoiding something, when you needed advice but were too stubborn to ask. Even now, with entire countries and careers separating your lives, she still recognized the smallest change in your voice. You hated that you were using the distance between you to your advantage.
Alexia finished her coffee and stood.
“I have to go.”
You nodded.
“Have fun.”
“I won’t.”
She gathered the empty paper bag, then paused beside you.
“Dinner later?”
The question was casual.
Trusting.
Your chest tightened.
“Of course.”
“Six?”
“Yeah.”
She bent down and kissed the top of your head, the same way she had been doing since you were a child.
“Try not to get kidnapped.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And answer your phone.”
“I always answer.”
Alexia gave you a look.
“You ignored three of my calls yesterday.”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Her eyebrow lifted.
“Exploring.”
“That sounds suspiciously vague.”
“It’s a large city.”
“So?”
“There’s a lot to explore.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself, and headed toward the door.
“Six.”
“I heard you.”
The door closed behind her. Silence returned to the room. You sat perfectly still for several seconds. Then you reached for your phone. Jenni had sent an address. Beneath it was another message.
Unless you’ve changed your mind.
You read the sentence twice. Your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.
I haven't
The response came quickly.
Good.
You stared at that single word until warmth began creeping up your neck. This was absurd. You stood and carried the remains of breakfast toward the bin, trying to ignore how nervous you suddenly felt.
It was coffee. Only coffee. You repeated that while showering. You repeated it while drying your hair. You repeated it while standing in front of the mirror wearing your third outfit because the first two had looked like you were trying too hard. The third probably did too.
You changed again.
By 9:30, you were pacing beside the bed.
You had chosen denim shorts, a simple white top, and sandals. Casual enough to suggest that you hadn’t spent nearly forty minutes deciding what to wear. Your phone buzzed.
I’m here early.
You stared at the message. Of course she was. Jenni had always been the kind of person who arrived early and then acted as though everyone else was late. You grabbed your bag.
The café was only a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. The morning air was already warm, the city alive around you as you followed the directions on your phone. Cars moved slowly through the crowded streets. Music drifted from an open shop. The smell of coffee and fresh bread followed you past a row of small restaurants.
With every step, your nerves grew worse. You had been alone with Jenni before. Years ago. Briefly. Usually because Alexia had left the room or asked one of you to wait for her. But this was different. This had been arranged. Jenni wanted to see you. You reached the corner and saw the café ahead. Small tables filled the pavement outside, shaded beneath large cream umbrellas. And there she was. Jenni sat near the back, one leg crossed over the other, sunglasses covering her eyes. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a black tank top that made it impossible not to notice the ink covering her arms.
She was looking down at her phone. For a moment, you considered turning around. Then she looked up. Even from across the pavement, you saw the exact moment she recognized you. A smile slowly spread across her face. Not the easy grin she offered strangers. Something warmer. Something that made your stomach twist. She stood as you approached.
“You came.”
You stopped in front of her.
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you might change your mind.”
“I considered it.”
Jenni removed her sunglasses. Her eyes moved over your face, and for one terrifying second, you wondered if she could see every thought you had ever had about her.
“But you didn’t,” she said.
“No.”
Her smile softened.
“No,” she repeated.
She stepped aside and pulled out the chair opposite hers. You sat down. Jenni returned to her seat. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the city filled the silence between you.
Then Jenni leaned back, studying you.
“So.”
You folded your hands on the table.
“So.”
“We’re having coffee.”
“That appears to be what’s happening.”
“Alone.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Were you planning to invite someone else?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. Something shifted in the air. Jenni held your gaze. Then the corner of her mouth lifted.
“Good.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. A server appeared beside the table before you could respond. You ordered the first thing you saw on the menu. Jenni ordered in Portuguese, her voice smooth and familiar as she thanked the server. When you were alone again, she rested her forearms on the table.
“How much trouble am I going to get you into?”
You swallowed.
“None.”
Jenni tilted her head.
“That confident?”
“No.”
She laughed.
The sound loosened something inside you.
You smiled despite yourself.
“This is just coffee.”
“Of course.”
“Friends have coffee.”
“They do.”
“You and I can be friends.”
Jenni watched you carefully.
“Is that what you want?”
The question caught you off guard. You looked at her. She wasn’t smiling anymore. The street seemed to grow quieter around you, despite the cars and conversations carrying through the morning air. You could have answered easily. You should have.
Instead, your eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. When you looked back up, Jenni was still watching you.
“No,” you admitted softly. “I don’t think it is.”
-
The words hung between you. Quiet. Unprotected. You wished you could pull them back the second they left your mouth. Jenni didn't speak right away. She simply watched you, the corners of her lips lifting into the smallest smile, not triumphant, not teasing.
Almost... relieved.
"You don't?" she asked softly.
You looked down at your hands.
"I don't even know why I said that."
"I think you do."
A nervous laugh escaped you.
"No, I really don't."
"You've spent the last five minutes trying to convince both of us that this is just coffee."
"It is just coffee."
Jenni raised an eyebrow.
"You've changed outfits three times."
Your head snapped up.
"What?"
She laughed.
"I guessed."
"Oh."
"You looked horrified."
"I was."
She leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"I was right though, wasn't I?"
"...Maybe."
"I knew it."
You groaned dramatically, covering your face with one hand.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
The certainty in her voice made your stomach flutter.
"No," you admitted through a laugh. "Unfortunately, I don't."
The waitress returned with your drinks before either of you could say anything else. You wrapped both hands around your coffee cup, grateful for the distraction.
"So," Jenni said once the waitress had walked away. "Tell me about you."
You blinked.
"What?"
"The real you."
She gestured vaguely.
"I know Alexia's youngest sister."
You frowned.
"I am Alexia's youngest sister."
"I know."
"So..."
"I want to know who you are when she isn't in the room."
Your expression softened. Nobody had ever asked you that before. Not like this. People always wanted stories about Alexia. What was she like growing up? Did she always practice that much? Did she really hate losing at board games?
Yes. She absolutely did.
But very few people cared enough to ask about you.
Jenni did.
You looked out toward the busy street for a moment.
"I work too much."
She smiled.
"That's a terrible introduction."
"It's true."
"What do you do?"
You told her. About your career. About the long hours. About how strange it had been watching your life become increasingly ordinary while Alexia's became increasingly public.
"I like it, though," you finished. "People don't recognize me."
Jenni nodded thoughtfully.
"I've always wondered what that was like."
"It has advantages."
"I imagine."
"I can go grocery shopping without anyone asking for a picture."
She sighed dramatically.
"I miss grocery shopping."
You laughed.
"Seriously?"
"I would love to wander around a supermarket without someone filming me comparing avocados."
"You've had someone film you buying avocados?"
"Twice."
You couldn't stop laughing.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"It's just..."
"What?"
"I never think about those things."
"I know."
There was no resentment in her voice.
Just honesty.
"You grew up around it, but you still got to choose a different life."
You nodded slowly.
"I did."
"Do you ever wish you hadn't?"
The question caught you off guard. You thought about it. About childhood weekends spent watching Alexia train. About kicking a ball around the backyard because your older sister wanted someone to practice with. About eventually realizing that while you enjoyed football...
...you didn't love it.
Not the way Alexia did.
"I think everyone assumed I'd play."
Jenni smiled knowingly.
"They did."
"I wasn't bad."
"No."
"But I also wasn't waking up at five in the morning because I couldn't wait to get to training."
She laughed quietly.
"That tends to be a sign."
"I liked art."
"I remember."
Your eyes widened.
"You do?"
"You used to carry sketchbooks everywhere."
You stared at her.
"I was fourteen."
"You drew Mapi once while she was asleep on the team bus."
You burst out laughing.
"Oh my God."
"She woke up halfway through."
"I thought she was going to kill me."
Jenni smiled.
"She kept that drawing."
Your laughter faded.
"What?"
"She still has it."
"No, she doesn't."
"I'm serious."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
You leaned back in complete disbelief.
"That was terrible."
"It wasn't."
"It absolutely was."
"I remember all of us passing it around."
"Oh no."
"And Alexia telling everyone to stop embarrassing you."
You covered your face.
"I've never wanted to disappear more than I do right now."
Jenni laughed so hard she had to wipe beneath one eye.
"I shouldn't have told you."
"No, you definitely shouldn't have."
"But you're smiling."
You lowered your hands.
"I hate that you're right."
The conversation became easier after that. Natural. You talked about everything. Travel. Favorite cities. Books. Music. Ridiculous childhood stories. You discovered Jenni had an irrational fear of moths.
"They fly like they're drunk."
"They're moths."
"Exactly."
"They're tiny."
"They're unpredictable."
"So you're afraid of insects with poor navigation skills?"
"They're agents of chaos."
You laughed so loudly that two people at the next table looked over.
Jenni pointed triumphantly.
"See? They agree."
"They're looking because you're ridiculous."
"No."
"They absolutely are."
The waitress eventually returned.
"Anything else?"
Jenni looked at you.
"Want food?"
You checked your watch.
"We've already been here almost two hours."
Jenni blinked.
"No."
You turned your wrist toward her.
She leaned closer.
"...How?"
You both stared at the time. Then looked at each other. Neither of you had noticed. Jenni smiled.
"I guess we're having lunch too."
You should have said no. You should have remembered dinner with Alexia. You should have remembered every reason this day was supposed to begin and end with coffee. Instead...
"Okay."
Lunch somehow lasted another hour. By the time you stepped back onto the street, the sun was high overhead and the sidewalks had become noticeably busier. Jenni slipped her sunglasses back on.
"So."
"So?"
"I have a proposal."
Your stomach immediately tightened.
"That sounds dangerous."
"It might be."
You folded your arms.
"I'm listening."
"I've never actually explored this part of the city."
You looked around in surprise.
"I don't believe you."
"I'm serious."
"You've been here loads of times."
"I've trained here."
She pointed toward the nearby streets.
"I've never wandered."
You smiled.
"So your proposal is..."
"We wander."
You hesitated. This was where things became complicated. Coffee had become lunch. Lunch was now threatening to become an entire afternoon. Alexia thought you were exploring alone. Technically... You weren't. Jenni seemed to notice the hesitation.
"You can say no."
"I know."
"I won't be offended."
"I know."
Silence settled between you. Then you looked around at the lively streets. Colorful storefronts. Street musicians. The smell of grilled food drifting from somewhere nearby. You were in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. With someone who somehow made even sitting in a café feel effortless. You smiled.
"Okay."
Jenni's answering grin was almost immediate.
"Good."
The afternoon unfolded naturally. Neither of you planned anything. You simply walked. Sometimes talking. Sometimes comfortable enough to let silence settle between you. Jenni pointed out tiny cafés she'd been told about but had never visited. You wandered through open-air markets filled with handmade jewelry, paintings, woven bags, and colorful ceramics. At one stall, you stopped in front of a collection of hand-painted birds.
"They're beautiful," you murmured.
The elderly artist smiled proudly. You carefully picked up a small blue ceramic bird. Its wings were painted with tiny white flowers.
"It reminds me of home."
Jenni looked at it.
"Home?"
"The bluebirds."
She smiled softly.
"You miss it?"
"Sometimes."
"You should get it."
You looked at the price tag.
"It's fine."
"That's not what I said."
"I don't need it."
Jenni quietly reached into her pocket before you even realized what she was doing. You immediately shook your head.
"Jenni."
"What?"
"No."
"It's a bird."
"I know what it is."
"So let me buy you the bird."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Excellent argument."
She was already handing money to the artist.
"Jenni..."
"It's done."
The artist carefully wrapped the little bird in brown paper before handing it to you with a warm smile.
You accepted it reluctantly.
"I can't believe you."
"You'll survive."
"I was going to buy it."
"No, you weren't."
"...Eventually."
She laughed.
"I know."
You tucked the tiny package carefully into your bag.
"Thank you."
Her expression softened.
"You're welcome."
For just a second... Neither of you moved. The market buzzed around you. People walked between the stalls. Someone nearby laughed. Music drifted through the warm afternoon air. Yet somehow it felt as though the two of you were standing completely alone. Jenni quietly broke the silence.
"Come on."
You looked up.
"The beach isn't far."
You nodded. Without thinking... You fell into step beside her. Close enough that your shoulders brushed once. Neither of you apologized. Neither of you moved farther away. Neither of you seemed to want to.
-
The beach was quieter than you expected. Not empty, but calm enough that the noise of the city faded behind you as soon as your feet touched the sand. The afternoon sun had begun to soften, turning the water gold around the edges. A few families sat beneath umbrellas farther down the shore. Someone jogged along the waterline. Two children chased each other near the waves while their mother called after them in Portuguese.
Jenni slipped off her sandals and carried them in one hand. You followed her example. The sand was warm beneath your feet.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You walked close to the water, letting the tide wash over your ankles whenever it reached far enough. Every few steps, your arms brushed. The contact was brief. Accidental. At least, that was what you told yourself. You looked toward Jenni. She was watching the ocean. Her sunglasses were pushed into her hair now, and the breeze lifted loose strands away from her face. She looked peaceful. Different from the version of her you had always known. Not Jenni the player. Not Jenni beside Alexia.
Just Jenni.
You wondered if that was what made the entire day feel so dangerous. For the first time, you were getting to know her without your sister standing between you. Jenni glanced toward you.
“What?”
You looked away quickly.
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“You’re very confident for someone who is afraid of moths.”
“That was private information.”
“You told me in a public café.”
“That doesn’t make it public.”
You laughed. Jenni smiled, but it faded after a moment. She looked back toward the water.
“Can I ask you something?”
Your stomach tightened.
“Depends.”
“Were you serious earlier?”
“About the moths?”
“About not wanting to be friends.”
The air shifted. Your steps slowed. Jenni noticed and stopped walking. You stopped too. The water rolled around your feet before pulling back. You looked down at the sand.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
You released a quiet breath. This was the moment you had been avoiding all day. Coffee had been easy. Lunch had been easier. Wandering through the market had almost allowed you to forget why being around Jenni felt so complicated. But the question had always been waiting. You looked at her.
