FC Barcelona / Fc Barcelona Femeni

After going on vacation, you had seen her at the facilities to use the gym with a couple of her now former teammates just yesterday. Sort of a last hurrah it seems now.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms as Alexia methodically packs her things in a bag. A Barca bag. Something she won't have much use for anymore come next week. She'll be in different colors then, no blaugrana anymore.

When she turns around, she's startled by your presence, jumping just a little bit. You smile softly at her and she sends you a smile back, one of the lopsided ones that doesn't scream professional mask.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I work here, remember?" You gesture vaguely around you, trying to be funny.

Alexia only rolls her eyes. "I wasn't aware that the physios would be back so much earlier than the team."

"I'm doing the checks with the new signings." You shrug and try to appear as non-chalantly as possible even though you've come here on a mission. "Thought I'd come to say goodbye to you. Or invite you over to my place for coffee, whichever option you like more."

Alexia's eyebrows shoot up. "Invite me over for coffee, huh?"

"We don't work together anymore and you're moving. I think that's enough reason for you to finally come over and we get this," now you gesture between the two of you, "out of our systems, don't you agree?"

You had thought about what you wanted to say beforehand. Months of dancing around each other, of playing it safe in regards to your jobs, have you wound up. You're not pretending that you aren't attracted to her anymore for the sake of your jobs. Instead you decided on the direct approach because you truly would kick yourself if you didn't try.

It's not like the two of you are particularly close or friends like you are with some of the other players. There just has been this kind of charged energy between you that made any sort of relationship outside of work impossible. It has never been addressed directly, but you both knew that if you had met up during the last few months, you most likely would've ended up having sex.

So you both maintained a professional distance after the flirting got way too carried away during a one-on-one physio session she had with you. Having your hands on her legs during that particular session definitely didn't help either.

Now that work is out of the way, it's pretty simple in your eyes. You want her, she hopefully still wants you. One time and then both of you can move on. 

You look at her expectantly, waiting for her answer to your invitation. It's a little unnerving that she takes her time to answer but it probably feels longer than it is.

Eventually, a grin spreads on her face.

"Get it out of our system, hmm?"

She takes a step closer to you, letting her eyes roam over you.

"Y-yeah." You hear yourself stutter. Having her eyes on you makes you feel hot all over and your previous confidence vanishes.

"I just thought..." You trail off, not knowing how to continue that sentence without making an ass out of yourself.

Alexia watches you struggle with a smile playing on her lips. She seems to enjoy making you squirm.

"I'd like to get it out of our system, hermosa." Again, her eyes trail over your body. You feel exposed but at the same time you've always enjoyed feeling her eyes on you.

"I'll come over when I'm finished here, I shouldn't be longer than an hour or so. Text me your address?"

You nod, relieved and a little surprised that your approach worked but glad you hadn't been wrong in how you read the situation between you two. Immediately, you take out your phone and text her your address.

"Done. I'll be waiting for you." You can't stop yourself from adding the last sentence. Your eyes go wide, you don’t want to appear so over-eager. But Alexia just grins appreciatively again, clearly not put off by it.

It's funny, for how confident you tried to handle the situation, you definitely couldn't handle it for more than a minute or so and then let her take over. Your face still feels hot when you walk out of the room and you feel your pussy get wet just from the thought of the other woman coming to your place.

When you get home, you give your open kitchen and sitting area a once over, checking that everything looks good. While you're not planning on showing off your apartment to Alexia, you also want everything to look as good as possible.

Including yourself.

So, you spend a considerable amount of time deciding what to wear. In the end, you laugh at yourself. First of all, she primarily knows you in the Barca issued clothing your wear at work, secondly, it's been made incredibly clear between the two of you that she's coming over for sex.

You don't need to impress her, you just need to feel comfortable and as confident as possible. In the end you decide on a dress. It's a little shorter than most of the things you'd wear but it accentuates your body in a way that you like.

Additionally, you decide against wearing either a bra or panties. The dress is pretty form fitting, showing off your nipples through the thin fabric. And no underwear is just because you want to surprise Alexia with it.

You hope that Alexia will appreciate these things.

When the doorbell rings, you're just starting to actually make some coffee.

Alexia is still wearing the same shorts and shirt she was when you saw her packing her things. She's also wearing the confident grin of someone who knows that they have the eyes of everyone in a room on them. Even if everyone is just you in this case.

It's the easy and relaxed grin you've grown to know very well from your time at the club. The one that makes you want to strip out of your clothes and jump her.

Funnily, you've also seen her awkward side more than enough over the last months. It doesn't make her any less attractive in your eyes, quite the contrary. It makes her more human and approachable, more attainable. But right now there's none of her awkwardness showing through, she's pure confidence.

She lets you stare at her for a moment before she chuckles.

"Are we having... coffee in the hallway or are you going to let me in?"

Immediately, your eyes widen and you step aside to let her in as quickly as possible.

You cough. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it, nena. I'm glad to give you something to look at." She winks at you, making you completely lose any footing you thought you had.

You swallow, suddenly your mouth feels dry.

Alexia walks past you and into your apartment. The short hallway opens up into your open kitchen area, where it smells like coffee now. She takes off her shoes and walks straight through into the kitchen.

You follow her slowly, trying to rewire your brain to not appear so incompetent. You were flirting with her just fine months ago but now that she's actually in your apartment and you know where this is leading to, your body decides to react like this to her? Utter betrayal.

Alexia starts looking around, focussing on some pictures that are hanging on your walls. You get two of the nice glass cups out to serve some iced coffee in.

"You can take a seat if you want." You call out to Alexia, motioning to the large couch you have in your seating area that's placed right next to your open kitchen.

"There you go." You set down one of the cups next to Alexia on the small table you have there.

Too nervous to sit down next to her, you remain standing, with your cup in hand. You lean against the counter and try to appear non-chalant. Now you're close to her but not too close to appear over-eager in your own eyes.

Leaning against the counter like this gives her a perfect view of your bare legs and your body in general. You notice her realizing this as her eyes drop from your face.

Now that you're a bit more prepared, it feels very good to have her eyes trailing over your body. She takes her time, sipping her coffee and letting her eyes roam over your body. You feel your nipples harden from the attention and know that she can definitely see them showing through the thin fabric of your dress.

That thought alone makes you feel even hotter than before. Nobody has said a word for minutes, both of you are just letting the tension in the air grow. You feel that you're already wet for her again.

If you're honest you've been very turned on ever since you encountered her in the changing room earlier. Or probably ever since you first met her.

You're waiting for her to make a move. You want to see what she'll do, if she'll finally act after you were already the one to invite her over. It feels like it's her turn now.

So, you study her face as she studies your body. Her cheeks definitely seem a little warm but otherwise she appears perfectly calm and composed. She looks like you want to come across: mostly unbothered but very present.

Alexia sets her cup down and the sound startles you a bit.

Before you can react she stands up and closes the distance between you in one quick step.

She stops right in front of you, putting both her hands on the counter behind you, bracketing you in.

"Thanks for the coffee, nena."

"You're welcome." You whisper more than anything.

She takes your coffee cup out of your hand and sets it aside, freeing your hands. Then she brackets you in again, looking at you.

"We've had enough coffee now, haven't we?"

You only nod mutely.

Without any further words, Alexia leans forwards and kisses you. Her lips feel soft against yours but her mouth is demanding. She fully embraces the control you very willingly give to her.

Your hands fall to her sides and you grip onto her shirt, trying to ground yourself. Having her lips finally on yours is overwhelming in the best way possible. It's promising of so much more.

That thought alone makes your pussy throb in anticipation.

One of her hands cups your face and she slowly rubs her thumb against your cheek while running her tongue over your lower lip, asking you for entrance.

Immediately, you open your mouth, welcoming her in.

Alexia doesn't only push her tongue inside your mouth she also takes the tiniest step closer to you, pushing her body completely against yours. The counter presses against your back a little uncomfortably but you couldn't care less because having her front press against yours makes up for it and more.

When you take a second to breathe, Alexia steps back from you but takes your hand to pull you with her. She sits down on the couch again.

"Come here." She motions for you to sit on her lap.

Instead of just straddling her, you have a different idea pop into your head. You push your foot in-between hers to make her spread her legs a little. She lets you do your thing, looking on with interest to see what's on your mind.

Sitting down and with her legs spread, her shorts ride up a little bit, exposing her strong thighs you've always noticed. You can also see that there is a bulge forming in her pants which has you clenching around nothing in anticipation.

Alexia's thighs look so inviting, you just have to sit down on them. You take a step closer, standing over one of her legs. Her hands immediately come up to your ass, kneading you through the fabric still covering it.

Having her hands on you like that makes you moan softly, earning you a satisfied smile on her face.

"Sit down, nena."

Alexia pulls you and you don't have to be asked twice, with her legs looking so inviting, you wanted nothing more than to sit on her thigh anyway.

You watch her face closely as you sit down, waiting for the moment your naked and wet pussy will make contact with her skin. And then you get rewarded: You can see when she realizes what she's feeling. Her eyes widen a little bit and her grip on your hips tightens.

"No panties, linda? Mhm, you prepared for me then? I like it."

"I'm wearing just the dress." You breathe. "Wanted you to feel what you do to me."

You feel her flexing her thigh against your pussy and it feels amazing. You dive forward, kissing her deeply.

Alexia's hands cup your ass again and she tries to make you move against her leg. You let her move your body, rubbing your wet pussy on her flexed thigh.

The feeling obviously makes you moan into her mouth and she swallows your sounds gladly.

You let one hand slowly wander downwards until you can rest it against the front of her shorts. Her hard cock feels incredible even if you're just feeling it through her shorts.

Kissing her and humping her thigh feels addicting. She flexes and relaxes her muscles against your pussy, pleasuring you with just her thigh as much as possible.

She keeps her hands firmly on your ass, dragging you over her own skin, making you move in whatever way she likes. You don't really have to do anything to hump her leg, it's mostly her doing the work for you. Her hands feel huge on your ass which you also appreciate very much.

Having her in control is so hot, she's so sexy just moving you around at her own volition.

You feel the pressure building inside of you and let it run through you in anticipation. Cumming on her thigh wasn't what you were expecting but you will gladly take an orgasm from her in any way.

You break the kiss when air becomes an issue. Both of you are panting into each other's mouths now, not kissing but still keeping very, very close.

"Why don't you take your dress off for me, nena? I want to see you."

You nod, immediately putting your hands on the hem of your dress to pull it over your head. As you're pulling it, you feel the air hit your already hard nipples and it feels as if they stiffen even more.

Alexia hums appreciatively. "Hermosa, so pretty for me."

"Just for you." You nod, her appreciative gaze making you feel great about yourself.

One of her hands comes up to your tit and she slowly lets her thumb stroke over your hard and sensitive nipple. But before you can really appreciate the touch, both of her hands are back on your ass and she makes sure you're still moving on top of her.

"Does my thigh feel good, nena?"

"Fuck, so good. I'm getting close-" You breathe but Alexia interrupts you.

"I think you should show me some appreciation for how good my thigh feels."

You're not sure what she means but then she stops your movement. You try to move on your own but her hands stay firm on your hips and keep you from moving.

"Please, Ale, let me move... I was so close." You whine and look at her with pleading eyes.

"Not yet, nena." Alexia grins and leans forwards to kiss you quickly. When she lets go of your mouth she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, making you moan. You try to rock your cunt against her thigh again, but her firm grip keeps you in place.

"I want you on your knees for me."

Her hands lift you off her and you stand with shaky legs. You're trying to find your bearings when Alexia stands up as well.

"I said on your knees. You want to be good for me, don't you?"

At her words, you immediately drop to your knees in front of her. Your face is right in front of her crotch where you can see her bulge now more prominent than when you sat on her lap.

It looks incredible even restrained by the fabric.

"Yes, I wanna be good for you, so good." You look at her expectantly, waiting for her next move.

Alexia pushes her shorts down. This gives you an even better look of her cock, straining against her boxers. The outline is very visible now, her white boxer briefs doing nothing to hide her cock.

Your face must show a clear appreciation for what you're seeing because Alexia seems to notice it.

"Oh, you like what you're seeing? Hmm, nena, do you want to taste my cock?"

You nod as you look up at her. "Please..."

Not needing any further words, Alexia pushes her boxers down as well. She does it slowly, letting her cock spring free from its confinements.

She's stepped so close to you that her cock lightly slaps against your face when she frees it.

"Ooops." Is all she says and her tone tells you that she meant for exactly this to happen. It's so hot to see her fully confident, doing whatever she pleases. You feel yourself clenching around nothing.

Her hard cock stands to attention right in front of you. It's probably one of the largest cocks you've ever seen, it's especially thick. You know it'll be a struggle to fit but it'll also be so good to feel her stretching you.

You look up again to find her already staring at you. She nods once.

You keep your hands in your lap for now and lean forwards, softly mouthing at her balls. You push your face into her, your nose brushing her shaft as you lick the underside of her balls before sucking on them.

When you open your eyes you immediately make eye-contact with Alexia who looks down at you. Her pupils are completely blown and when you suck a little harsher, her head tips back.

You can see her mouth opening slightly but no sounds come out. Yet.

You keep your mouth opened as you move from her balls along the underside of her cock. When you make it to the tip, you don't play around anymore, you take her bulbous head into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down.

With each move downward you take more and more of her cock into your mouth. Taking more of her thickness into your mouth means that you have to really widen your lips, it aches trying to take her all in. You put your hands on her thighs, giving you a bit more stability as you move up and down her cock.

Finally, you hear Alexia groaning above you, so you must be doing something right.

You open up your throat more and more as well, allowing her cock to really go deep. When you come up you twirl your tongue around her tip and push yourself off her cock fully.

A string of your saliva still connects your lips and her cock. You look up at her, making sure that your lips are half opened still.

"Don't stop." She groans and both of her hands come to grab your head. One of them rests against your cheek for a second, stroking you softly, almost tenderly. But then she puts both of her hands on the back of your head, burying them in your hair.

This allows her to guide your mouth back onto her cock. She's completely taking control again, keeping your head in place and slowly moving her hips to fuck your mouth.

