Part 7 -> Part 6 -> Part 5 -> Part 4 -> Part 3 -> Part 2 -> Part 1
3.6k Words
The first few months after Mapi’s surprise visit settle into something that almost resembles normal, though neither of you ever fully says that out loud. It’s a fragile kind of normal, one that exists only in the spaces between flights, in the countdowns between goodbyes, in the messages sent across time zones when one of you wakes up too early or stays up too late.
The distance doesn’t get easier. Not really. You still hate airports in a way that feels disproportionate to how often you use them. You still catch yourself reaching for her in the middle of the night before remembering she isn’t there. And you still feel the familiar ache every time Sunday evening arrives, the one that always signals the end of another visit.
But something changes anyway.
Not the distance.
The certainty.
Because neither of you is guessing anymore. There are no more questions about whether this is real or whether the other person feels the same. That part has already been answered in too many ways to count. Now it’s just about learning how to exist inside it.
Which turns out to be harder than anything else so far.
It starts small.
A text at two in the morning.
Your phone lights up in the dark, and for a moment you consider ignoring it. Then it buzzes again, and again, until you finally give in.
You open it to find:
MAPI: Are you awake?
You stare at the screen for a moment before replying.
YOU: No.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
MAPI: Good.
YOU: Why are you texting me?
MAPI: Because I miss you.
That one lands differently every time she says it, even through a screen.
YOU: Go to sleep.
MAPI: No.
YOU: Mapi.
MAPI: No.
YOU: You have work tomorrow.
MAPI: So do you.
YOU: Exactly.
MAPI: Important question.
YOU: I’m scared.
MAPI: If I got attacked by a bear, would you save me?
You stare at the message for a long time.
YOU: Why is there a bear?
MAPI: Hypothetical.
YOU: Go to sleep.
MAPI: That’s not an answer.
YOU: There are no bears in Barcelona.
MAPI: Still.
YOU: Goodnight.
MAPI: Coward.
You toss your phone aside, but it buzzes again almost immediately.
MAPI: You’d save me.
YOU: Goodnight.
MAPI: ❤️
The stupid heart makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to examine too closely, so you don’t.
But you fall asleep smiling anyway.
--
From there, the rhythm builds itself. Morning messages. Lunch updates. Video calls that stretch longer than either of you plans. Late-night conversations that blur into sleep.
At first it feels like novelty.
Then it becomes routine.
Then it becomes necessary.
Until one day it doesn’t feel like long distance anymore. It just feels like your life includes her in a way that nothing else quite compares to.
And that realization doesn’t scare you as much as it probably should.
The problem starts when Barcelona stops feeling like a place you visit and starts feeling like a place you recognize. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s gradual. Subtle. The kind of change you only notice when you stop getting lost.
You start knowing things without thinking. Which café Mapi prefers. Which streets to take to avoid the worst crowds. Which bakery she swears is better than anything in London, even though you insist she’s wrong every time.
You’re not a tourist anymore.
You’re just someone trying to figure out how to belong in two places at once.
London still holds your routine. Work. Friends. Stability. The version of your life that has always made sense. But now there’s something else layered over it, something that doesn’t fade when you leave.
Barcelona doesn’t leave you when you do.
Amelia notices before you do.
Of course she does.
You’re sitting at lunch when she finally points her fork at you.
"There’s something wrong with you."
You sigh.
"There’s nothing wrong with me."
She tilts her head.
"You’ve been looking at flights again."
You freeze slightly. Eyes wide.
"I haven’t."
"You have."
"I haven’t."
"You absolutely have."
You look away.
That is apparently enough confirmation.
Amelia leans back, satisfied.
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"You’ve got it bad."
You groan.
"I don’t."
"You do."
"I don’t."
"You do."
You exhale sharply.
"I just… like visiting."
Amelia laughs like she doesn’t believe a single word of that.
Because neither do you.
The truth is, you’ve started thinking about Barcelona even when you’re not there. Not as a trip. Not as a break. As something else entirely. Something that doesn’t quite have a name yet.
And that is the problem.
Because names make things real.
And this is already getting too real.
--
The folder arrives on a Tuesday.
You almost ignore it when it first appears on your desk, assuming it’s another routine work document. But then you see the word on the cover and everything in your chest tightens at once.
Barcelona.
You don’t open it immediately.
You sit with it instead.
For hours.
Because you already know that whatever is inside is going to change things, and once you read it, there’s no pretending you didn’t.
Amelia finds you staring at it later that day.
"You look like you’re about to commit a crime."
You glance up.
"I got something."
Her eyes immediately narrow.
"What kind of something?"
You hesitate.
That is all she needs.
"Oh no."
She walks over, takes the folder, and reads the first page. Then the second. Then she just stops and looks at you.
"Barcelona?"
You nod.
She sits down slowly.
"That Barcelona?"
"There’s only one."
She stares at you for a long moment before speaking again.
"This is serious."
"I know."
"No, I mean serious serious."
You lean back in your chair.
"I haven’t decided yet."
Amelia studies you carefully.
"Yes you have."
You don’t respond immediately.
Because she might be right.
That night, you tell Mapi nothing.
Not because you don’t want to.
Because you don’t know how.
Instead, you talk about everything else. Her day. Your day. Random things that don’t matter nearly as much as the thing sitting unopened on your table.
But it stays there.
Waiting.
And growing heavier every time you look at it.
By the end of the week, you’ve read it enough times to memorize it. And still haven’t said anything. Because saying it out loud would make it real. And real things change everything. The silence lasts longer than it should. Not between you and Mapi, but inside you. Because now you know. Now there is no avoiding it.
The decision is real.
Barcelona is real.
And somehow that makes everything else feel sharper.
You spend most of your time trying to act normal. Working. Talking. Laughing. Pretending the folder doesn’t exist even though it lives in your mind constantly.
Mapi notices, of course.
She always does.
One night during a video call, she narrows her eyes at you.
"You’re doing it again."
You blink.
"Doing what?"
"The thinking thing."
You laugh lightly.
"I always think."
"Not like that."
You hesitate.
She leans closer to the screen.
"What’s wrong?"
The question lands heavier than you expect.
Because nothing is wrong.
And everything is changing.
But you can’t say that.
Not yet.
So you shake your head.
"Nothing."
Mapi doesn’t look convinced.
She never does when it comes to you.
But she lets it go.
For now.
The decision arrives faster than you’re ready for. A deadline. A final date. A line in the sand that forces everything into place whether you’re prepared or not.
Two weeks.
That’s all you get.
By day ten, you can’t focus on anything. By day twelve, you’re staring at the folder at three in the morning like it might give you a different answer if you look long enough.
By day thirteen, you accidentally call Mapi just by opening her photo.
She answers immediately.
Half asleep.
Confused.
But smiling when she sees you.
"Hi."
You laugh softly, relieved just to see her.
"Hi."
She studies you for a second.
"You okay?"
The question nearly undoes you completely.
Because the honest answer is no.
But you don’t say that.
Instead, you take a breath.
And decide.
Not just about the job.
About everything.
The next morning, you accept.
The email confirmation arrives faster than your heartbeat settles.
Congratulations.
Welcome to Barcelona.
You stare at the screen for a long time.
Then you laugh.
Because there’s nothing else left to do.
Amelia screams when you tell her.
Properly screams.
And for the first time in weeks, the weight inside your chest doesn’t feel like pressure anymore.
It feels like direction.
Now you just have to tell Mapi.
And somehow, that feels like the hardest part of all.
The realization follows you all the way back to Mapi’s apartment. You can’t wait until tomorrow. You know that now. Not after tonight. Not after the overlook. Not after hearing her tell you she loves you while Barcelona glowed beneath the sunset. Keeping the secret suddenly feels wrong. Not because you’ve been hiding something terrible, but because you’ve been carrying something wonderful, and she deserves to know.
The problem is figuring out how to say it. Because somehow, after everything you’ve faced together, this feels terrifying. More terrifying than your first kiss. More terrifying than long distance. More terrifying than every goodbye at the airport.
Mapi, meanwhile, appears completely unaware of the crisis unfolding inside your head. She’s happy. Ridiculously happy. The kind of happy that makes her impossible to contain. She keeps reaching for your hand, keeps smiling at random moments, keeps saying “I love you” just to watch you roll your eyes.
The fourth time she does it, you’re standing in the kitchen while she digs through the refrigerator.
“I love you.”
You sigh dramatically.
Mapi beams.
“That one was my favorite reaction so far.”
“You’ve been saying it for twenty minutes.”
“And?”
“And normal people don’t do that.”
She closes the refrigerator door.
“Good thing I’m not normal.”
You can’t even argue with that.
Dinner is mostly a disaster, not because the food is bad, but because neither of you can focus. Mapi keeps smiling at her plate, and you keep staring into space. At one point she catches you doing it again.
“There.”
You blink.
“What?”
“The face.”
You immediately groan.
“The face doesn’t exist.”
Mapi points her fork at you.
“It absolutely exists.”
You laugh despite yourself, but the sound fades quickly because the truth is she isn’t wrong. You’re distracted. And you’re running out of excuses.
Mapi notices the shift immediately. Her smile softens, the teasing disappearing.
“Hey.”
You look up.
“What’s going on?”
There it is. The opening. The perfect opportunity. The moment you’ve been waiting for. And suddenly your heart is pounding so loudly you’re convinced she can hear it.
You set down your fork, take a breath, then another. Mapi watches carefully, now officially worried.
“Y/N.”
“I need to tell you something.”
The room immediately feels smaller. Quieter. The city outside fades into the background. Mapi sits forward slightly, every ounce of her attention focused entirely on you.
For a terrifying second, you wonder if she thinks you’re breaking up with her. The thought nearly derails everything.
You rush forward before panic can take hold.
“It’s nothing bad.”
Mapi visibly relaxes.
“Okay.”
You nod, then immediately forget how words work.
Fantastic.
Mapi waits patiently for about five seconds before speaking again.
“Are you joining a cult?”
You stare at her.
“What?”
“A cult.”
“No.”
She shrugs.
“You were being dramatic.”
You laugh, and the tension cracks just enough for you to breathe again.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” you say again, slower this time. “A few weeks ago, my company offered me something.”
Mapi’s attention sharpens instantly.
“A promotion?”
“Sort of.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“They offered me a position in Barcelona.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Mapi blinks once, then twice, then three times.
You wait.
Nothing.
The silence stretches.
“Mapi?”
She continues staring.
“Mapi.”
Still nothing.
Then finally..
“What?”
You let out a nervous laugh.
“I know. It sounds crazy.”
“No.”
She shakes her head.
“No.”
A pause.
“Barcelona?”
You nod.
She points vaguely at the floor.
“Here? This Barcelona?”
You laugh.
“Yes.”
“This Barcelona?”
“Mapi, yes, There is only one Barcelona.”
Mapi immediately stands up.
You blink.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
Fair.
She starts pacing across the apartment, back and forth, back and forth. You watch nervously, entirely unsure whether this is going well or horribly or both.
Eventually she stops, turns toward you.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“No.”
She runs a hand through her hair.
“Like seriously serious.”
“I accepted it.”
The words land heavily.
The room goes still.
Mapi freezes.
You stop breathing.
“You accepted it?”
You nod.
A laugh escapes her, disbelieving at first, then growing, until she’s laughing so hard she has to sit down.
You stare at her.
“What is happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
She wipes her face, still smiling.
Then it fades slightly as something softer replaces it.
“When?”
“Two months.”
Mapi’s breath catches.
Two months.
Not distant. Not abstract. Real.
The reality settles over both of you.
“You’ll actually be here,” she says quietly.
You nod.
“I won’t have to fly to see you.”
“No.”
“I won’t have to count time zones.”
“No.”
“I won’t have to miss you through a screen.”
Your chest tightens.
“No.”
For a second, you think she might cry. She doesn’t. Not quite. But she comes close enough that your own throat tightens in response.
Then she steps forward, closing the space between you, both hands finding your face.
Her forehead rests against yours.
“You idiot.”
You laugh softly.
“What?”
“You waited weeks to tell me.”
“I wanted to do it in person.”
She closes her eyes for a moment.
“I’m glad.”
“I’m glad too.”
And she is. You are. Everything is.
Because suddenly, everything feels real in a way it didn’t before.
Mapi studies you again, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“How much of this was me?”
The question is inevitable. Expected.
You’ve already thought about it.
“You weren’t the reason,” you say honestly. “But you made it easier.”
The smile that breaks across her face is immediate, bright, relieved.
“Good.”
That night, you sit together on the balcony, Barcelona glowing beneath you. Your back is up against Mapi’s chest. Her arms around your shoulders. She kisses your head and then your shoulder.
“You know what’s funny?” she says eventually.
“What?”
“I was trying to figure out how to ask you to move here someday.”
Your eyes widen.
“What?”
“Not immediately,” she adds quickly.
“Mapi.”
“Not immediately.”
You laugh, and she laughs too.
The sound blends into the warm Barcelona night, into the city below, into something that feels like a beginning rather than an ending.
Because for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like something you’re surviving.
Part 6 -> Part 5 -> Part 4 -> Part 3 -> Part 2 -> Part 1
18+ 4.2k Words
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The hallway seems to disappear.
The rain.
The neighbors.
The suitcase sitting beside her.
All of it fades into the background.
Because Mapi is standing on your doorstep.
In London.
Actually here.
Not on a screen.
Not through a phone.
Not thousands of miles away.
Here.
"I missed you."
The words knock the air from your lungs.
Mapi watches your expression carefully.
The grin she's wearing starts to falter.
"What?"
You finally snap back to reality.
"What?"
"You're staring at me."
"You flew to London."
"Yes."
"You flew to London."
Mapi rolls her eyes.
"You already said that."
"You were supposed to be in Barcelona."
"I was."
"Yesterday."
"Correct."
You stare at her.
She stares back.
Then something breaks.
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Mapi immediately starts laughing too. The sound echoes through the hallway. Neither of you can seem to stop. Eventually Mapi gestures toward the apartment.