“Yes.”
Jenni’s expression remained careful.
“Yes, you were serious?”
“Yes.”
She nodded once. Then looked down. You felt your nerves rise.
“Say something.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s usually not a good sign.”
Her mouth twitched.
“No. It usually isn’t.”
You crossed your arms over your chest.
“Jenni.”
She looked at you again.
“I don’t think I want to be friends either.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. The words were quiet. Simple. Still, they landed harder than they should have.
You stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Jenni let out a breath through her nose.
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m trying to be honest.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
She stepped closer. Not much. Just enough to make the space between you feel suddenly smaller.
“I’ve been trying not to think about last night,” she said.
You swallowed.
“The bar?”
“You.”
The answer made warmth spread through your chest. Jenni continued before you could respond.
“The way you looked at me.”
You tried to laugh.
“How did I look at you?”
“Like you were trying very hard not to.”
Your breath caught. She had noticed. Of course she had. Jenni had always been observant, especially when she pretended not to be. You looked away.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No?”
“No.”
Jenni tilted her head.
“Then look at me and tell me you didn’t want me to kiss you.”
Your entire body went still. The waves continued moving around your feet. Someone laughed farther down the beach. Everything around you remained normal while the ground beneath you seemed to disappear. You forced yourself to meet her eyes. Jenni waited. You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. A slow, almost disbelieving smile appeared on her face.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I don’t have to answer it.”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“You don’t.”
That stopped you. The teasing disappeared from her expression. She looked almost nervous now. It was strange seeing that emotion on Jenni. Stranger knowing you had caused it. She lowered her voice.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”
Your chest tightened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between you. Jenni studied your face. Then she looked toward the water.
“This is complicated.”
You laughed without humor.
“That might be the understatement of the century.”
“I know.”
“You dated my sister.”
“I know.”
“For years.”
“I remember.”
“And she is going to lose her mind.”
Jenni’s expression shifted slightly.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“She might surprise you.”
“She once stopped talking to me for three days because I borrowed her jacket without asking.”
“You ruined that jacket.”
“I spilled one drink.”
“It was red wine.”
“You weren’t even there.”
“Alexia told everyone.”
You groaned.
“Of course she did.”
Jenni smiled, but the tension remained.
You looked down at your feet.
“I’ve liked you for a long time.”
The confession escaped before you could stop it. Jenni went completely still. You wished immediately that you could disappear into the sea.
“What?”
You closed your eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“How long?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How long?”
You looked at her. She wasn’t smiling now. There was no teasing in her face. Only surprise. And something else you couldn’t read. You folded your arms tighter.
“Years.”
Jenni stared at you. You forced yourself to continue.
“Not like this. I mean, maybe like this, but I never expected anything. I never wanted to interfere with you and Alexia.”
Jenni didn’t speak.
You kept going because silence felt worse.
“I knew it was wrong. I knew you were with her. I never said anything to anyone.”
“You liked me while I was with Alexia?”
You nodded once.
“God.”
You turned away.
“This is humiliating.”
“No.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It isn’t.”
“You’re looking at me like I just confessed to a crime.”
“I’m surprised.”
“That’s worse.”
Jenni reached for your arm. Her fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. The touch stopped you. You looked down at her hand. Then back at her.
“I never knew,” she said.
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“I didn’t see you that way then.”
The honesty hurt, even though you already knew it.
You nodded.
“I know.”
Jenni’s grip softened.
“But I do now.”
Your breath caught. She took one step closer. The hand around your wrist slid down until her fingers brushed yours. You didn’t pull away.
“Why now?” you asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
“You’re doing a terrible job.”
Jenni laughed quietly. Then her expression softened again.
“Maybe because you’re not a kid anymore.”
“I wasn’t a kid.”
“You were one of Alexia’s little sister.”
“So, Alba dated her teammates”
“You know what I mean.”
You did. She had seen you through Alexia before. Now she was seeing you as yourself. The realization made your pulse quicken. Jenni’s fingers slipped between yours. The movement was careful. Tentative. You looked down at your joined hands.
“Tell me to stop,” she whispered.
You looked up. She was close enough now that you could feel her breath against your face. You thought about Alexia. About breakfast. About the phone buzzing against the table. About every reason this was a terrible idea. Then you thought about the years you had spent wanting something you never believed you could have. You tightened your fingers around hers.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Jenni kissed you. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t the result of alcohol or loud music or a crowded bar. It was slow. Deliberate. Her free hand rose to your jaw, holding you gently as her mouth moved against yours. You forgot how to breathe. For a moment, there was nothing except the warmth of her lips and the sound of the waves. You stepped closer. Jenni’s hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck. The kiss deepened slightly. Not enough to lose control. Enough to make you realize how badly you wanted to.
When she finally pulled away, neither of you moved far. Your foreheads rested together. You laughed quietly, mostly from nerves.
“That was a terrible idea.”
Jenni smiled.
“Probably.”
You opened your eyes. She was already looking at you. You kissed her again. This time, Jenni laughed against your mouth before pulling you closer.
Your phone rang. You froze. Jenni felt it immediately. The ringing continued from inside your bag. You stepped back. Your heart was still racing for an entirely different reason now. You reached into your bag and pulled out the phone.
Alexia.
Of course.
Jenni looked at the screen.
Neither of you spoke.
The phone continued ringing.
“You should answer,” she said quietly.
You nodded.
Your thumb hovered over the screen before accepting the call.
“Hi.”
“Where are you?”
Alexia’s voice was casual. Too casual. You looked at Jenni. She took one step back, giving you space.
“Out.”
“I gathered that.”
You swallowed.
“At the beach.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“By yourself?”
Your entire body tensed. Jenni looked away toward the water. This was the moment. The choice. You could tell the truth. You could say Jenni’s name. You could end the secrecy before it properly began. Instead, you looked at the woman standing only a few feet away.
“Yeah.”
The lie left your mouth softly. Easily. Alexia didn’t hesitate.
“Okay. Dinner at six.”
“I remember.”
“Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
“Love you.”
Guilt twisted sharply in your chest.
“Love you too.”
The call ended. Silence. You lowered the phone slowly. Jenni stared toward the water. You stared at her. Thirty seconds earlier, kissing her had felt like the easiest decision you had made in years. Now it felt like standing on the edge of something you couldn’t take back.
Jenni looked at you.
“You lied.”
You swallowed.
“I know.”
Neither of you said anything else. Because kissing Jenni was one thing. Lying to your sister about it was another. And for the first time since arriving in Brazil, you understood exactly how complicated this was about to become.
-
You had barely stepped foot inside the hotel room when your phone buzzed. Jenni texted you.
Home.
Me too.
Then she had sent:
Still think it was a terrible idea?
You had stared at the question before answering.
Yes. Still want to do it again though.
Jenni’s response had come immediately.
Good.
You smiled at the message. Then you remembered Alexia. The smile vanished.
By yourself?
Yeah.
You dropped the phone against your chest. A loud pounding rattled through the room. You froze.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Your eyes flew toward the door. Another knock followed. Harder this time. Your stomach dropped.
Alexia.
It had to be. Maybe someone had seen you. Maybe there was a picture. Maybe Jenni had told someone. Maybe Alexia already knew.
“I’m coming!”
The pounding came again.
"I said I'm coming!"
You crossed the room and stopped with your hand on the door handle. For one terrible second, you couldn’t move. Then you forced yourself to open it. Ingrid stood in the hallway. Her arms were folded across her chest. Her expression was unreadable. Relief hit first. Then disappeared. You stepped aside slowly, still trying to understand why she was there.
Kika woke before her alarm. That alone should have told her something was wrong. Or right.
Usually, preseason meant squeezing every possible minute out of sleep before coaches demanded fitness tests, recovery sessions, and enough running to make everyone's legs question their career choices. If anyone had asked, Kika would've confidently claimed she was not a morning person. Yet somehow, at 7:18 a.m., she was staring at the ceiling of her hotel room with a grin she couldn't explain away.
Kika rolled onto her side. Her phone sat on the nightstand. She stared at it.
"You're ridiculous," she muttered to herself.
She hadn't expected a message. She certainly wasn't waiting for one. She definitely wasn't reaching for her phone before she'd even opened both eyes. She picked it up anyway. The screen lit up. No new notifications. Kika huffed dramatically before dropping back onto the pillow.
"Embarrassing."
From the other bed came a muffled voice.
"...Who are you talking to?"
Kika jumped.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I was."
"Now I'm awake because apparently my roommate has started having conversations with herself."
"I wasn't."
"You literally said 'embarrassing.'"
"I was talking about... training."
Salma blinked once.
"At seven in the morning."
"Yes."
"You haven't even stood up yet."
"I was mentally preparing."
Salma stared at her for another second before disappearing beneath the blanket again.
"You're a terrible liar."
Kika smiled to herself. Maybe she was. Her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt before she could stop it. She unlocked the screen.
Y/N: Important question.
Kika's grin arrived instantly.
She didn't even try to hide it.
Kika: It is too early for important questions.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Y/N: It's 7:21.
Kika: Exactly.
Y/N: Aren't professional athletes supposed to wake up early?
Kika: Professional athletes are supposed to sleep.
Three dots appeared again.
Y/N: I apologize for interfering with your elite athletic preparation.
Kika laughed under her breath.
"What?"
Salma's voice floated from beneath the blanket.
"Nothing."
Kika ignored her.
Kika: Ask your important question.
Y/N: How offended are you going to be when Washington beats Barcelona tomorrow?
Kika actually laughed out loud.
Salma threw her blanket down.
"There it is!"
"What?"
"The smile."
"What smile?"
"The one."
Kika looked at her innocently.
"I always smile."
"No."
Salma pointed dramatically.
"You smile like that when you're texting someone."
"I text lots of people."
"Not at seven in the morning."
Kika tried to suppress another grin. Failed miserably.
"You met one girl."
"I met lots of people yesterday."
"The president does not count."
Kika snorted.
"You know what I mean."
She looked back down at her phone.
Kika: We are Barcelona.
Y/N: That's not an answer.
Kika: It is the only answer.
Y/N: Confident.
Kika: Correct.
Y/N: Arrogant.
Kika: You noticed.
The typing bubble disappeared. Returned. Disappeared again. Kika found herself waiting. It shouldn't have mattered. She'd known you less than twenty-four hours. Yet she still watched those three little dots with far more interest than she wanted to admit.
Y/N: Unfortunately.
Kika bit her lip. Unfortunately. Interesting choice of word. Salma had climbed out of bed by the time Kika set her phone down. She stretched dramatically before looking across the room. Salma wandered toward the bathroom before pausing in the doorway.
"So..."
Kika looked up.
"So?"
"...Did the president's daughter text you first?"
Kika tried very hard to look indifferent.
"Maybe."
Salma's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
"She did?"
"I didn't say that."
"You literally said maybe."
"I did not confirm anything."
Salma crossed her arms.
"Kika."
"What?"
"You've known this woman for less than a day."
"I know."
"And she texted you before breakfast."
Kika couldn't help smiling again.
"...Maybe."
Salma pointed triumphantly.
"There!"
"What?"
"That smile."
"What is wrong with my smile?"
"It says you're in trouble."
You had made a mistake. Actually... Several.
The first had been asking one of your father's staffers if they happened to know how visiting teams exchanged contact information after official events. The second had been pretending you were asking out of curiosity. The third had been accepting the number once they somehow found it within ten minutes. And the fourth... The fourth had been texting Kika before breakfast. Your phone vibrated. You instinctively reached for it. Your father's newspaper lowered by exactly two inches.
You froze.
"...Good morning," he said.
"It is."
"You seem busy."
"I'm drinking coffee."
"You've looked at your phone six times."
"I have not."
Your mother smiled into her mug.
"You've counted?"
Your father shrugged.
"I got bored after four."
You looked toward your mother. She very deliberately focused on her breakfast. Traitor.
"So," your father continued casually.
"Mm?"
"How was yesterday?"
"It was good."
"The White House tour?"
"Good."
"The Barcelona team?"
"Very nice."
He folded the newspaper.
"...Any particular player stand out?"
Your coffee nearly went down the wrong pipe.
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Your mother cleared her throat. Very suspiciously. You narrowed your eyes.
"...Mother."
"What?"
"You've told him."
"I simply mentioned you seemed to enjoy speaking with one of them."
Your father looked between the two of you.
"Oh."
"No."
"Oh?"
"There is no 'oh.'"
"I know exactly what that means."
"You do not."
He smiled.
"I've been your father for twenty-five years."
You leaned back in your chair.
"I regret coming to breakfast."
"You live here."
"I regret leaving my room."
Your phone buzzed again. You ignored it. Your father noticed.
"...You're not checking it."
"No."
"That's unusual."
"I'm having a conversation."
"You usually check it anyway."
"I've grown."
Your mother laughed.
"You absolutely have not."
You looked dramatically offended.
"I am incredibly mature."
Your father smiled over the edge of his coffee.
"The last time you said that, you accidentally adopted a golden retriever."
"I did not accidentally adopt him."
"You found him."
"He found me."
"You brought him home."
"He looked cold."
"You cried."
"He was adorable."
"You kept him."
"...He's still adorable."
Your mother laughed harder.
"So no," your father said, unable to hide his grin now.
"No particular footballer caught your attention?"
You sighed dramatically.
"...You're never going to let this go, are you?"
"Probably not."
Your phone buzzed again. This time your mother looked toward it.
"...You should probably answer."
"I don't have to."
"You've looked at it three times."
"I have self-control."
Your father smiled.
"...That's definitely the footballer."
You groaned.
"This family is exhausting."
Kika spent the rest of breakfast pretending she wasn't checking her phone every few minutes. She failed. Miserably. Every vibration made her glance down. Every notification that wasn't from you was oddly disappointing. She hated that. Not because she disliked talking to you. Quite the opposite. Because she'd never been someone who waited for messages. Her family sometimes complained she took hours to respond. Now she found herself hoping your name would appear again.