You feel yourself drooling the more she moves, some of your saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin. It shouldn't be as hot as it is, getting used like this, but it absolutely is. This is exactly what you wanted when you stepped into the changing room earlier.

"You like this, don't you?" Alexia is talking to you even though you both know that you definitely couldn't answer right now. "Getting your face fucked by me. I've seen the looks you gave me, you've been so desperate for months now, nena."

She laughs a little. "It's cute, the way you tried to hide it, as if I couldn't see the way your eyes dropped to my crotch. You thought you were subtle, too."

You hadn't realized how obvious you had been. You would feel ashamed if you weren't currently sucking her cock. And it doesn't seem that she minded at all.

You feel her throbbing inside of your mouth, each push bringing her closer to cumming. But then she stops her movements, keeping your mouth full of her cock.

You look up at her as well as you can manage.

She grins and then snaps her hips once, making you gag on her cock.

"Make me cum, nena. I wanna cum down your throat."

Her grip on your head lets up slightly but she keeps her hands on you.

You bring your hand to her shaft and only keep the tip of her cock in your mouth. With your hand, you jack her off while sucking on her tip with your mouth. Since she was already close before, you know that it won't take much longer until she'll cum.

You open your mouth, letting her tip rest on your tongue and give her a full view of the inside of your mouth.

"I'm close, so close. You're doing so well for me, so hot, nena."

You preen at her words, continuing the efforts with your hand. Her cock is pulsating in your hand and you hear Alexia groaning above you. Her grip in your hair tightens again, she's clearly very close.

Finally, she twitches and then she's cumming into your opened mouth. Her cum hits your tongue but you also let her cock slip out of your mouth so that some of her cum drips down and onto your naked tits.

When her load has stopped, you look up at Alexia, showing her the cum in your mouth, before swallowing her seed. You put your hands on your tits and spread the cum there over your skin, essentially massaging it into your skin.

"So hot, so perfect for me." She mumbles and groans again.

Then Alexia extends her hands to you and helps you stand up. She kisses you deeply and moans at the taste of herself on your tongue. Your mouth and chin are sticky with saliva and cum and the kiss turns sloppy quickly. Involving lots of tongue, teeth clashing, and just hungrily devouring each other.

When she pulls back, you can't help but whine in the back of your throat, definitely needy for any kind of touch from her.

Alexia pushes you back to your couch and makes you lie down on it.

Automatically you lift and bend your legs and spread your thighs for Alexia, revealing your glistening cunt to her.

"Qué bonita."

Alexia kneels on the couch, but keeps one leg on the ground, giving herself more stability.

"And so wet for me."

"Yeah," you nod, "I've been wet for so long..."

"Oh, poor nena. Have I made you wet?" Her hand comes to your pussy and she lets two of her fingers glide softly through your soaked folds.

You can only nod breathlessly, too occupied with the feeling of her hand on your cunt.

"Such a beautiful pussy. I can't wait to fuck your tight cunt, nena."

"Please... please fuck me, Alexia."

"You want me to fuck you?" With that she flicks her thumb over your clit, making you moan out loud at the sudden touch to the sensitive nub.

"Ye-es, I need to feel your cock so bad, need you to fill me, please." You know that you're begging her to fuck you now. And you also know that she's enjoying it tremendously. But you don't care, you just need her to finally fuck you, you're not above begging for that.

"Hmm, I like having my fingers on you though." Suddenly, she pushes the two fingers into your pussy. You gasp, you hadn't expected the intrusion, too focused on her talking to you.

"Mhm," you moan, "feels so good, Ale."

Her fingers move slowly in and out of you. It feels good, but having seen the thickness of her cock, it just isn't enough, you need to feel it inside of you.

"See?" She grins down at you. "This is good, right?"

You nod, of course you nod.

"Please..."

"Hmm?"

"I need your cock, please." You almost sob. "Need to feel- need to feel your thick cock stretch me, please."

"Ah," Alexia stops the movement of her fingers and then retracts them slowly. She bends over you and kisses you quickly. While still close, she brings her fingers, still glistening with your juices, to her own mouth and gently licks them clean.

"You taste so good, nena."

The sight of Alexia leaning over you and licking your wetness off her fingers has you clenching around nothing once more. You moan when she tells you how good you taste.

Finally, she pushes herself up and you watch with baited breath as she aligns her cock with your pussy. You feel her tip against your entrance.

"Look at me." Alexia demands and your eyes snap up to find hers. "I wanna see your face when I push in."

She smirks when you make eye-contact.

Then she finally pushes her cock inside your pussy. Your eyes widen at the intrusion and you let out a long moan. Her thickness is a lot and while she's going slow, she's not stopping to let you adjust.

Having her cock stretch you burns at first. You can't really stop to think about it though because Alexia pulls out again almost completely only to slowly push back in.

Your mouth falls open and you start to moan pretty much continuously with her movements. You know that you're not going to last long, you were ready to cum on her thigh earlier, having her cock inside of you will make you cum quickly for sure.

Alexia puts her hands on your thighs, maintaining her slow strokes into you.

"F-fuck, Ale, fe-eels so good!" You moan, struggling to get any words out.

"Yeah?" She grins.

"-'m getting close- again."

"Already? Just from a couple of strokes? So desperate, nena, so desperate to cum on my cock."

You nod and whine. You really are getting very close. Alexia isn't changing anything about her pace or rhythm though, just watching you fall apart around her cock at this slow pace.

And even though there's no attention to your clit, her penetration already is a lot for your needy pussy.

"I- 'm go-nna-"

And then you're cumming on Alexia's thick cock. Your orgasm crashes into you, with all the pent up tension from earlier releasing at once. The pleasure runs through your body, making you twitch and shake beneath Alexia.

You're pretty much screaming from the pleasure your orgasm is giving you, not being able to hold back at all. You also wouldn't want to. You want to show Alexia exactly how she makes you feel.

In turn, Alexia keeps fucking you through your orgasm and prolonging it for you. There's no need to speed up, instead she just maintains her slow thrusts into your cunt.

"Wow, nena, that felt good, hmm?" Alexia lets go of your thighs and leans her body over you again, kissing you. You welcome her tongue gladly, letting her swallow a moan.

She has kept herself hovering over you with her arms so far, but now Alexia lies down on you completely. The feeling almost takes your breath away, her broad and athletic body resting on yours, pressing you down into the couch, feels amazing.

She starts slowly moving inside of you again. One of her arms comes around your head, holding you, while the other rests next to your head on the other side. She's essentially hugging you and you put your arms around her back as well.

Alexia's face is buried in the crook of your neck and you feel her hot breath against your skin.

Her hips start moving a little faster than before and she also puts a little more force into her thrusts, fucking you harder than before. The stretch of her thick cock still burns a little but it's such a satisfying burn that you'd gladly have it all the time.

You hear Alexia groaning into your neck as her thrusts get just a bit faster.

"¡Tómalo! Take my thick cock!"

You can already feel the pressure building inside of you again. Having Alexia on top of you like that is just so good, you get overwhelmed quickly. The harder and faster she fucks you, the more overwhelmed you get.

"Y-you fill me so well. Fuck, incredible." You try to pull her even closer to you which obviously isn't possible.

Instead, you scratch over her back, too overwhelmed to put your energy anywhere else. She moans loudly into your ear when she feels your nails digging into her back.

Her back muscles twitch under your fingers with each of her thrusts. You're pretty sure she's close to cumming as well.

Alexia's thrusts slow down for a moment and she fucks into you hard and deep, moving her hips into yours with force. She's probably trying to hold her orgasm back for a while longer but it does nothing to calm you down.

"Cum for me, nena! I can feel that you're close, I know you want to, cum for me." She sucks on your neck and even lightly bites down to stress her point.

Her deep thrusts are hitting all the right spots and just like that, the knot inside of you explodes again and you clench around her cock once more. You moan loudly and sink your short nails into Alexia's back as you cum for a second time.

Alexia pushes herself up a little and covers her mouth with yours as she slowly fucks you through your orgasm. When she pulls back, both of you are completely out of breath. Your mouths are still close, just breathing the same air, trying to get your bearings back.

"Bien hecho, nena." She kisses you again.

"You're a wild one, eh? Scratching my back like that?"

Your face feels hot all of a sudden, but you only shrug. "I got so overwhelmed..."

"Mierda, you're cute." She pecks your lips before pushing herself back into a kneeling position again. Her hands softly caress your thighs for a moment. Then she pulls out of you, making you whimper at the sudden empty feeling inside of your cunt.

Before you can even think to complain, her hands are on you and she turns you around. Suddenly, you find yourself on your stomach.

"Come on, ass up." She prompts and her hands grab your hips to pull them up. Together, you lift your hips and ass off the couch. You arch your back, knowing the angle will feel better like that.

You use your arms to rest your head on them, while Alexia's hands stay on your hips.

"Such a nice ass, hermosa."

She runs her hands over your hips and ass, grabbing a handful of your flesh and squeezing you. The attention to your ass makes you moan, you're extra sensitive there.

Without further warning, Alexia pushes into you again. One of her hands is still squeezing your ass but the other one has probably grabbed her cock. You can't really see what she's doing but her cock is definitely back in your now pretty sensitive cunt.

The two of you moan together when Alexia pushes into you.

Her hands grab your hips as she starts to fuck you from behind. This time, she doesn't start slowly at all, she's fucking you with a pretty fast and hard pace already.

You feel how your body moves from her thrusts, it's almost as if she wants to fuck you deeper into the couch. Your tits rub over the material of the couch, stimulating your sensitive nipples in the process.

At this point, you're so overstimulated and blissful that you can only moan with each of her thrusts. You want to tell her how good this new angle feels and how good her cock fills you, but you just can't.

Instead, you concentrate on the feeling of the veins of her cock running along your inner walls, your cunt is so sensitive by now that every sensation is heightened. Her cock is hitting spots inside of you that she hasn't hit before and it feels amazing.

Even though you've already cum twice, you know that you will cum a third time with this new angle.

Alexia is really getting into fucking you hard and fast, for good measure she also slaps your ass a couple of times. She groans when you moan extra loud for her after the slaps.

She reaches around you and pulls one of your arms up from under you.

"I'm close, nena." She grits out, voice straining. It's clearly hard for her to talk. "Want us to cum together, need you to..."

Instead of continuing to talk, she just puts your hand on your clit. It's pretty clear what she wants from you. And even though you know that your clit is very sensitive because it has been a little neglected so far, you of course oblige.

You clench immediately, when your fingers make contact with your clit, the sensation is entirely overwhelming. Alexia's thrusts in turn get a little less coordinated and more sloppy, surely a sign that she's very close as well.

"F-f-fuuuuuck. Oh my gosh, 'm gonna-" You start babbling. "So good, Ale. Cum inside of me, please? Need your cum filling me..."

"I-inside?" Alexia's voice sounds surprised when she clarifies.

"Pleaaaaase, please, need it inside."

You feel Alexia throb inside of you and then she moans loudly as she finally cums. Her hot seed spills into your cunt, filling you up just like you wanted. Alexia tries to maintain movement while she cums, her thrusts slow but still somehow hard.

Her cock is still shooting its big load into you when you cum again as well. All you see is white, this third orgasm entirely overwhelming for your body. Your back arches even more if possible and you moan loudly into the cushions of your couch.

Alexia collapses into you and pushes your entire body against the couch again. She lies on top of you with her cock still nestled into your cunt. Both of you are breathing deeply as you both come down from your respective orgasms.

She presses a couple of kisses against your cheek and neck, anywhere she can reach really.

The bird feeder had turned out perfectly, of course it had, and you’d been ridiculously pleased to see the birds making full use of it. Alexia, on the other hand, had been considerably less enthusiastic about the increase in bird droppings on the balcony. You considered it a small price to pay.

Another faint ping sounds from your bedside table. Then another.

You blink, your bird-related thoughts drifting back to the present. Maybe that first one had been what woke you after all.

You don’t normally wake up to that many messages unless they’re from Alexia, which you’re fairly certain they aren’t, considering she’s still curled against your back, one arm draped lazily over your waist. It could be Maggie, though she only texts this early if she genuinely has something to bother you with. If it were an emergency, she’d call.

Maybe it’s Maria. She occasionally wakes up with something she absolutely has to share. Usually a meme, or outrage over another environmental scandal caused by some big corporation.

Careful not to disturb Alexia, you shuffle a little closer to the bedside table and reach for your phone. Squinting at the bright screen, you see Maria’s name. A smile tugs at your lips as you unlock it, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s found this time.

Maria: Are you awake?

Maria: Are you with Alexia?

Maria: Have either of you looked at your phones yet?

You blink at the screen, your sleepy smile fading into a frown as your brain slowly catches up. You check the time. Nearly seven o’clock. Pretty early, even by Maria’s standards. Strange. Must be another scandal.

Still… why mention Alexia?

You: Good morning to you too 😘

You: What’s up?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Maria: Are you okay?

The frown deepens.

You: I’m fine. Are you?

Maria: Have you seen anything online?

You stare at the message. What on earth is this about?

You: No, I’ve literally just woken up.

You: What’s going on?

Maria: Okay. You may need to sit down for this.

A quiet huff of laughter escapes you. What the fuck?

You: I’m lying down if that counts.

Maria: Good.

Maria: I need to tell you something.

Your thumb hovers over the screen. Maybe this is more serious than you first thought.

You: What is it??

Maria: Okay. I don’t want to scare you.

Maria: But I figured it would be better hearing it from a friend.

A knot forms low in your stomach as you carefully push yourself upright, leaning back against the headboard. Alexia stirs beside you, her arm slipping from around your waist to rest lazily across your thighs, but she doesn’t wake.

Hear what from a friend?

Her messages never start like this.

You: You’re kind of already scaring me.

You: What’s going on???

Maria takes a little longer to reply this time. Just long enough for your imagination to start filling in the blanks.

Maria: There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.

Maria: The internet’s figured it out.

You blink.

You: Figured what out???

Maria: About you and Alexia.

You stare at the screen.

What?

Your stomach twists.