"Are you going to let me inside or am I living in the hallway now?"
That does it. You step forward and throw your arms around her.
Hard.
The suitcase tips over beside you. Neither of you cares. Mapi catches you instantly. Her arms wrap around your waist. The familiar scent of her shampoo settles around you. And for the first time in weeks, something inside your chest finally relaxes.
"There she is," Mapi murmurs against your hair.
"You didn't tell me."
"I know."
"You didn't tell me."
"I know."
You pull back just enough to glare at her.
The grin on her face grows wider.
"You are impossible."
"Yet here we are."
Unfortunately, she's right.
Again.
Mapi's surprise turns out to be even worse. Because she isn't staying for a weekend. Or three days. Or even a week. Ten days. Ten entire days. You discover this approximately thirty seconds after dragging her inside.
"Ten?"
Mapi shrugs casually.
"Ten."
"Ten days?"
"Still ten."
You stare.
Mapi smiles.
The smile becomes increasingly smug the longer you remain speechless.
Finally, you grab the nearest pillow and throw it at her.
She catches it effortlessly.
"I take back every nice thing I've ever said about you."
"No you don't."
"No."
You sigh.
"No, I don't."
Mapi looks far too pleased by that. The first two days disappear almost immediately. Partly because you still have work. Partly because Mapi apparently has no concept of personal boundaries.
You discover this on Tuesday morning.
At six thirty.
When she barges into your office carrying coffee.
"What are you doing?"
"You've been staring at your laptop for three hours."
"It's nine in the morning."
"Exactly."
"Normal people work."
"Sounds awful."
You narrow your eyes.
Mapi sits down on the edge of your desk.
"Take a break."
"I'm busy."
"You've written the same sentence seventeen times."
You freeze.
Mapi points dramatically.
"See?"
"How do you know that?"
"You read it out loud every time."
You immediately close your laptop. Mapi laughs so hard she nearly falls off the desk.
By Wednesday, she has somehow become friends with half your neighborhood. You still don't understand how. You leave her alone for thirty minutes. Thirty.
When you return from the grocery store, she's sitting outside a café with three elderly women and a golden retriever.
"What happened?"
Mapi looks up.
"Oh, hey."
One of the women waves.
Another offers you a biscuit.
The dog immediately approaches.
You stare.
Mapi shrugs.
"They seemed nice."
The golden retriever places its head directly in her lap.
Traitor.
Complete traitor.
You point accusingly at the dog.
"We've known each other for five seconds."
The dog ignores you entirely. Mapi laughs. The old women laugh. Even the dog somehow seems amused. You never recover from this. The thing about having Mapi in London is that everything feels different. Places you've walked a hundred times suddenly become interesting again. She points out things you've stopped noticing. Street musicians. Tiny bookstores. A bakery hidden between two buildings that you've somehow walked past for years.
The thing nobody warns you about is how quickly routines form.
Mapi has only been in London for a few days, but somehow she has already managed to insert herself into every part of your life.
Including dinner.
Especially dinner.
You discover this on Thursday evening when you walk into your kitchen and find complete chaos.
"What happened?"
Mapi looks up from the counter.
There is flour in her hair.
Flour on her shirt.
Flour somehow on the ceiling.
You don't even ask how.
"I'm cooking."
You stare.
Then at the recipe propped up against a coffee mug.
Then back at her.
"You're losing a fight with pasta."
"I am winning."
"You have flour on your face."
Mapi wipes at her cheek.
Only succeeding in making it worse.
You laugh immediately.
Her eyes narrow.
"Don't."
"I'm sorry."
"You are not."
"No."
You lean against the doorway.
"No, I'm really not."
Mapi points the wooden spoon at you.
"You could help."
"You told me to stay out of the kitchen."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
She gestures vaguely.
"This."
The kitchen does look like a crime scene.
You finally step forward.
Mapi immediately hands you a bowl.
As if she'd been waiting for you to surrender.
"You planned this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar."
"Maybe."
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of arguments over measurements and increasingly dramatic complaints from Mapi whenever something doesn't go according to plan.
By the time dinner is finally finished, both of you are exhausted. And somehow covered in even more flour. You carry the plates into the living room. Mapi follows with two glasses of wine. The meal isn't perfect. The sauce is slightly too salty. The pasta is uneven. One piece is somehow shaped like a starfish. Neither of you cares. Because it's yours. Made together. Shared together. Mapi takes a bite. Winces. Then immediately takes another.
You burst out laughing.
"It's terrible."
"It's not terrible."
"It's terrible."
Mapi points her fork.
"We suffered for this meal."
"We did."
"We're eating it."
You shake your head.
A smile pulls at your mouth. The apartment feels warm. Comfortable. The city glows beyond the windows. And suddenly something catches you off guard. Not excitement. Not butterflies. Not the rush you always feel when you first see her. Something quieter. Something deeper. This feels normal. Dangerously normal. Like she belongs here. Like this is something the two of you do every Thursday. Like there isn't an ocean of uncertainty waiting once she leaves. The realization settles heavily in your chest. Because for the first time you can picture it.
A future.
Not a fantasy.
Not a daydream.
An actual life.
Mapi notices your expression almost immediately.
"What?"
You blink.
"Nothing."
"That's suspicious."
"It's not."
"It absolutely is."
You laugh softly.
Mapi watches you for another second before reaching across the table and stealing food directly from your plate.
"Hey."
"Mine now."
"You have your own."
"Not anymore."
You roll your eyes.
Mapi grins.
And just like that the heavy feeling eases.
Not disappearing.
Just settling somewhere deeper.
Waiting.
One afternoon she drags you into a vintage record shop. Neither of you owns a record player. That doesn't stop her. Twenty minutes later she's holding up an album triumphantly.
"We need this."
"We don't."
"We absolutely do."
"We don't even own a record player."
"Details."
You laugh.
Mapi immediately smiles.
The expression softens around the edges.
And suddenly she's looking at you.
Not the record.
Not the shop.
You.
"What?"
She shakes her head.
"Nothing."
"That wasn't a nothing look."
"You're spending too much time around me."
"Definitely."
Mapi beams.
As if that's a compliment.
Maybe it is.
--
The problem arrives on Friday. Not because anything goes wrong. Because everything goes right. Too right. The two of you are sitting on the couch. Rain taps softly against the windows. A movie plays in the background. Neither of you is watching it.
You’re sitting on Mapis lap. Actually sitting on the strap that you went and got not long ago. Both of you naked. Sweaty. Mapi has her hands on your hips. You are bouncing up and down. Hard. Grabbing onto the back of the couch. Mapi has her mouth attached to one of your nipples.
“Gah fuck Mapi. This feels so good. I’ve missed this. I could do this all day”
“I could look at you all day while you do this” Mapi says with a smirk
You look down at Mapi with glazed over hooded eyes. The way she is looking at you is like you’re a goddess sent from above. She reaches behind your head and brings you down for a kiss while you are grinding down against her. The strap moving perfectly inside of you and the other end rubbing against Mapis clit. She can feel the coil starting to tighten and she begs you to keep going.
“Baby I’m close. Keep going just like that. Fuck me. God you’re making me feel amazing. Holy shit!”
Mapi leans back against the couch and puts her arms stretching across the back. Gripping the top for dear life. You lean back and grab to top of her thighs with your right hand and start to rub your clit with your left hand to help speed the process of your orgasm. You want to cum with Mapi. You can tell she is close by how her breathing is and her face.
“Mapi looks at me. I know you’re close. I can feel it. I’m close to. I’m clenching around your cock so bad. It’s so tough to keep going. Ah! Mapi! Cum with me! Please! Ah! Ah!”
Mapi opens her eyes and with the last bit of strength she has, grabs your hips and turns both of you and throws you on your back. She leans down, chest to chest, one hand grabbing your ass and the other behind your head. You throw your arms around her shoulders and put your face into the crook of her neck. Lightly biting it. Mapi is thrusting back and forth so fast. The sound of skin slapping is over taking the octave of your voices.
“You want to cum with me Y/N? God you make me so fucking horny. I wish this cock was real and I could cum inside of you. Is that something you’d like? For me to cum inside and breed you? Holy fuck. I’m going to cum. Right now. Fuck! Fuck!”
“Yes Mapi! Oh god! Yes baby. Keep pounding into me. Please. Please. I feel it coming. I’m going to cum! Ah! Ah! Mapi!!”
Mapi gives you one last huge thrust and you both tense up and your orgasms synchronize and cum at the same time. Your legs sticking straight up, toes curled, your arms around the back of Mapi with your nails digging into her back. She must have marks all down her back as if she got attacked by a lion.
Mapi rolls off of you, throws the strap somewhere into the living room, she turns towards you and wraps her arm around your chest, giving you a kiss on the lips and you both just lay there for the next 20 minutes.
--
The apartment remains quiet. Neither of you moves. Rain taps softly against the windows. Mapi's arm stays draped across your waist. Your head rests against her shoulder. The comfortable silence stretches between you. The kind that only exists when two people know each other well enough to stop filling every second with words.
Eventually Mapi traces a finger along one of your tattoos.
"You know."
You hum.
"I hated you when we met."
You lift your head.
"What?"
Mapi laughs.
"Hated is a strong word."
"You literally just said hated."
"Fine."
She considers.
"Extremely disliked."
"That's not better."
"It is in Spain."
You snort.
Mapi smiles against your hair.
"You were stubborn."
"You were worse."
"I was charming."
"You were impossible."
"I was mysterious."
"You were a menace."
Mapi looks pleased.
As if that's somehow a compliment.
You shake your head.
"You're unbelievable."
"I know."
The answer comes so easily that it makes you laugh. For a while neither of you says anything. Mapi continues tracing random patterns across your arm. Her movements grow slower. Thoughtful.
Then quieter.
"When did it happen?"
You glance up.
"What?"
She shrugs.
"This."
You study her face.
The softness there.
The uncertainty.
The question she isn't entirely sure how to ask.
"You mean us?"
Mapi nods.
You think about it.
The tattoo appointment.
The first night.
The flights.
The phone calls.
The way neither of you could stay away.
"I don't know."
"Helpful."
"You asked a complicated question."
Mapi accepts that.
For a moment.
Then:
"I think it happened before Barcelona."
You blink.
"That's impossible."
"Maybe."
Mapi smiles faintly.
"But I think there was already something there."
The honesty in her voice catches you off guard.
You don't tease her.
Don't joke.
Just listen.
"I think I knew you were going to matter."
The words settle heavily between you.
Mapi almost seems surprised she said them aloud.
Which makes your chest ache.
Because Mapi isn't someone who gives pieces of herself away easily.
Yet somehow she's giving them to you.
One at a time.
You reach for her hand.
Interlocking your fingers.
"You matter too."
Something shifts in her expression.
Tiny.
But real.
The kind of look reserved only for you.
The kind that makes your heart stumble every single time.
For several seconds she simply stares at you.
Then shakes her head.
"What?"
Mapi laughs softly.
"Nothing."
"That's twice you've said that this week."
"Maybe I have a lot of thoughts."
"That's terrifying."
"Rude."
You smile.
Mapi squeezes your hand.
Then lifts it and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The gesture is unexpectedly gentle. Your chest tightens immediately. Because suddenly you realize something. You aren't afraid of whether this relationship is real anymore. You're afraid because it is. Because losing this would hurt. Because she matters. Because you matter to her. And because neither of you seems capable of pretending otherwise. Mapi settles back into the couch. Pulling you closer. Her lips brush your forehead.
"I think about you all the time."
The confession is so casual it almost slips past you.
Almost.
You freeze.
Mapi immediately realizes what she's said.
Her eyes widen.
Slightly.
Just enough.
You stare.
She stares back.
Neither of you moves.
Then Mapi groans dramatically and drops her head onto the cushion.
"Oh my God."
You start laughing.
"What?"
"I heard it."
"Heard what?"
"You know what."
The grin spreading across your face becomes impossible to hide.
Mapi points accusingly.
"Don't."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You are."
"You practically admitted.."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I absolutely did not."
You continue laughing.
Mapi eventually gives up.
A reluctant smile tugging at her mouth.
And when she pulls you back against her chest, neither of you says anything more.
Because some truths don't need repeating.
Not yet.
--
"You disappeared."
You sigh.
"Did I?"
"Yep."
She sits up slightly.
The concern in her expression catches you off guard.
"What's wrong?"
You consider lying.
Briefly.
Then decide against it.
"You're leaving soon."
The words feel heavier spoken aloud.
Mapi goes quiet.
For a second neither of you says anything.
Then she reaches for your hand.
"We both knew I was going to at some point."
"I know."
"Hey."
You look up.
Mapi squeezes your fingers.
"I'm still here."
The simple statement settles something inside you. Not completely. But enough. Enough to breathe again. Enough to smile. Enough to enjoy the remaining days instead of mourning them early.
Saturday night finds the two of you walking along the Thames. The city glows around you. Lights reflecting across the water. People laughing somewhere nearby. A bus rumbles past in the distance. London feels beautiful tonight. Maybe because she's seeing it. Maybe because you're seeing it through her.
"You know," Mapi says eventually.
"What?"
"I get it now."
You glance over.
"Get what?"
"Why you love this city."
The answer surprises you.
You hadn't realized you talked about London that much.
Mapi notices your expression.
"You do."
"Do what?"
"Talk about it."
She nudges your shoulder.
"The way I talk about Barcelona."
You think about that.
About all the conversations.
All the calls.
All the stories exchanged across countries.
And she's right.
You smile.
"Maybe."
"Definitely."
For a while you continue walking.
The river stretches beside you.
The city hums around you.
Everything feels strangely peaceful.
The conversation drifts naturally.
From football.
To work.
To travel.
To absolutely nothing important.
Until Mapi suddenly asks:
"When can you come back?"
You glance over.
"Barcelona?"
She nods.
The question sounds casual.
But something about it isn't.
You can hear the hope underneath.
"I don't know."
"Helpful."
You smile.
"You've used that joke already."
"It's a good joke."
Mapi bumps your shoulder.
The river stretches beside you.