Salma noticed.
Of course she did.
"You know," Salma said while stealing a strawberry from Kika's plate.
"I liked you better yesterday."
"You said I was annoying yesterday."
"I've changed my opinion."
"So quickly?"
"You've become predictable."
Kika frowned.
"I have not."
"You have."
"How?"
"You check your phone every three minutes."
"I do not."
Salma looked toward the device sitting beside Kika's tray. As if on cue... It buzzed. Kika looked down immediately. Salma burst out laughing.
"There!"
Kika pointed a fork at her.
"Don't."
"You are gone."
"I am perfectly capable of functioning."
"You've smiled at your yogurt."
"I absolutely did not smile at yogurt."
"It wasn't the yogurt."
Kika opened the message.
Y/N: My parents are making fun of me.
She laughed. Immediately. Salma slapped the table.
"I REST MY CASE."
Ignoring her, Kika quickly typed back.
Kika: Already?
Y/N: Apparently I'm obvious.
Kika: You are.
Y/N: Excuse me?
Kika: You smiled at me all afternoon yesterday.
Y/N: I was being polite.
Kika: Liar.
Y/N: Maybe.
Kika laughed.
There it was again. That word. Maybe. She had a feeling you hid behind it whenever something scared you. Not because you were dishonest. Because committing to something, even a sentence, felt dangerous. Kika looked down at the keyboard. Then smiled.
Kika: Stop saying maybe with me.
She hit send before she could overthink it. The message sat there. Delivered. Read. No response. Not immediately. For the first time that morning... Kika wondered if she'd pushed just a little too far.
The message remained unanswered for forty-seven seconds. Kika knew because she counted. Not intentionally. At least, that was what she told herself while staring at the small word beneath the message.
Read. No typing bubble. No response. Nothing.
She placed her phone facedown beside her breakfast tray. Then picked it up again approximately three seconds later. Still nothing.
Across the table, Salma watched the entire performance with the kind of fascination usually reserved for particularly dramatic television.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
Salma leaned forward.
“You look like someone just told you training has been extended by three hours.”
“I am fine.”
“You turned your phone over like it offended you.”
“It did not offend me.”
“Then why are you glaring at it?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Kika pushed a piece of strawberry around her plate. Maybe the message had been too direct. Stop saying maybe with me. It had sounded playful in her head. Confident. Flirty, even. Now it looked different sitting on the screen. Too demanding. Too familiar. They had known each other for less than twenty-four hours. Kika had no right to ask anything of you, especially not honesty. Not when she knew almost nothing about what your life looked like beyond the carefully controlled glimpses the public received. She reached for her phone again.
“I wouldn’t send another message,” Salma warned.
Kika froze with her thumb hovering over the screen.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was checking the time.”
“There is a clock on the wall.”
Kika slowly placed the phone down.
Salma nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You clearly do.”
Kika opened her mouth to respond. Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it so quickly that her fork clattered against the plate. Salma covered her face with both hands.
“Oh, this is painful.”
Kika ignored her.
Y/N: Okay.
Kika stared at the single word. Okay. Nothing else. No emoji. No teasing response. Just.. Okay. Her stomach twisted.
Kika: Okay?
The typing bubble appeared.
Y/N: You told me to stop saying maybe.
Kika’s shoulders relaxed.
A smile pulled at her lips before she could stop it.
Kika: I did.
Y/N: So I’m trying something new.
Kika: And how does it feel?
The typing bubble lingered longer this time.
Y/N: Terrifying.
Kika’s smile softened. There was honesty in the answer. More than she had expected. More than you usually offered when something mattered.
Kika: I won’t make you regret it.
The bubble appeared again.
Y/N: That sounds suspiciously like a promise.
Kika looked down at the words. She should have made a joke. That was what she normally did when a conversation became too serious. She could tease you about distrusting professional footballers. She could remind you that Barcelona would win tomorrow. She could steer them back toward something easy.
Instead, she typed the truth.
Kika: It is.
This time, your response came quickly.
Y/N: Okay.
Kika read it twice.
Then a third time. Not maybe. Okay. Salma reached across the table and waved a hand in front of her face.
“Have you returned to Earth?”
Kika locked her phone.
“I never left.”
“You have been staring at one message for an entire minute.”
“I read slowly.”
“You speak four languages.”
“That does not mean I read quickly.”
Salma stared at her.
Kika stared back.
Neither lasted more than five seconds before they both started laughing.
“Come on,” Salma said, standing and collecting her tray. “We have training.”
Kika followed her toward the exit, slipping her phone into the pocket of her training jacket. Today was about football. About Barcelona. About ninety minutes on the pitch tomorrow. Not text messages. Not promises. Certainly not the president’s daughter. Kika repeated that to herself three separate times while riding the elevator downstairs. It stopped being believable after the first.
Audi Field was quieter without thousands of supporters filling the stands.
The empty red seats curved around the pitch beneath the late-morning sun, with groundskeepers moving along the touchline and members of Barcelona’s staff arranging equipment near midfield.
Kika stepped onto the grass and breathed deeply. This was familiar. The smell of the pitch. The pull of her boots against the ground. The noise of teammates laughing while they stretched. Football had always been the place where everything else disappeared. School. Expectations. Interviews. Pressure. The constant awareness that strangers were watching her, analyzing her, deciding who she was based on ninety minutes. Once the ball reached her feet, none of it mattered. Usually.
“Kika.”
She looked up just in time to see a ball flying toward her face. She reacted quickly, catching it against her chest. Patri stood several yards away with her hands on her hips.
“Are you joining us today?”
“I am here.”
“Physically.”
Mapi appeared beside Patri.
“Mentally, she is at the White House.”
Kika groaned.
“I knew Salma would tell everyone.”
“I didn’t tell everyone,” Salma called from behind them.
Mapi grinned.
“She only told me.”
“And Alexia,” Patri added.
“And Clàudia,” someone said from farther down the line.
Salma shrugged.
“I told a carefully selected group.”
“You told half the team.”
“The trustworthy half.”
Mapi stepped closer, lowering her voice dramatically.
“So, are we calling her First Lady Kika now, or is that too soon?”
“That is not even how it works.”
“I don’t know American politics.”
“That is obvious.”
Patri laughed, taking the ball from Kika and tossing it back toward the group.
“Come on, lover girl. Focus.”
Kika followed them into the drill, ignoring the warmth spreading across her face. For the next hour, she tried to let football take over. Short passing patterns. Possession exercises. Quick transitions. Finishing drills. Her body knew what to do even when her mind wandered. One touch. Turn. Move. Receive. Pass. Again.
Every few minutes, though, her eyes drifted toward the luxury suites above the halfway line. They were empty. Of course they were empty. The match was tomorrow. You had no reason to be there today. Still, Kika looked. Once. Then again. And again. During a water break, Salma bumped her shoulder.
“She is not going to appear magically.”
“I wasn’t looking for her.”
Salma took a drink from her bottle.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I suspect you are going to tell me.”
“You like her.”
“I met her yesterday.”
“That does not answer me.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
Kika looked down at the grass. She didn’t know what to call what she felt. Attraction was the obvious answer. You were beautiful. Anyone with eyes could see that. But it wasn’t only that. She liked the way you tried to hide your nerves behind dry humor. She liked that you challenged her without treating her like someone you needed to impress. She liked how you had looked when you spoke about wanting one ordinary afternoon without cameras or security details following three steps behind. She liked that when you smiled at her, it felt private. Even inside the most public building in America.
“It has been one day,” Kika said quietly.
Salma’s expression softened.
“That still doesn’t answer me.”
Before Kika could respond, a coach called them back into position. Salma jogged away with a knowing smile. Kika followed. She still didn’t have an answer. That worried her more than it should have.
You changed your shirt three times. The first one felt too formal. The second one looked like something your mother would wear to a campaign luncheon. The third was too casual. You stood in the center of your bedroom in black trousers and a bra, staring at the open wardrobe as though the correct outfit might materialize through sheer force of frustration. Behind you, Hannah sat cross-legged on the bed eating pretzels from a bag she had found in your desk.
“You own fourteen white shirts.”
“They’re different.”
“They’re white.”
“This one is silk.”
“So?”
“That one is linen.”
“They look the same.”
You pulled another blouse from its hanger.
“What about this?”
“You wore it to a state dinner.”
You looked down at it.
“So?”
“So you’re going on a date, not meeting the Prime Minister of Canada.”
“It isn’t a date.”
Hannah stopped chewing. You avoided her eyes. Slowly, she lowered the pretzel bag.
“You changed your outfit three times.”
“Four.”
“Four times for something that is not a date.”
“It’s dinner.”
“On a rooftop.”
“People eat on rooftops.”
“Overlooking Washington.”
“It has a nice view.”
“With the footballer you have been smiling about since yesterday.”
“I have not been smiling.”
Hannah gave you a flat look.
You sighed.
“Fine. It might be slightly date-like.”
“Slightly?”
“She didn’t call it a date.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did either of you invite anyone else?”
“No.”
“Then congratulations. You’re going on a date.”
You turned toward the mirror again. Your stomach felt strange. Not bad. Just unsettled. You had been on dates before. Plenty of them, technically. Dinners arranged by mutual friends. Drinks with children of donors or diplomats who understood the security concerns and public attention surrounding your family. Most of them felt like interviews. Where did you go to school? What do you plan to do after your father leaves office? Would you ever consider running yourself?
Everyone wanted to understand what being close to you might offer them. Kika hadn’t asked any of those questions. She had asked whether you ever became tired of being watched. Then she had listened to the answer. That was somehow much more frightening.
“What if this is a terrible idea?” you asked.
Hannah’s teasing expression disappeared.
“Do you think she’s a terrible person?”
“No.”
“Do you think she wants something from you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“Yes,” you admitted.
Hannah smiled.
“Then wear the black shirt.”
You looked toward the blouse lying across the chair.
“Why that one?”
“Because you’ve picked it up three times.”
The rooftop restaurant had been closed to the public for the evening. You had protested when the Secret Service informed you. Repeatedly. They had ignored you. Apparently allowing the president’s daughter to have dinner with an internationally recognized footballer in a crowded restaurant was considered an unnecessary security risk. So instead of disappearing into anonymity, you and Kika had an entire rooftop to yourselves. Almost. Two agents stood near the entrance, far enough away to pretend they weren’t listening. Another remained near the stairwell. The restaurant staff moved discreetly behind the bar. Kika leaned against the railing, looking out over the city. The evening sky had turned shades of pale orange and pink, sunlight catching against windows and stretching shadows across the streets below. In the distance, the Washington Monument rose above the buildings.
“This is incredible,” she said.
You stepped beside her.
“It’s better at night.”
“You come here often?”
“Sometimes. The owner is a family friend.”
“So this is normal for you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I meant having a whole restaurant closed.”
“So did I.”
She smiled, but you saw the understanding behind it. That was one of the things you had noticed about Kika immediately. She didn’t look impressed by the spectacle. She noticed the cost of it. Dinner began easily. You argued about the match. Kika insisted Barcelona would win by at least two goals. You informed her Washington had home-field advantage. She accused you of knowing nothing about football. You reminded her that you had grown up attending Spirit matches. She told you that only made your prediction more embarrassing.
By the time the plates were cleared, the sun had disappeared completely. Washington glowed beneath you. For a while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable. That surprised you. Most people rushed to fill silence around you. They asked questions or made jokes, afraid that quiet meant something had gone wrong. Kika simply stood beside you at the railing.
“Do you miss Portugal?” you asked.
“Every day. My family. My friends. Food that tastes the way it is supposed to.”
“Barcelona doesn’t have good food?”
“It does. But it is not home.”
You understood that more than she probably realized.
“Do you get to go back often?”
“Not as often as I want.” She rested her forearms against the railing. “Football decides most things. Where I live. When I travel. When I can see my family.”
“You love it, though.”
“Yes. That does not mean it is always easy.”
You looked back toward the city. People often assumed privilege erased difficulty. Your life was extraordinary. You knew that. You had opportunities most people could never imagine. But every extraordinary thing came with boundaries no one saw.
“I miss normal things,” you admitted.
“Like what?”
“Going to the grocery store alone. Taking a walk without someone reporting where I went. Meeting someone without an entire team researching them first.
“Did they research me?”
“They research everyone.”
“What did they find?”
“You have several parking tickets.”
Kika turned toward you, offended.
“That is private information.”
“Nothing is private to the secret service."
You laughed. She laughed. Then her expression grew more thoughtful.
“People think they know me because they watch me play,” she said. “Sometimes I read things about myself and wonder who they are talking about.”
“What do they get wrong?”
“That confidence means I am never afraid.”
The answer caught you off guard. Kika rarely looked uncertain. On the pitch, she carried herself as if every defender existed solely to be challenged. Even yesterday, walking through the White House, she had appeared completely comfortable.
“What are you afraid of?” you asked.
“Not being enough.”
The honesty settled between you.
“For Barcelona?”
“For everyone.”
“My father once told me that public life turns you into a mirror,” you said. “People look at you and see whatever they already believe.”
Kika considered that.
“And what do you see?”
The question made your breath catch. She had turned fully toward you. The city lights reflected in her eyes. You could have joked. You nearly did. Instead, you remembered your promise to try something new.
“You,” you said quietly. “I think I see you.”
Her eyes returned to yours. She leaned closer. You did too. Your phone rang. The sound shattered the moment. You jumped backward hard enough to bump the railing. Kika closed her eyes. You stared at the screen. Hannah. Of course. You declined the call.
“Sorry.”
Kika laughed under her breath, rubbing one hand over her face.
“No. It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“No?”
“No.”
Her smile returned. Neither of you mentioned what had almost happened. Neither of you needed to. When you finally left the rooftop, Kika’s hand brushed yours near the elevator. This time, neither of you moved away immediately.