You: Please elaborate Maria, figured what out???

Maria: You and Alexia! They know about you.

You frown. Well… of course people know about you and Alexia. You’ve never exactly hidden your relationship. Fans have seen you together before, out for dinner, walking through Barcelona. Every now and then someone asks Alexia for a photo while you hover nearby.

That’s hardly new. And it’s never been a problem. You just smile politely, and those who notice you smile back.

So… what exactly is Maria talking about?

Unless…

You scroll up a little to see the previous messages.

The internet’s figured it out.

Not people. The internet.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Wait—

Because the internet is a lot bigger than just people. A whole lot bigger.

You: What do you mean the internet???

Maria: There’s pictures of you and Alexia at the final.

Your eyes widen at the screen, your hold tightening about your phone.

Maria: And you know what people are like, they start connecting the dots.

Maria: They’re everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. People are talking.

Your stomach drops.

You don’t have social media, so you have no idea what she’s looking at.

You: Show me.

There’s a pause. Then your phone buzzes.

Maria: *photo*

Maria: This is one of them.

You open the screenshot. It’s a photo of you and Alexia embracing after the game. Your face buried against her shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around you. A perfectly ordinary moment.

Until your eyes drift to the comments beneath it.

‘OMG SHE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!’

‘There’s no way they’re just friends’

‘Have you seen the way she looks at her?’

‘Who is she???’

‘I’ve been saying this for months!’

You stare at the screen. The screenshot only captures a handful of comments, but the number at the top tells you there’s thousands more. Thousands.

On one post.

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You should put the phone down. You know that. Alexia would tell you that. Maggie would tell you that. But a small, anxious part of you needs to know. Needs to see how far this has gone. And before you can stop yourself, the panic wins and your intrusive thoughts take over.

You: Show me more.

Maria: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

You: Why? I need to see them.

Maria: It’s just more photos. More people guessing. More people talking.

Maria: I just wanted you to know before someone else told you.

You huff breath.

Of course, you could just lock your phone, roll back over, tuck yourself against Alexia and pretend none of this exists.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Why would it matter?

And yet… the tightness creeping into your chest tells a different story. Your mind is already racing, filling in the gaps with possibilities far worse than the truth. You don’t know why, but you need to know.

You: Please.

You: Show me.

Maria: I really don’t think you should read all of it.

You: Why?

Maria: Because you’re going to keep scrolling looking for the comment that makes you feel better. And instead you’ll find twenty that make you feel worse.

A lump settles in your throat. She’s probably right.

Maria: Trust me. I just wanted you to know.

Maria: It doesn’t matter what they’re saying.

Of course it doesn’t. They’re strangers. People you’ll never meet, whose opinions should have no bearing on your life whatsoever. So why does your chest still feel impossibly tight?

Why does not knowing somehow feel even worse?

Why do you have this sudden impulsive need to see all of it?

You don’t notice Alexia stir beside you. Her fingers flex lazily against your thighs, instinctively reaching for you.

“Bon dia,” she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.

You don’t answer, your eyes still fixed on the screen, having already made the decision.

You: Send me more.

Maria: Y/n, there are hundreds. I can’t screenshot all of Twitter.

“Amor?”

You frown. Well… how are you supposed to see them? For a split second, you’re tempted to create an account yourself. To go against all of your personal morals just to see what the internet is gossiping about.

Well… apparently you.

“Y/n?”

You’re finally pulled from your thoughts. Alexia is watching you now, propped up on one elbow, a sleepy frown beginning to crease her forehead.

“What’s wrong, amor?”

You hold her gaze for a moment, your thoughts racing. You know you should explain. You know you should tell her what’s happened. But all you can think about is seeing what everyone else is seeing.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

You surprise even yourself with that.

Her frown deepens. “What is it?”

Your eyes drop back to your own phone. At the screenshot.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

You could put your phone down, roll back into Alexia’s arms and pretend none of this exists. The posts would still be there in an hour. This afternoon. Tomorrow.

You could choose not to look.

Your chest tightens as you look back at her.

“Please?” The word comes out quieter than you intended, but the desperation behind it is impossible to hide.

Alexia studies you for a beat before reaching across to her bedside table. She doesn’t press you for answers. She simply unlocks her phone and places it gently into your hand.

You stare down at it. Your thumb hovers over the screen. You don’t want to do this. You know you shouldn’t.

“Amor…” Alexia says softly, sitting up beside you and leaning back against the headboard. “Talk to me.”

You look at her. Really look at her. The concern in her sleepy eyes makes something tighten painfully in your chest. You want to tell her. You want her to wrap her arms around you and tell you everything’s okay.

Instead, the need to know wins.

Your gaze drops back to the phone in your hands as you open Twitter. Nothing immediately jumps out on the home page. For one fleeting second, you wonder if you’ve misunderstood. Then you type Alexia’s name into the search bar.

Your stomach drops.

Hundreds upon hundreds of posts. Photos. Videos. Memes. Thread after thread after thread.

All about Alexia’s ‘girlfriend.’

Your thumb stops on one post. It’s a photo of the two of you after the final.

You’re standing close together, your fingers brushing against the medal hanging around her neck.

You scroll to the next photo.

The two of you smiling at something outside the frame.

You keep scrolling.

Another.

Your hand resting lightly on Alexia’s shoulder as she laughs.

Another.

The two of you talking with Eli and Alba.

Another.

Alexia looking at you.

Another.

You looking back.

Eventually, your thumb stills.

You open the comments.

‘Maybe they’re just friends?’

‘Friends don’t look at each other like that.’

‘They’re definitely together.’

‘The way Alexia looks at her…’

‘Does anyone know who she is?’

‘She could do better.’

Your eyes catch on that last comment.

And for some reason, that one hurts more than the others. You stare at the words, your chest tightening slightly. Out of all the comments, that’s the one that sticks. Not because you believe it. Not completely.

But because, somewhere deep down, it finds the exact doubt you’ve tried not to listen to. The little voice that has been there since the beginning. The one that wonders how someone like Alexia could choose someone like you.

You hate that a stranger’s words can make you question something you know is real. Something Alexia has shown you every single day. But there’s a small, horrible part of you that wonders if maybe they see something you don’t. If maybe they’re looking at you and wondering the same thing you wondered at the start.

What are you doing here? How do you fit into her world?

Your throat tightens.

It’s the kind of comment you knew you’d find. You’d known before you’d even opened Twitter.

Because that’s the thing about insecurities. Sometimes all they need is someone else to say them out loud.

There are probably hundreds more. And yet you’d looked anyway.

“Y/n?”

Alexia’s hand settles gently against your thigh.

“Amor… what’s going on?”

You keep staring at the screen. Your mind feels strangely blank. As though it’s still trying to catch up with what your eyes have already seen. Words lodge somewhere in your throat, refusing to come.

Instead, you simply hand her the phone. She looks at you first, eyes searching your face for any kind of clue. She doesn’t find any. Then she takes it. Her eyes scan the screen for a moment before her thumb begins to move.

One thread. Then another. Then another.

The silence stretches between you.

You search her face for something. Shock. Annoyance. Anger. Anything.

Instead, her expression barely changes.

After a long moment, she lets out a quiet breath. “Oh.”

You lower your gaze to your lap. “Yeah.”

Silence settles between you.

You lift your hands to rub at your tired eyes, as if you can somehow erase the comments, the speculation, the thousands of strangers suddenly having an opinion on your life.

Alexia’s hand comes back to rest gently on your thigh. “Amor?”

The worry in her voice makes your chest tighten.

When you lower your hands, she immediately threads her fingers through yours, her thumb brushing absent-mindedly across your knuckles. She’s still searching your face. Trying to work out what you’re thinking. How you’re feeling.

You manage something that vaguely resembles a smile. “Guess we should’ve expected it.”

She doesn’t smile back. “I’m sorry, amor—”

You shake your head quickly, cutting her off before she can finish.

You know what she’s going to say. That it will be okay. That you don’t need to worry. That she’ll protect you.

And you believe her. You do.

But right now, you don’t want to fall apart.

“You know what? I’m fine.”

The words come out a little too quickly. You nod, more to yourself than to her.

“I’m not going to freak out about it.”

Your own voice sounds unconvinced.

“It’s not like they actually know anything about us. They’re just… guessing, right?”

“Amor—”

“And the pictures hardly show anything, so it’s not like they know—”

“Amor—”

“It’s just gossip. People love to talk.”

“Bebé.”

Her voice cuts gently through the spiral. Soft. Steady. Enough to make you stop.

You look back at her, suddenly aware you’ve barely taken a breath. Your chest feels tight. Your stomach churns.

“Okay…” You let out, a little shakily. “Maybe I’m freaking out a little.”

“That’s okay, bebé. I know this is a lot—”

“A lot?” You shake your head, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “Alexia… there are pictures of me all over the internet.”

She shifts so she’s facing you properly now, taking both of your hands in hers.

“I’m sorry, amor,” she says, her thumbs brushing slow circles across your knuckles.

“For what?” you murmur with a shrug. “I mean… it was probably bound to happen eventually.”

You glance down at your joined hands.

“We knew it might. We’ve talked about it before. If anything…” You let out a small breath. “We should probably be grateful we’ve managed this long.”

She sighs quietly.

“That doesn’t make it any easier to find out like this.”

You give a small shrug. “I suppose I’d rather find out here with you than somewhere else.”

You offer her a smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Neither does hers.

“How do you feel?” you ask softly.

Alexia looks down for a moment before answering.

“I think…” She exhales. “I’m annoyed.”

You wait as she searches for her words.

“I’m annoyed there are people out there talking about us. Talking about you.”

She squeezes your hands gently.

“But I can’t pretend I’m surprised.”

You nod slightly.

“They’ve always done this,” she continues. “If I smile at someone, stand a little too close, hug a teammate for too long…” She shakes her head with a tired smile. “Apparently I’m dating half the world.”

A small laugh escapes you.

“Well…” you say, the corner of your mouth lifting. “I certainly hope not.”

That earns you a proper smile.

You reach for her phone again, opening one of the photos.

“Honestly,” you mutter, “I’m mostly offended they couldn’t find a flattering picture of me.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, look at this one,” you say, pointing at the screen, “my hair’s all over the place.”

She laughs softly.

“And do you know how hard it was not to kiss you after the game?” You glance up at her. “I was trying to be sensible. If I’d have known people were taking photos anyway…” You shrug. “I’d have just kissed you like I wanted.”

Her laughter comes a little easier this time. It fades into another comfortable silence. One that still feels a little fragile.

She gives your hand another gentle squeeze. “I know you were worried about something like this happening…”

You hesitate before lowering your gaze. It was true. The thought had lingered quietly at the back of your mind for far longer than you’d ever admitted aloud. The inevitable reality that, one day, people would figure it out.

You hand her phone back, your fingers brushing hers as she takes it.

“It’s okay,” you say, more confidently than you feel. “I mean… it’s just photos, right? It’s not like they’re doing any harm.”

“Sí.” She nods, idly scrolling through the posts again. “They don’t really show anything. They’re just…”

Her thumb stills.

The change is almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“Oh.”

You look up.

“What?”

She tears her eyes away from the screen and shakes her head far too quickly.

“Nothing.”

Your stomach drops.

“Alexia.”

“It’s nothing, amor.”

You know that tone. The one she uses when she’s trying to protect you.

She meets your eyes. The concern on her face tells you everything before she says another word.

Your hand reaches out without you even thinking about it.

“Alexia…”

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, she places the phone into your waiting hand.

You scroll back to where she’d stopped. Your eyes catch on the headline.

WHO IS THE WOMAN CELEBRATING WITH ALEXIA PUTELLAS?

If your stomach could sink any further, it would.

As it turns out, though, even stomachs have their limits.

You stare at the screen. A headline. From a gossip website.

Someone has actually taken the time to sit down, write, and publish an article all about Alexia’s ‘mystery woman’.

You tap it open.

Fans have been left convinced the Barcelona captain has a girlfriend after emotional scenes following Saturday’s Champions League final…

Your grip tightens around the phone.

“There’s…” you murmur, the words catching somewhere in your throat. “There’s actually an article. They’ve actually written a whole piece… just because we hugged.”

You scroll further. Photo after photo. Different angles. Different shots.

All from one afternoon. One match. One celebration. One moment where you’d forgotten the cameras existed. One moment that had never felt public until now.

You swallow.

All of this… because you’d wanted to hug your girlfriend after she’d become a European champion.

Alexia reaches for the phone, but you instinctively pull it back, your eyes still scanning the page.

“I can’t believe this,” you whisper. “Why would anyone write this? What is there even to write about? It’s just… pictures.”

You keep reading. Then your eyes catch on another line.

“Sources say the woman is an environmental activist.”

You stop.

“Sources?” Your brows knit together. “What sources?”

You read the sentence again, hoping you’ve misunderstood.

“How do they know that?”

Your heart begins to race.

“If they know that…” Your voice trails off before finding itself again. “What else do they know?”

Alexia gently takes the phone from your hands this time, her expression calm despite the worry in her eyes.

“Amor,” she says softly. “Trust me. These sites turn nothing into something. Half the time they’re guessing.”

“But what if they’re not? I mean, they got my job right.”

She doesn’t answer immediately.

“What if they know my name?” you continue, your thoughts beginning to tumble over one another. “And if they know my name, they can find out where I work. Where I’m from. They could—”

“Amor.” Her voice is gentle, but firm enough to cut through the spiral. She takes both of your hands in hers. “I know,” she murmurs.

You shake your head.

“But… it’s not right.” Your throat tightens. “That moment wasn’t for them.”

You look down at your joined hands.

“It was ours,” you whisper.

Alexia’s face softens.

“I’m sorry, amor.”

You know she’s apologising for something that isn’t really her fault. That doesn’t stop her sounding like she wishes it was.

The silence stretches between you. Eventually, you let out a slow breath.

“It’s okay.”

Alexia studies you carefully, not entirely convinced.

You offer her a small smile. “It is.”

The words feel a little heavier than they should.

You squeeze her hands before letting go.

“I just…” You shake your head. “It’s just weird.”