The city lights reflecting across the water.
For a few moments neither of you speaks.
Then Mapi softly speaks
"We can't keep pretending we haven't thought about it."
The words stop you.
Mapi stoicallylooks ahead.
Not at you.
At the river.
At the city.
Anywhere except your face.
"Thought about what?"
"The future."
Your heartbeat immediately speeds up.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Oh."
Mapi laughs.
"That response doesn't inspire confidence."
You shove her lightly.
She smiles.
Then grows serious again.
"Have you thought about it?"
The honest answer?
Every day.
Every airport goodbye.
Every late-night phone call.
Every moment spent counting weeks on a calendar.
You nod slowly.
"Yeah."
"Me too."
The admission hangs between you.
Neither of you rushes to fill the silence.
Because suddenly this feels important.
Like stepping onto unfamiliar ground.
"One day at a time?" you suggest.
Mapi considers that.
"Probably."
"That's usually how time works."
"Thank you, journalist."
"You're welcome."
The smile returns briefly.
Then fades.
"What if one day at a time stops being enough?"
The question catches you completely off guard.
You stare at her.
Mapi shrugs.
Trying and failing to look casual.
"Eventually someone gets tired of airports."
Your chest tightens.
Because she's right.
Eventually someone gets tired of countdowns.
Of departures.
Of measuring relationships in flights.
"What are you saying?"
Mapi exhales slowly.
"I'm saying I don't know what this looks like in six months."
"Neither do I."
"Or a year."
"Neither do I."
"Or five."
You laugh softly.
"Definitely neither do I."
That finally earns a smile.
A real one.
Then Mapi reaches for your hand.
Holding it comfortably between the two of you.
"I'm not asking for answers."
"Good."
"Good."
You continue walking. Side by side. The city moving around you. The river flowing beside you. And despite all the uncertainty, something feels strangely steady. Not because you know exactly where this is going. But because neither of you is planning an exit anymore. For the first time, both of you are planning a future. Even if neither of you knows what shape it takes yet. That realization settles quietly between you. And somehow it feels enough.
Then Mapi stops.
You nearly walk into her.
"What?"
She looks nervous.
The realization immediately alarms you.
Because Mapi never looks nervous.
Not really.
Not like this.
"What is it?"
She stares at the water for a second.
Then back at you.
Then away again.
"Mapi."
"I know."
"You know what?"
She exhales.
"I'm trying to say something."
"Okay."
"You're making it worse."
You laugh softly.
"Sorry."
Mapi points at you.
"That."
"What?"
"The laughing."
"I'm not laughing."
"You are."
A smile tugs at your mouth.
Mapi groans dramatically.
Then falls silent again.
For several seconds.
Long enough that your heart starts beating faster.
Finally she speaks.
"I think this is the happiest I've been in a really long time."
The words land gently.
But their impact isn't gentle at all.
You stare at her.
Mapi looks almost embarrassed.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Or better.
Possibly both.
"You flew across Europe to tell me that?"
She rolls her eyes.
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
"No."
A reluctant smile appears.
"No, I don't."
The answer hangs between you.
Warm.
Honest.
Dangerously close to something bigger.
Neither of you says it.
Not yet.
But it's there.
Waiting.
--
The final morning arrives too quickly. Of course it does. The universe seems determined to speed through every moment you actually want to keep. You wake before Mapi. For once. Sunlight spills through the apartment. The city outside is quiet. You study her sleeping face. The familiar tattoos. The messy hair. The peaceful expression she only seems to wear when she's asleep. Your chest aches immediately.
As if sensing it, Mapi opens one eye.
"Creepy."
You laugh.
"Good morning."
"You're staring."
"You do it all the time."
"Different."
"How?"
"I'm charming."
You roll your eyes.
Mapi smiles.
Then notices the suitcase.
The smile fades.
Reality.
Again.
Neither of you wants to talk about it.
Unfortunately reality doesn't care.
--
Hours later you're standing in your apartment doorway.
The same place where she appeared ten days ago.
The same place everything changed.
The suitcase waits beside her.
Ready.
You hate it.
"You know," Mapi says.
"What?"
"I almost didn't do this."
You blink.
"What?"
"The trip."
The confession surprises you.
Mapi shrugs.
"I kept thinking maybe it was a bad idea."
"It wasn't."
"I know that now."
Something about the answer makes her smile. The soft one. Your favorite one. The one she doesn't show everyone else. Silence settles. Heavy this time. Not uncomfortable. Just full.
Eventually Mapi reaches for your hand.
"I'll see you soon."
You nod.
"Yeah."
"We're good at this now."
"We shouldn't have to be."
"No."
Her thumb brushes across your knuckles.
"No, we shouldn't."
The words sit between you. The distance. The flights. The goodbyes. All of it. Neither of you says anything else. Because suddenly there isn't much left to say. Just one final moment. One final look. One final memory before another airport. Another separation. Another countdown. Mapi steps closer. Forehead resting briefly against yours. And for a second the world narrows. Just the two of you. Nothing else.
"You know," she murmurs.
"What?"
A smile appears. Small. Nervous. Almost shy. Which immediately gets your attention. Because Mapi is many things. Shy isn't usually one of them. She takes a breath. Opens her mouth. Then stops.
You blink. "What?"
Mapi laughs nervously.
A sound you've almost never heard.
"Nothing."
Your eyes narrow.
"That wasn't a nothing."
"No."
"Mapi."
She looks at you.
Really looks at you.
And suddenly you have the strange feeling that something important is about to happen. Something that neither of you can take back. Something that might change everything. Mapi swallows. Then smiles. A different conversation for another day. Another chapter.
For now, she simply squeezes your hand.
"Call me when you get lonely."
You laugh.
"That'll be five minutes after you leave."
"Perfect."
The grin returns.
Familiar.
Comforting.
Her.
And as she steps into the hallway and turns back one last time, you realize the final chapter was never going to be about whether this relationship survives.
It's about what comes next.
Because somewhere between Barcelona and London, airports and phone calls, distance and late-night conversations, the two of you stopped wondering if this was real.
Now you're both wondering how to build a future around it.
When life falls apart, Y/N escapes to Barcelona with a broken heart and a tattoo that reminds her of everything she's lost.
The last thing she expects is Mapi Leon, a stubborn, infuriating tattoo artist who somehow makes her laugh when she doesn't think she ever will again.
What begins as a single night becomes something much bigger as the two women navigate distance, healing, and the terrifying possibility of a future together.
Because sometimes the person who changes your life is the one you never planned to meet.
The flight home is miserable. Not because of turbulence. Not because of the cramped seats. Not even because the woman beside you spends three hours watching reality television without headphones. It's miserable because every few minutes your hand drifts toward your phone. And every time it does, there's another message waiting.
MAPI: Have you landed yet?
MAPI: Wait. No. You're still in the air.
MAPI: Ignore that.
MAPI: This is why I hate time zones.
You smile despite yourself. The flight attendant gives you a curious look. You quickly hide the expression. The second the plane touches down in London, your phone lights up again.
MAPI: Now have you landed?
You don't even make it into the terminal before calling her.
She answers halfway through the first ring.
"Took you long enough."
You laugh.
"I literally just landed."
"Still."
The familiar sound of her voice settles something inside your chest. For a moment, the airport around you fades away. The announcements. The crowds. The noise. It's just her.
"Hi," you say quietly.
Mapi goes silent.
When she finally speaks, her voice sounds softer.
"Hi."
And suddenly you miss her all over again. Three days later, Amelia corners you in the office kitchen. You should have known it was coming. The second you walked into work Monday morning with a smile on your face, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Now she's holding a coffee mug and looking at you like she's conducting an interrogation.
"So."
You keep your attention fixed on the coffee machine.
"So?"
"You disappeared to Barcelona."
You nod.
"You came back."
Another nod.
"And now you're smiling at your phone every five minutes."
You nearly choke.
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Amelia points dramatically.
"There."
"What?"
"The smile."
"There is no smile."
"There is."
You roll your eyes.
Unfortunately, that's when your phone buzzes.
Amelia immediately lunges.
You snatch it away before she can read the screen.
The damage is already done.
Her grin becomes enormous.
"Oh my god."
"No."
"Oh my god."
"Amelia."
"You fell for the tattoo artist."
You groan.
Amelia throws both hands into the air triumphantly.
"I knew it."
"Keep your voice down."
"No."
People are staring now. You hate everything. Especially because she's right. The worst part? You don't even want to deny it anymore. Barcelona feels different without you. At least according to Mapi. Every night she calls while she's walking home from the studio. Every night she complains about something. The traffic. The weather. Tourists. A customer who wanted a tattoo of a cartoon squirrel. Yet somehow every complaint ends the same way.
"I wish you were here."
The first time she says it, you don't know what to do. The words catch you off guard. Your heart stumbles over itself. Mapi doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe she does. Maybe that's why she says it more often afterward. A week becomes two. Then three. The routine settles naturally. Morning texts. Afternoon messages. Late-night calls that stretch far longer than either of you intends. You learn things about each other that never would've come up in Barcelona. Mapi hates folding laundry. You already knew she couldn't cook. Now you discover she also leaves mugs everywhere. She learns you talk in your sleep. You learn she owns approximately eight hundred hoodies. She learns you steal them. The distance doesn't disappear. But it becomes manageable. Until one Friday night. That's when everything starts to feel impossible again.
"You're quiet."
You glance toward your laptop screen.
Mapi's face fills most of it.
Dark hair.
Warm eyes.
The hoodie she stole from herself somehow making her look younger.
"Tired."
She doesn't believe you.
"What's wrong?"
You hesitate.
Then sigh.
"I just miss you."
The words slip out before you can stop them.
For a second neither of you says anything.
Mapi's expression softens immediately.
"Come here."
You laugh.
"I physically can't."
"Details."
"Mapi."
She shifts closer to the camera.
"Come here anyway."
Something about it makes your chest ache. Because for a second you almost can pretend. Almost. Then reality returns. Five thousand miles. Two countries. A screen. Mapi sees the expression on your face.
The joking disappears.
"We're okay."
You swallow.
"Yeah."
"I'm serious."
Her gaze holds yours through the screen.
"We're okay."
And somehow you believe her. By the beginning of June, everyone in your life knows. Not because you tell them. Because you're terrible at hiding it. Amelia knows. Your coworkers know. The barista near your office knows. At one point, even your landlord seems suspicious. Meanwhile, Mapi has apparently told half of Barcelona. You discover this during a video call. She's sitting in a café when someone walks past. A woman points directly at the screen. Then at you. Then gives Mapi a thumbs-up. You stare. Mapi immediately starts laughing.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Mapi."
"Nothing."
"Mapi."
She finally caves.
"They know about you."
"Who is they?"
Mapi gestures vaguely.
"Everyone."
You nearly drop your phone.
"Everyone?"
"Not everyone."
The pause is suspicious.
"How many people?"
She considers it.
"Most people."
"Mapi!"
"What? I like talking about you."
Your heart betrays you completely. Because somehow that's worse. Or better. Possibly both. The first visit happens by accident. At least that's what you tell yourselves. You absolutely do not spend three hours comparing flight prices. You absolutely do not rearrange your schedules. And you definitely do not count down the days afterward.
No.
It just happens.
Entirely by coincidence.
"You're lying."
Mapi laughs through the phone.
"So are you."
You grin.
"Maybe."
The plane ticket sits open on your laptop.
Barcelona.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days.
Not that you're counting.
Mapi is absolutely counting.
You know because she accidentally revealed the exact number of days remaining twice already. The reunion is somehow worse than the goodbye. Because this time you know exactly what you're missing. The second you walk through arrivals, you spot her. Leaning against a railing. Hands shoved into her jacket pockets. Trying, and failing, to look casual. Your suitcase nearly tips over.
Mapi sees you.
The composure disappears instantly. The grin that spreads across her face could power an entire city. You don't remember crossing the distance. One second you're standing still. The next you're wrapped around each other. Neither of you cares who is watching. You hear someone whistle nearby. Neither of you lets go.
"Hi."
Mapi's voice sounds slightly breathless.
"Hi."
"You took forever."
"My flight landed ten minutes ago."
"Exactly."
You laugh.
Mapi kisses your forehead.
Then your cheek.
Then the corner of your mouth.
"Missed you."
The words are muffled against your skin.
You smile.
"Yeah."
You tighten your arms around her.
"Me too."
For the first time in weeks, everything feels right again.
The visit passes too quickly.
Again.
It always does.
Coffee shops.
Late-night walks.
The tattoo studio.
Mapi dragging you to places she insists you've never properly seen.
One evening she takes you to the overlook again.
The same one.
The place where everything changed.
The city stretches beneath you in gold and amber.
The Mediterranean glitters in the distance.
You sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the stone ledge.
Neither of you speaks immediately.
Eventually Mapi nudges your shoulder.
"You know."
"What?"
"This is your fault."
You stare.
"My fault?"
"Yes."
"How?"
She gestures vaguely.
"All of this."
That doesn't help.
Mapi rolls her eyes.
"The missing you thing."
Your stomach flips.
"I miss you too."
"I know."
She smiles softly.
Then looks back toward the city.
"I've just never done this before."
The confession surprises you.
"Long distance?"
Mapi nods.
"Usually if someone lives far away, I don't let it become a thing."
You study her profile.
"And now?"
She laughs quietly.
"Now I'm sitting on a mountain talking about feelings."
Fair point.
You bump your shoulder against hers.
"Must be serious."
"Horrifyingly serious."
The joke lands somewhere between laughter and honesty. For a moment, neither of you looks away. The city glows below. The breeze moves through her hair. And suddenly you realize something. The distance still scares you. The future still feels uncertain. But it doesn't feel impossible anymore. Not when she's looking at you like that. Not when she keeps choosing you. Not when you keep choosing her. Mapi reaches for your hand. The gesture feels familiar now.
Natural.
Easy.
Like something you've been doing forever.
"What?"
She notices you staring.
You smile.
"Nothing."
"That wasn't a nothing look."
You laugh immediately.
"Seriously?"