The next evening, Audi Field no longer felt quiet. Music shook the stadium. Supporters filled the stands in Barcelona shirts, Washington jerseys, and scarves held high above their heads. Camera flashes appeared along the barriers as the players emerged to warm up. Kika jogged onto the pitch with the rest of the team. This was familiar. This was football. She passed the ball with Salma, stretched with the group, and tried not to look toward the suites. She failed within thirty seconds.
Suite 14 was empty.
Kika looked away. You had warned her that match-day responsibilities might delay you. There were sponsors to greet, staff members to meet, and enough security coordination to organize a military operation. She knew that. Still, she checked again. Empty.
“Focus,” Salma said, sending the ball toward her.
Kika controlled it.
“I am focused.”
“You just looked at the same suite three times.”
“I like the architecture.”
Salma shook her head. Players were called back toward the tunnel. Kika followed, clapping hands with supporters near the railing as the stadium announcer introduced the teams. Her phone vibrated inside the pocket of her warm-up jacket. She waited until they reached the tunnel before pulling it out. One message.
Y/N: Look up.
Kika stopped walking. She turned back toward the pitch. Then lifted her gaze toward Suite 14. You stood at the glass. Hannah beside you. Your father several feet behind, speaking with one of the club representatives. But Kika barely noticed anyone else. You smiled. Not the polished smile you gave cameras. Not the careful one you wore at official events. The other one. The one that felt like it belonged only to her. Kika smiled back. Then you lifted one hand and pointed toward the field. A silent command.
Go.
Kika tucked her phone away. The nerves disappeared. The noise sharpened. The match waited. And for the first time since arriving in Washington, Kika knew exactly where to look when she needed to remember who she was playing for. The first thing Kika heard when she stepped out of the tunnel was the crowd. Not one sound. Thousands. Voices colliding together. Barcelona supporters chanting from one section. Washington fans answering from another. Music pulsing through the speakers while camera flashes flickered along the edge of the pitch. The noise settled somewhere beneath her ribs. This was the part she understood. The walkout. The anthem. The line of players waiting beneath the stadium lights while officials shook hands and photographers captured every angle. Kika rolled her shoulders and looked straight ahead. She did not look toward Suite 14. Not yet. She had already found you once. That had to be enough. For at least five minutes. Beside her, Salma leaned closer.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Kika kept her expression neutral.
“How?”
“Trying so hard not to look up.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re standing backward.”
Kika glanced down. She was, in fact, angled slightly away from the rest of the lineup. She corrected herself immediately. Salma grinned.
“Very focused.”
“Be quiet.”
The referee called the captains forward. Kika bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, forcing her attention onto the field. Ninety minutes. That was all. Ninety minutes of football. She had played hundreds of matches. Bigger matches. More important matches. Matches with trophies waiting at the end and millions of people watching across the world. This was preseason. A friendly. There was no reason for her hands to feel restless. No reason for her heart to beat harder than usual. Then she looked up. You were still standing by the glass. Watching her. Kika forgot the crowd for half a second. You lifted two fingers toward your eyes before pointing at her. I’m watching. Kika smiled. Then the whistle blew. You had attended more sporting events than you could count. Basketball games from court side seats. Baseball games from private boxes. Football games surrounded by donors and lawmakers who spent more time discussing polling numbers than the score. None of them had ever made you this nervous. You stood so close to the glass that Hannah eventually pulled you backward by the sleeve.
“You’re going to leave a face print.”
“I’m watching.”
“You can watch from six inches farther away.”
You ignored her and leaned forward again. On the field, Barcelona moved the ball quickly from side to side. You knew football. Despite what Kika had implied over dinner, you understood formations and passing lanes and the difference between a winger checking inside and one holding the touchline. You knew enough to recognize what Kika was doing. She was restless. Constantly moving. Dropping deeper to collect the ball, then bursting forward before Washington’s defense could settle. Every time she received possession, the crowd grew louder. And every time, your stomach tightened.
“She’s fast,” your father said from behind you.
You turned slightly. He stood beside one of his advisers, jacket unbuttoned and attention fixed on the pitch.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve seen highlights.”
Hannah appeared on your other side.
“Are we all pretending we’re here because of international diplomacy?”
Your father looked at her.
“I am the President of the United States.”
A cheer rose from the crowd. You spun back toward the field. Kika had beaten one defender near the sideline and was racing toward the penalty area. Your hand flattened against the glass. She cut the ball backward toward the center. A Barcelona player struck it first time. The Washington goalkeeper tipped it over the bar. You exhaled. Hannah looked at you.
“You know she didn’t take the shot, right?”
“I know.”
“You reacted like your life depended on it.”
“I’m supporting Barcelona.”
“You own a Washington Spirit jersey.”
“International relations are complicated.”
Your father laughed behind you. You refused to turn around.
The first fifteen minutes passed quickly. Barcelona controlled possession, but Washington stayed compact, forcing them wide and breaking forward whenever they won the ball. Kika liked matches like this. Open enough to invite risk. Physical enough to keep her alert. She received the ball near midfield and turned into space. A defender stepped toward her. Kika shifted left, then pushed the ball right and accelerated past. The crowd reacted immediately. So did the second defender. A shoulder caught Kika as she released the pass. She stumbled but stayed upright.
“Foul!” Salma shouted.
The referee waved play on. Kika turned, ready to argue. Then she heard a faint sound from above the crowd. Someone pounding against glass. She looked toward the suite. You stood with both hands raised in outrage, saying something Kika could not hear. Hannah was laughing beside you. Kika bit back a smile. The ball came back toward her. She turned and chased it. Football first. You later. It was becoming difficult to separate the two. Washington scored in the twenty-third minute. A quick counterattack down the right. A low cross. One touch at the near post. The stadium erupted. Kika placed her hands on her hips while the Washington players celebrated. She hated conceding. Friendly or not.
Across the pitch, Salma caught her eye.
“Still confident?”
Kika glared at her. Salma laughed. As they returned to the center circle, Kika looked toward the suite. You were celebrating. Not politely. Not diplomatically. Actually celebrating. Hannah had both arms around you while you pointed toward the scoreboard. Kika narrowed her eyes. You noticed. Even from that distance, she saw your smile widen. Then you shrugged. Home-field advantage. Kika mouthed two words. Watch me. Your expression changed. The challenge landed exactly as she intended.
“Did she just threaten you?” Hannah asked.
“She said watch me.”
“That sounded threatening.”
“It was not.”
Your father glanced between you and the field.
“You can understand her from here?”
“I read lips.”
“You do not,” Hannah said.
“I understood that.”
“Because she dramatically over-enunciated it.”
You crossed your arms.
“Washington is still winning.”
“For now.”
You turned toward your father.
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m neutral.”
“You just said ‘for now.’”
“I’m a politician. Neutrality is flexible.”
“That explains a lot.”
On the pitch, Barcelona began pressing higher. The change was immediate. Washington struggled to play out from the back. Passes became hurried. Clearances fell directly to Barcelona midfielders. Kika moved wider, staying close to the left touchline. You watched her lift one hand. A signal. The midfielder carrying the ball saw it. The pass traveled diagonally across the pitch. Kika brought it down against her foot as if the ball weighed nothing. One defender closed her down. Then another. She hesitated. Just long enough to make both of them think she would go outside. Then she cut inside. The first defender turned too late. The second stepped forward. Kika pushed the ball between them. The entire suite moved at once. You didn’t remember grabbing Hannah’s arm. You only realized you had when she yelled.
“Ow!”
Kika reached the edge of the penalty area. A third defender approached. She shifted the ball onto her right foot. For one suspended second, everything slowed. Kika looked up. The goalkeeper adjusted. You stopped breathing. Then she struck the ball. It curled beyond the goalkeeper’s outstretched hand and into the far corner. The net snapped. The stadium exploded. Kika barely heard it. The moment the ball crossed the line, instinct took over. She turned away from goal and ran toward the corner. Her teammates followed. Salma reached her first, jumping onto her back while Patri wrapped both arms around them. Someone shouted into her ear. Someone else grabbed her shoulders. Kika laughed beneath the weight of the pile forming around her. Then she remembered. Watch me. She pulled free enough to turn toward the suites. Her eyes found you immediately. You stood frozen behind the glass. Hannah was screaming beside you. Your father was clapping. Everyone else had become background. Kika raised her arm. Pointed directly at you. The celebration around her changed. Salma followed the direction of her hand. Her mouth fell open.
“No,” she shouted, laughing. “You did not!”
Kika did. She held the point for another second. Then tapped her chest. You. Me. Whatever this was. The cameras followed her gesture. She knew they would. She should have cared. She didn’t.
“Oh my God.”
You couldn’t move. Kika was still pointing toward the suite. Toward you. Not your father. Not the officials seated behind you. You. The stadium screen replayed the goal. Then Kika’s celebration. The camera angle zoomed toward the suite. You saw yourself appear on the screen above the field. Your expression was completely unguarded. Eyes wide. Hand over your mouth. Hannah losing her mind beside you.
“Oh my God, she pointed at you!”
“I know.”
“She scored and pointed at you!”
“I saw it.”
“Everyone saw it!”
That part registered slowly. The cameras. The crowd. The thousands of phones already recording. Your father stepped beside you. His expression was far too amused.
“That seemed specific.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask whether that was a standard football celebration.”
Hannah answered for you.
“It was not.”
“Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. President.”
You looked back toward the pitch. Kika was returning to the center circle. Before play resumed, she glanced over her shoulder. You pressed your hand against the glass. She smiled. Washington’s lead had lasted seven minutes. You no longer cared. The rest of the first half moved quickly. Barcelona scored again before halftime through Salma, who celebrated by pointing dramatically at every suite except yours. Kika nearly collapsed laughing. As they walked toward the tunnel, Salma bumped her hip.
“You’re insane.”
Kika grabbed the back of Salma’s shirt and pulled her toward the changing room.
“Keep walking.”
Inside, the coaches reviewed positioning and substitutions. Kika listened. Mostly. She drank water and tried not to replay the expression on your face. She had surprised you. Good. You surprised her constantly. It felt fair. The second half brought several substitutions and a slower tempo. Washington equalized from a corner, and Barcelona responded with a third goal late in the match. Kika played sixty-eight minutes before being replaced. As she walked off, the crowd applauded. She lifted one hand toward the stands. Then, despite herself, she looked toward Suite 14. Your seat was empty. Her steps faltered. Only briefly. She told herself you had responsibilities. Security. Guests. A father who happened to run the country. Still, disappointment settled in her chest as she sat on the bench. Barcelona won three–two. At the final whistle, players shook hands and applauded the supporters. Kika joined the team’s lap around the pitch, signing shirts and posing for photographs near the barrier. She checked the suite twice. Still empty. By the time she returned to the tunnel, she had almost convinced herself not to care. Almost. You waited near the end of the corridor with Hannah and two members of your security detail. The tunnel beneath the stadium smelled like grass, concrete, and whatever cleaning product had been used on the floors. Players passed in small groups. Some smiled when they recognized your father’s daughter. Others looked toward the security agents and wisely kept moving. Footsteps echoed from around the corner. Voices. Laughter. Then Salma appeared. She saw you first. Her entire face lit up. She turned backward while continuing to walk.
“Kika!”
A muffled response came from behind her. Salma looked at you again, then grinned with open mischief.
“You have a visitor.”
Kika rounded the corner. She stopped. The disappointment you hadn’t known she was carrying disappeared from her face.
“You left,” she said.
“I came down here.”
Kika looked toward the security agents. Then at Hannah. Then back to you. For once, neither of you seemed to know what to say. So you stepped forward. Kika did the same. The hug happened without discussion. Her arms wrapped around your waist. Yours circled her shoulders. She was still warm from the match, hair damp near the back of her neck and the faint scent of grass clinging to her shirt. You held her tighter. Just for a second. Maybe longer. The tunnel disappeared. The agents. Hannah. Salma pretending not to watch from ten feet away. All of it. Kika’s cheek rested against your shoulder.
“You scored,” you whispered.
“I told you to watch.”
You pulled back enough to look at her.
“That celebration was subtle.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Everyone knows what you mean.”
“Do you?”
The question was quieter. The teasing faded from her face. You did. At least, you thought you did. You wanted to.
“Yes,” you said.
Kika smiled. Not the triumphant smile she had worn after scoring. Something softer. Something meant only for you. Behind her, Salma cleared her throat loudly.
“We do have a team meeting.”
Kika didn’t look away from you.
“How unfortunate.”
Salma made an offended noise.
You laughed.
“I should let you go.”
Kika’s arms loosened but did not fall away completely.
“You’re still free tonight?”
The question carried more nerves than she probably intended. You thought of the plan you had made. Monuments. Ice cream. A diner Hannah had sworn was open late enough to avoid most of the crowds. An evening without a rooftop reservation or an entire restaurant closed in your name. Just Washington. Just the two of you. Or as close to just the two of you as your life allowed. You looked at Kika’s hopeful expression. Then at the hand still resting lightly against your waist.
“Do you still want to go?”
Her answer came immediately.
“I’ve been thinking about it all game.”
You had changed out of your White House attire before meeting Kika. No blazer. No heels. Just dark jeans, white trainers, and a navy sweater despite Hannah insisting you looked "far too normal."
"That's the point," you replied.
She looked at you over the roof of the SUV.
"You know you're still arriving with three Secret Service vehicles."
You glanced behind you. Three black SUVs. Four agents. One advance vehicle.
"...I hate this."
"I know."
"I just want one evening."
"I know."
"I don't want restaurants closing."
"I know."
"I don't want people moving because I'm walking by."
"I know."
You leaned your head against the passenger window.
"I sound ungrateful."
"No."
Hannah smiled softly.
"You sound tired."
You didn't answer. Because she was right. Being protected wasn't the exhausting part. Being noticed was.
Kika waited outside the hotel entrance wearing dark jeans, a cream-colored hoodie, and a Barcelona cap pulled low over her hair. When the SUV stopped, she looked almost nervous. Almost. You climbed out before the agent could open your door.
"Kika."