You force out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll get used to it.”

Whether you’re trying to reassure Alexia or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek before climbing out of bed.

“Come on. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Alexia watches you for a moment longer. “You don’t have to, amor.”

“I know.” You manage another small smile. “But I want to. You have training soon anyway.”

“I don’t have to go in,” she says gently. “I can stay here with you.”

You shake your head.

“Don’t be silly,” you say with a soft smile. “Don’t let this ruin the day. I’ll be fine.”

Her eyes search yours. Like she’s trying to decide whether she believes you. Or whether you believe yourself.

After a long moment, she nods.

“Okay.”

You climb out of bed and pad quietly towards the door. In the doorway, you pause and glance back.

“It’s fine, Alexia.” You offer her another small smile. “Really.”

She smiles back. Just as softly.

Then you disappear down the hallway.

Alexia’s smile slowly fades. She keeps looking at the doorway long after you’ve gone. Finally, once she’s certain you’re out of earshot, she lets out a quiet sigh.

Her eyes fall to the phone lying beside her. Such a small thing.

Yet somehow, it had managed to remind you both that the little world you’d built together wasn’t quite as private as it had felt.

————Alexia———

The feeling has sat heavily in her stomach all day, a familiar knot of worry tangled with guilt, frustration and something she can’t quite put a name to. She thinks it would almost be easier to tell herself she doesn’t know why she can’t settle, but the truth is she knows exactly what it is.

She saw her face. When she looked at the photos. When she read the article. When she handed the phone back and insisted everything was fine.

It wasn’t fine.

Alexia is more certain of that than she’s been of anything else all day. Y/n wasn’t lying to her. She was trying to convince herself just as much as Alexia was trying to convince her, and that somehow hurts even more.

Alexia should have seen it coming.

Not the article itself, that part never surprises her anymore, but the effect it would have on Y/n. She should have realised that one day the outside world would find its way into their relationship, and she should have been ready to help Y/n through it instead of letting her discover it like this.

She’s glad it was Maria who told her. Maria had done exactly the right thing, and Alexia couldn’t fault her for that. Even so, she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been her. She should have been the one to prepare her. She should have done more to explain what this part of her life really looked like before Y/n had to experience it for herself.

For a brief moment, Alexia wonders if she should have stayed home. If she should have ignored training and sat beside Y/n until she knew she was okay. Until the fear had passed.

The thought disappears almost as quickly as it comes.

Because that isn’t what Y/n needs.

Y/n doesn’t need someone to hold her hand every time something becomes difficult. She doesn’t need Alexia to step in and shield her from everything that comes with this life. She’s never needed that.

That’s one of the things Alexia loves most about her. Y/n is strong. She is independent. She has built a life completely separate from Alexia’s, and Alexia would never want to take that away from her.

But she does want Y/n to know that when things become too heavy, she doesn’t have to carry them alone.

Her mind drifts back to one of the first conversations they’d had about it. They’d been sitting together on Alexia’s sofa after their first date at her apartment, and Y/n had admitted, almost shyly, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever fit into her world. She’d told Alexia she was used to small. She wasn’t used to cameras, headlines or the constant feeling that strangers thought they had a right to know things about their life.

Alexia remembers asking if it scared her.

Y/n smiled then, nervous but honest.

She’d told her it did.

But she also said she was willing to accept it because Alexia cared about her.

Even then, when they barely knew each other, Y/n had been willing to step into a world that frightened her simply because Alexia was in it.

Maybe that’s why the guilt sits so heavily now.

They’ve talked about it plenty of times since then. Every so often Y/n would ask a question, and Alexia would answer it as honestly as she could, and every time Alexia reassured her that it would be okay. That the two of them would deal with whatever came together.

But talking about it and living it are two very different things. Alexia has always known that.

Maybe she should have pushed the conversations further. Maybe she should have explained more instead of quietly hoping that, somehow, this part of her life would stay at arm’s length for a little while longer. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep Y/n in the dark, she just wanted her to have a little longer living inside the bubble the two of them had built before reality inevitably caught up with it.

Because she’d be lying if she said this hadn’t worried her from the very beginning.

A small part of her had always been afraid that one day Y/n would see this side of her life for what it really was, and that once she did, she’d realise loving her came with a price she never should have had to pay.

She’d already tried texting, sticking to their usual routine. If anything was wrong, maybe it would be easier to tell through a screen.

Alexia: Miss you, bebé ❤️

Alexia: How’s your day going?

A reply comes a couple of minutes later.

Y/n: It’s okay. Saw a really pretty blue tit on the bird feeder. Think they like the new seeds I bought.

Y/n: How’s training?

Y/n: Miss you too.

Alexia reads back over the messages.

To anyone else, they’d look completely normal. Just two girlfriends checking in with each other during the day.

But she knows Y/n.

Maybe she’s overthinking it. Maybe the morning has simply left her reading into things that aren’t there.

Still, she keeps the conversation going, hoping for something that sounds a little more like Y/n.

Alexia: It’s good.

Alexia: Patri and Mapi are currently arguing over who can do the most one-handed push-ups.

Alexia: They refuse to admit I’d beat them both.

Normally, Alexia wouldn’t have time to lock her phone before another message appeared. Y/n would have replied with another joke, teased her for getting involved, or insisted Mapi would somehow cheat.

Instead…

Y/n: 😂

Alexia stares at the emoji for a moment.

It’s a perfectly normal response. A perfectly adequate response.

She exhales softly, telling herself not to overanalyse a single emoji.

Before she has the chance to spiral any further, another message appears.

Y/n: What do you want for dinner?

Alexia’s brows knit together. That was unusual.

If Y/n was already at Alexia’s apartment, she would usually wait until Alexia got home so they could cook together. It had quietly become one of Alexia’s favourite parts of the day.

She certainly wouldn’t be asking Alexia what she wants for dinner at two thirty in the afternoon.

Maybe she was reading too much into it. Or maybe…

Maybe Y/n was doing what she always did whenever something was weighing on her.

Keeping busy.

Finding little jobs to fill the silence, hoping that if she stayed occupied for long enough, her thoughts might eventually settle on their own.

Part of Alexia wants to tell her not to worry. That they can cook together when she gets home. That dinner can wait. But another part of her knows this isn’t really about dinner.

It’s about giving her mind something to do. Something ordinary to focus on instead of everything else.

So instead, she plays along.

Alexia: How about pasta with that new sauce you wanted to try?

A reply comes almost instantly.

Y/n: 👍

Alexia stares at the message for a moment. She knows she shouldn’t push it.

She wants to ask if she’s really okay. She wants to tell her she doesn’t have to pretend everything’s fine.

But she knows she shouldn’t.

If Y/n needed time to process, she’d give it to her.

With a quiet sigh, she slips her phone back into her bag. Training starts again in a few minutes. Maybe throwing herself into the gym will be enough to quiet her own thoughts.

Somehow, she doubts it.

———— You ———

You stare into the fridge for what is probably the twelve time in the last two hours. What you’re hoping to find, you’re not entirely sure. You’d already made a sandwich, had some snacks, drunk two cups of tea.

You close the fridge with a quiet sigh. You’re not even hungry. Just… restless.

There’s plenty of things you could be doing. There’s a book waiting on the coffee table, some laundry that probably needs folding. The plants on the balcony could do with watering again, even if you’d only done them this morning.

Except, every time you try to do something, your mind drifts straight back to this morning. The photos. The comments. The article. The fact that people are wondering who you are.

You lean against the kitchen counter, arms folded tightly across your chest.

Are they wondering right now?

As you stand here, in the kitchen, are strangers somewhere in the world talking about your life like it’s the most interesting thing they’ve seen today?

You don’t know. You can’t know. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t create an account just to look.

That would be dangerous.

Like stepping into a hole you’d never find your way back out of.

You rub a hand across your forehead, as if that alone might somehow shake the thoughts loose.

Your eyes drift towards your phone on the kitchen counter. Maybe you just need someone to tell you you’re being ridiculous. Someone who knows you well enough to talk you down when your own mind refuses to listen.

You grab your phone and head for the sofa, opening a video call.

It rings six times.

Apparently you’re not important enough to answer immediately.

Finally, Maggie’s face appears on the screen.

“Alright?” she asks, far too casually.

“Hi.”

She studies you for half a second before frowning.

“What?”

You blink.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m guessing you didn’t call just to admire my face.”

You can’t help the smallest smile.

“Can’t I just call because I wanted to talk to you?”

“Not when you look like that?”

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like something is bothering you enough that you’ve decided I’m going to hear all about it.”

You frown.

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Is it? Maggie raises a brow. “Last week you called because you couldn’t decide what dress to wear to a meeting, and apparently Alexia’s opinion wasn’t enough.”

You sigh.

“Yeah, well… this is different.”

The amusement slips from Maggie’s face, replaced by something more familiar, concern and gentleness.

“Okay. Give me a second.”

She gets up from the sofa, disappearing into the kitchen. The door clicks shut behind her before she sits down at the table, away from the noise of the house.

When she looks back at the screen, her expression has softened.

“Y/n.” Her voice is softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You try to find the right words. The problem is, you’re not entirely sure there are any. So instead, you do the only thing you can think of. You tell her everything.

“Maria text me this morning, saying the internet knows about me and Alexia. The internet, Maggie. There’s pictures of us at the champions league final, and they don’t even show anything! We’re literally just hugging, but apparently that’s enough for everyone to decide we’re together. There are comments everywhere, and articles, and now people are trying to work out who Alexia’s mystery woman is. They already know I work in environmental activism, so it’s only a matter of time before they find out my name, and then they’ll know where I work, and then they’ll probably—”

“Y/n.” Maggie’s voice cuts clearly through your spiral.

You stop mid-sentence, suddenly aware you’d barely taken a breath.

She waits until you meet her eyes again.

“Take a breath,” she says gently. “Then tell me again. This time a little slower.”

You exhale deeply, composing yourself.

“The internet knows. About me. There’s pictures everywhere. People are talking. And I don’t— I don’t know what to do.”

You bring your hand to your forehead again, rubbing your eyes.

Maggie’s gaze lifts from the camera, thoughtfully looking out into the garden.

“Well… the first thing to do is not look at anything else. No matter how tempting it is. You won’t find anything you like.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. It does very little to settle your thoughts, though.

“Okay…” Maggie says after a moment. “So what do they actually know?”

“They know I work in environmental activism.”

She nods.

“Right. Do they know your name?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Where you live?”

“No.”

“Anything else?”

You shrug.

“I don’t know.”

Silence settles between you for a second. Even now, after answering her questions, you realise you may have jumped ahead a little.

“Maybe they don’t know everything yet,” you admit quietly. “But they will. They’ll find a way. They already know what I do. It only takes one person recognising me, or saying my name.”

“Maybe,” Maggie says. “Or maybe not.”

You sigh.

“Maggie…”

“No, just hear me out.” She leans a little closer to the screen. “I’m not saying it won’t happen. I’m saying you’re treating it like it already has.”

You look away.

“It feels like it has. They’re like vultures. They’re not just going to stop because they’ve found one thing. They’ll keep digging until they get what they want.”

“I know.” She says it so simply that you look back at her. “I really do.”

Her expression softens.

“And honestly? I’d probably be worrying too.”

A small knot in your chest loosens.

“But the fact they haven’t worked everything out already…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “That’s not the worst thing.”

“How?”

“Because you’ve got a bit of time.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “To let today settle, I suppose. To get used to the idea a little.”

She offers you a small smile.

“It’s better than waking up tomorrow and finding out they already know everything.”

You let out a slow breath. Maybe she has a point.

“Okay…” you say quietly. “But what do I do if they do find out?”

Maggie is quiet for a moment.

“Nothing.”

You blink.

“Nothing?”

“There isn’t really anything you can do, Y/n.” She gives an apologetic smile. “Worrying about it won’t stop it happening.”

You don’t look convinced.

“I know,” she says. “I don’t like that answer much either.”

A reluctant laugh escapes you.

“So… I’m just supposed to ignore it?”

“No.” She smiles. “Because I know you, and there isn’t a chance you’re going to ignore it.”

You huff another laugh.

“But there is one thing you can do.”

“What?”

“Stop reading what strangers think about your life.”

You meet her gaze through the screen.

“If you spend all day doing that, you’re giving people you’ve never met far more power than they deserve.”

You sigh again, looking down, knowing she’s right.

“What did Alexia say?” Maggie asks gently.

You glance up, biting the inside of your cheek. You shrug.

“She tried to make me feel better.”

“And?”

“She said it was just gossip.”

Maggie nods lightly. “And did you tell her how you were feeling?”

You hesitate, guilt already forming a little.

“I told her I was okay.”

Maggie’s eyebrows lift slightly, but there’s no surprise on her face. If anything, she looks like she was expecting that answer.

“… Are you?” she asks softly.

You look away, your gaze drifting towards the open balcony doors. The birds flutter past, moving freely between the rooftops, completely unaware of the world around them.

For a moment, you wish you could feel that free too.

“I… I thought I was.”

The silence stretches.

“But… I’m not so sure anymore.”

Maggie waits.

“I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Why?”

You shake your head.

“Because I don’t want her thinking this changes how I feel about us.”

You let out a frustrated breath.

“I keep trying to put it into words… and every time I do, it just sounds stupid.”

You hate how small you sound.

Maggie smiles a small knowing smile.

“I’m guessing she didn’t believe you,” she says softly. “When you said you were okay.”

You huff a small laugh.

“Probably not.”

She tilts her head, studying you.

“She’s probably worrying about you just as much as you’re worrying about all of this.”

You watch her through the screen.

The guilt in your chest grows heavier because you know she’s right.

Alexia has spent the entire day trying to reach you, and you’ve been so caught up trying to make sense of your own fear that you hadn’t stopped to think about hers.

“Don’t make her guess.”

You nod quietly.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

Maggie smiles softly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. I know it’s probably not what you wanted to hear, but… it’s okay to feel like this. It’s a lot.”

You let out a slow breath.

She’s right. She usually is. That’s why you called her. Somehow, she always manages to steady you, even if she can’t fix the problem.