"You say it to me all the time."
"Because you do it all the time."
Mapi grins.
You shake your head. Then squeeze her hand. The city sparkles beneath you. The future remains unwritten. For once, that doesn't seem frightening. Because whatever happens next, You'll figure it out together.
--
The second trip to Barcelona somehow makes leaving worse. You don't think that should be possible. The first goodbye had been painful because everything was uncertain. This one hurts because you know exactly what you're leaving behind. The airport hugs last longer. The kisses linger. Neither of you pretends you'll be fine this time. Still, life continues. You go back to London. Mapi goes back to Barcelona. And somehow the distance feels even larger than before. For the first few days after returning home, you find traces of her everywhere. The hoodie she left behind draped over the back of your couch. A coffee mug she used that somehow ended up in the wrong cabinet. Pictures on your phone that you keep looking at when you should be working. Amelia notices immediately. Of course she does.
"You look miserable."
You glance up from your laptop.
"I'm not miserable."
"Interesting."
She points at your screen.
"You've been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes."
You look down.
She's right.
The cursor is blinking in exactly the same spot.
You sigh.
Amelia leans back in her chair.
"When do you see her again?"
The question makes your chest ache.
You shrug.
"We haven't figured it out yet."
That isn't entirely true. You've talked about it. Constantly. The problem is timing. Your work schedule is becoming chaotic. Mapi has clients booked weeks in advance. Every potential date falls apart for one reason or another. The reality of long distance is finally catching up. And neither of you likes it. That night you call her. Mapi answers immediately. As usual.
"You miss me."
You roll your eyes.
"Hello to you too."
"I knew it."
"You're impossible."
She laughs.
The sound makes something inside your chest loosen. For a while you talk about nothing. Work. Friends. The customer who apparently asked Mapi for a tattoo of a toaster. Normal things. Comfortable things. But eventually the conversation slows. The silence settles. And that's when you hear it. Disappointment. Not spoken. Just there. Lingering beneath everything else.
"You okay?"
Mapi hesitates.
"Yeah."
"Liar."
A pause.
Then a sigh.
"I just wish I knew when I was seeing you again."
The honesty hits harder than expected.
Because you've been thinking the exact same thing.
You close your eyes.
"Me too."
For a second neither of you speaks.
Then Mapi clears her throat.
"We'll figure it out."
You smile sadly.
"We always do."
"Exactly."
The conversation continues for another hour.
Then two.
Neither of you wants to hang up first.
Eventually exhaustion wins.
"Get some sleep."
"You first."
"Mapi."
"No."
You laugh.
She laughs too.
The familiar routine helps.
A little.
After you finally end the call, you stare at the dark ceiling for several minutes. Your apartment feels quieter than usual. Emptier. You hate it. Across Europe, Mapi is probably feeling the same thing. The thought follows you into sleep. The next week drags. Then the one after that. Work becomes increasingly chaotic. Deadlines pile up. Meetings multiply. Every morning starts too early. Every evening ends too late. The only bright spot is Mapi. Phone calls. Voice notes. Messages throughout the day.
You don't realize how much you've come to depend on them until one afternoon when your phone remains silent. No messages. No ridiculous memes. No updates about whatever chaos she's causing in Barcelona.
Nothing.
At first you don't think much of it. She's busy sometimes. So are you. Hours pass. Still nothing. By dinner you're checking your phone every few minutes. By ten o'clock you're annoyed. By midnight you're worried. You send another text. No response. Your stomach twists. Mapi never disappears like this. Not completely.
Finally, sometime after one in the morning, your phone buzzes.
MAPI: Sorry.
MAPI: Busy day.
You immediately call.
She answers after two rings.
"Are you okay?"
The question leaves your mouth before hello.
Mapi laughs softly.
"I'm fine."
"You vanished."
"I know."
"You never vanish."
Another pause.
Long enough to make you suspicious.
"What are you doing?"
"Talking to you."
"Mapi."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
You can practically hear the grin in her voice.
"Nothing."
You narrow your eyes despite the fact she can't see it.
"You're lying."
"No."
"You're definitely lying."
She laughs again.
The sound is warm.
Amused.
Entirely too pleased with herself.
You spend the next twenty minutes trying to figure out what's going on.
She refuses to tell you.
Eventually you give up.
"You're annoying."
"I've been told."
"Repeatedly."
"Mostly by you."
Fair point.
The conversation drifts elsewhere.
Eventually you forget about it.
Mostly.
Three days later, it's raining. Because of course it is. London seems determined to live up to every stereotype. You leave work late. The sky is dark. Your umbrella is useless.
By the time you reach your front door, you're damp, exhausted, and desperately in need of coffee.
The only thing keeping you moving is the thought of calling Mapi. You haven't spoken properly all day. Every attempt got interrupted. Work. Meetings. Life. The usual. You unlock your door and step inside. The apartment greets you with silence. You toss your keys onto the table. Drop your bag beside the couch. Kick off your shoes. For a second you simply stand there. Breathing. Existing. Recovering.
Then your phone buzzes.
A smile immediately appears.
Mapi.
Obviously.
MAPI: Home?
Y/N: Just got in.
The response arrives almost instantly.
MAPI: Good.
You pause.
That's it.
Just good.
Suspicious.
Y/N: That's all?
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Reappear.
MAPI: Maybe.
You narrow your eyes.
Again.
Suspicious.
Y/N: What are you up to?
Several seconds pass.
MAPI: Nothing.
The answer somehow makes you trust her even less.
Y/N: You're terrible at lying.
MAPI: I know.
Y/N: Should I be concerned?
MAPI: Probably not.
That definitely sounds concerning. You decide you'll call her after changing clothes. Maybe then you'll finally get answers. The thought barely forms before your doorbell rings. You freeze. Nobody visits unannounced. Especially not at this hour. The bell rings again. You glance toward the door. Then toward your phone. Then back at the door. A package maybe. A neighbor. Who knows. Another buzz.
MAPI: Better answer that.
You frown.
A strange feeling settles in your stomach. The doorbell rings a third time. Slowly, you walk across the apartment. Your pulse starts picking up. No reason. Just instinct. You stop in front of the door. The phone buzzes again.
MAPI: Hurry up.
Your heart skips.
The message doesn't make sense.
Not really.
Yet suddenly it does.
The realization hits so hard you nearly laugh.
"No way."
You stare at the door. The silence on the other side feels impossibly loud. Your hands move before your brain catches up. The lock clicks. The handle turns. Slowly, you pull the door open. And there she is. Standing on your doorstep. Dark hair damp from the rain. Hands shoved into the pockets of a jacket you recognize immediately. A small suitcase beside her. A grin already spreading across her face. For one perfect second neither of you says anything. You simply stare. Because your brain refuses to process what's happening. Barcelona is over a thousand miles away. She was supposed to be there. Not here. Not standing outside your apartment like this. Not looking at you like she belongs here. Mapi's grin grows wider.
"Took you long enough."
Your mouth opens.
Then closes.
Then opens again.
Still nothing.
The amusement in her eyes becomes impossible to miss.
"Oh my god," she says.
"You're actually speechless."
You continue staring.
Mapi laughs.
The familiar sound fills the hallway.
Warm.
Bright.
Real.
And suddenly you don't care how she got here. Or how long she's staying. Or what impossible plan she came up with this time. All you know is that she's here. In London. At your door. Looking at you like crossing countries was the easiest thing in the world. Mapi shifts her weight.
Raises an eyebrow.
"Well?"
You finally find your voice.
"What are you doing here?"
The smile she gives you is nothing short of devastating.
"I missed you."
And just like that, every coherent thought disappears.
Kinsey is the cousin of Jana Fernandez, she meets Alexia at a bar. What happens when they meet again at a dinner at Janas and Alexia finds out that Kinsey is married....
The problem with deciding you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, Kinsey quickly discovers, is that it makes every moment feel like it could be the moment.
For nearly a month, she carries the ring around like a secret.
Not literally.
That would be insane.
Instead, the small velvet box spends most of its time hidden in the back corner of her desk drawer beneath a stack of notebooks and old reporting materials. Every few days she opens the drawer just to make sure it's still there, which is ridiculous because nobody is trying to steal it and Alexia has absolutely no reason to go digging through her work documents.
Still, she checks.
Every single time.
Then she closes the drawer again and immediately panics.
Because buying the ring had been the easy part.
Actually proposing is a completely different problem.
At first she thinks she wants something grand.
A rooftop overlooking the city.
A fancy dinner.
A carefully planned evening with candles and flowers and a speech she's practiced a hundred times beforehand.
Then she imagines Alexia's reaction to that level of planning and immediately abandons the idea.
Not because Alexia wouldn't appreciate it.
Because she'd spend the entire evening suspicious.
The woman notices everything.
A surprise proposal would require Oscar-worthy acting from Kinsey, and they both know she doesn't possess that skill set.
The second week, she considers proposing at a Gotham match.
The idea lasts approximately twenty minutes.
Then she remembers Alexia would rather be launched directly into the sun than become part of a stadium proposal video.
By week three, she's no closer to an answer than when she started.
Meanwhile, life continues moving around her.
Alexia keeps training.
Keeps leaving football boots in impossible locations.
Keeps stealing food from Kinsey's plate despite ordering exactly the same thing every single time they go out.
And every day, somehow, Kinsey falls a little more in love with her.
Not dramatically.
Not in some life-altering cinematic way.
Just quietly.
Steadily.
The kind of love that grows in ordinary moments.
The kind built through routines and consistency and choosing each other over and over again.
One Tuesday evening, she comes home from work to find smoke pouring out of the kitchen.
For one horrifying second she thinks the apartment might actually be on fire.
Then she hears Alexia swearing in Spanish.
The panic disappears immediately.
By the time Kinsey reaches the kitchen, she finds Alexia standing in front of the stove holding a spatula and glaring at a frying pan with genuine hostility.
The sight is so absurd that she starts laughing before she can stop herself.
Alexia looks offended.
"Don't."
Kinsey puts her hands up "I haven't said anything."
"You were about to."
"No I wasn't."
"You were."
Kinsey drops her bag beside the counter and looks into the pan.
Whatever dinner had once been is beyond saving.
She isn't entirely sure it remains identifiable.
"What happened?"
"The pan betrayed me."
Kinsey blinks.
"The pan betrayed you."
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"It knew exactly what it was doing."
The conviction in her voice makes the situation infinitely worse.
Kinsey laughs harder.
Alexia points the spatula at her.
"You are being incredibly non supportive right now."
"I'm trying my best."
"No you're not."
The smile tugging at Alexia's mouth completely undermines the argument. Neither of them is actually upset. The ruined dinner sits forgotten while they stand in the middle of the kitchen making fun of each other. Eventually Alexia starts laughing too. The sound fills the room effortlessly. Warm. Familiar. Home. And suddenly Kinsey knows. Not eventually. Not later. Not after she finds the perfect moment. Now. Because this is the perfect moment. Not because it's glamorous. Not because it's impressive. Because it's theirs. Because five years from now they'll still be laughing about the time Alexia nearly declared war on a frying pan. Because this is what their relationship actually looks like. Not grand gestures. Not dramatic speeches. Just two people building a life together.
Alexia notices the shift immediately. Her smile fades slightly. Not in a bad way. In a curious one.
"What?" Kinsey's heart starts pounding.
"Oh God."
"What?"
"You're doing a thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look emotional and terrifying at the same time."
Despite the nerves threatening to consume her, Kinsey laughs.
Then she reaches for Alexia's hand.
The kitchen suddenly feels very quiet.
Outside the apartment windows, New York continues moving. Traffic crawls through the streets below. Car horns echo faintly in the distance. Somewhere in another building a siren wails briefly before fading away.
Inside, everything narrows.
Alexia.
The warmth of her hand.
The realization that every version of the future she wants contains this woman.
Only this woman.
"I spent a long time thinking love was supposed to hurt."
The joke immediately disappears from Alexia's face.
Emotion replaces it.
Soft and immediate.
"Kinsey..."
"I really believed that," she continues quietly. "I thought relationships were supposed to be hard all the time. That if you loved someone enough, you'd just survive whatever happened."
Alexia squeezes her hand gently.
Kinsey swallows.
The words she'd rehearsed a hundred times disappear completely.
What remains is the truth.
Simple and unpolished.
"You taught me differently."
Tears immediately gather in Alexia's eyes.
That nearly destroys her composure.
"You taught me what it feels like to be loved without conditions. Without manipulation. Without fear. You taught me that healthy doesn't mean boring and safe doesn't mean less passionate."
A tear slips down Alexia's cheek.
Kinsey smiles through her own.
"And every day since then, you've made my life better."
The silence that follows feels enormous.
Not empty.
Full.
Overflowing.
Kinsey reaches into her pocket.
The second the velvet box appears, Alexia's free hand flies to her mouth.
"No."
The word comes out as a whisper.
A shocked, disbelieving whisper.
"Oh my God."
Kinsey laughs shakily.
"That's usually a good sign."
Neither of them notices the tears anymore.
They're both crying too hard.
The apartment.
The kitchen.
The ruined dinner.
Everything fades into the background.
There is only this.
Only them.
Kinsey lowers herself onto one knee.
The expression on Alexia's face is something she'll remember for the rest of her life.
Shock.
Joy.
Love.
Every version of their story reflected back at her all at once.
Barcelona.
The stolen weekends.
The impossible choices.
The airports.
The phone calls.
The distance.
The move.
Every moment leading here.
"I choose you."
Alexia lets out a broken laugh through her tears.
Kinsey continues anyway.
"I choose you in New York."
Another tear falls.
"I choose you in Barcelona."
Another.
"I choose you on the good days and the bad ones. On the easy days and the difficult ones. I choose you when life is complicated and when it's simple."
Alexia is openly crying now.
Completely wrecked.
Completely beautiful.
"And I want to keep choosing you for the rest of my life."
The ring box trembles slightly in Kinsey's hand.
For one impossible second, neither of them speaks.
Then she finally asks the question.
"Will you marry me?"
Alexia doesn't answer immediately.