She smiled immediately.
"You came."
"I said I would."
"I know."
She rubbed the back of her neck.
"I still wasn't sure."
You tilted your head.
"Why?"
"You have..."
She gestured vaguely toward the convoy.
"...a country."
You laughed.
"I do seem to have acquired one."
"I wasn't sure if they'd let you leave."
"They almost didn't."
She looked toward the line of vehicles.
"I believe that."
An agent stepped forward.
"We'll remain out of sight unless needed."
You nodded.
"Thank you."
As promised, the security detail spread out. Far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. Close enough that you knew exactly where each of them was. Kika noticed you watching them disappear.
"You really can never be alone."
"No."
She looked at you for a long moment.
"I'm sorry."
The sympathy surprised you. Most people were jealous. They saw motorcades and private entrances. They didn't see what those things cost.
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know."
She offered a small smile.
"I just wish you could have one normal night."
"So do I."
Then she held out her hand.
"Maybe we can have an almost normal one."
You looked down at it. Then back up at her. You grab her hand and say
"Lead the way."
Washington at night felt different. The summer heat had finally begun to fade. Street musicians played somewhere in the distance. Tourists wandered between monuments carrying cameras and melting ice cream cones. For once... Nobody recognized either of you. Or if they did... They politely left you alone.
"This," you said quietly, "is my favorite version of the city."
Kika looked around.
"It's beautiful."
"It feels smaller."
"I was thinking the opposite."
You laughed.
"You've never lived here."
"No."
She looked toward the Washington Monument towering above them.
"Everything feels important."
"It usually is."
"You grew up with this?"
"I learned to ride a bike over there."
You pointed toward a nearby path.
"I scraped my knees."
"You?"
"I know."
"I assumed you emerged from the White House fully grown."
You gasped dramatically.
"My secret."
She laughed.
The sound echoed across the quiet walkway.
"You've never had this?"
Kika stared suspiciously at the ice cream cone in your hand.
"I've had ice cream."
"Not from here."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's important."
She accepted the cone reluctantly. One bite. Her eyebrows lifted.
"...Okay."
"I told you."
"This is very good."
"I know."
She took another bite.
Then another.
"You were hiding this from Europe."
"I don't control American dairy."
"You should."
"I'll add it to my responsibilities."
She smiled before holding her cone toward you.
"Trade?"
You blinked.
"You want mine?"
"Yours is better than mine."
You exchanged cones without hesitation.
Your fingers brushed.
Neither of you commented on it.
You tasted Kikas.
"...No."
"What?"
"Mine is better."
"It absolutely is not."
"It absolutely is."
You laughed.
"I regret sharing."
"You should."
The diner looked exactly like every movie had promised. Chrome walls. Red booths. A jukebox in the corner. The smell of fries and coffee filling the room. Kika spun slowly as they walked inside.
"This is real."
"It would be strange if it wasn't."
"No."
She looked delighted.
"I thought American diners only existed in films."
"You've been watching the wrong films."
The waitress recognized you. You braced yourself. Instead she simply smiled.
"Corner booth?"
You smiled back.
"Please."
No photographs. No fuss. Just menus. You almost wanted to hug her.
An hour later... Their food was mostly gone. Conversation had become easier with every passing minute.
"So..." you asked.
"First relationship?"
Kika nearly choked on her milkshake.
"You ask very direct questions."
"I've been told."
She stirred her drink slowly.
"No."
"No?"
"There was someone."
She smiled faintly.
"A long time ago."
"What happened?"
"Football."
You frowned.
"Football?"
"I moved."
She looked down.
"She didn't."
Silence settled over the table.
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged.
"We were young."
"Did it hurt?"
Kika laughed softly.
"I think everything hurts when you're twenty."
You smiled.
"Fair."
"What about you?"
You leaned back in the booth.
"I've dated."
She waited.
"It never felt..."
You searched for the word.
"Real."
"Because of your family?"
"Usually."
People liked the idea of you. The mystery. The headlines. The access. Very few liked simply... You.
"I spent most of my twenties wondering if people wanted to know me..."
You looked down at your untouched fries.
"...or my last name."
Kika reached across the table. She didn't touch your hand. Not yet. She simply rested hers nearby.
"I wanted to know you before I knew your last name."
Your chest tightened.
"You didn't know who I was."
"I knew you made me laugh."
She smiled.
"I still think that's more important."
The National Mall had grown quieter. The crowds were thinning. The Reflecting Pool stretched ahead of them, perfectly still beneath the lights. Neither spoke. Words suddenly felt unnecessary. Their shoulders brushed. Again. Again. Until finally... Kika stopped walking. You turned toward her.
"What?"
She looked down. Then back up. Her confidence on a football pitch had disappeared.
"I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
She laughed.
"It usually is."
Another quiet moment passed. Then... Very carefully... She reached toward you. Not your hand. She waited halfway. Giving you every opportunity to pull away. Instead... You closed the distance yourself. Your fingers slipped between hers. Hand in hand. Intentional. Neither of you looked away. The world seemed impossibly quiet. Even the city felt as though it had taken one collective breath.
Kika smiled.
"So..."
"So?"
"I was right."
"About what?"
"You have very cold hands."
You laughed.
"I cannot believe that's what you noticed."
"I notice everything."
"I find that slightly terrifying."
"I'll use my powers responsibly."
You squeezed her hand.
"I hope so."
They started walking again. Slower this time. Neither willing to be the first person to let go. By the time they reached the edge of the Reflecting Pool, the moon shimmered across the water, turning the monuments into pale silhouettes. Kika stopped once more. This time, she didn't look at the monuments. She looked only at you. There was no teasing smile. No playful challenge. No joke waiting behind her eyes. Only quiet uncertainty. Only hope. Her thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand.
"So..."
You smiled.
"There are a lot of 'so's tonight."
"I know."
She took one slow breath. Then another. Finally, in a voice barely louder than the breeze moving across the water, she asked
"Can I kiss you?"
For one suspended second, you forgot how to breathe. Kika stood in front of you with her hand still wrapped around yours, the Reflecting Pool stretching behind her and the city glowing softly beneath the night sky. She looked nervous. Actually nervous. Not teasing. Not pretending confidence she didn’t feel. Just waiting. Waiting for you. Your heart beat harder.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Kika’s eyes searched yours.
“Yes?”
You smiled.
“Yes.”
Not maybe. The recognition flickered across her face. Her expression softened. Then she stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. As though she was afraid one sudden movement might break whatever had been building between you since the White House. Her free hand rose toward your face. Her fingers brushed your cheek. Warm against your skin. You leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. Kika noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed. Her thumb moved gently beneath your eye. Then she leaned in.
Just before her lips met yours, she says "They aren't going to tackle me for this are they?''
You laughed and said no. Kika leaned in fully. The first brush of her lips against yours was so soft that, for half a second, you wondered whether you had imagined it. A question instead of a kiss. You answered by closing the remaining distance. Your hand tightened around hers. Kika kissed you again. This time with certainty. Still slow. Still gentle. But real. The sounds of Washington disappeared. No traffic. No distant voices. No agents positioned somewhere behind you pretending not to watch. There was only the warmth of Kika’s mouth against yours and the quiet exhale she released when your free hand rested at her waist. You had expected nerves. Awkwardness. Maybe laughter.
You both pulled away at the same time. Eyes closed. Breathing labored. For a moment, you simply stood there. Your fingers were still intertwined. Kika’s other hand remained against your cheek. Neither of you appeared willing to move first. Finally, you tilted your head.
“Was it worth waiting through dinner?”
Kika pretended to consider the question.
“The milkshake was very good.”
You pulled away slightly.
She laughed and tightened her hold on your hand.
“I’m joking.”
“You should be.”
“It was worth it.”
Her voice lost its teasing edge.
“You’re worth it.”
The words landed harder than the kiss. You looked away instinctively. Kika caught it immediately.
“Hey.”
Her fingers touched your chin, gently turning your face back toward hers.
“You don’t have to hide every time I say something honest.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look at the ground when you’re scared.”
You glanced down before you could stop yourself.
Kika laughed softly.
“See?”
“You really do notice everything.”
“I told you.”
You looked back at her.
“That’s still terrifying.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Something in her expression made you believe her.
So you nodded.
“Okay.”
Kika smiled again.
Then, because apparently one kiss had made her braver, she leaned forward and pressed another to your lips. Shorter this time. Warmer. Almost playful. When she pulled back, your eyes remained closed for half a second longer than necessary.
“That was unfair,” you said.
“What was?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You already gave permission.”
“For one kiss.”
Kika’s eyebrows lifted.
“Oh.”
You tried to maintain a serious expression. Failed. She leaned closer.
“Should I ask every time?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She kissed you again. You laughed against her mouth. And just like that, the nervousness disappeared.
They walked the long way around the Reflecting Pool. Neither suggested it. Neither needed to. The path back toward the cars could have taken ten minutes. Instead, they wandered. Kika kept hold of your hand. Sometimes your shoulders brushed. Sometimes she stepped closer for no reason other than because she could. Everything felt different now. Not dramatically. The monuments still stood exactly where they had before. The city continued moving. Your security detail remained nearby. Barcelona would still leave Washington. But the space between you had changed. Before, every touch had been accidental. Now Kika’s thumb moved lazily across your knuckles. Before, every silence carried uncertainty. Now it felt comfortable.
By the time you reached the waiting vehicles, it was well past midnight. One of the agents opened the rear door. You paused. Kika stood beside you, still holding your hand. The evening had to end. You hated that. Apparently, so did she.
“I can ride with you,” Kika said.
You glanced toward the hotel SUV positioned behind yours.
“Are you allowed?”
“I am an adult.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She frowned.
“You sound like Salma.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Yes.”
You laughed and looked toward the agent. He gave a small nod. Kika brightened immediately.
“See?”
“You have been approved by the United States government.”
“Finally.”
She climbed into the SUV beside you. The partition between the front and back seats remained lowered, but the darkness offered at least a small amount of privacy. Washington passed beyond the tinted windows. Neither of you spoke at first. Kika rested her head against the seat and turned toward you. You did the same. Your knees touched.
“You’re staring,” you whispered.
“So are you.”
“I asked first.”
“You didn’t ask anything.”
You smiled.
“Why are you staring?”
“I’m trying to remember this.”
The answer erased your smile. Not because it was sad. Because it reminded you why she needed to remember. Barcelona was leaving. Soon. Reality had remained politely outside the evening until then. Now it climbed into the car with you.
“When do you fly?” you asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
The words sat heavily between you. You had known. Of course you had. The schedule had been public for weeks. Knowing didn’t make hearing it easier. Kika looked down at her hands.
“We have recovery in the morning. Then the airport.”
“And then Barcelona.”
“And then Barcelona,” she repeated.
You turned toward the window. The city lights blurred slightly. You told yourself it was because the car was moving. Kika’s hand found yours on the seat between you.
“Don’t disappear.”
You looked at her.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“People say that.”
Her voice was quiet.
“Then life becomes busy. The distance becomes difficult. Messages become less frequent.”
You thought about the relationship she had mentioned at the diner. Football. She moved. The other woman didn’t.
“Is that what happened before?”
Kika hesitated.
“Yes.”
You shifted closer.
“I’m not her.”
“I know.”
The attention. The headlines that might come from her goal celebration. The reality of trying to know someone who lived thousands of miles away. The possibility that this night meant more to you than it did to her. Kika lifted your joined hands. She pressed her lips gently against your knuckles.
“We don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
“What do we solve?”
She considered the question.
“Whether we want to try.”
Your heart thudded.
“And do you?”
Kika looked directly at you.
“Yes.”
Immediate. Certain. You swallowed.
“Yes,” you said.
Her smile returned.
“Good.”
“That’s it?”
“For tonight."
Kika squeezed your hand.
“We talk. We call. We see what this becomes.”
“Across an ocean.”
“People have survived worse.”
“You say that now.”
“I will say it tomorrow too.”
You wanted to believe her. More importantly, you wanted to give both of you the chance to prove it.
“Okay.”
Kika leaned closer.
“Still trying something new?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
You smiled.
“Maybe.”
She gasped.
“I told you to stop saying that with me.”
“I know.”
“You are impossible.”
“You still kissed me.”
“I can make mistakes.”
The SUV stopped outside Barcelona’s hotel. Kika didn’t reach for the door. Neither did you. Through the window, you could see Salma standing beneath the hotel entrance with her arms crossed. She was waiting. Kika saw her.
“Oh, no.”
“She looks concerned.”
“She looks nosy.”
Salma tapped her watch. Then pointed toward the vehicle. Kika sank farther into the seat.
“She is never going to let me live.”
“You pointed at me after scoring in front of an entire stadium.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was emotional.”
“And now?”
Kika turned toward you.
“Still emotional.”
Your smile softened.
She reached up and brushed her thumb against your cheek.
“I’ll text you when I’m upstairs.”
She leaned forward. The kiss was brief but unhurried. A goodbye neither of you wanted to name. When she pulled away, her forehead touched yours.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She opened the door.
Salma immediately grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the hotel entrance. You couldn’t hear the interrogation through the closed window. You didn’t need to. Salma’s hands moved dramatically. Kika covered her face. Then, just before disappearing inside, she turned back. She looked toward the SUV. You lifted your hand. Kika smiled and did the same. Only after she was gone did the vehicle pull away.
Salma waited until the elevator doors closed.
Then she turned.
“So.”
Kika stared straight ahead.
“No.”
“You kissed her.”
“I did.”
Salma stepped directly in front of her.
“Kika.”
“What?”
Kika tried to remain composed. She lasted approximately two seconds. Then her smile broke free. Salma screamed. Actually screamed. Kika lunged forward and covered her mouth.
“Shut up!”
Salma pulled away.
“You kissed her!”
Kika looked away. Salma gasped.
Kika entered the room and slammed the door behind them. Salma threw herself onto the bed.
“My roommate is dating the President’s daughter.”
“We are not dating.”
“That is not a legal definition.”