“I should probably go,” you say, glancing towards the balcony. “I’m sure there are more birds waiting to be fed.”

She huffs a laugh.

“I’m sure there are.”

She doesn’t end the call straight away, though. She just watches you for a moment, as if making sure you’re not about to unravel the second the screen goes dark.

“Call me later?” she asks. “If you want.”

You smile.

“I will. Say hi to the kids for me.”

“I always do,” she says with a grin. “Though they’re a little preoccupied at the moment. They’re playing Twister.”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all day.

“That bad?”

“Well…” She shrugs. “It’s brilliant entertainment. Less brilliant when they start arguing over whose hand was actually on the red circle.”

As if on cue, a loud protest echoes from somewhere behind her.

Maggie raises an eyebrow at the camera. “See?”

You laugh again.

“I’d better go restore the peace.”

“Good luck.”

She smiles.

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” you reply.

You smile one last time before the call ends.

You lower your phone onto the sofa beside you and sit there for a moment, staring out through the open balcony doors.

Don’t make her guess.

The words linger, refusing to leave.

You know Maggie’s right.

You close your eyes. If only you knew what to tell her.

———— Alexia ———

By the time Alexia lets herself into the apartment, the smell of herbs drifts down the hallway from the kitchen.

She pauses for a moment, letting it wash over her.

It smells like home.

She slips off her shoes and sweater before making her way down the hallway. As she peers around the corner, she finds Y/n standing at the stove, absentmindedly stirring the sauce.

Even from behind, Alexia can tell. The movements are slower, more deliberate. Like she’s keeping herself occupied rather than actually concentrating on what’s in the pan.

Alexia’s chest tightens.

“Hola, amor.”

Y/n turns at the sound of her voice, shoulders jumping just slightly.

Alexia almost smiles.

Somehow, after all this time, she still hasn’t mastered walking into a room without startling her.

Then Y/n smiles back.

It’s small, but unmistakably genuine. Some of the knot in Alexia’s stomach loosens.

“Hi,” Y/n says. “I’ve almost finished.”

Alexia crosses the kitchen, stopping beside her but leaving just enough space that Y/n doesn’t feel crowded.

“You didn’t have to cook.”

Y/n shrugs, stirring the sauce again.

“It’s okay. You’ve had training. Besides…” A tiny smile tugs at her lips. “I wanted to experiment with the sauce a bit.”

Alexia watches her stir the sauce for another moment.

She knows Y/n well enough to recognise what’s really happening. Whenever something weighed heavily on her mind, she found something to do with her hands. Today, apparently, it was cooking.

Alexia doesn’t call her out on it.

Instead, she smiles. “Well… it smells amazing.”

Y/n glances across at her, a small smile still lingering.

Alexia reaches up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingertips linger for just a second longer than they need to.

Y/n leans into the touch without thinking.

“I missed you,” Alexia murmurs.

Y/n’s smile softens.

“Missed you too.”

She leans in first this time. Alexia meets her halfway, brushing a gentle kiss against her lips.

It’s brief. Familiar. Comforting.

When they part, Y/n turns back to the stove, giving the sauce another slow stir.

Alexia stays where she is, watching her for a quiet moment. She knows Y/n is trying. She just isn’t convinced she’s okay.

Her gaze drifts across the kitchen. She would normally expect to see a little more chaos. If Y/n is cooking, there’s usually a puddle of something on the counter, a few unopened jars, onion peel she hasn’t quite got round to throwing away. Cooking with Y/n usually meant controlled chaos.

Yet somehow, it always turned out perfectly.

Today though, everything is in its place.

The table has already been set. Glasses and cutlery neatly laid out, a carton of juice already waiting in the middle.

Alexia’s smile fades.

She knows this isn’t really about dinner.

She’s seen this before.

The way Y/n throws herself into something when she doesn’t know what else to do with everything she’s feeling. The way keeping busy gives her somewhere to put all the thoughts she doesn’t know how to say out loud.

And Alexia hates that today, she knows exactly what those thoughts are.

“Can you get the plates out, baby?”

Alexia blinks, pulled from her thoughts, already moving towards the cupboard.

“Of course, amor.”

She places the plates beside the stove as Y/n carefully serves up the pasta. Alexia carries them over to the table while Y/n leaves the saucepan and spoon soaking in the sink. She waits for Y/n to join her before quietly pulling out her chair.

Y/n laughs softly, murmuring a quiet thank you. Alexia treasures the sound.

Then she takes the seat opposite.

A brief silence settles between them as Y/n pours out the juice.

“How was training?” Y/n asks, her gaze still lowered as she picks up a forkful of pasta, blowing gently on it.

“It was good. Nice to be back to normal. Without the pressure of the final anymore.”

Y/n freezes.

Just for a second.

But Alexia notices.

She hates that the mention of the final sends Y/n back to this morning, instead of all the happy memories they should be carrying from it.

Y/n clears her throat before taking a sip of juice.

“I bet,” she says quietly. “Probably nice to just… have some fun.”

“Sí,” Alexia replies, still watching her.

She takes a bite of the pasta, a smile finding its way onto her face.

“This is amazing, bebé. The sauce is perfect.”

A faint blush warms Y/n’s cheeks.

“Good,” she says, smiling. “I spent far too long on it, so I’m glad it’s actually edible.”

Alexia huffs a laugh before taking another bite.

After a moment, she asks the question she’s been debating ever since she got home, already knowing she probably won’t get much of an answer.

“How was your day?”

Y/n nods almost instinctively before looking up.

“Good. That blue tit came back. I’m hoping it’ll bring some friends next time, it really is pretty. I might try making some fat balls. They’re really nutritious for them. Though apparently high-quality suet is better, so I’ll probably have to spend a bit more money, but I don’t mind. It’ll be worth it if they bring some friends back with them.”

Alexia smiles softly.

There it is.

The rambling.

It has always been Y/n’s tell. A little habit she probably doesn’t even realise she has. Whenever she’s nervous, overwhelmed, or trying to avoid something sitting too heavily in her mind, the words just tumble out.

Alexia has adored it from the beginning. She remembers watching Y/n do the exact same thing the night they met, talking about something in depth trying to hide how nervous she was. The memory would usually make her smile. Today, it makes her heart ache a little too.

“We can research the best ones,” Alexia says softly. “See what they like best.”

Y/n smiles, looking back down at her plate.

“I’d like that.”

Dinner carries on in much the same way. They talk about birds. About training. About whether the new sauce needs more garlic next time.

To anyone looking in, it would seem like an ordinary evening.

But Alexia notices everything.

The way Y/n’s gaze keeps drifting towards the balcony. The way she offers more pasta before Alexia is halfway through her plate. The way she smiles, only for it to disappear a second later.

She wants to ask if she’s okay.

But she doesn’t.

Y/n has spent the entire evening keeping herself busy. Alexia has a feeling that if she asks now, Y/n will smile, tell her she’s fine, and carry on eating.

As soon as dinner is over, Y/n is on her feet, stacking the plates before Alexia has barely set down her fork. Alexia almost smiles. She should have expected it. Whether it’s washing up, cooking or tidying, she’s still finding something to do when her thoughts become too much.

Just as Alexia starts to stand and help, her phone rings.

She glances down.

Patri.

Y/n looks over her shoulder.

“Sorry, amor,” Alexia says. “It’ll only be a minute.”

Y/n smiles. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Then she turns back to the washing up.

Alexia hesitates for a moment before answering the call and stepping out into the hallway. As she disappears around the corner, she glances back one last time.

Y/n is still standing at the sink. Her shoulders seem just a little heavier than they usually do.

Alexia closes her eyes for the briefest moment before answering.

“Hola, Patri.”

———— You ———

It’s kind of funny, you think. The way the birds drift through the air, darting from rooftop to rooftop without a care in the world.

Well… you suppose they do care about things.

Finding food. Building nests. Looking after their chicks.

Still, there’s something about watching them that makes your chest ache.

You’ve always thought that if you could be any animal, you’d be a bird. Well… one that can actually fly. That rules out penguins, ostriches and emus. There are, surprisingly, more flightless birds than most people realise.

A small smile tugs at your lips.

Maybe it isn’t really about being a bird. Maybe it’s about flying. About feeling weightless.

About being able to go wherever you want, whenever you want.

Maybe it’s about knowing that, if everything became too much, you could simply… leave.

The smile fades.

So maybe it isn’t even about flying.

Maybe it’s about escaping.

Escaping what, you’re not entirely sure.

Today, it feels like the whole world suddenly wants to know who you are.

And for the first time in a long time…

It feels like there’s nowhere left to hide.

You lean against the balcony railing, your gaze drifting across the city in the distance.

Life carries on. People walk home from work. Cars crawl through the streets. Somewhere, friends are meeting for dinner. Somewhere else, someone’s scrolling through their phone.

You wonder how many of them have seen those photos. How many of them have read those articles. How many of them are wondering who Alexia Putellas’ mystery woman is.

They don’t know it’s you.

Yet.

Your brow furrows, still not entirely comfortable with the thought. It still feels strangely unbelievable. In a way, though, you know this was always a possibility.

Of course it was.

You can’t date the world’s most famous female footballer without raising a few eyebrows.

You know how lucky you’ve been. You’ve been together for months now. Sometimes it feels much longer. Anyone could have spotted you before now.

Maybe they had. Maybe people had even talked.

Just… never on this scale.

You always knew this came with loving Alexia.

Or at least, you thought you did.

You remember sitting on this very balcony, promising yourself you wouldn’t let it change the way you lived your life. You weren’t going to hide.

At first, stepping out into the world beside Alexia felt strange. You worried people would stare. Make assumptions. Decide they didn’t like you before they knew anything about you.

The first time you went to the park together, though, it was fine. Then again, you hadn’t known who Alexia was back then.

Looking back, the surprised looks people gave her make a lot more sense now.

By the time you went to the museum, you knew people might assume you were together. But you didn’t let it bother you. You trusted that everything would be okay with Alexia by your side.

You refused to let fear ruin something that made you so happy.

And, until today…

It had been okay.

People looked. They asked Alexia for photos. Occasionally they glanced at you, possibly wondering who you were.

But that had become normal. Somewhere along the way, you grew so used to it that you stopped thinking about where it might lead.

Maybe that was naïve.

Or maybe you were simply happy living inside the little bubble the two of you had built together. A bubble that, for the first time…

Doesn’t feel quite so protected anymore.

You hear Alexia’s soft footsteps behind you.

“Amor?”

You glance towards her, a soft smile already finding your face. You’re not even sure if it’s instinct anymore, or something you’re putting on just for her.

“Is Patri okay?” you ask quietly.

She smiles and nods, walking over to lean against the balcony beside you.

“Sí. She just wanted to know if I could pick her up for training tomorrow.”

You nod, your gaze already drifting back towards the city.

You’re almost afraid to look at her for too long. The guilt that’s been sitting quietly in your chest all day feels as though it might only grow.

You know you’re being… different.

She’s been so patient with you all day. So gentle. Trying to make you smile, trying to keep things normal. And you’ve tried to meet her halfway. You’ve answered her questions, talked about birds, rambled whenever the silence felt too loud.

You’ve smiled every time she’s looked at you with that same warmth she always does.

But it isn’t fair. Because every smile has hidden something.

“Maybe we should get you a bird feeder for this balcony too,” you murmur, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Alexia huffs a laugh.

“So I can clean up even more bird poop?”

This time your smile comes a little easier.

“Think of the blue tits.”

She shakes her head, smiling.

“I still can’t believe there are actual birds called that.”

You laugh softly.

“They’re very cute. And very underrated.”

“I’m sure they are.”

Silence settles between you again as the two of you lean against the balcony, watching the city in the distance.

For a moment…

It almost feels normal.

Almost.

Your smile fades as your gaze drifts back towards the skyline.

Beside you, Alexia stays quiet.

You don’t need to look at her to know she’s watching you.

Waiting.

Wondering how much longer you’ll carry this on your own.

The guilt settles heavily in your chest.

“Amor?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at her. The gentleness in her voice is almost enough to undo you.

“Amor…” she says quietly. “Please talk to me.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the skyline, willing yourself to focus on something, anything, as your throat begins to tighten.

“I…” You swallow. “I don’t know how.”

She moves a little closer until her shoulder is almost brushing yours. The warmth of her beside you makes your chest ache. All you want is to lean into her. To let her wrap her arms around you and make everything feel smaller.

Instead, you stay exactly where you are.

“I don’t know what to say, Alexia,” you admit. “I’m so confused by all of this.”

“I know, amor.”

Her voice is impossibly soft.

“And that’s okay. You don’t have to make sense of it yet. Just… tell me what’s in your head. Whatever it is. Please let me help.”

You finally look at her.

“How?”

The question comes out quieter than you expected.

“How are you supposed to help me?”

You let out a shaky breath.

“You’ve lived with this for years. I haven’t.”

Her expression falters. She reaches for your hand instinctively, but the movement is enough to overwhelm you.

You step away first, sitting down on the edge of the lounger instead.

Your elbows rest on your knees as your face disappears into your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I just…”

“It’s okay, amor—”

“Please.”

You lift your head, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please… just let me think.”

Silence settles between you.

When you finally look up, she’s still there. Still watching you.

Gone is the composed captain who can solve every problem.

She’s just Alexia.

The woman who loves you.

“I hate this,” you whisper.

Her eyes soften.

“Me too.”

You hold her gaze for a second before looking down, your fingers fiddling together.

“This morning I thought I was okay,” you murmur. “I kept telling myself it was just pictures. But then I read that article… and ever since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking.”

Alexia doesn’t interrupt. She simply moves across to the other lounger, sitting opposite you.

“I don’t even think it’s the pictures anymore.”

“Then what is it?” she asks softly.

You hesitate.

“It’s… me.”

You catch the flicker of worry across her face, but she stays quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“I don’t like that people are trying to work out who I am.”

You swallow.

“Today it’s my job. Tomorrow it might be my name.”

Your brow furrows.

“What if they don’t stop with me?” you ask quietly. “What if they start looking at the people around me? My colleagues, my family… the kids…?”