Not because she doesn't know.
Because she's crying too hard to form words.
The sight is so completely unexpected that Kinsey starts laughing.
Which only makes Alexia laugh too.
A messy combination of tears and joy and disbelief.
Finally, she nods.
Once.
Then again.
Then repeatedly.
"Yes."
The word comes out breathless.
Immediate.
Certain.
"Yes."
Kinsey's heart feels like it might explode.
"Yeah?"
"Yes, you idiot."
The laugh that escapes her is half sob, half relief.
A second later Alexia is kneeling in front of her too.
The ring barely makes it onto her finger before they're kissing each other and hugging so tightly neither can breathe properly.
Neither cares.
For a long time they remain there on the kitchen floor.
Holding each other.
Laughing.
Crying.
Refusing to let go.
Eventually they settle against the cabinets, shoulders touching.
The forgotten frying pan still sits on the stove.
Dinner is absolutely ruined.
Neither of them could care less.
Alexia keeps staring at her hand.
Then at the ring.
Then back at Kinsey.
As though she's worried one of them might disappear.
"We're engaged."
The wonder in her voice makes Kinsey smile.
"We are."
Alexia laughs again.
A softer sound this time.
Happier.
Almost disbelieving.
"We actually figured it out."
Kinsey leans over and presses a kiss against her forehead.
For a moment, neither of them says anything else.
The apartment is quiet.
Comfortable.
Filled with the kind of peace Kinsey once thought existed only in stories.
She spent years believing happiness was temporary.
Believing love required sacrifice until nothing remained of yourself.
Believing relationships were things you endured.
Now she knows better.
Now she knows love can feel like safety.
Like partnership.
Like coming home.
As Alexia settles against her side and instinctively intertwines their fingers, the engagement ring catching the kitchen light, Kinsey looks around the apartment they've built together and realizes something she never thought she'd have.
Not just a future.
Not just happiness.
A home.
And for the first time in a very long time, forever doesn't feel frightening.
Mapi doesn't slow down once she reaches the street.
You spend the entire walk back over her shoulder protesting while she completely ignores you.
"Mapi!"
"Nope."
"People are staring."
"They stare at me anyway."
"You are impossible."
She pats the back of your thigh. "You like me."
Unfortunately, she's right. By the time you reach her apartment building, you're laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Mapi finally sets you down in front of the elevator. The second your feet hit the ground, you shove her shoulder.
She only grins.
"You carried me through half of Barcelona."
"You said walking was difficult."
"I was being dramatic."
"You? Never."
The elevator doors slide open before you can argue back.
Mapi's hand finds yours automatically as the two of you step inside.
The teasing fades a little then.
The small space suddenly feels quieter.
Closer.
You glance over to find her already looking at you.
Not joking.
Not smirking.
Just looking.
The expression catches you off guard.
"What?" you ask softly.
"Nothing."
"That wasn't a nothing look."
A small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.
"I'm just trying to figure something out."
"What?"
She studies you for another second.
"How someone who lives in London managed to become my favorite part of this week."
Your heart immediately forgets how to function. The elevator reaches her floor before you can come up with a response. Coward that you are, you use that as an excuse to escape the conversation.
Mapi notices.
Of course she notices.
"You do that."
"What?"
"You run away when someone says something honest."
You unlock your gaze from the floor.
"I don't run away."
"You absolutely do."
"I flew back to Barcelona."
"Exactly."
You stop outside her apartment door.
Mapi nearly walks into you.
"What does that mean?"
For once, she doesn't answer immediately.
The playful confidence slips just enough for you to see what's underneath it.
Something nervous.
Something real.
"It means nobody asked you to come back."
Your chest tightens.
The apartment door remains forgotten between you.
The hallway is quiet except for the distant hum of the building.
"I know," you say.
Mapi swallows.
"But you did."
The words settle heavily between you. Because she's right. Nobody made you get on a plane. Nobody made you spend another weekend in Barcelona. Nobody made you seek her out again. You did all of that yourself. The realization feels both terrifying and obvious. Slowly, you step closer. Close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
"I came back because I wanted to."
Mapi's eyes search yours.
"And now?"
The question isn't really about Barcelona.
It's about tomorrow.
London.
Distance.
Everything waiting outside this apartment.
You don't have answers for any of it.
But for the first time, you don't feel like running from the question either.
"Now," you say carefully, "I want to see where this goes."
The breath she lets out sounds like relief.
Like she'd been holding it for hours.
Maybe days.
A smile spreads across her face.
Not the cocky one.
Not the teasing one.
The real one.
The one that feels increasingly rare and increasingly precious.
"Good," she says quietly.
"Good?"
"Because I was hoping you'd say that."
She reaches for your hand again. You let her. And this time neither of you pretend it's accidental. The apartment door finally opens. The city stretches beyond the windows, painted gold by the setting sun. For the first time since arriving in Barcelona, tomorrow doesn't feel quite so frightening. Not because the distance disappeared. Not because the complications suddenly vanished. But because when Mapi squeezes your hand and pulls you inside, you realize neither of you are facing those things alone anymore.
You head to her room, both of you thinking about what was said in the elevator but wanting to forget about it for the time being. That talk will be had later. Right now, you both just want each other. You undress each other. Once both of you are completely naked, Mapi walks over to her closet and opens a drawer, she pulls out a strap on and hands it to you.
"You said you would give me something better, come on then" she smirks as she goes to lay on the bed.
You put the strap on and get on the bed and sit on top of her, you slide the strap along her slit because she is already so wet, you dont need her to help you get it ready for her. You lean down and give Mapi a kiss and say
"ready for me baby?"
"Lets get it going, give me your best"
You slide the silicone cock inside in one smooth motion, Mapi moans at feeling so full. You are inside her to the hilt. You dont move right away but look at Mapi and she gives you a nod. You dont start off slow at all, you immediately grab her hips and start to thrust into her fast.
"Oh god! Y/N fuck! Didn't give me any time to get used to it. Fuck me! Keep going!" Mapi screams
As you have a hold on her hips you reach down with you right hand and start to flick her clit. It is so big and ready for you. Flicking her clit makes mapi start to shake and you can feel that she is becoming close by how hard it is starting to get to go in and out of her at an easy pace. Wanting her to get there quicker, you pull her up where her chest is right against yours. She moves her legs behind your back and you get off the bed and stand up to walk across the room to her window and push her back against it and start fucking her against the window where anyone could see.
"You look fucking amazing like this Mapi. Your back on the window where everyone can see what is going on. A fucking slut getting fucked so hard. My slut for right now. God you turn me on so much. I could cum right now"
Mapi says in small breaths "Cum with me. I am about to cum. Please. Please cum with me Y/N."
You thrust even harder after hearing Mapi beg for you to cum with her. You grab her ass and start to buck into her so fast you think the window might break.
"Fuck! Y/N keep going! Ah! Ah! fuck me hard! Baby you feel amazing! So deep! hitting the right spot! Im cumming! Im right there! cum with me please! AAAhhhhhhh!!!!!"
"Mapi im right there! I can feel you squeezing my cock. Im cuming too baby! yes! yes! fuck mapi!"
You give Mapi one more thrust and both of you cum at the same time. You both are breathing so heavily and Mapi is spasming around your cock while you have her pressed against the window still. You move back over to the bed and lay down.
"Im going to pull out okay? I know you are sensitive so be careful"
You pull out and Mapi gives out a small groan at the emptiness of you. You disappear for a minute and come back with a warm cloth to help clean her up with. After cleaning her up you both lay under the covers facing each other. Mapi is looking at you with longing eyes and leans over to give you a kiss on the lips.
"what was that for?" you say
"Just because. We need to have a talk but that can be later"
you give her a nod and turn around where your back is to her front. Mapi cuddles against you and you both fall asleep to a midday nap from all the festivities of the day.
---
Its been an hours and the apartment is quiet again.
Not silent.
Just comfortable.
The kind of quiet that settles after hours of laughter, conversations that wandered nowhere, and moments neither of you wanted to end. The city glows outside the windows. Barcelona at night. Cars moving below. Distant music drifting up from somewhere on the street. You lie on your back staring at the ceiling while Mapi traces lazy patterns across your stomach. Neither of you has spoken in several minutes. It's nice. Dangerously nice. Because the longer it lasts, the harder it becomes to ignore the thing sitting between you.
Eventually Mapi breaks first.
"What are you thinking about?"
You let out a quiet laugh.
"Do you really want the answer to that?"
"Probably not."
"Then why ask?"
"Because you're making that face."
You turn toward her.
"What face?"
"The one where you're overthinking everything."
You groan.
Mapi smiles against your shoulder.
"See? That's exactly the face."
For a moment you consider brushing it off.
Making a joke.
Changing the subject.
But you're getting tired of pretending.
And judging by the way Mapi suddenly goes still beside you, so is she.
"What happens when I go back to London?"
The words hang heavily in the room.
Mapi's hand stops moving.
There it is.
The question both of you have spent days avoiding.
She rolls onto her side to face you completely.
"I don't know."
The honesty surprises you.
"You don't?"
"No."
Mapi reaches for your hand.
Her fingers weave through yours automatically.
"I know I don't want this to be the last time I see you."
Your chest tightens.
She continues before you can respond.
"I know that every time my phone goes off, I hope it's you."
A small smile tugs at your mouth.
Mapi notices.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm not laughing."
"You are a little."
"I'm smiling."
"Same thing."
You squeeze her hand.
The nervousness in her voice feels strange.
This is Mapi.
Confident.
Fearless.
The woman who talks to strangers like they've been friends for years.
Yet somehow this conversation seems to terrify her.
That realization makes your own fear ease slightly.
"Good," you say softly.
Mapi raises an eyebrow.
"Good?"
"Because I was hoping you'd say that."
For a second neither of you speak.
The smile that appears on her face is almost shy.
Almost.
Then it disappears as reality creeps back in.
"London is still London."
"Barcelona is still Barcelona."
"Neither of us can exactly move tomorrow."
"No."
Mapi exhales.
"No."
The room falls quiet again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
Real.
"What are we doing then?" she asks eventually.
You look down at your joined hands.
The answer should probably be complicated.
A list of logistics.
Flights.
Schedules.
Time zones.
Instead the answer feels surprisingly simple.
"We try."
Mapi studies you carefully.
"We try?"
You nod.
"We see each other when we can."
A small smile appears.
"We call."
The smile grows.
"We text."
Now she's grinning.
"You hate texting."
"I'll suffer for love."
You immediately regret the words.
Mapi freezes.
Your eyes widen.
Her grin becomes enormous.
"Oh my god."
"Don't."
"You said love."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
You cover your face with your free hand. Mapi laughs so hard she nearly falls off the bed. For several seconds you consider throwing a pillow at her. Then she catches your wrist and pulls your hand away. The laughter fades. Something softer replaces it.
Her thumb brushes gently across your knuckles.
"We try," she repeats quietly.
This time it sounds less like a question.
More like a promise.
You squeeze her hand.
"We try."
And for the first time since coming back to Barcelona, neither of you feels quite so afraid of tomorrow.
--
Neither of you says much after that. The conversation lingers in the room long after the words stop. We try. Simple. Terrifying. Somehow enough. Mapi eventually shifts closer until her head settles against your shoulder. You automatically wrap an arm around her. Outside, Barcelona continues moving as if nothing has changed. Inside, everything feels different. Not fixed. Not solved. Just acknowledged. For the first time since meeting her, neither of you is pretending this is temporary. That realization follows you into sleep. The next morning arrives far too quickly. You wake to sunlight spilling across the bed and the unmistakable feeling of someone staring at you. Your eyes open slowly.
Mapi immediately closes hers.
You snort.
"You're terrible at pretending to be asleep."
One eye peeks open.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely do."
"No."
"Mapi."
She grins.
The smile fades slightly when her eyes drift toward the suitcase sitting near the bedroom door. The one you'd packed before bed.
Reality.
Again.
Neither of you mention it.
Instead, Mapi insists on making breakfast.
That turns out to be a disaster.
You discover very quickly that Mapi's definition of cooking consists primarily of making a mess and hoping for the best.
"There is no way that's how you're supposed to crack eggs."
"It worked, didn't it?"
Half the shell lands in the bowl.
You stare.
Mapi stares.
Then she quietly fishes it out.
"It worked eventually."
"You live alone?"
"Barely."
You laugh.
Mapi smiles at the sound.
For a few minutes things almost feel normal. Like this isn't your last morning in Barcelona. Like there isn't a flight waiting for you. Like you aren't already counting down the hours. Eventually your phone buzzes. The airline notification appears immediately. Check-in reminder. The knot in your stomach returns.
Mapi sees it.
Of course she does.
The smile slips from her face.
Neither of you says anything for a second.
Then she reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.
"Hey."
You look up.
"We said we'd try."
You nod.
"I know."
"So stop looking like someone just told you football was cancelled forever."
A laugh escapes despite yourself.
Mapi points triumphantly.
"There she is."
The rest of the day passes too fast.
You walk through the city together one last time.
No grand sightseeing.
No plans.
Just wandering.
Stopping for coffee.
Sharing pastries.
Taking pictures neither of you will admit you're taking.
Trying to stretch a few remaining hours into something longer.
At one point you catch Mapi taking a photo of you while you aren't looking.
"What are you doing?"
She immediately lowers her phone.
"Nothing."
"You just took a picture of me."
"No I didn't."
"Mapi."
"Okay, maybe I did."
"Why?"
She shrugs.
"So I can remember your face."
The answer steals every sarcastic response you had prepared.
You don't tell her that you've already taken half a dozen pictures of her yourself.
By late afternoon the sky begins turning orange.
And suddenly there are no more distractions left.
No more cafés.
No more walks.
No more pretending.
Just the drive to the airport.
The closer you get, the quieter the car becomes.
You spend most of the ride staring out the window.
Not because you're interested in the scenery.
Because looking at Mapi feels worse.
Every glance reminds you what's coming.
The airport appears far too soon.
You hate it immediately.
Mapi parks near the drop-off area and turns off the engine.