“You pointed at her after scoring.”
“It was a celebration.”
“You went on two dates.”
“The first one was dinner.”
“Which is a date.''
Salma watched her with a knowing expression.
“You like her.”
“Yes.”
The word came easily.
Salma’s teasing faded.
“A lot?”
Kika sat on the edge of her bed.
“I think so.”
“She lives here.”
“I know.”
“You live in Barcelona.”
“I know.”
Salma nodded slowly.
Then she smiled.
“Good thing phones exist.”
Kika looked toward her own phone on the nightstand.
As if summoned, the screen lit up.
Y/N: Are you being interrogated?
Kika laughed.
Your phone rang at 1:17 a.m. You answered before the first ring finished. Kika’s face appeared on the screen. She was lying in bed, hair loose around her shoulders and the hotel room dark behind her.
“You called,” you said.
“I said I would.”
“You survived Salma?”
“Barely.”
A muffled voice came from the other bed.
“She is lying!”
Kika turned her head.
“Go to sleep.”
Salma appeared briefly at the edge of the screen.
“She kissed you five times.”
Kika’s face turned bright red.
You laughed.
“Goodnight, Salma.”
“Goodnight, First Daughter.”
Kika threw something offscreen.
Salma disappeared.
“I am changing rooms tomorrow.”
“You leave tomorrow.”
“That is unfortunate.”
There it was. Tomorrow.
“Will you still be there tomorrow?”
The question was quiet. Barely awake. Your chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
You remembered her promise at breakfast. I won’t make you regret it.
Hi. Would you write for Geraldine Reuteler x Reader? Maybe they are spending alot of time together cause they became great Friends fast and Reader was showing her around cause she has been at Arsenal since her Teenage years and a gooner since birth. So they Work Out together, cook together basically do everything together and they Fall for one another. One day they end up in hooking Up and confess those Feelings and start Dating? Thx. 😊
You did a fantastic job on eyes up because let me tell you it’s been a long time since I’ve been so annoyed while reading. Lmao. I could feel the steam coming from my ears. How Leah tolerates any of them I do not know.
Leah Williamson knew three things about your tattoo. One, you had been talking about getting one for nearly six months. Two, your appointment had been yesterday. And three, you were apparently the most irritating woman alive.
“Just show me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That isn't a reason.”
“It is when I say it.”
Leah stared at you from across the kitchen island, her spoon suspended halfway between her bowl and her mouth. You didn't bother looking up from your phone. You could feel her staring anyway. You had been able to feel it for the last ten minutes.
Yesterday afternoon, you'd disappeared into a tattoo studio in North London and hadn't emerged until many several hours later. Leah had offered to go with you, but you'd immediately rejected the idea, claiming you wanted the finished piece to be a surprise.
She hadn't particularly cared at the time. It was your body. You'd been talking about getting something for ages. She knew it was important to you. She'd kissed you goodbye before your appointment, told you not to cry, received a middle finger in response, and gone about the rest of her day.
You'd walked through the front door looking like you were preparing for an expedition through Antarctica rather than spending an evening in London. That had been when Leah's curiosity started. She'd asked what you'd gotten. You'd smiled. She'd asked where you'd gotten it. You'd smiled wider. She'd tried pulling your hoodie up. You'd slapped her hand away. And now, nearly eighteen hours later, Leah was beginning to understand that you'd apparently made it your life's mission to drive her insane.
“Is it on your arm?”
“No.”
“Leg?”
You glanced up.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That's cheating.”
“You asked if it was on my leg. Maybe it is.”
“Y/N.”
“Leah.”
“What did you get?”
“A tattoo.”
“No shit.”
You smiled sweetly.
Leah dropped her spoon into her bowl.
“You're unbearable.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Debatable at the minute.”
You laughed, finally setting your phone down. The movement made your face tighten for half a second. Leah caught it immediately. Her irritation disappeared.
“Hurting?”
“A little.”
“How bad?”
“Nothing awful. Just sore.”
Leah stood and walked around the island, stopping in front of you. Her hands automatically went toward your waist before she hesitated. You noticed.
“You can touch me, Lee.”
“I don't know where the bloody thing is.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“There she is.” Leah rolled her eyes. “Was worried you'd be nice for five seconds.”
You grinned and wrapped your arms around her neck instead. Leah settled her hands carefully on your hips. Or tried to. The second her right hand touched you, you flinched. Leah snatched it away.
“It's there!”
You burst out laughing.
“You're such an idiot.”
“Your hip?”
“I'm not telling you.”
“Y/N!”
You escaped before she could investigate further, grabbing your training bag from beside the door.
“Come on. We're going to be late.”
Leah stared after you.
“You've done this deliberately.”
“Done what?”
“Scheduled the bloody thing before training so I couldn't see it.”
You looked over your shoulder.
“Maybe.”
Leah's mouth fell open. You disappeared into the hallway laughing. She muttered something under her breath before grabbing her own bag. Today was going to be a very long day. It took Leah approximately twenty-three minutes at London Colney to discover the first part. Not that she was counting. She absolutely wasn't counting. She had more important things to think about. Training. Football. The upcoming match. The defensive drills they were supposed to be working through. Anything other than whatever you had hidden underneath your Arsenal training kit.
Unfortunately, Leah Williamson had never been particularly good at leaving things alone. Especially when they involved you. You were standing a few metres away chatting with Alessia while everyone gathered for warmups. Your training shirt hung loosely over your torso, your shorts revealing absolutely nothing unusual.
Leah had checked. Casually. Obviously.
“She's still your girlfriend, you know.”
Leah turned.
Beth stood beside her.
“What?”
Beth nodded toward you.
“You've been staring at her since we came outside.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I was looking over there.”
“At Y/N.”
“At everyone.”
Beth hummed.
Leah ignored her.
Warmups started. For approximately six minutes, everything was normal. Then you dropped into a deep stretch. One leg extended. The other bent beneath you. Your shorts shifted. Leah's eyes caught something dark against the skin of your upper thigh. Her entire brain stalled.
Ink.
Black ink.
Thin lines curled over the outside of your thigh before disappearing beneath the material of your shorts. Leah stopped stretching. What the hell? Those weren't random lines. They looked like.. Roots? You changed position. The fabric fell back into place.
Gone.
Leah frowned.
“Williamson.”
Nothing.
“Leah.”
She blinked.
Kim Little was looking at her.
“Sorry.”
“You joining us?”
“Yeah.”
Leah quickly changed stretches.
Across from her, your head had dropped. Your shoulders were shaking. You were laughing. You fucking knew. Leah narrowed her eyes. You finally looked up. Your eyes met hers. Innocent. Far too innocent.
Leah mouthed, Seriously?
You shrugged.
Beth noticed the exchange.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Leah said quickly.
You smiled.
Training continued. Leah tried to forget about it. She genuinely did. The problem was that she now had more questions than before. If those were roots on your thigh, what exactly had you gotten? And how far did it go? The answer to the second question came during the first water break.
Everyone wandered toward the sideline. You grabbed your bottle. Leah deliberately chose one on the opposite side. She wasn't playing your game. She was a professional athlete. An England international. She had captained her country. She could survive one training session without obsessing over her girlfriend's tattoo.
You took a drink.
Leah stared resolutely at the pitch. Then you pulled the bottom of your shirt upward to wipe the sweat from your face. Leah looked. Of course she fucking looked. Her eyes dropped immediately to your side. The roots she'd seen on your thigh continued upward. Across your hip. Around your waist. Then something thicker began climbing along your side toward your back before disappearing underneath your shirt.
Leah nearly squeezed her water bottle in half. What the fuck had you done? You lowered your shirt. Your eyes found hers. There it was again. That smile. Leah pointed at you.
“Don't.”
You raised your eyebrows.
“Don't what?”
Beth looked between you.
“What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” you answered.
“She's being annoying.”
You gasped.
“I'm literally drinking water.”
“You know exactly what you're doing.”
“I genuinely don't.”
“Bullshit.”
Katie appeared beside Beth.
“What've I missed?”
“Domestic dispute,” Beth answered.
Katie immediately looked delighted.
“Brilliant.”
“There isn't a dispute,” you said.
“There will be,” Leah muttered.
Katie's eyebrows rose.
You bit your lip to stop yourself laughing.
“Come on!” one of the coaches called.
You jogged backward toward the pitch.
Before turning around, you looked directly at Leah.
“Eyes up, Williamson.”
Katie made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
Beth completely lost it.
Leah closed her eyes.
“Fuck my life.”
“Oh, this is excellent,” Katie said.
“Shut up.”
“What've you done?” Beth called toward you.
You only laughed. Leah wanted the ground to swallow her whole. By the middle of training, everyone knew. Leah blamed Katie. You blamed Leah for being painfully obvious. Katie claimed she'd merely “made an observation.” Whatever the case, Leah was suffering. Because now that you'd realised exactly how much the tattoo was affecting her, you had become evil. There was no other explanation.
Your shirt suddenly seemed incapable of staying where shirts were supposed to stay. You stretched constantly. You adjusted it. You wiped your face with it.
Once, Leah watched you reach for a ball on the ground and caught another glimpse of dark ink climbing across your lower back. More roots. Much bigger than she had realized.
The design stretched from your thigh, around your hip, and across your lower back. But she still couldn't figure out what the entire thing was. Then came the moment that ruined her. Teams were changing bibs between drills. You pulled your training top over your head. Just for a second. Maybe two. Long enough. Leah saw your back. Not all of it. Your sports bra covered part of the design, and you'd already begun pulling the clean shirt down before her brain caught up. But she saw enough. A trunk. A fucking tree trunk running upward along your spine. Branches disappeared beneath your sports bra before reappearing higher across your shoulder blades.
Leah forgot there was a football coming toward her.
“Leah!”
The ball hit her shin. It bounced away. Silence. Then laughter. Leah stared at the ball.
“Oh my God,” Alessia laughed.
Katie bent over. Beth was practically wheezing. Even you had frozen halfway through pulling your shirt down. Your mouth dropped open. Leah looked at you. You looked at her. Then you started laughing.
“Not one fucking word.”
That made it worse.
“I didn't say anything!”
“You don't need to!”
“You just got hit by a football!”
“I noticed!”
Katie straightened enough to speak.
“England captain, everyone.”
“Former,” Beth managed.
“Thank Christ.”
Leah flipped them both off. Training resumed. Her dignity did not. Five minutes later, you ran alongside her during a drill.
“You okay?”
“Don't speak to me.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because you can't control yourself?”
Leah turned her head.
You were grinning.
“You're enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“You're horrible.”
“You love me.”
“You keep saying that today.”
“Because it's true.”
You accelerated away.
Leah watched you go.
Then immediately realised what she was doing.
“Fuck.”
Behind her, Katie yelled.
“EYES UP, WILLIAMSON!”
The entire pitch erupted.
Leah caught you alone after training. Or, more accurately, she followed you down the corridor until you turned into an equipment room to return something and then stepped through the doorway behind you. You heard the door shut. Slowly, you turned. Leah stood against it.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Leah repeated.
You smiled.
“Hi.”
“Don't ‘hi’ me.”
“What did I do?”
Leah stared at you.
You lasted approximately three seconds before laughing.
“Okay, okay.”
“You've been taking the piss all day.”
“I wasn't at first.”
“At first?”
That was apparently the wrong thing to admit. Leah pushed away from the door. Your grin widened.
“At first,” she repeated.
You backed toward the shelves.
“Maybe I noticed you looking.”
“You noticed?”
“Hard not to. You're not subtle.”
“I am subtle.”
“You walked into a football.”
“That happened once.”
“You missed two passes.”
“One was Katie's fault.”
“You completely forgot what Jonas was saying during the shape drill.”
“I heard him.”
“What did he say?”
Leah opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
You nodded.
“Exactly.”
She stopped in front of you. Close enough that the teasing suddenly felt different. Your smile softened. Leah's eyes flicked down toward your mouth before returning to your eyes.
“You're a nightmare.”
“You're dramatic.”
“You got an enormous tattoo and wouldn't let me see it.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You've surprised me.”
“You haven't even seen it.”
Leah's expression changed.
“What?”
You immediately realized what you'd done.
“Oh.”
“What do you mean I haven't seen it?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“That wasn't all of it?”
You laughed.
Leah stepped closer.
“Y/N.”
“You've seen maybe…”
You pretended to think.
“Half?”
Leah stared at you.
You could practically watch her brain short-circuit.
“Half?”
“Maybe sixty percent.”
“Jesus Christ.”
You laughed again.
Leah's hands settled carefully at your waist.
“Where does it end?”
“Not telling.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
“No,” Leah admitted quietly. “I really don't.”
She kissed you. It wiped the smile from your face immediately.
Your hands went to her neck. The kiss deepened for a moment before Leah abruptly pulled back.
You frowned.
“What?”
“The tattoo.”
“What about it?”
“I don't know where I can touch you.”
You burst out laughing.
Leah looked offended.
“I'm trying not to hurt you!”
“Sorry.”
“You're not.”
“I'm really not.”
Leah kissed you again anyway, one hand settling safely at the back of your neck. You had just started smiling against her lips when someone banged loudly against the door.
“WILLIAMSON!”
Leah froze.
Your eyes widened.
Katie.
Of course.
“STOP SNOGGING YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND COME HELP!”
Your forehead dropped onto Leah's shoulder as laughter overtook you.
Leah stared at the ceiling.
“I hate this club.”
“You love this club.”
“I hate everyone in it.”
Katie banged again.
“WE CAN HEAR YOU!”
“You can't hear anything!” Leah shouted.
“CAN HEAR THAT!”
You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Leah opened the door. Katie stood outside with Beth. Both looked unbearably pleased with themselves.
“Finished?” Katie asked.
“Die.”
“Touchy.”
Beth peered around Leah at you.
“Nice tattoo, by the way.”
Leah turned.
“You've seen it?”
Beth shrugged.
“Changing room.”
The betrayal on Leah's face sent you into another fit of laughter.