“Amor,” Alexia says softly. She waits until you meet her eyes.

“No one is going anywhere near the kids.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath it.

“And if anyone even thinks about crossing that line, I’ll do everything in my power to stop them. I promise.”

You can’t help the small smile that appears.

“I know.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I just… I don’t know where it ends.”

Your eyes drift back towards the city.

“Or if it ends at all. What if this is just… normal now? What if I’m always worried? Always looking over my shoulder. Wondering whether the people looking at me are trying to work out who I am… or whether they already know.”

Your voice grows quieter.

“When someone takes a picture… are they taking it because you’re there?”

You shake your head.

“Or because I am? Are people talking about me? Deciding who they think I am before they’ve ever met me?”

A humourless laugh escapes you.

“They’ve probably already decided they don’t like me.”

Alexia opens her mouth, but you gently shake your head.

“I know I shouldn’t care. I know it shouldn’t matter what strangers think. But I’m scared that it will.”

Your voice catches.

“I’m scared it’ll change me. That I’ll start second-guessing everything. That I’ll stop doing things because I’m worried someone’s watching.”

You look down at your hands.

“I don’t want fear to change me. Or change what we’ve built.”

Silence hangs between you.

“I think I’ve been naïve,” you admit. “Or maybe I just let myself believe we’d stay in our own little bubble.”

You smile sadly.

“I knew people looked. I knew people took pictures. But somehow… it never felt real. It felt safe. Until today.”

You take another shaky breath.

“Today I realised people have probably been watching us all along. Now they’re watching even more closely. And I can’t do anything about it.”

You finally meet Alexia’s eyes again.

“I hate that they take these little moments… and pull them apart. They write stories about us. They decide what we’re thinking. Those moments were ours.”

Your voice drops almost to a whisper.

“Now it feels like nothing gets to be ours anymore.”

You glance at Alexia, guilt settling back into your chest.

“I’m sorry. For being distant. For not talking to you. I’ve been pretending I’m okay.”

Alexia smiles sadly and nods. “I know.”

“I… I didn’t want you worrying.”

You swallow.

“I didn’t want you thinking I regretted this.”

Alexia’s expression softens immediately. She looks down for a moment, trying to find her words.

“I was worried,” she admits quietly.

You watch her, your brow furrowing.

“About what?”

She lifts her gaze to yours. The softness in her eyes makes the guilt in your chest tighten.

“That today might make you realise this isn’t the life you want.”

The words hit you harder than anything else she’s said.

Your chest tightens.

She really thought that.

She’d spent the entire day carrying that fear around on her own, quietly convincing herself that you might wake up tomorrow and decide loving her wasn’t worth everything that came with it.

That while you’d been terrified of the world outside, she’d been terrified of losing you.

“No,” you reply immediately. “Never.”

Before you can think about it, you stand and cross to the lounger beside her.

Alexia looks up as you sit down, and the smallest breath leaves her, as though some of the weight she’d been carrying all day has finally eased. It breaks your heart that all she’d wanted was for you to be close again.

You reach for her hand, threading your fingers through hers.

“I’m not scared of us, Alexia,” you murmur. “I’m scared of everything around us.”

She holds your gaze.

“I’m scared it’s going to change what we’ve built together.”

You look down at your joined hands, your thumb absent-mindedly brushing across her knuckles.

“Do you remember when I told you I was used to small?”

Recognition softens her expression almost immediately.

“Sí.”

You let out a quiet breath.

“I think today was the first time I realised just how big your world really is.”

You smile sadly.

“I always knew it was there… I just don’t think I’d truly felt it until now.”

You meet her eyes again.

“I think I just need a little time to get used to how big your world is.”

Alexia squeezes your hand.

“It won’t change us, amor,” she says instinctively. “I won’t let it.”

A sad smile tugs at your lips.

“I want to believe you. I really do.”

You glance down at your joined hands.

“But… I don’t think that’s something either of us can promise.”

She follows your gaze before slowly nodding.

“You’re right.” She shifts a little closer, turning to face you properly. “I can’t stop people talking. I can’t stop articles. I can’t stop people trying to find out who you are.”

Her thumb strokes slowly across your knuckles.

“But I can promise you this.”

You look back at her.

“You never have to carry it on your own.”

Her voice is steady, but her eyes shine.

“However hard it gets… however frightening it feels… we’ll face it together.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

She swallows.

“To protect your family. I promise.”

The last word catches in her throat.

You lift your free hand to her cheek, and she leans into your touch immediately, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers.

Your breath catches, and you rest your forehead gently against hers.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

You smile through the tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A shaky breath escapes her.

“I should have prepared you better,” she murmurs. “I should have helped you understand what came with… all of this.”

You shake your head.

“No. This isn’t on you.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but you continue.

“You told me what your life was like.”

You give a small, watery laugh.

“I just… didn’t really understand it until today. There’s a difference.”

Alexia watches you quietly.

“I think…” You take a breath. “I think I spent all day trying to protect you from how I was feeling.”

You smile sadly.

“I didn’t know how to explain it. I didn’t even understand it myself.”

You hold her gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“You’ve spent all day thinking I was pulling away from you.”

Alexia doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t need to.

The look in her eyes tells you everything.

“I wasn’t,” you whisper. “I was trying to figure out how to let you in.”

Something in Alexia softens. She lifts your joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

You squeeze her hand.

“This… doesn’t make me love you any less,” you say, your voice catching. “It just scares me.”

Tears finally spill down Alexia’s cheeks.

You brush one away with your thumb.

“And I know I’ll probably have days like this again. But next time… I won’t shut you out.”

You smile through your own tears.

“Because the only person who makes this feel smaller…”

You brush your thumb across her cheek.

“…is you.”

A quiet sob escapes Alexia before she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you against her.

You hold her just as tightly, your face buried against her shoulder.

And for the first time all day…

You don’t feel like you’re carrying it alone.

You stay like that for a long while, holding each other until your breathing finally settles. Eventually Alexia leans back, though not far. Her arms remain around you, like she’s still reluctant to let go.

“Thank you for telling me,” she murmurs.

You smile, giving a small nod.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

She lifts a hand to your cheek, her thumb brushing away the last traces of tears.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for.”

A smile tugs at your lips.

“Well…” you mumble. “If I’d admitted it sooner, we could’ve been hugging hours ago, and you wouldn’t have had to listen to me talk about blue tits.”

She studies you for a moment before a laugh escapes her.

“I love hearing you talk about tits.”

Your smile turns into a gasp.

“Alexia!”

Her grin only widens, as she wipes the last of her tears away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to make that joke.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself.

“I don’t want to know.”

She smiles, watching you for a long moment. The silence isn’t awkward or heavy. Just gentle. Like she’s searching your face for something.

“Are we okay?” she asks quietly.

The question is so small it makes your heart ache.

You squeeze her hand.

“We’re okay,” you murmur, holding her gaze. “I promise.”

She smiles, the last of the tension easing from her shoulders.

Then she leans back against the lounger, gently pulling you with her until you’re tucked comfortably against her side, your legs tangled together. You rest your head against her chest as her arms wrap around you once more.

The city hums quietly beyond the balcony, wrapped in the warm glow of the evening.

Neither of you rushes to fill the silence.

Eventually, you speak.

“I thought saying it all out loud would make it worse.”

Her fingers trace slow circles against your side.

“Did it?”

You think for a moment before lifting your head just enough to meet her eyes.

You shake your head.

“No.”

A soft smile spreads across her face.

You lean in, pressing your lips to hers. The kiss is gentle, unhurried, saying everything the two of you had struggled to find the words for all day.

When you pull back, your foreheads remain together.

“T’estimo,” you whisper.

Her smile brightens, relief softening every line of her face.

“T’estimo,” she whispers back before stealing another slow kiss.

You smile against her lips.

When you settle back against her chest, she presses a lingering kiss into your hair, holding you just a little tighter. You smile to yourself, curling a little closer into her side, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the evening settle over the city. A pair of birds drift across the sky, catching the breeze before disappearing beyond the rooftops. Your eyes follow them until they’re nothing more than distant specks.

This morning, all you could think about was escaping. Escaping the questions. The attention. The fear of what might come next.

None of that has disappeared.

There may still be more articles. More photographs. More days where everything feels a little too big.

There will probably be moments when fear gets the better of you again.

But one thing doesn’t feel uncertain anymore.

You and Alexia.

Whatever comes next…

you’ll face it together.

———————————

A/n: This one was quite difficult to write as there were so many thoughts and feelings for both reader and Alexia to explore. We knew something like this would eventually happen. Still, I really hope you enjoyed this one. It’s a different kind of chapter, but hopefully just as interesting.

No one has permission to copy, steal, translate or repost this work.

LOVA

sportsnews Spain will be without Ballon d'Or-winning midfielder Alexia Putellas for Euro 2022 after she suffered an anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) injury on the eve of the tournament.

The Spanish football federation (RFEF) said Putellas, who captains Barcelona and the national team, had sprained her knee in training on Tuesday.

Further medical tests showed the 28-year-old had ruptured her ACL. Spain begin their Euros campaign against Finland on Friday.

They will now be without the influential Putellas, Fifa's best women's player of 2021, who has made 100 appearances and scored 27 goals for the national side.

sportsnews Sweden International Lova Edvinsson will miss the rest of the Euros and likely her next season with Barcelona after suffering an ACL rupture on Friday. 

During Sweden's opening game against the Netherlands, Edvinsson went down in a tackle and was unable to play the rest of the match. After scans and a full medical assessment Sweden has since confirm Edvinsson has ruptured her ACL and is set to returned to Barcelona in order to complete her surgery and her being her recovery and rehabilitation.

"Either my mum is going to kill me, or I'm going to kill my mum. At this point I'm not entirely sure which one would come first." I said as I walked through the door with Otto. He was already halfway across the room on his way to find Nala.

Alexia was lying out across her sofa, her leg supported all around, while she had the muscle stimulator on. She was facing the window while she was scrolling on her phone. As soon as she heard the tapping of nails on the floor, she sat up to face me.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, shocked.

"I can't do it anymore. If I get told to elevate my leg that is already elevated ONE MORE TIME..." I paused as the frustration started building all over again.

I hobbled my way across the room, each step still such an effort as I wasn't yet fully used to my extra limbs. Alexia was still lying across the full couch, leaving me no room to sit down at all.

"Move up," I told her.

She just looked up at me in horror like I'd just threatened to kill Nala. "This is my couch."

"Okay... and this is currently my hiding spot, so move up," I said again, tapping her uninjured leg in order to get her to actually move. It just turned into a staring contest between the pair of us until I made her give in.

She let out a heavy sigh before finally giving in to me and moving up to give me enough space to sit next to her and keep my leg 'elevated'. The same thing that had been drilled into me for the past two weeks and had driven me slightly crazy.

"God, you're so bossy." She muttered as she shuffled across the couch.

"Says you." I shot back.

"You're the one who has broken into my house, has taken over the place with your stuff and is now demanding I move while completing very delicate recovery."

"One ... it's not breaking in if I have a key; it is simply entering. Two ... that stuff is Otto, who you love, so don't ever call him stuff or pretend you don't love him because I've seen you cuddling on the floor with him, and three ... I too am doing delicate recovery, so move up, grumpy pants."

Alexia just looked at me the way she always did, and I could see her trying to hide her smirk. I could read Alexia better than most people, and when she started to move her mouth and bite her lip, I knew she was suppressing a smirk or a laugh.

"You do know this is the first place your mum is going to look for you." She said, trying to divert the attention back onto me.

"Well then, I've got until she finds me. Realistically, though, where else was I going to escape to?" Alexia was my best friend; we'd been inseparable since the moment we bumped into each other on my first day in Barcelona. So realistically, I wasn't going to go anywhere else, but even if I did want to escape somewhere else, nobody else was here; they were still in England for the Euros.

"Why are you killing Astrid today?" She asked as she laughed slightly.

"Elevate your leg Lo ... you've got to keep it elevated. Make sure you ice your knee. Have you got ice on your knee? You must keep it elevated at all times. I haven't moved in practically two weeks, and the one time I did need to move was because I needed to pee so badly because she's been making me drink so much water to 'keep me hydrated'." I sighed in frustration.

This wasn't a simple situation for anyone to be in. My mum had come all the way here with no idea how long she would be here, just to take care of me. She'd given up her holiday with her girls to come and look after her girl. I appreciated that more than she knew, and that I was currently letting on, but it had gone from the point of helping to feeling slightly suffocating. I loved my mum more than anything and appreciated her being here to help, but I was missing my independence, which I'd become so used to. I was a twenty-six-year-old woman who had lived abroad since the age of eighteen, who, after eight years, had reverted to feeling six.

Alexia's eyes softened as she looked at me. "Come here." She reached her arm around my shoulders, pulling me into the side of her chest. I lay my head into her shoulder, allowing myself to just breathe. I wrapped my arms around her waist, keeping her close. This felt safe.

"Mami's the same," Alexia said, and there was relief in her voice at being able to say it out loud without feeling the judgement of the words. "She means well, but I feel like I can't breathe. Can't have a moment to just... feel what I'm feeling without someone trying to fix it or make it better."

"Yes. Exactly that." I lifted my head to look at her. "How's the pain?"

"Constant. It's better than the first week, but it's always there. It's this ache that never quite goes away and then at night ... " She touched her knee gently, almost absently.

"It's worse at night," I finished. "I can't find a position that doesn't hurt. I wake up every two hours." I was quiet for a minute, just really assessing the situation we found ourselves in: "This fucking sucks." I muttered quietly into her chest.

"Yep." Alexia was quiet for "I don't want to do it. I don't think I can do it."

"Hey... look at me." I sat up slightly, taking her face between my hands, forcing her to look at me. "We've got this. You've got this, and if you've not, then I will drag you through this whether you like it or not because you best believe I'm not doing this alone ... We went down together; we come back together." I told her firmly.

Alexia's eyes were slowly becoming more watery, tears lining her lash line as I spoke. "So stubborn." She laughed, though it was a small laugh which was thick with emotion.