Neither of you move.
People pass outside.
Suitcases roll across pavement.
Announcements echo faintly through the glass.
Inside the car, everything feels still.
"This sucks," Mapi says eventually.
You laugh quietly.
"Very eloquent."
"I know."
For once she doesn't smile afterward. Your chest tightens. Because beneath the joke, she means it. This sucks. It sucks that she lives here. It sucks that you live there. It sucks that after everything that's happened, you're getting on a plane. You turn toward her. Mapi is already looking at you. That same expression from the elevator. The one that always catches you off guard.
Soft.
Open.
Dangerously honest.
"I'm glad you came back."
The words hit harder than they should.
You swallow.
"So am I."
Mapi reaches over.
Her hand finds yours instantly.
Like it belongs there.
"You better answer my texts."
You smile.
"I thought you hated texting."
"I do."
"You literally complained about it."
"I'll suffer."
The joke is familiar now.
Comforting.
A small piece of normal in a moment that feels anything but.
You squeeze her hand.
"I'll answer."
"Good."
"And you better answer mine."
Mapi places a hand dramatically over her heart.
"I am deeply offended that you'd question me."
"You once left me on read for six hours."
"I was busy."
"You were posting Instagram stories."
"I was busy posting Instagram stories."
You laugh.
So does she. The sound fades quickly. The silence that follows feels heavier. Neither of you wants to say goodbye. Because saying it makes this real. Finally, you reach for the door handle. Mapi's hand tightens around yours. Just for a second. You look back. Her eyes are shining slightly in the afternoon light. Not crying. Just close enough to make your heart ache.
"You'll call me when you land?"
The question comes out quieter than usual.
Vulnerable.
You nod immediately.
"I'll call."
Mapi swallows.
Then leans across the center console.
The kiss is soft.
Not desperate.
Not dramatic.
Just lingering.
Like neither of you is quite ready to let go.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests briefly against yours.
"Okay," she whispers.
You smile sadly.
"Okay."
Neither of you moves.
A few more seconds.
One more look.
One more moment to memorize.
Then you finally step out of the car.
The cool air hits immediately.
Mapi gets out too.
Of course she does.
She walks around the vehicle and pulls you into a hug before you can say anything.
A real one.
The kind that squeezes all the air from your lungs.
You bury your face against her shoulder.
Mapi holds you tighter.
For a second, neither of you lets go.
Then reality wins.
Slowly, reluctantly, she steps back.
"Go," she says.
You laugh weakly.
"You're kicking me out now?"
"If I don't tell you to go, neither of us is leaving."
Fair point.
You grab your suitcase.
Mapi watches every step as you start toward the terminal.
Halfway there, you glance back.
She's still standing exactly where you left her.
Hands in her pockets.
Watching.
When she notices you looking, she raises a hand.
You wave back.
Then force yourself to keep walking.
Inside the terminal, your phone buzzes before you've even reached security.
You already know who it is.
MAPI: Miss you already.
A smile spreads across your face.
The reply comes easily.
Y/N: It's been thirty seconds.
Three dots appear immediately.
MAPI: Exactly.
For the first time since arriving at the airport, the knot in your chest loosens.
Because goodbye doesn't feel quite as permanent anymore.
Not after yesterday.
Not after "we try."
Not after her.
And as your flight boards for London, you realize something that would've terrified you a week ago.
(I got heavily carried away. This was supposed to be longer but Tumblr wouldn't let me post everything... hence the part 1 & 2)
Two months after leaving Barcelona, Kinsey still wakes up reaching for her phone before she's fully conscious.
At first she doesn't realize she's doing it. The habit forms so naturally that by the time she notices, it's already become part of her routine. Every morning begins the same way. Her alarm goes off, she rolls over beneath the blankets, and before her eyes have even adjusted to the pale gray light filtering through her apartment windows, she's opening whatever messages Alexia sent while she slept.
The six-hour time difference means Alexia is already halfway through her day by the time New York starts waking up. Most mornings there are photos waiting for her. A coffee cup balanced on a training table. An aggressively unflattering selfie accompanied by some complaint about fitness testing. Videos of teammates arguing in the background while Alexia provides entirely unnecessary commentary.
This morning's message is a photograph of Barcelona just after sunrise. The city stretches out beneath a wash of gold and orange light, rooftops glowing beneath the early morning sun. Beneath it, Alexia has written only three words.
Miss this view.
Kinsey smiles despite herself.
She knows exactly what Alexia is doing.
Two months ago every message would have said I miss you. Every phone call would have ended with one of them reluctantly hanging up after neither wanted to be the first person to say goodbye. Eventually they both stopped saying it quite so often, not because the feeling had disappeared, but because it never changed. Missing each other had become a constant. A background noise neither of them needed to acknowledge every five minutes.
Instead, Alexia had started finding other ways to say it.
Kinsey sits up against the headboard and types a reply.
You mean me.
The response arrives less than thirty seconds later.
Don't make this about yourself.
A second message follows immediately.
But yes.
Laughing softly, Kinsey tosses her phone onto the bed and pushes herself upright. Outside her apartment windows Manhattan is already awake. Traffic crawls between skyscrapers below. Horns echo faintly from the street. Somewhere down the block, construction workers have apparently decided seven in the morning is the perfect time to begin making as much noise as possible.
For the first time in a long time, the city doesn't feel overwhelming.
That realization catches her off guard sometimes.
Six months ago New York felt like a cage. Every building reminded her of Morgan. Every restaurant carried memories she'd spent years creating with someone who eventually stopped feeling like home. She'd spent so much time convincing herself that unhappiness was normal that she'd forgotten what it felt like to genuinely look forward to the future.
Now, despite the lawyers, despite the paperwork, despite everything that came with untangling a decade-long relationship, she finds herself smiling more often than not.
Not because life is perfect.
Because it finally feels like hers.
The divorce paperwork is almost finished. The last major meetings are scheduled for next week. Morgan has largely disappeared from her daily life, leaving behind only legal documents and the occasional uncomfortable memory that surfaces when Kinsey least expects it.
The grief still exists.
She suspects it always will.
Ten years doesn't disappear overnight.
But grief is different from regret.
That's something she's only recently learned.
She can mourn the version of her life she thought she was building without wanting to return to it. She can feel sad for Morgan and still know leaving was the right decision. Those truths aren't mutually exclusive no matter how many times she'd once convinced herself they were.
Her phone buzzes again.
Did you fall back asleep?
Kinsey smiles.
No. Some of us have jobs.
Football is a job.
Debatable.
The incoming FaceTime request arrives almost immediately.
Kinsey doesn't even hesitate before answering.
Alexia's face fills the screen, and the familiar rush of warmth that follows catches her exactly as off guard as it did the first time. She looks tired. Training gear still clings to her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun that clearly started the day neater than it currently is.
"Wow," Alexia says. "You look terrible."
Kinsey laughs.
"There she is."
"Someone has to keep you humble."
The conversation drifts naturally after that, moving from football to work to whatever random topic manages to capture their attention next. They've become experts at this over the last two months. Experts at fitting themselves into the spaces between responsibilities and obligations. Experts at turning phone calls into dinner dates and video chats into something that almost feels like sharing the same room.
Almost.
That's the difficult part. Almost. Because no matter how many hours they spend talking, no matter how many times they fall asleep on FaceTime with their phones balanced on nightstands, the distance remains. An ocean still separates them. Sometimes that reality feels manageable. Other times it feels impossible. Kinsey doesn't tell Alexia which kind of day today is. She doesn't have to. Somehow Alexia notices anyway.
Alexia notices before Kinsey says anything.
She always does.
The conversation continues for another ten minutes, drifting between topics the way it always does, but Kinsey can practically see the moment Alexia realizes something is off. It happens when she's halfway through a story about one of her teammates accidentally kicking a ball into a coach's coffee during training. Normally Kinsey would've laughed immediately. Normally she would've asked a dozen follow-up questions just to hear Alexia complain about it in greater detail.
Instead she'd smiled, nodded, and gone quiet.
Now Alexia narrows her eyes suspiciously through the screen.
"Okay."
Kinsey immediately recognizes that tone.
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Terrible answer."
Kinsey sighs and drops her head back against the couch cushions. Outside her apartment windows the city is beginning to fade into evening. The last traces of sunlight reflect off neighboring skyscrapers, painting the living room in soft shades of orange and gold.
"I just had a long day."
"You always have long days."
"Exactly."
"That's not the issue."
Kinsey closes her eyes briefly. It isn't. The problem isn't work. Or lawyers. Or paperwork.
The problem is that today is one of those days where the distance feels heavier than usual.
It happens without warning. Sometimes she'll go a week feeling perfectly fine. They'll talk constantly. She'll throw herself into work. Life moves forward and everything feels manageable.
Then a random Tuesday arrives and suddenly she misses Alexia so much that it physically hurts.
She misses reaching for her in bed. She misses hearing her laugh from another room. She misses the way Alexia always steals food off her plate despite ordering exactly the same thing. She misses the simple comfort of existing beside someone she loves. Most of all, she misses not having to say goodbye every night. Alexia studies her carefully.
The concern on her face softens into something gentler. Something understanding.
"Oh."
Kinsey laughs weakly.
"Yeah."
For a moment neither of them speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It never is with Alexia. Eventually she shifts slightly in her seat and rests her chin against her hand.
"I miss you too."
The simplicity of the statement nearly wrecks her. Because there isn't anything dramatic attached to it. No grand declaration. No attempt to fix the situation. Just honesty. A simple acknowledgment that they're both carrying the same weight. Kinsey swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat.
"This is harder than I thought it would be."
"I know."
"I hate it."
"I know that too."
The corners of Kinsey's mouth twitch upward.
"You're annoyingly good at this."
Alexia smiles.
"At what?"
"Understanding exactly what I mean."
Something flashes across Alexia's face then.
A softness that still catches Kinsey off guard sometimes. Even after everything. Even after all the months they've spent learning each other. Even after falling hopelessly in love.
"I think that's supposed to be one of the requirements."
"Of what?"
"Being your girlfriend."
Kinsey laughs.
"There are requirements now?"
"Many."
"Should I be concerned?"
"Very."
By the time they hang up an hour later, the heaviness in Kinsey's chest has eased. Not disappeared. Just softened. Enough to let her breathe again. Enough to remind her that distance is temporary. Or at least that's what she tells herself.
The next week passes in a blur.
Work becomes increasingly hectic as summer approaches. Several major stories land in her lap at once, forcing her into a schedule that consists almost entirely of coffee, deadlines, and very questionable sleeping habits.
By Thursday evening she's running purely on caffeine and stubbornness. Her editor notices immediately.
"You look exhausted."
Kinsey doesn't even glance up from her laptop.
"I am exhausted."
"Have you considered sleeping?"
"What a revolutionary concept."
The editor laughs.
Kinsey doesn't.
Mostly because she's serious.
The problem isn't work.
The problem is that she's spending every free moment she has trying to squeeze more time out of the day. If Alexia is awake, Kinsey wants to talk to her. If Alexia is training, Kinsey wants updates. If Alexia sends a picture, Kinsey immediately stops whatever she's doing to look at it.
The relationship has somehow become woven into every part of her daily life despite the Atlantic Ocean separating them.
Not that she's complaining. At least not usually.
By Friday afternoon she's finally able to leave work before sunset for the first time all week.
The moment she steps into her apartment she kicks off her shoes and collapses face-first onto the couch.
She doesn't move for several minutes.
Her phone buzzes.
Alexia.
A smile immediately appears.
It happens every single time.
Kinsey opens the message.
I survived training.
Attached is a photo of Alexia looking dramatically miserable while sitting in an ice bath.
Kinsey laughs out loud.
You look like you're being tortured.
The response arrives almost instantly.
I am being tortured.
This is athlete abuse.
Call the police.
Kinsey is still smiling when she notices a second message.
One she almost misses.
A separate photo.
This one isn't funny.
It's a picture of Barcelona at sunset.
The city glowing beneath streaks of orange and pink.
Beneath it Alexia has written:
Wish you were here.
The smile falters slightly.
Not because it makes her sad.
Because it reminds her how badly she wishes the same thing.
She stares at the picture for longer than she intends to.
Long enough for Alexia to send another message.
Wow. Ignored.
Kinsey rolls her eyes.
I'm literally replying.
Sure you are.
Very rude.
Very ignored.
Laughing softly, Kinsey sets the phone down beside her and looks around the apartment. The silence feels different tonight. Not lonely. Just unfinished. As though someone is missing. As though the space itself knows it wasn't designed for only one person anymore. The thought lingers with her for the rest of the evening. It follows her into bed. It stays with her the next morning.
And three days later, when she walks into a conference room to finalize the last pieces of paperwork connecting her to Morgan, the feeling is still there. Only now it's accompanied by something else.
Relief.
The meeting lasts less than an hour. Months of legal work reduced to signatures and formalities. By the end, every document has been completed. Every account separated. Every remaining tie officially severed. When the lawyer slides the final page across the table, Kinsey signs without hesitation.
The pen barely pauses.
And suddenly it's done.
Ten years.
Finished.
She stares at the paperwork for several seconds after everyone else leaves.
Waiting.
For grief.
For devastation.
For some overwhelming emotional reaction.
Instead she feels strangely calm.
Sad, yes.
There will always be sadness.
Morgan mattered.
Their relationship mattered.
The life they'd built together mattered.
But sadness isn't the same thing as regret.
And for the first time since all of this began, Kinsey realizes she doesn't regret leaving.
Not even a little.
Her phone buzzes as she exits the building.
Alexia's name appears on the screen.
Kinsey answers immediately.
"Hey."
"Hey."
The warmth in Alexia's voice settles somewhere deep inside her chest. Without warning, Kinsey smiles. Not because anything extraordinary happened. Not because her problems disappeared. But because for the first time in years, she knows exactly where she wants her future to go. And every version of that future contains the same person.
Alexia.