“Are you serious?”
“Most of us have.”
Leah looked at you.
“You let everyone else see it?”
“We change together!”
“That is not the point.”
Beth patted Leah's shoulder.
“Thoughts and prayers.”
The drive home was suspiciously quiet.
You lasted eleven minutes.
“Still thinking about it?”
Leah kept her eyes on the road.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I'm driving.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“I'm aware.”
You smiled and turned toward the window.
Another minute passed.
“It's a tree.”
“I gathered that.”
You laughed.
“Thought you might've been confused after the football incident.”
Leah shot you a look.
“Keep going.”
“I'm just saying.”
“I'll leave you at the next traffic light.”
“No, you won't.”
“No,” Leah sighed. “I won't.”
You reached across the console and rested your hand on her thigh. Her hand immediately covered yours. The teasing quietened.
“You really like it?”
Leah glanced at you.
“I've barely seen it.”
“But what you've seen?”
A pause.
Then:
“Yeah.”
Your smile became smaller.
“Good.”
Leah noticed the change immediately.
Her thumb brushed across your knuckles.
“Were you worried?”
“A little.”
“About me not liking it?”
“Not just you.”
You shrugged.
“It's massive. I knew that when I planned it, obviously, but seeing it actually finished was different.”
Leah squeezed your hand.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Then that's what matters.”
You looked at her.
“I still want you to love it.”
Leah smiled.
“Come home and show me.”
For all the joking she'd done throughout the day, you suddenly became nervous upstairs. Leah noticed. She sat on the edge of the bed while you stood near the wardrobe, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
“You don't have to.”
“I want to.”
“You sure?”
You nodded.
“Just…”
“What?”
“Don't do the dramatic Leah face.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“I don't have a dramatic Leah face.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Rude.”
You smiled. Then you turned around. Leah waited. Slowly, you pulled your shirt upward. Her smile disappeared. Not because she didn't like it. Because nothing she'd seen at training had prepared her for the whole thing.
The roots she'd glimpsed on your thigh began much lower than she'd realized, curling upward across your skin before spreading over your hip. They twisted around your side and met others stretching across your lower back. From there, the trunk rose. Dark. Detailed. Following the line of your spine. The bark had been shaded with such intricate detail that Leah could see every ridge and split within it. Then came the branches. They stretched outward across your shoulder blades, growing thinner as they traveled toward your shoulders. Some were bare. Others carried leaves. Tiny details were hidden throughout the enormous design, subtle enough that Leah knew she'd need time to find them all. The highest branches ended near the top of your back. For once all day, Leah had absolutely nothing to say.
You glanced over your shoulder.
“Lee?”
Nothing.
“Good silence or bad silence?”
She stood.
“Good.”
You turned slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Don't move.”
That made you smile. Leah came closer. Her hand lifted instinctively before stopping several centimeters from your skin.
“Can I?”
“Not directly on it yet.”
She nodded.
Her fingers hovered instead, following one of the branches without making contact.
“This is unbelievable.”
The nervousness left your shoulders.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
Your smile broke properly then. Leah looked closer. There were tiny symbols hidden among the branches. Dates. Shapes. Small leaves that were different from the others.
“What does everything mean?”
You turned enough to look at her.
“The roots are home.”
Leah listened.
“Where I came from. Family. Everything that made me who I am.”
Her eyes followed them.
“And the trunk?”
“Me, I suppose. Everything I've survived. Everything that's changed.”
“And the branches?”
“The things I've found along the way.”
Leah smiled.
“Football?”
“One.”
“Arsenal?”
You pointed toward a small section.
“Here.”
Leah leaned closer.
A tiny cannon had been worked subtly into the bark.
She laughed.
“That's brilliant.”
“There are loads of little things.”
“Am I in it?”
You went quiet.
Leah looked at you.
That was answer enough.
“Where?”
“You have to find it.”
“Y/N.”
“Come on, Williamson. Thought you liked a challenge.”
She immediately began searching. You watched her through the mirror. Her concentration was adorable. Eventually, she stopped. Near your left shoulder blade, growing from one of the strongest branches, was a tiny cluster of flowers. Not initials. Not a name. Nothing obvious. But Leah knew. She looked at you in the mirror.
“Those?”
You nodded.
“Why?”
“Because they're your birth flower.”
Leah's expression softened.
“And because that branch is new growth.”
She swallowed.
You suddenly felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with standing shirtless in front of your girlfriend.
“You came into my life when I wasn't really expecting anyone to.”
Leah looked back toward the tattoo.
“And somehow you became…”
You shrugged.
“Home, I guess.”
“Come here.”
You turned.
Leah immediately caught herself.
“Carefully.”
You laughed.
“Very romantic.”
“Shut up.”
She pulled you gently against her, mindful of your back. You wrapped your arms around her waist. Leah kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your mouth. When she pulled away, her forehead remained against yours.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
A beat passed. Then Leah's eyes traveled over your shoulder toward the mirror. You saw it happen. The softness disappeared. You started laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“The staring.”
“I'm allowed now.”
“You were allowed before.”
“No, before you were tormenting me.”
“I was having fun.”
“You made me walk into a football.”
“You did that entirely by yourself.”
Leah kissed you again, cutting off your laughter.
When she pulled away, you were still smiling.
“You know,” you murmured, “Katie was right.”
“Don't ruin this by mentioning Katie McCabe.”
“You really couldn't stop staring.”
Leah rolled her eyes.
“Can you blame me?”
You pretended to consider it.
“No.”
“Cocky.”
“You like me cocky.”
“I like you.”
“Same difference.”
Leah shook her head.
Then her gaze drifted toward your back again.
“It's genuinely beautiful.”
Your teasing faded.
“Thank you.”
“And you're beautiful.”
“Smooth.”
“I'm being serious.”
“I know.”
You look at Leahs once again, "It wont come to life the more you stare at it"
"I know. I just like it"
Leahs face has gone a shade of red. You realize why shes staring.
"You're turned on by it"
Leah moves her face to look at you.
"Can you blame me?"
"Want to do something about that?" Y/N says in a sultry manner
"Only if i can still look at it while you fuck me"
"I'll go get the strap"
As you go to the closet to put on the strap. Leahs removes her clothes. You walk back over and ask how she wants it to go. She moves to lay down on the bed. You get what she wants. You have a mirror covering the ceiling above your bed. You get on and hover over her.
"You don't need to get me started. I'm already wet enough. Trust me"
You grab the strap moving it along her slit and entrance to gather some of her juices. After a few moments you sink into her. All the way to the hilt. The face Leah makes is breathtaking. You stay not moving for a moment and look at Leah. You can tell she doesn't exactly know where to put her hands. You move one arm under her back and another grabbing her shoulder.
"You can grab my neck and shoulder. You won't hurt me"
Leah does just that. She tells you to start moving. And you do. While you are starting to thrust into her, the way your tattoo moves with your back in the mirror is driving Leah wild. She never thought something like this would make her so horny and want to cum but here she is. About to bust.
"Y/N you have no idea how hot you look"
"Oh i have an idea for sure"
"Start going faster baby. I'm honestly so close. I can already feel it baby"
You pick up the pace and start rutting into Leah fast. The bed frame starting to hit the wall and make a loud banging noise. Thankfully you live in a house and not apartment because you would be getting more than one noise complaint. You lean your face into Leahs neck and bite down. Licking and sucking her neck with each bite you take.
"Fuck baby. Swear to god i'm going to cum. Fuck me. Choke me. I can feel it. I'm right there"
You do as she says and grab her throat. That earns a loud moan from her. Hearing that makes the coil in your own stomach start to snap. You start fucking into her faster than before. You move the arm from behind her back to her ass. Giving a better angle to hit her with.
One second later and you and Leah cum right with each other. You lay there, still inside her for a few minutes. Your breathing has come down and leveled to normal. You slowly move back and slip out of Leah. You get up and grab some cloths to clean her up with as you remove the strap and throw it somewhere in the room.
Moving back into the bed. Leah slots her back to your chest. Bringing and arm around her waist and squeezing her tight. You lean over and kiss her temple as you both succumb to the nights activities and sleep.
The next morning, Leah was having a significantly better day. You'd deliberately worn a longer training shirt. Nothing was visible. Not a root. Not a branch. Nothing.
Leah completed warmups without incident. Every pass reached its intended target. She listened during every drill. She even survived you stretching in front of her without staring. Mostly. Katie noticed.
“Much better today, Williamson.”
Leah ignored her.
“No footballs to the shins yet.”
“Morning's young,” Beth added.
“Both of you can fuck off.”
You wandered over.
“What's happening?”
“Your girlfriend's sensitive,” Katie said.
“My girlfriend's always sensitive.”
Leah stared at you.
“Whose side are you on?”
You stepped closer and kissed her cheek.
“Yours.”
“Thank you.”
“Usually.”
“There it is.”
You laughed.
The coaches called everyone together. Katie and Beth walked ahead. You started following them. Then you stopped.
“Oh, Lee?”
Leah looked over.
“Yeah?”
“I forgot to tell you something.”
She immediately looked suspicious.
“What?”
You adjusted your sleeves.
“I've got another tattoo appointment.”
Silence.
Leah blinked.
“When?”
“Six weeks.”
“For what?”
You shrugged.
“Finishing some things.”
Leah pointed toward your back.
“I thought you said it was finished.”
“The tree is.”
Something about your expression made Leah nervous.
“Y/N.”
You started walking backward.
“What?”
“What are you getting?”
“You'll find out.”
“No.”
You grinned.
“Yep.”
“Absolutely fucking not. We're not doing this again.”
“Doing what?”
“You know exactly what.”
You turned and jogged toward the others.
Leah followed.
“Y/N!”
You laughed.
“Where is it?”
No answer.
“Is it another big one?”
Still nothing.
“Y/N!”
Katie passed Leah going in the opposite direction.
“You coming, Williamson?”
Leah stopped and watched you disappear into the group ahead.
She shook her head.
“I fucking hate tattoos.”
Katie followed her gaze toward you.
Then looked back at Leah.
“Could've fooled me.”
Leah shoved her lightly as she walked past.
“Fuck off, McCabe.”
Up ahead, you looked over your shoulder. Your eyes found Leah's. That same infuriating smile appeared. And despite herself, Leah smiled back. You mouthed something. Two words. The same two words that had haunted her yesterday.
Eyes up.
Leah shook her head. Six weeks. She had six weeks to prepare herself. Although, knowing you, there wasn't enough preparation in the world. And judging by the way her eyes dropped to your back again as you walked away, Katie had a point. She really wasn't fooling anyone.
Hello. Would you write a Mapi or Alexia OS?(Can be for the lcl era) Reader also plays on the Same Team and gets Hurt, Alexia or mapi offer to Take Care of Reader and Reader helps with learning english. While they spend so much time together they Fall for one another? X
Absolutely! I’ll do it for Mapi since I’ve got a couple Alexia fics. Lovely idea!
Moving halfway across the world was supposed to be the hard part.
That was what everyone kept telling you, anyway. Australia to England. Sunshine to grey skies. Familiar streets to a city where you still occasionally looked the wrong way before crossing the road. Your childhood bedroom to a room in your older sister’s house that Steph insisted was yours and not the guest room, despite the fact that half of your belongings were still sitting inside cardboard boxes nearly three weeks after you'd arrived. And, probably the biggest adjustment of all, going from playing football back home to pulling on an Arsenal shirt.
That was supposed to be difficult. That was supposed to be overwhelming. Nobody had warned you that going shopping with your older sister would be the thing that nearly killed all three of you.
“Do you actually need another hoodie?”
You looked down at the black hoodie you were holding before looking back at Steph.
“Yes.”
“You bought two last week.”
“Those are different.”
Steph stared at you.
You stared back.
Beside her, Beth Mead was doing a terrible job of hiding her amusement.
“How?” Steph finally asked.
You lifted the hoodie slightly, showing her the front.
“This one has a little embroidered thing.”
Steph looked at the tiny logo.
Then at you.
Then at Beth.
“Don’t bring me into this,” Beth immediately said, lifting both hands. “I think she should get it.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course you do.”
Beth grinned. “I support the youth.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Exactly. A baby.”
Steph rolled her eyes and turned away, muttering something about being surrounded by idiots. You smiled as you put the hoodie over your arm. Moving in with Steph hadn't exactly been the original plan.
Arsenal had helped you with everything when the transfer became official. Housing, transportation, paperwork, the endless amount of paperwork, and technically, you could have had your own apartment.
Steph had shut that idea down before you'd even landed in London. You were moving in with her. End of discussion.
At first, you'd argued. You were an adult. You could take care of yourself. You'd lived alone before. You didn't need your big sister hovering over you every second of every day. Then you'd arrived in London exhausted, overwhelmed and trying desperately not to admit that moving halfway around the world was significantly scarier than you'd expected. Steph had been waiting at arrivals. The second you'd seen her, you'd nearly cried. So maybe living with your older sister wasn't the worst thing in the world. Even if she was currently following you through a shopping centre questioning every single purchase you made.
“Are we nearly done?” Steph asked.
“No.”
“You've been saying that for two hours.”
“Because we're not done.”
“We came here for trainers.”
“And I got trainers.”
“An hour and forty minutes ago.”
You shrugged.
Beth laughed.
Steph shot her a look.
“You're encouraging her.”
“I'm having a lovely time.”
“Of course you are. You don't have to live with her.”
Beth draped an arm around your shoulders. “I'll take her.”
“No.”
Steph's response was immediate.
You turned your head.
“No?”
“No.”
“But apparently I'm annoying.”
“You are.”
“So Beth can have me.”
“No.”
Beth looked between the two of you. “This feels less like sisters and more like a custody battle.”
“I'm twenty-four,” you reminded her again.
“Not relevant.”
Steph reached over, pulled Beth's arm away from you and immediately replaced it with her own, steering you toward the checkout.
“Pay for your unnecessary hoodie.”
“It is necessary.”