I couldn't help but laugh too. "Again ... says you. You're one of the most stubborn people I've ever met."

"So, you've met yourself." She said flatly but with a smile. I just looked at her before I punched her lightly in the shoulder.

"Oh, that is abuse." She said, rubbing her shoulder like I'd punched her hand.

"You'll live with it." I reached up and wiped the stray tear from her cheek with my thumb. "We're going to be okay. Both of us, we're going to make it through."

"Together?" she asked.

"Together. You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

I leant back into her, and I wrapped my arm back around her, pulling her close. I fit against her perfectly, my head tucked under my chin, her breathing gradually slowing and evening out. My own exhaustion was creeping in now; the walk over here had taken more out of me than I thought, coupled with the constant pain, it had drained all the energy out of me.

"I'm so tired all the time. Is that normal?" I murmured.

"Your body is healing. It takes everything you have." Alexia's voice was already similarly drowsy.

Otto and Nala had curled up together on Nala's bed. Otto's gentle snoring provides an acoustic backdrop. The apartment was warm, filled with soft light, and for the first time in two weeks, I felt like I could actually rest. Not the fitful, pain-interrupted sleep I'd been getting at home, but real rest. The kind that came from being truly understood, from not having to pretend or perform or be brave.

Alexia held firm around me, keeping me safe, and she was warm and solid beside me, her breathing deep and even, and my body was so heavy, so tired.

--- ---

"Yeah, they're here, both of them ... yes, and Otto as well ... don't worry, she's fine."

My eyes opened slowly, reluctantly. The light had changed; now it wasn't a steady glow of the afternoon sun; instead, it was softer, with what appeared to be early evening light. How long had we been asleep? Eli was standing over us with her phone pressed to her ear, looking at us with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

I shifted to sit up, which caused Alexia to stir underneath me. I blinked away the grogginess, readjusting to the light as I smoothed my hair back out.

"Yes, she's here. She's fine. They're both fine, they just ... they fell asleep." Eli's eyes met mine, and there was understanding there, but also concern. "Your mum wants to talk to you." She told me, holding her phone out for me.

Reality crashed back in. My mother's voice was audible even through the phone, high-pitched with worry and relief and probably anger. I carefully extracted myself from Alexia's arms, my knee protesting the movement after hours of stillness. I took the phone from Eli, mentally preparing for the lecture I was about to get. Very quickly, I knew I would be six again, not twenty-six.

"Hi Mum ... no I'm fine ... no sorry I should have told you ... Mum I always walk him without a lead I've trained him to do that ... he's fine he's asleep with Nala ... yes I'm fine as well ... yes my leg is up."

As I listened and answered her frantic questions, I felt Alexia's hand take mine, lacing her fingers through mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

Together, she'd said. Maybe right now that was going to be enough.

--- --- 

It turned out to be everything.

The gym had become our second home and was even rivalling our first. We were there every single day, sometimes twice a day, our lives reduced to a rhythm of exercises and ice baths and small, hard-won victories that no one else would understand.

The gym smelled like rubber and sweat with a sharp tang of athletic tape. It was a small space, tucked away in the Barcelona training facility, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light on the bad days and never enough on the worse ones. There were resistance bands in every colour, foam rollers that left marks on our skin, balance boards that mocked us with their instability, and machines designed specifically to rebuild what we'd destroyed.

Week three post-surgery, we started with the basics. Quad sets, lying on our backs, trying to activate muscles that in even the small space of time had forgotten how to fire. It sounded simple until I was staring down at my own leg, willing it to do something as fundamental as tighten, and nothing happened.

"Come on," I muttered at my quad like it could hear my words and would magically start working again. My hands were pressed firmly against the muscle, searching for any sign of contraction. "Work. Please just work."

Beside me on her own mat, Alexia was doing the same, her face tight with concentration. Our physio, Marc, stood between us, with bucket loads of patience and encouragement in that way that sometimes made me want to scream.

"It takes time," he said. "The neural pathways need to reconnect. Don't force it."

"I'm not forcing it, I'm begging it," Alexia said through gritted teeth.

I laughed despite my situation, and she turned to look at me, and suddenly we were both laughing. A mixture of exhaustion and frustration caused hysterical laughter that had nothing to do with humour and everything to do with the absurdity of our situation. Two of the best players in the world, who had so many trophies between us, including but not limited to two Ballon d'Ors, however, they weren't my doing, but I had come second, and now we were unable to make our own legs work.

"Ten more attempts," Marc said, unmoved by our breakdown, just looked back and forth between us firmly. "Each of you."

We did as we were told, so that was ten more, and then misleadingly ten more after that.

By week six, we'd graduated to straight leg raises. Lying on our backs, lifting our braced legs six inches off the ground and holding them there while our cores shook and our hips burned and sweat dripped into our eyes.

"Five more seconds," Alexia gasped beside me.

"I can't," I admitted, starting to lower my leg to the floor.

"You can. Count with me then. Five ... "

"Four," I managed, my leg trembling violently as I kept it lifted at our original height.

"Three ... "

"Two ... "

"One. Down."

We both let our legs drop, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.

"Again," Marc said.

"I hate you," Alexia told him.

"I know. Again." He said with zero ounce of remorse.

We did it again and again and again.

The days blurred together, marked only by the exercises that defined them. Heel slides, bending our knees as far as they would go, which wasn't far at all. Ankle pumps until our calves cramped. Standing weight shifts that made us feel like toddlers learning how to walk. Each movement was a negotiation with pain, a test of how much we could endure before our bodies simply refused.

During week eight, I broke.

We were doing single-leg balance exercises, standing on our injured legs, trying to hold steady for thirty seconds. I'd made it to twelve when my knee gave out, buckling beneath me. I caught myself on the parallel bars, but the failure hit harder than I expected it to.

"I can't do this," I said, and my voice cracked. "I can't. It's been two months, and I can't even stand on one leg for thirty seconds. How am I supposed to play football again when I can't even stand? How am I supposed to ... "

"Stop." Alexia was beside me, her hand on either side of my face. "Look at me."

I looked.

"Four weeks ago, you couldn't stand on that leg at all. Four weeks before that, you couldn't even put weight on it. You're comparing yourself to who you were before, but that's not fair. Compare yourself to who you were yesterday." She said gently.

"Yesterday I held it for fifteen seconds." I sniffed.

"Today you held it for twelve. So tomorrow you'll hold it for thirteen and the day after that, fourteen. That's how this works. Not in giant leaps. In tiny, frustrating, painful increments."

I wanted to argue, but I knew she was right. She was always right about this because she was living it too.

"Again," she said, echoing Marc's favourite word. "We'll do it together this time."

She stood right in front of me, looking me directly in the eyes, each on our injured leg, hands hovering over the parallel bars for balance. We made it to twenty seconds before we both had to grab on.

"Better," Alexia said with a smile.

"Barely," I muttered, looking down at my feet, finding them entirely more interesting.

"Better," she insisted search for my eyes until she met them. When she did just looked me dead in the eyes and raised her eyebrows at me like 'I told you so ... you should listen to me properly'.

By week ten, we'd made it to the pool for aqua therapy, to give it the technical term, Marc called it. I called it torture in a different medium; the only benefit to take was that at least the water was warm. We did walking drills, high knees, leg swings, all while the water provided resistance and support in equal measure.

"I used to love swimming," I said, dragging my leg through another round of high knee lift.

"Used to?" Alexia was beside me; her face flushed from the effort.

"Now it just reminds me of this."

"We'll reclaim it. After we're done, we'll go to the beach, and we'll just float and do absolutely nothing athletic whatsoever. We'll go diving off cliffs, and we'll jump waves like little kids."

The thought brought a smile to my face, "Promise?"

"Promise."

Week twelve felt like the first major milestone. It was the first day we were cleared to use the stationary bike. No resistance, just a gentle movement to remind our knees what cycling felt like. I felt the tears in my eyes the first time I completed a full revolution. Alexia pretended not to notice, but her hand found, stretching across from her bike to hold my hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

"We're getting there," I said.

"Are we?"

"Yes, we are." For the first time since I'd gone down, I felt that that statement was finally true. We were getting there. We were getting back.

By week sixteen, we were doing small agility drills, side steps, careful and controlled, our knees wrapped and braced. The first time I moved laterally without thinking about it or overthinking it or having my falling to the ground on that pitch at the forefront of my mind, I stopped dead.

"What?" Alexia asked, alarmed.

"I just ..." I stopped looking down at my bandaged knee, looking at the cones that were all around us. "I didn't think about it. I just moved."

Her face broke into a smile, genuine and bright. "There we go, Lo!"

I looked over my shoulder to see the excitement on her face and in her voice, which seemed a bit unwarranted for what I'd just done. "It was one side step."

"That's where it starts." She said with a proud smile still on her face.

--- --- 

"Two coffees, please." I attempted.

"And two croissants," Alexia added, then looked at me. "Did I say that right?" She whispered in my ear.

"I have no idea. I'm just going off what Google tells me." I whispered back.

We laughed, and it was weird how a simple emotion could feel so foreign. Genuine laughter that had nothing to do with exhaustion or pain or the absurdity of our situation. Just laughter because we were happy.

The croissants arrived, flaky and warm, and we tore them apart with our hands, getting butter on our fingers, not caring in the slightest. The coffee was strong and bitter and perfect. We sat there for an hour, watching people pass, saying nothing because nothing needed to be said.

We climbed Montmartre in the afternoon, taking the steps slowly, not because we had to anymore, but because we wanted to savour the moment. The Sacré-Cœur rose white and tall above us, and from the top, Paris spread out in every direction, a sea of grey rooftops and green parks and the silver ribbon of the Seine cutting through it all.

"It's beautiful," Alexia said, her shoulder pressed against mine.

"Yeah." I agreed.

"We should have done this years ago." She said.

"We were too busy playing football."

"True." She was quiet for a moment. "Do you miss it? Right now, in this moment?"

I thought about it honestly. "Not right now. Right now, I'm exactly where I want to be."

She smiled, and something in her eyes softened. "Me too."

We wandered through the Tuileries Garden as the sun broke through the clouds, casting everything in gold. We bought gelato from a cart even though it was barely warm enough, and we sat on the edge of a fountain, people-watching the rest of the people in the park. We played our favourite game of making up fake scenarios and conversations for the people we saw.

That night, we got ready for the concert in our hotel room. Alexia did her makeup carefully, her hand steady as she drew a perfect wing of eyeliner. I struggled with mine; eyeliner had never been my strength, as I smudged it twice before she took the pencil from me and did it herself. Her face was so close to mine, her breath warm on my face.

"There, perfect," she said, leaning back to admire her work.

"You're biased."

"Maybe, but I'm also right."

The venue was packed out, with the atmosphere electric with anticipation. We pushed our way into the crowds until we found our seats. When the lights went down and the music started, Rosalía's voice filled the space, raw and powerful, and Alexia grabbed my hand, and we were moving, dancing, singing along to words we half-knew and half-invented.

"PIENSO EN TU MIRÁ, TU MIRÁ," we screamed with everyone else, and it didn't matter that we were off-key or that we didn't know all the lyrics. It only mattered that we were here, alive, whole in a way that had nothing to do with anything else we had going on.

Alexia spun me, laughing, her hair flying. I caught her around the waist, and we danced pressed together, the crowd surging around us, the bass vibrating through our chests. For hours, we forgot. We forgot the gym, the pain, the fear, the long road still ahead. We were just two people lost in music, in movement, in the pure joy of being.

When "Malamente" came on, the crowd went wild. Alexia threw her head back and sang, her voice hoarse and happy, and I watched her, really watched her, and felt something shift in my chest, something I'd been ignoring for longer than I wanted to admit.

By the time we stumbled out of the venue, it was past midnight. My ears were ringing, my voice was shot, but I couldn't stop smiling. Alexia's makeup was smudged, her hair was a mess, and she looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her.

"That was ... " I started.

"Everything," she finished.

We walked through the streets of Paris in the dark, following the Seine, letting our feet carry us without official direction. The city was quieter now, just the occasional car, the distant sound of laughter from a late-night bar. The Eiffel Tower appeared ahead of us, lit up gold against the black sky, and without discussing it, we headed toward it.

The Champ de Mars was nearly empty as we found a spot on the grass, close enough to see the tower's intricate structure, but far enough away to take in its full height. I lay back, feeling the cool grass against my neck, and Alexia settled beside me, her shoulder touching mine.

The grass was damp with evening dew, cold seeping through my jeans, but Alexia's warmth beside me made it bearable. Above us, the Eiffel Tower rose like a golden skeleton against the night sky, its lights glittering in patterns that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the city. I could hear distant traffic, the murmur of voices from somewhere across the park, the rustle of leaves in the trees lining the Champ de Mars. The air smelled like rain and metal and something floral I couldn't name.

Alexia shifted closer, and I felt the solid press of her shoulder against mine; her thigh aligned with mine. The contact was grounding, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, her voice soft in the darkness.

I smiled at the memory. "How could I forget. You ran into me, and later on, I found out your locker was next to mine.

"You didn't speak any Spanish or Catalan."

"You didn't speak any English or Swedish either."

I turned my head to look at her, and she was already watching me, her face half-lit by the tower's glow. "That first day, I tried to introduce myself, and you just stared at me like I was speaking another language," Alexia said, laughing softly.

"You were literally speaking another language," I argued.

"Fair point." She turned her head to look at me properly, and I could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. "Then you pulled out your phone and typed something into Google and showed it to me."

The memory was so vivid I could almost feel the weight of my phone in my hand, the panic thrumming through my veins. I'd been so desperate to make a good impression, to not seem rude or standoffish. "'Hello, my name is Lova. I am happy to be here,' is what I was trying to say. "Except the translation was terrible, and it came out as something like 'Greetings, I am called Lova. I have happiness for this place.'"

Alexia laughed, the sound bright and clear, cutting through the night air. Still one of my favourite sounds in the whole world. "I thought you were so formal. So serious."