The realization stays with her all the way home. It follows her through dinner. Through a shower. Through an hour spent reading on the couch. By the time she finally falls asleep that night, one thought keeps repeating itself. She doesn't know what the future looks like. She doesn't know where they'll live. She doesn't know how they'll solve the distance. But she knows she wants to spend the rest of her life figuring it out with her.
Two weeks later, someone knocks on her apartment door.
And everything changes.
The knock comes again before Kinsey has a chance to look up from her laptop.
At first she ignores it.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch with three different documents spread across the coffee table and an article deadline looming over her head. Her editor has already emailed twice asking for an update, which means a third email, significantly less friendly than the first two, is probably only a matter of time.
The knock sounds again.
More insistent this time.
With a sigh, Kinsey saves her work and pushes herself to her feet. She assumes it's a delivery driver. Maybe Jana. Possibly a neighbor. The possibilities are endless.
None of them include Alexia.
Which is why her brain completely stops functioning when she pulls open the door.
For a moment, she genuinely thinks she's imagining things.
There are reasonable explanations for most surprises.
This is not one of them.
Alexia stands in the hallway holding a suitcase in one hand and a backpack slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair is slightly messy from travel, and there are faint shadows beneath her eyes that suggest she hasn’t gotten much sleep. Even so, she’s still the most beautiful thing Kinsey has ever seen.
Neither of them move.
Neither of them speak.
Kinsey just stares.
Because twelve hours ago Alexia had been in Barcelona.
Twenty four hours ago she’d been complaining about training over FaceTime.
Forty eight hours ago they’d been trying to coordinate schedules for another visit that wasn’t supposed to happen for at least three more weeks.
None of this makes any sense.
Alexia is the first one to crack.
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before she shakes her head and laughs softly.
“You’re making this weird.”
The sound breaks whatever spell has settled over the moment.
Kinsey crosses the distance between them before her brain catches up with her body. One second she's standing in the doorway and the next she's throwing her arms around Alexia hard enough that they nearly lose their balance.
Alexia laughs against her shoulder and immediately wraps both arms around her waist.
“Okay,” she says. “Hi to you too.”
Kinsey doesn’t let go.
She can’t.
For two months she’s existed through phone screens and video calls and countdowns. For two months every goodbye has come with a calendar reminder for the next time they’ll see each other. Now Alexia is here, solid and real and warm beneath her hands, and Kinsey suddenly realizes just how much she’s missed physical proximity.
Not even the romantic parts. Just this. Holding her. Feeling her laugh against her shoulder. Knowing she’s actually here.
“What are you doing here?” Kinsey finally asks.
“I flew here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It technically is.”
Kinsey pulls back just enough to glare at her.
Alexia grins.
The grin lasts exactly two seconds before something shifts. The confidence softens. The teasing disappears. Suddenly she looks nervous. Really nervous.
Kinsey notices immediately.
Her stomach drops.
“Alex.”
“Hmm?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“That’s a lie.”
Alexia sighs.
And that’s when Kinsey knows.
Something is coming.
Something important.
Because Alexia only sighs like that when she’s carrying a conversation she’s been rehearsing in her head for weeks.
“Can I come inside first?”
Kinsey blinks.
“Right. Yes. Sorry.”
She steps aside and Alexia rolls her suitcase into the apartment.
The familiar scent of her perfume immediately follows her inside, settling into the space so naturally it almost feels like it belongs there. Kinsey closes the door and turns around to find Alexia standing in the middle of the living room.
Looking around. Taking everything in. This apartment has existed entirely through phone screens until now. Alexia has seen every room.
The couch.
The kitchen.
The bedroom.
But only virtually.
Now she slowly turns in a circle, studying the space in person.
“It’s bigger than I expected.”
“Alexia.”
“I’m serious.”
“Alexia.”
“Fine.”
She laughs softly before setting her backpack down near the couch.
The nervousness returns almost immediately afterward.
Kinsey folds her arms.
“Talk.”
“Very aggressive.”
“Talk.”
“I haven’t even sat down yet.”
“Talk.”
That finally earns a genuine laugh. For a moment the tension eases. Then Alexia reaches into her backpack and pulls out a folder. A completely ordinary folder. Nothing special about it. Nothing remarkable. And yet the second Kinsey sees it, every instinct she possesses begins screaming that this is important.
Alexia holds it out.
“Open it.”
Kinsey takes it slowly.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Her heart begins beating faster.
The folder feels heavier than it should.
She glances up one last time.
Alexia looks terrified.
Not upset.
Not sad.
Terrified.
Which somehow makes this even more confusing.
Carefully, Kinsey opens the folder. The first thing she notices is the logo. The second thing she notices is the team name. The third thing she notices is the contract. For several seconds she simply stares at the page.
Reading.
Re-reading.
Trying to make sure she isn’t misunderstanding what’s in front of her.
The words refuse to change.
Gotham FC.
Professional contract.
New York.
Signed.
Official.
Her eyes lift slowly.
Alexia is watching her so carefully it almost hurts.
“Well?”
Kinsey blinks.
Then blinks again.
Then looks back down at the contract.
Then back up.
“You signed with Gotham?”
Alexia nods.
A small smile appears.
“You signed with Gotham.”
Another nod.
The smile grows slightly.
Kinsey’s brain is still struggling to catch up.
“You’re leaving Barcelona?”
This time Alexia takes a breath before answering.
“Yes.”
The room goes completely silent.
Because suddenly the full meaning of those words crashes into her all at once.
Leaving Barcelona.
Leaving the club.
Leaving the city.
Leaving the life she built there.
For New York.
For Gotham.
For them.
“You’re moving here.”
Alexia’s eyes immediately fill with emotion.
“Yes.”
And just like that, Kinsey starts crying. Not dramatic tears. Not sobbing. Just immediate, unstoppable emotion. Because she spent the last two months teaching herself how to live with distance. Teaching herself patience. Teaching herself that love could survive an ocean. She had accepted it. Accepted the flights. Accepted the time zones. Accepted the waiting. And now Alexia is standing in her apartment telling her she doesn’t have to anymore.
The laugh that escapes her sounds suspiciously close to a sob.
“You’re moving here.”
Alexia starts crying too.
“Yeah.”
“You’re actually moving here.”
“Kinsey.”
“Oh my God.”
The folder falls forgotten onto the couch. A second later Kinsey is across the room again. This time neither of them bothers pretending they’re okay. Alexia’s arms lock around her instantly. Kinsey buries her face against her shoulder. And for the first time in months, there’s no screen between them.
No countdown.
No departure date.
No goodbye waiting around the corner.
Just possibility.
And for the first time since boarding that flight back to New York two months ago, the future suddenly feels close enough to touch.
For a long time neither of them moves.
The contract remains abandoned on the couch, forgotten beneath a throw blanket, while Kinsey keeps her arms wrapped around Alexia as though letting go might somehow make the entire thing disappear. She can feel Alexia laughing softly against her shoulder every time she tightens her grip again, but neither of them seems particularly interested in pointing out how ridiculous they're being.
Eventually Alexia leans back just enough to look at her.
"You know," she says, brushing a strand of hair away from Kinsey's face, "most people usually say congratulations before crushing someone's ribs."
Kinsey immediately tightens her arms.
Alexia groans dramatically.
"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."
"You moved across an ocean."
"I did."
"For me."
A smile spreads slowly across Alexia's face.
"For us."
The correction settles somewhere deep inside Kinsey's chest. Because that's the thing neither of them has said out loud yet. Not really. They've talked endlessly about long distance. About flights and schedules and future visits. They've spent hours discussing what comes next without ever having an actual answer.
Now suddenly there is one.
Not a complete answer.
Not a perfect answer.
But a real one.
For the first time since this relationship began, they're moving toward the same place instead of constantly pulling in opposite directions.
Kinsey finally releases her enough for them to sit down on the couch, although she immediately pulls Alexia right back against her side the second they're seated.
"How long have you known?"
Alexia winces.
That reaction alone is suspicious.
"Alexia."
"A little while."
"Define a little while."
The wince deepens.
"Alexia."
"Several weeks."
Kinsey stares at her.
Several weeks.
Several.
Weeks.
The realization hits her like a freight train.
"You have been keeping this from me for several weeks?"
"I was waiting until everything was finalized."
"You knew you were potentially moving to New York and didn't tell me?"
"It wasn't finalized."
"You still could've mentioned it."
Alexia's expression becomes increasingly guilty.
Which answers the question.
"Oh my God."
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
"It is a surprise."
"See?"
"That's not a defense."
Alexia starts laughing.
Unfortunately, the sound is infectious.
Within seconds Kinsey is laughing too.
Mostly because she knows exactly how difficult this must have been for her.
Alexia is terrible at keeping good news to herself.
Absolutely terrible.
She's the type of person who buys a present and immediately starts dropping hints because she's too excited to wait.
The fact that she managed to keep this secret for weeks is honestly impressive.
"You almost told me, didn't you?"
Alexia immediately looks away.
"Alexia."
"There were moments."
"How many moments?"
"Several."
Kinsey groans.
"You're unbelievable."
"There was one FaceTime call where I almost accidentally said 'when I move there' instead of 'when I visit.'"
Kinsey immediately starts laughing again.
Alexia covers her face with one hand.
"It was very stressful."
"I can imagine."
"There was also the time you spent forty-five minutes complaining about New York rent."
"What about it?"
"I already knew I'd be paying it."
That nearly kills Kinsey.
She doubles over laughing while Alexia sits beside her looking entirely too pleased with herself.
For a few minutes the conversation drifts into details. Gotham had reached out months earlier. At first Alexia hadn't taken it seriously. Then the discussions became more concrete. Meetings turned into negotiations. Negotiations turned into offers.
And somewhere along the way, what initially seemed impossible started becoming real.
"I kept thinking it would fall apart," Alexia admits quietly.
The laughter fades immediately.
Kinsey looks over.
Alexia is staring down at her hands now.
The vulnerability in her voice catches her off guard.
"Why?"
Alexia shrugs.
"It felt too perfect."
Kinsey's heart aches.
Because she understands exactly what she means.
When you've spent enough time waiting for things to go wrong, eventually good news starts feeling suspicious.
You begin expecting disappointment before it arrives.
You prepare yourself for loss before anything has actually been lost.
"I know that feeling."
Alexia glances toward her.
For a moment neither of them speaks.
Then Kinsey reaches across the couch and takes her hand.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think we're both getting better at that."
A small smile appears.
"At what?"
"Believing good things can happen."
The smile grows.
This time it stays.
The evening passes in a blur after that.
They order takeout because neither of them has any interest in cooking. The food arrives almost an hour later, mostly because both of them forget they ordered it in the first place. By the time the delivery driver knocks on the door, they're sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by contract paperwork and apartment listings.
"Look at this one."
Alexia hands her phone over.
Kinsey studies the listing.
Then immediately bursts out laughing.
"Absolutely not."
"What?"
"That rent should be illegal."
"It's Manhattan."
"It's robbery."
"It's Manhattan."
Kinsey points accusingly at the screen.
"This apartment is the size of a shoebox."
"It's a luxury shoebox."
"That's not helping."
Alexia laughs so hard she nearly falls over.
God.
Kinsey missed this.
Not the big moments.
Not the dramatic declarations.
This.
The easy conversations.
The effortless laughter.
The feeling that spending time together requires absolutely no work whatsoever.
The realization settles over her sometime after midnight.
They're sitting on opposite ends of the couch now, both exhausted from talking. The television is playing quietly in the background. Neither of them is actually watching it. Alexia's feet are stretched across Kinsey's lap. Kinsey is absentmindedly rubbing circles against her ankle. And suddenly she realizes something. This feels normal. Not exciting. Not overwhelming. Not temporary. Normal. As though Alexia belongs here. As though she always has. The thought should probably be terrifying.
Instead it feels strangely comforting.
Outside the apartment windows, New York glows against the darkness. Traffic continues moving below. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. The city never really sleeps.
Neither of them speaks for several minutes.
Then Alexia quietly says, "I was scared."
Kinsey looks up immediately.
"What about?"
A thoughtful silence follows.
Alexia's eyes remain fixed on the city beyond the glass.
"That you'd think I was doing this because of you."
The statement catches Kinsey completely off guard.
"What?"
Alexia shrugs lightly.
"I didn't want you feeling responsible."
The words settle heavily between them.
Because suddenly Kinsey understands.
Leaving Barcelona isn't a small decision.
It's not just a transfer.
It's not just football.
It's home.
Friends.
Memories.
A life.
Everything Alexia has spent years building.
"You know I don't think that, right?"
Alexia smiles faintly.
"I know."
"No, seriously."
"I know."
Kinsey shifts closer.
"Alex."
This finally gets her attention.
"I would've supported whatever decision made you happiest."
Emotion flashes briefly across Alexia's face.
The kind she usually hides.
The kind she only lets Kinsey see.
"I know that too."
"Then what's the problem?"
Alexia laughs softly.
"Nothing."
The smile she gives her afterward feels different.
Warmer.
Relieved.
Like she's finally allowing herself to stop carrying something heavy.
And as Kinsey watches her settle more comfortably against the couch cushions, she realizes they're both doing the exact same thing.
For the first time in months, neither of them is counting down to the next goodbye.
Because for the first time in months, there isn't one.
--
The next few weeks pass faster than either of them expects.
At first, Kinsey blames the paperwork.
There seems to be an endless amount of it. Contracts. Housing documents. Immigration appointments. Meetings with Gotham representatives. Endless emails arriving at all hours of the day that require signatures, confirmations, or information neither of them realized they needed. For someone who claims to enjoy organization, Alexia handles the entire process with surprising levels of frustration.
One Tuesday afternoon, Kinsey walks into the kitchen to find her sitting at the counter glaring at a stack of documents as though they're personally responsible for ruining her day.
"What did the paperwork do to you?"
Alexia doesn't even look up.
"It exists."
"Fair."
"It's been existing for six straight hours."