“It has a logo the size of a fingernail.”
“Exactly.”
Steph sighed.
But you caught the tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. You smiled too. For all the complaining, Steph had been doing everything possible to make London feel like home. She'd stocked the kitchen with Australian snacks before you arrived. She'd given you the bigger spare bedroom because it had more natural light. She'd cleared an entire shelf in the bathroom despite complaining constantly about how many skincare products you owned. She'd driven you to training for the first week even though you were perfectly capable of getting yourself there.
She'd checked whether you were eating. Whether you were sleeping. Whether training was going okay. Whether you liked everyone. Whether you were homesick. Sometimes it was suffocating. Mostly, though, it was Steph. Your sister had always loved through actions. And apparently relentless supervision.
You paid for your hoodie and shoved the receipt into the bag.
“Food?” Beth asked.
Your head snapped toward her.
“Yes.”
Steph groaned. “You ate before we left.”
“That was three hours ago.”
“You had a pretzel forty minutes ago.”
“That was a snack.”
“That pretzel was the size of your head.”
“Still a snack.”
Beth nodded solemnly. “She's right.”
“Stop agreeing with her!”
You and Beth exchanged a grin. Steph looked like she regretted every decision that had led to this moment. The three of you started toward the food court. You were halfway there when you pulled your phone from your pocket. Four percent.
You frowned.
That wasn't good. You'd forgotten to charge it overnight. Actually, you hadn't forgotten. You'd plugged it in. Then you'd needed to look something up while lying in bed, unplugged it, and apparently never plugged it back in. You vaguely remembered thinking you'd do it in a minute. You had not done it in a minute.
Typical.
You tapped the screen again.
Three percent.
“Shit.”
Steph and Beth were walking a few steps ahead of you, discussing where they wanted to eat. You looked around. There had to be somewhere nearby that sold chargers. You'd seen an Apple Store earlier. Or at least you thought you had. Maybe downstairs? You could quickly grab one and meet them at the food court.
Easy.
“I'll be back in a second,” you called.
Steph glanced over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“Need something.”
“What?”
“A charger.”
Steph stopped walking.
“Where?”
“Apple.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
You did not. Steph narrowed her eyes. You gave her your most reassuring smile.
“I'll literally be five minutes.”
“Y/N”
“Five minutes!”
And before she could start mothering you, you turned and disappeared into the crowd. The Apple Store was not downstairs. You discovered that approximately seven minutes later. You'd gone down the escalator, walked past several shops you didn't remember seeing before, checked a directory and discovered that somehow you'd walked in the complete opposite direction. No big deal. You turned around.
Your phone buzzed.
Steph
You answered.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Getting the charger.”
“You said five minutes.”
“It's been like six.”
“It’s been twelve.”
You frowned.
Had it? You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the time. One percent.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“My phone's about to die.”
“Then come back.”
“But I need the charger because my phone's about to die.”
There was silence.
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“Come back here.”
“I know where the store is now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
You looked at the directory again.
Mostly.
“Where is it?”
“Near…”
You leaned closer.
“Near Zara.”
“Which Zara?”
“There are two?”
Beth's laugh came through the phone in the background. Steph did not sound amused.
“Just stay where you are. We're coming to you.”
“But then we're all walking over here when I can just..”
Your phone went black.
You stared at it.
“Oh.”
You pressed the button. Nothing. Dead. Well. That was inconvenient. Still, Steph knew you were near a directory. Except there were probably multiple directories. You looked around. Maybe you should stay there. Steph had told you to stay there. You genuinely intended to. Then you noticed the sign.
APPLE →
“Oh.”
Perfect. It was right there. You'd get the charger, then go back to the directory. That made more sense than making Steph come all the way over when you were apparently only a few minutes away. So you followed the sign. Except the arrow led around a corner. Then down another corridor. Then another escalator. And when you reached the bottom, you passed a shop with a massive window display filled with Arsenal merchandise.
You stopped.
You'd seen Arsenal merchandise approximately four thousand times since signing. It shouldn't have been interesting. Except there was your shirt. Your actual shirt. Hanging in the window.
You stared.
You knew people could buy it. Obviously. You'd done the promotional pictures. You'd signed shirts at the club shop. You'd seen supporters wearing your name at the Emirates. But something about seeing it unexpectedly in a random shop window hit differently.
Your surname. Your number. Arsenal colours.
You stepped closer. Three weeks ago, you'd been on the other side of the world. Now your shirt was hanging beside Steph's.
You smiled.
Then you noticed a kid inside holding one. A little girl, maybe ten, standing beside her dad and pointing excitedly at the back. You couldn't hear what she was saying through the glass. But you saw your name. Something warm spread through your chest. You forgot about the directory. You forgot that Steph had specifically told you to stay there. For just a moment, you forgot about the charger.
Then the little girl looked up. Her eyes went wide. You waved. She nearly dropped the shirt. Five minutes later, you were inside signing it. Then her dad wanted a picture. Then an employee recognized you. Then another person asked for a photo. And by the time you finally walked out, you had absolutely no idea how much time had passed.
You remembered the charger.
“Right.”
Apple Store.
Steph was going to kill you. Beth had come to that conclusion approximately thirty minutes into the search. At forty-five minutes, she revised it. Steph wasn't going to kill you. She was going to hug you first. Then kill you.
“She's fine,” Beth said for what was probably the twentieth time.
Steph didn't answer.
She was walking too quickly, eyes scanning every face passing them.
“Steph.”
“She should've stayed where she was.”
“I know.”
“I told her to stay there.”
“I know.”
“Why can't she ever just..”
Steph stopped. Beth nearly walked into her. Steph dragged both hands over her face.
“She doesn't know London yet.”
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
Beth's expression softened.
“She's inside a shopping centre.”
“With a dead phone.”
“She's twenty-four.”
“She gets distracted.”
“Steph.”
“What?”
Beth touched her arm.
“She'll be okay.”
Steph looked away.
Her jaw tightened.
“She moved here because of Arsenal.”
“She moved here because Arsenal wanted her.”
“She left everyone.”
Beth understood then. This wasn't really about the shopping centre. It wasn't about the dead phone. It wasn't even about you wandering away. Steph had spent weeks watching her little sister uproot her entire life. And she'd taken it upon herself to make sure you were okay. Maybe because focusing on whether you were okay meant she didn't have to think about how much responsibility she'd placed on herself.
“She trusts you,” Beth said quietly.
Steph looked at her.
“She came here knowing she'd have you.”
Steph swallowed.
“That doesn't mean I can lose her in a bloody shopping centre.”
Beth smiled slightly.
“Fair.”
Steph exhaled.
Then her eyes suddenly locked onto something over Beth's shoulder. Her entire face changed. Beth turned. There you were. Walking toward them. Apple bag swinging from one hand. New hoodie bag in the other. Completely oblivious. You smiled when you spotted them.
“Found it!”
Steph stared at you.
Your smile slowly disappeared.
“Oh.”
Beth covered her mouth.
You approached cautiously.
“Hi.”
Steph said nothing.
“I got the charger.”
Nothing.
“And”
“Do you have any idea how long you've been gone?”
You frowned.
“Like…twenty minutes?”
“One hour and eight minutes.”
Your eyes widened.
“What?”
“One. Hour.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You looked at Beth.
She nodded.
“Oh.”
Steph's eyes were shining.
That wiped the confusion from your face immediately.
“Oh, Steph.”
“Your phone died.”
“I know.”
“I called you fourteen times.”
“I know, but”
“I told you to stay where you were.”
“I was going to.”
“But?”
You hesitated.
“There was a sign.”
Beth made a choking sound.
Steph looked like she might explode.
“A sign?”
“For Apple.”
“So you followed it?”
“Yes.”
“After I told you to stay there?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“How else would I say it?”
You looked down.
The humour disappeared.
“I'm sorry.”
Steph's shoulders dropped slightly.
“I really am.”
You shifted the bag in your hand.
“I didn't mean to scare you.”
“I know.”
“I just thought I'd get the charger quickly, and then I saw my shirt in a shop, and there was this little girl buying it and she recognized me and..”
You stopped.
Steph closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
“I didn't realize how long it had been.”
“I know.”
That was the problem. Steph knew. She knew you hadn't deliberately ignored her. She knew your brain had grabbed onto one thing, then another, then another, while time quietly disappeared around you. She knew that when you said five minutes, you genuinely meant five minutes. You weren't careless. Your brain just didn't always experience the world in the same orderly sequence Steph wanted it to.
“I should've come back,” you said quietly.
Steph opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Or borrowed someone's phone.”
“Yes.”
“Or not wandered off.”
“Definitely.”
You nodded.
Then Steph pulled you into her arms. Hard.
You stumbled.
“Oh.”
“Shut up.”
You wrapped your arms around her. Steph squeezed tighter. You buried your face against her shoulder.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
“I scared you.”
“Yes.”
“Really bad?”
“I'm deciding whether I'm still angry enough to strangle you.”
You smiled against her shoulder.
“Can you decide after food?”
Beth burst out laughing.
Steph pulled back just enough to stare at you.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I'm hungry.”
“You disappeared for an hour.”
“I didn't eat during it.”
“That is not helping your case.”
Beth stepped closer.
“I think she's got a point.”
“Beth.”
“Sorry.”
Steph finally released you, but immediately grabbed your wrist.
You looked down.
Then back up.
“Are you holding onto me now?”
“Yes.”
“Steph.”
“No.”
“I'm not five.”
“Could've fooled me.”
“That's rude.”
“Don't care.”
You tried to pull your wrist away. Steph tightened her grip. You looked at Beth for help. Beth shook her head.
“I'm with her now.”
“Traitor.”
“You disappeared.”
“I went to Apple!”
“For an hour.”
“I got distracted!”
“We noticed.”
You huffed.
But you stopped trying to escape Steph's grip. Instead, you shifted closer until your shoulder bumped hers. Steph looked at you.
“You know I'm okay, right?”
Her expression softened.
“I know.”
“I mean here.”
She went quiet.
“In London. Arsenal. Everything.”
You swallowed.
“I know I've been a little all over the place since I got here.”
“A little?”
You nudged her.
“Don't ruin my heartfelt moment.”
“Sorry.”
You smiled.
Then looked ahead.
“It's a lot. Sometimes.”
Steph's grip loosened around your wrist.
“But I don't regret coming.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
You glanced at her.
“Because you're here.”
Steph's eyes softened.
“And Arsenal's pretty cool too, I guess.”
“There she is,” Beth murmured.
You smiled.
Steph slipped her hand from your wrist into your hand instead.
You squeezed it.
“I'll try not to disappear again.”
“Thank you.”
“But I can't promise anything.”
“Y/N.”
“I'm kidding.”
Steph stared.
“Mostly.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Beth laughed.
You rested your head briefly against Steph's shoulder as the three of you started walking.
“Can we eat now?”
“Yes.”
“McDonald's?”
“No.”
“Five Guys?”
“No.”
“Nando's?”
“Fine.”
You perked up.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
Steph froze.
Slowly, she turned toward you.
“What?”
You dug through the Apple bag.
“I should probably charge my phone.”
Steph stared at you for several seconds.
Then held out her hand.
“What?”
“Give me the phone.”
“Why?”
“I'm putting an AirTag on you.”
Beth immediately lost it.
You gasped.
“That's insulting.”
“I'm ordering one tonight.”
“I am a human being!”
“You're a human being who wandered around a shopping centre for an hour with no means of communication.”
“I knew where I was.”
“You thought there was only one Zara.”
“There shouldn't be two!”
Beth was laughing so hard she had to grab Steph's shoulder.
You crossed your arms.
“This feels discriminatory.”
“Against what?” Steph asked.
“Me.”
“That isn't a protected category.”
“It should be.”
Steph shook her head, but she was smiling now. Actually smiling. The fear had finally left her face. And seeing that made the last traces of guilt settle in your stomach. You reached for her hand again. She gave it without hesitation. Maybe moving halfway around the world was going to take some getting used to.
There would probably be more moments where everything felt too loud or too fast. Days where you missed home. Training sessions where you questioned whether you belonged here. Nights where the distance between England and Australia felt much bigger than it looked on a map.
And there would definitely be more moments where your brain sent you somewhere you hadn't intended to go. But Steph would be there. Hovering. Complaining. Probably tracking your location. Loving you in the slightly overbearing way only an older sister could. You squeezed her hand.
“Steph?”
“What?”
“Love you.”
She looked at you suspiciously.
“What do you want?”
Your mouth dropped open.
“Nothing!”
“You never say it like that unless you want something.”
“I was having another heartfelt moment!”
“You already used your heartfelt moment.”
“There's a limit?”
“One per shopping trip.”
Beth nodded. “Seems reasonable.”
“You two are horrible.”
You pulled your hand away and walked ahead.
“Where are you going?” Steph immediately called.
You stopped.
Turned around.
And stared at her.
“Nando's.”
“Right.”
“Which is literally twenty metres away.”
“Just checking.”
You shook your head.
Then you noticed something in the window of the shop beside you.
You slowed.
Steph saw it happen.
“No.”
You looked at the display.
“But”
“No.”
“Steph, look.”
“Keep walking.”
“It's really cool.”
“Y/N.”
“I'll only be a second.”
Steph lunged for you.
You shrieked and ran toward Beth, who was already doubled over laughing.
“DON'T YOU DARE!”
“I'M RIGHT HERE!”
“GET BACK HERE!”
People turned to stare as an Arsenal defender chased her younger sister through the middle of the shopping centre while another England international stood nearby crying with laughter. Maybe London was different. Maybe Arsenal was intimidating. Maybe moving halfway across the world was the biggest change you'd ever made.
But as you ducked behind Beth while Steph threatened to personally sew an AirTag into every item of clothing you owned, something about it finally clicked. Home wasn't always a place. Sometimes it was the person chasing you through a shopping centre because she'd spent the last hour terrified she'd lost you. And sometimes it was knowing that no matter how far your brain wandered, your sister would always come looking for you.
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