Kinsey laughs and sets her coffee down beside her. The apartment has slowly begun changing over the last few weeks. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Instead, Alexia appears to be taking over the space through a series of small invasions. A hoodie draped over a dining room chair. Training shoes abandoned beside the front door. Hair ties appearing on every available surface. Somehow, despite not officially moving in yet, evidence of her existence is already everywhere. Kinsey secretly loves it. She doesn't mention that part. Mostly because Alexia would become unbearably smug.
"I need a break," Alexia announces.
"You've been staring at those papers for twenty minutes."
"Exactly."
"That's not a long time."
"It felt like years."
Kinsey rolls her eyes before sliding into the chair beside her. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows catches the side of Alexia's face, illuminating the faint smile threatening to appear despite her complaints. For a moment, Kinsey finds herself staring. Not intentionally. At least not at first. It's just one of those moments that sneaks up on her. The realization that this is real. That Alexia is actually here. Not on a screen. Not thousands of miles away. Here. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Close enough that Kinsey can reach over and steal the pen from her hand just to annoy her.
Alexia immediately glares.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The look."
Kinsey attempts innocence.
"What look?"
"The one where you stop listening because you're staring at me."
"I listen."
"No you don't."
"I absolutely do."
Alexia points toward the paperwork.
"What did I just say?"
Kinsey pauses.
"...something about documents."
The triumphant expression on Alexia's face is immediate.
"Exactly."
"That counts."
"It does not."
Despite herself, Kinsey starts laughing.
God.
She missed this.
Not just Alexia herself.
The constant presence.
The effortless rhythm they've always somehow managed to find together.
Even during the affair.
Even during the chaos.
There had always been something strangely easy about them.
Something that felt natural.
Now, without secrecy hanging over everything, the feeling has only grown stronger.
Life isn't perfect.
They still have problems.
Still have decisions to make.
Still have careers pulling them in different directions.
But for the first time, all of those challenges belong to the same future instead of competing futures.
And that changes everything.
By the time Alexia officially reports to Gotham, media attention has become impossible to ignore.
Kinsey knew it was coming.
Everyone did.
A player of Alexia's caliber doesn't quietly transfer halfway across the world without attracting attention. The coverage begins weeks before her first training session and somehow only grows from there.
Every sports network seems determined to discuss it.
Every football analyst has an opinion.
Every reporter wants an interview.
Alexia handles the attention with the same mixture of confidence and irritation she applies to most things.
One evening, Kinsey finds her sprawled across the couch watching a panel discussion about her transfer.
The commentators spend nearly fifteen minutes debating whether the move is primarily football-related or personal.
Alexia lasts approximately thirty seconds.
Then she turns the television off.
"Nope."
Kinsey laughs.
"You don't want to hear strangers speculate about your life?"
"Shockingly, no."
"They seem very invested."
"They need hobbies."
Kinsey settles beside her, immediately finding herself pulled against Alexia's side. The gesture is automatic now. Unconscious. Neither of them thinks about it anymore. The realization still catches Kinsey off guard sometimes. How quickly physical closeness has become normal. How naturally they've slipped into sharing space. For so long, every touch carried urgency. A countdown. The awareness that one of them would eventually leave. Now there are entire evenings where they simply exist together. Reading. Watching television. Working side by side. Nothing dramatic. Nothing urgent. Just life. And somehow that feels more intimate than anything that came before.
"You know they're eventually going to figure it out."
The words leave Kinsey's mouth before she fully thinks them through.
Alexia glances over.
"Figure what out?"
"Us."
A quiet silence follows. Neither of them has discussed it much. Not because they're hiding. Not really. But because they've both spent so long protecting this relationship that public visibility still feels unfamiliar. Alexia studies her for a moment. Then shrugs lightly.
"They probably already suspect."
"True."
"Do you care?"
The question hangs between them. Kinsey thinks about it honestly. Three months ago her answer would've been different. Three months ago she still carried pieces of fear she'd spent years collecting. Fear of judgment. Fear of scrutiny. Fear of making the wrong decision.
Now?
Now she just feels tired.
Tired of hiding things that make her happy. Tired of pretending. Tired of shrinking parts of her life to make other people comfortable.
"No," she admits softly.
A smile appears.
Not on her face.
On Alexia's.
Small.
Warm.
Proud.
The kind that immediately makes Kinsey's chest ache.
"Good."
Three months later, Gotham's home stadium is louder than Kinsey expected. The noise begins before kickoff and somehow never stops. Music blasts through speakers. Fans fill the stands. Children race through the aisles wearing jerseys that nearly reach their knees. The atmosphere feels different from the matches she attended in Barcelona. Different energy. Different culture. Different city. Yet somehow the same excitement. The same love for the game. The same anticipation hanging in the air before the players take the field. Kinsey sits beside Jana near the middle of the lower bowl. Neither of them has stopped smiling since arriving. Jana, unfortunately, has spent most of that time making fun of her.
"You've checked your phone six times."
"I was answering messages."
"You were checking to see if Alexia texted."
Kinsey opens her mouth.
Then closes it.
Jana immediately points.
"Exactly."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Unfortunately, she's right.
Jana leans back in her seat looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're absolutely nervous."
Kinsey sighs.
Because once again, Jana is right. Not nervous for football reasons. Alexia doesn't need her worrying about performance. The woman has won practically everything there is to win.
No.
This feels different. Because today isn't about watching Alexia play. It's about seeing her here. In New York. In the life they've spent months building. The stadium erupts suddenly. Players emerge from the tunnel.
The crowd rises.
And Kinsey's breath catches.
There she is.
Alexia jogs onto the field alongside her new teammates, looking completely composed despite the thousands of people screaming around her.
The Gotham jersey still feels slightly surreal.
Even after months.
Even after seeing it hanging in their apartment.
Even after attending training.
Part of Kinsey still expects to see Barcelona colors.
Old habits die hard.
As the teams line up before kickoff, Alexia scans the crowd.
It happens quickly.
A brief glance.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing dramatic.
But then her eyes find Kinsey.
And she smiles.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
The kind of smile nobody else would notice.
The kind that exists entirely for one person.
Jana immediately groans.
"Oh my God."
Kinsey doesn't look away.
"What?"
"That was disgusting."
The smile on Kinsey's face grows.
Somewhere below them, the referee blows the whistle.
The match begins.
And for the first time since all of this started, everything feels exactly where it's supposed to be.
--
The match itself becomes a blur almost immediately.
Later, if someone asks Kinsey to describe specific moments, she knows she'll struggle. She'll remember pieces of it. Fragments. A perfectly timed tackle. A dangerous run down the wing. The collective roar of the crowd every time Gotham pushes forward. But the details feel secondary compared to the overwhelming realization that keeps hitting her every time she looks down at the field.
Alexia is here.
Not visiting.
Not counting down the days until she has to leave.
Not boarding a plane back to Barcelona at the end of the week.
Here.
The thought continues catching her off guard, even months later.
Maybe because for so long, every version of their relationship came with an expiration date attached to it. Every trip ended at an airport. Every goodbye came with another period of waiting. They became experts at squeezing entire relationships into borrowed time.
Now there is no countdown.
No departure gate.
No frantic attempts to memorize each other's faces before another flight.
There is only tomorrow.
And the day after that.
And every ordinary day stretching beyond it.
The realization settles over her sometime during the second half.
Gotham is pressing high up the field. The crowd is on its feet. Alexia receives the ball near midfield and immediately turns away from a defender with the kind of casual brilliance that still makes absolutely no sense to Kinsey.
She creates space where none exists.
Finds passing lanes no one else sees.
Makes difficult things look effortless.
The stadium erupts when Gotham scores minutes later.
Alexia isn't the goal scorer.
She doesn't need to be.
The entire sequence starts with her.
The crowd knows it.
Her teammates know it.
And judging by the grin on Alexia's face as she's immediately swallowed by celebrating teammates, she knows it too.
Kinsey laughs before she even realizes she's doing it.
Beside her, Jana shakes her head dramatically.
"You have that look again."
"What look?"
"The one."
"Very descriptive."
"The one where you look like somebody just handed you a winning lottery ticket."
Kinsey rolls her eyes.
But she doesn't deny it.
Because honestly?
Jana isn't wrong.
After the match, the stadium slowly empties while families linger near the barriers hoping for photographs and autographs. The evening air has cooled considerably, carrying the lingering energy of the crowd long after the final whistle.
Kinsey waits near one of the designated family sections while players complete media obligations. She learns quickly that professional football apparently involves an endless amount of standing around after games.
Interviews.
Press conferences.
Club obligations.
More interviews.
By the time Alexia finally appears, nearly forty-five minutes have passed. She's still in training gear. Her hair is damp from a post-match shower. And despite looking exhausted, the second she spots Kinsey, her entire face lights up. The effect never gets easier to handle. Not even after all this time. Alexia weaves through a small group of staff members before stopping directly in front of her.
"You waited."
Kinsey stares.
"That's your opening line?"
"What?"
"You played ninety minutes."
"And?"
"You had an incredible game."
Alexia shrugs.
A completely unbothered shrug.
The kind that immediately drives Kinsey insane.
"And?"
Kinsey narrows her eyes.
"You know exactly what you're doing."
The smile that follows is shameless.
Alexia takes one step closer.
Close enough that nobody else would notice anything unusual, but close enough that Kinsey can feel her presence.
"You came."
The simplicity of the statement catches her off guard.
Because beneath it sits something bigger.
Something neither of them says out loud.
You came.
You stayed.
You're here.
The same way Alexia is.
The same way they've both chosen to be every day since she moved.
Kinsey smiles.
"Of course I came."
For a second they simply look at each other.
Then a teammate somewhere behind Alexia whistles loudly.
"Oh, that's disgusting."
Alexia immediately groans.
Kinsey starts laughing.
Several Gotham players walk past wearing matching expressions of amusement.
Emily Sonnett points directly at Alexia.
"You've become soft."
"Leave."
"You smile way too much now." says Rose Lavelle
"Go away."
Esther walks around the corner "Don't listen to them" she walks up and leans in to Alexia to whisper in her ear "This kind of happiness looks good on you, we all know it"
Lilly Reale walks by "Alexia and Kinsey sitting in a tree!" making kissy noises at her while laughing as she walks away
Kinsey watches Alexia become increasingly horrified while her teammates continue exposing every embarrassing detail they can think of. Apparently this has become a regular occurrence. Which is objectively hilarious. By the time they finally escape toward the parking garage, Alexia looks ready to transfer clubs again.
"I'm never speaking to any of them."
"You absolutely are."
"They betrayed me."
"They seemed very nice."
"They're dead to me."
Kinsey laughs the entire walk to the car.
Life settles after that.
Not immediately.
Not perfectly.
But gradually.
The way most good things do.
Days become weeks.
Weeks become months.
The routines they'd spent so long imagining begin taking shape naturally.
Kinsey works.
Alexia trains.
Dinner happens together most nights.
Laundry somehow multiplies despite there only being two people in the apartment. Football boots continue appearing in places football boots should never be. One evening Kinsey finds a pair in the kitchen. Another appears beside the couch. A third somehow materializes in the bathroom. By the fourth incident, she decides an intervention is necessary.
"Explain."
Alexia glances up from her phone.
"Explain what?"
Kinsey points dramatically.
The boots sit directly beside the refrigerator.
Alexia follows her finger.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"I was looking for those."
Kinsey stares at her.
"They were in the kitchen."
"Right."
"The kitchen."
"Correct."
"Why?"
Alexia considers this seriously.
Actually seriously.
As though there might be a logical explanation.
Finally she shrugs.
"I don't know."
The answer is so genuinely unhelpful that Kinsey immediately starts laughing. Alexia joins her seconds later. And that's the thing nobody talks about enough. The ordinary moments. The moments that never make it into love stories. Not the declarations. Not the dramatic reunions. Not the milestones. The random Tuesday evenings spent arguing about misplaced football boots. The grocery store trips. The shared morning coffees. The way Alexia always steals food from Kinsey's plate despite ordering exactly the same meal. Those become her favorite memories. Those become the moments that matter.
Because they're real.
Because they're theirs.
Because for the first time in her life, loving someone doesn't feel like work.
It feels like peace.
One rainy evening in late autumn, Kinsey arrives home to find Alexia asleep on the couch. The television is still on. A blanket has fallen halfway onto the floor. An open book rests against her chest.
For several seconds Kinsey simply stands in the doorway looking at her. Something warm settles in her chest. The kind of feeling that's almost impossible to describe. Not excitement. Not passion. Not the overwhelming rush she felt when all of this began.
Something steadier.
Something deeper.
Home.
The realization arrives so suddenly it nearly steals her breath. Because for years she thought home was a place.
A city.
An apartment.
A future she'd carefully planned.
Now she understands something she didn't before.
Home isn't where she lives.
It's who she's building a life with.
Alexia stirs slightly in her sleep.
The movement breaks the moment.
Kinsey crosses the room quietly and kneels beside the couch.
A strand of dark hair has fallen across Alexia's face.
She brushes it away gently.
Alexia's eyes immediately open.
"You scared me."
"You were asleep."
"Barely."
Kinsey smiles.
"Liar."
Alexia reaches for her automatically.
Still half asleep.
Still not fully awake.
And somehow that simple unconscious gesture affects Kinsey more than any grand romantic speech ever could.
Because there's no performance in it.
No effort.
No thought.
Just instinct.
Alexia reaching for her because that's where she belongs.
That's where she expects her to be.
Kinsey lets herself be pulled down onto the couch.
A few seconds later she's tucked against Alexia's side beneath the blanket.
Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.
Inside, the apartment is warm.
Comfortable.
Safe.
And as Alexia presses a sleepy kiss against her hair before immediately falling back asleep, a thought quietly forms in the back of Kinsey's mind.
Tate has photographed celebrities, athletes, and fashion campaigns all over the world. She's learned how to make people comfortable in front of a camera, how to capture a story in a single frame, and most importantly, how not to get attached.
Then she's hired to photograph Lucy Bronze's new clothing line.
What starts as a simple campaign quickly turns into shared flights, late-night editing sessions, inside jokes, and a friendship neither of them saw coming. Somewhere between the camera clicks and stolen glances, the line between professional and personal begins to blur.
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