"I was terrified. New country, new team, and I couldn't communicate with anyone." The admission came easier now, years later, but I could still remember that first day. The weight of the surprise transfer, the isolation it brought with it, and the fear that this would be a terrible mistake. "I felt like I was drowning and everyone was speaking underwater."

Her hand found mine in the grass, threading her fingers together with mine. "We figured it out. Translating everything. You'd type in Swedish, I'd type in Spanish, and somehow we became best friends through a phone screen."

"Remember when you tried to tell me about the team dinner and the translation said 'we will now eat the dead animals together'?" I remembered.

"You looked horrified!"

"I thought it was some kind of weird Spanish thing!" I was laughing now, the memory absurd and precious. "I was genuinely debating whether I should call my agent to get me out of there."

"Or that time," Alexia began, squeezing my hand, "when you tried to ask me where the bathroom was and the translation came out as 'Where is the room of water shame?'"

"Oh God, I'd forgotten about that one." I laughed, covering my face with my spare hand.

"I hadn't. I was so confused. I thought maybe it was a Swedish expression."

"Or the time you tried to tell me about the team's pre-match ritual," I added, "and Google said something about 'we must sacrifice the orange one before the battle.'"

"I meant the chant, not a sacrifice!" Alexia was laughing so hard that she had to sit up slightly. "You thought we were going to perform some kind of sacrificial ceremony!"

"You can't blame me! Nothing made sense! The only thing I could think of from that was that you were about to sacrifice the poor media girl somehow."

"Why would we have done that?" she asked through the laughs and the tears.

"I don't know, but she was a ginger and the only thing close to being orange in that changing room."

Eventually, the laughter faded into something softer, warmer. The tower sparkled above us, and the cold was seeping deeper into my bones. No matter how cold it was, I didn't want to move or break this moment.

"Do you remember," I said quietly, "that day in the locker room when I was trying to tell you about Otto, and I told you I had a 'furry son who barked at a stranger's? I mean, I wasn't wrong, but I also wasn't right."

"I was so confused."

"You looked so concerned."

"Because I was. I thought you were talking about a human, not a dog!"

I could picture it so clearly, Alexia's face, that mixture of confusion and worry, her phone already half-raised to translate something back to me. "You stayed after training for an hour just to help me learn how to say basic things properly after that."

"Of course I did." Her voice was gentle now, the teasing gone. "You looked so lost."

"I was lost. Every day for months, I was lost, and yet you were so patient with me. Even when I butchered every word, even when I mixed up Catalan and Spanish, even when I accidentally said that I enjoyed 'making love to football' instead of 'I love to play football.'" The admission felt important somehow, here in the dark with the Eiffel Tower glittering above us.

Alexia groaned. "I'd forgotten about that one."

"Mapi never let me forget it."

"No, she wouldn't." Alexia's thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. "You learned, though, Lova, you learned so fast. Within six months, you were cracking jokes in Catalan."

"Bad jokes."

"The best bad jokes." She shifted, turning onto her side to face me fully, propping herself up on her elbow. The grass rustled beneath her, and I could feel the heat of her body even through the cold night air. "Do you remember when you tried to teach me Swedish?"

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. You made me practice saying 'Jag älskar fotboll' over and over."

"I love football. A very basic phrase for us."

"Except I kept saying it wrong and you kept laughing at me." She said, raising her eyebrows, teasingly.

"You said 'Jag älskar fötter' instead. You told everyone you loved feet."

"For a week!" Alexia protested. "For a whole week, I was going around saying I loved feet, and you didn't correct me!"

"It was funny!" I argued.

"It was mean."

"It was a little mean," I admitted, grinning. "You got me back in the end when you taught me to say, 'good morning' in Catalan, and it was actually 'You're old.'"

"That was an accident!" she said dismissively.

"Was it though?"

"Mostly an accident." She was smiling now, that soft smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "But watching you greet Josep with 'Ets gran' every morning for three days was pretty entertaining."

We were both laughing now, the memories spilling out of both of us. A year of miscommunications and patient repetition, of hand gestures and drawings, of staying late after training so Alexia could teach me Catalan phrases and I could teach her Swedish ones. I remembered the way she'd write words on Post-it notes and leave them in my locker. "porta" on my water bottle, "sabates" on my boots, "amiga" on my training bib. I remembered teaching her to count to ten in Swedish, how she'd practice while we did cooldown laps, her accent making the words sound both so foreign and familiar.

"You used to draw me little pictures. When the words didn't work. Little stick figures to explain drills or plays." I said softly, "I still have some of those drawings. In a box under my bed."

"Really?"

"Really." I turned to face her fully now, mirroring her position, our faces close in the darkness. The Eiffel Tower's lights cast shifting shadows across her features. "You drew me a whole comic strip-looking thing once, trying to explain the flow of play they wanted us to do."

I saw something shift in Alexia's eyes. Even in the dim light, I could see the physical shift from brown to green. "You drew me a map of Sweden with little hearts on all your favourite places."

"You were showing me around Barcelona, and I wanted you to understand where I came from." I said with a soft smile. 

"I kept it; it's still on my fridge," she said.

Something in my chest tightened. Five years. Five years of this, of learning each other's languages, each other's hearts. Slowly, painfully, beautifully, we'd built our own language. Not just Swedish or Spanish or Catalan or English, but something that belonged only to us. A language of patience and laughter, of late nights in the training facility, of Google Translate mishaps and hand-drawn maps and words left on scraps of paper.

"Your Catalan is so good now," Alexia said, and there was something in her voice that resembled pride.

"Your English is better."

"Five years," she said softly. "Five years of learning how to talk to each other."

The weight of it settled over us. Five years of building this bridge between us, word by word, mistake by mistake, laugh by laugh. Five years of choosing each other, of staying late, of being patient when patience was hard. Five years of becoming fluent not just in each other's languages, but in each other.

I could feel her breath on my face, warm and a stark contrast to the cold night air. The grass was freezing beneath us now, the dew soaking through our clothes, but neither of us moved. The Eiffel Tower sparkled and flashed above us, and somewhere in the distance, someone was playing music, the notes drifting across the park.

"Best five years of my life," I said, and meant it with every part of me.

Her eyes searched mine, and I realized we'd moved closer without meaning to, or maybe we'd meant to all along. I could count her eyelashes from here, could see the exact shade of gold the tower's lights painted across her skin. We'd spent five years learning to communicate, learning to understand each other, and now ... now we were here, and I understood her without her saying a single word. I understood the way she was looking at me, the way her hand tightened around mine, the way her breath caught slightly.

Five years of learning her language, and now I could read her like poetry.

She was quiet for a moment, and when I turned to look at her, she was already looking at me. The Eiffel Tower sparkled behind her, its hourly light show beginning, but I couldn't look away from her face.

"Lova," she said, and there was something in her voice I'd never heard before.

"Yeah?"

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached up, her hand gentle against my cheek, which pulled me closer as she kissed me.

It was soft. Slow and tender in a way that made my heart stop and restart. Her lips were warm, and she tasted like the mint gum she'd been chewing and something else, something that was just her. The world narrowed to only this ... her mouth on mine, her hand on my face, the grass beneath us and the stars above us, and in that moment, nothing else mattered in the slightest.

When she pulled back, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My face was on fire as the heat flooded my cheeks, and I did the only thing I could think of. I buried my face in her neck, taking my only hiding spot.

"Lova," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Don't."

"Are you blushing because I kissed you?" she said, and I knew a smirk was written all over her face.

"No," I answered less than convincingly.

"You're blushing."

"I'm not."

"You are. I can feel it. Your face is like a radiator."

"Stop talking."

She laughed, her hand coming up to stroke my hair. "It's cute. You're cute."

"Alexia ... "

"So red. Like a tomato. Like a ... "

I kissed her again, cutting off her words, and this time it was less gentle, more desperate. I kissed her to shut her up, to make her stop teasing me, but I also did it because I wanted to, because I'd wanted to for longer than I'd let myself admit.

When we broke apart this time, I pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and there, spreading across her cheeks, was a flush of pink.

"Who's blushing now?" I asked, grinning.

"I'm not ... " she tried to argue.

"You are. Look at you."

"It's the cold," she said, but her voice was unsteady.

"Try again," I said, this time with a smirk on my face.

"The lighting. The tower is reflecting ... "

"Alexia."

She bit her lip, and the pink deepened to red. "Okay. Maybe I'm blushing a little."

"A little?"

"Fine. You win. I'm blushing a lot because you kissed me."

I laughed, and she laughed, and then she kissing again, softer this time. The Eiffel Tower sparkled above us, Paris hummed around us, and for the first time in months, everything felt right and a little bit more okay. 

--- --- 

The roar of the Johan Cruyff Stadium was deafening, a wall of sound that pressed against my chest as I sat on the bench, my leg bouncing with nervous energy. April 30th, 2023. Barcelona versus Sporting Club de Huelva. It was a match we were used to, but this time the league title was within reach.

Beside me, Alexia sat with the same tension, her fingers drumming against her thigh. We'd both been cleared to play by the medical team. It was only meant to be short minutes, just enough to get our bodies back into the rhythm of playing again, but at least it was something. Sitting here, watching the match unfold without us, felt like a different type of torture to rehab.

The score was 1-0. An okay lead, but not safe. Never safe, not even close to safe.

I watched Aitana weave through the midfield, watched Caro make a run down the wing, and my body ached to be out there with them. Eleven months. Eleven months since I'd played a competitive match. Since that tackle in the Euros opener had torn my ACL and ripped away everything I'd taken for granted.

"Nervous?" Alexia murmured beside me, her voice barely audible over the crowd.

"Terrified," I admitted. My hand found her as I held onto her for safety and comfort.

"Me too." She whispered to me as she gave my hand a gentle squeeze in acknowledgement.

"Alexia. Lova." Jonatan turned to us, "Warm up. You're going on in five."

The world tilted slightly as I stood. Alexia stood up beside me, and together we jogged to the sideline, our movements careful and controlled as we followed the coach's instructions. My knee felt strong beneath me; months of work had made sure of that, but there was still that whisper of fear, that what-if that lived in the back of my mind now.

We stretched, we moved, we waited. The crowd had noticed the second we started warming up, and the noise was huge.

"Alexia! Alexia!"

"Lova! Lova!"

Hearing my name, sung by thousands of voices, had my eyes burning with the threat of tears.

"Don't cry yet. Save them for after." Alexia said, bumping her shoulder against mine.

"Who says I'm going to cry?"

Alexia just looked at me with a questioning look as she raised her eyebrows at me. "I know you."

She did. She knew me better than anyone.

The whistle blew in the 73rd minute. The board went up for two substitutions.

Number 11 and number 36.

Alexia went on first, but she only just stepped over the white line as she swapped places with Pina. She waited there for me as Salma swapped for me. The second I stepped over the line, we ran into position together.

The sound was physical, a force that washed over me, over both of us. I could see fans in the stands, could hear our teammates clapping, and could see the respect in the eyes of the Huelva players as they watched us take our positions.

Alexia dropped into her usual position in the midfield while I took my place up in the front. The grass felt like home beneath my boots.

The referee's whistle blew, and we were playing.

Every touch of the ball was electric. My first pass was simple, a small pass to Caro, but it felt monumental. My first run was only ten meters as I tracked back on defense, but it made my heart soar. I was playing. I was actually playing football again, not thinking about it or dreaming about it ... I was actually doing it.

Beside me, I could feel Alexia's presence on the pitch the way I always had, that sixth sense that told me where she was and what she was thinking. We'd spent five years building that connection, and eleven months of injury hadn't broken it. If anything, it had made it stronger.

The minutes ticked by. 75th. 80th. 85th. Huelva was pressing now, desperate, but we were holding firm. My legs were burning now; match fitness was different from training fitness, and my body was remembering that the hard way, but I didn't care. I would run until I collapsed if that's what it took.

In the 88th minute, Patri won the ball in midfield and immediately looked up, finding Alexia. I saw it happening before it happened, the way I always could with her. Alexia received the pass, turned, and suddenly there was space opening up ahead of me.

I ran.

My knee held. My body remembered. I ran the way I'd run a thousand times before, the way I'd dreamed of running during those long months of rehab, and Alexia's pass was perfect, threaded over two defenders, weighted just right, landing exactly where I needed it.

The ball came to my feet, and as it did, it felt like time slowed down.

The goalkeeper came off her line, and I could hear the crowd cheering behind me, the rising roar of anticipation. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. Eleven months. Eleven months of pain and doubt and fear and work, and it all came down to this moment.

I struck the ball, and it flew to the far side of the goal, past the keeper's outstretched hands, past the defender sliding desperately on the line, and right into the back of the net.

Goal.

I'd scored.

I stood there, frozen, staring at the ball sitting in the net like I couldn't quite believe it was real. The stadium was screaming, my teammates were screaming, but I couldn't move, couldn't process what had just happened. After everything, after the injury that had torn my world apart, after the surgery and the pain and the months of wondering if I'd ever be the same, I'd just done what I'd been known for before.

The shock lasted maybe three seconds, maybe less, and then it broke like a wave, and I was running.

Not toward the corner flag, not toward the fans, not towards my teammate, but toward Alexia.

She was already running toward me, her face split in the widest smile I'd ever seen, and when we collided, I jumped, wrapping my legs around her waist, my arms around her neck, holding on like she was the only solid thing as the world spun around me.

"You did it," she was saying, or maybe I was saying it, or maybe we were both saying it. "You did it, you did it, you did it."

I was crying. She was crying. Our teammates crashed into us, a pile of bodies and joy and relief, but I held on tight to Alexia through all of it, my face buried in her neck.

The final whistle blew two minutes later. Barcelona 2, Sporting Club de Huelva 0, and league champions to seal it all off.

The celebration was chaos—champagne and music and dancing, cameras everywhere. Through it all, I kept finding Alexia's eyes and just naturally gravitated back to her side, where I'd been for the past eleven months. This was our moment. Our triumph. Built on months of shared pain and shared work and shared hope.

When they brought out the trophy, they tried to hand it to Alexia. She was the captain. This was her moment, her responsibility, her right, but she hesitated. She looked at the trophy before looking at me and shaking her head.

"No," she said firmly. She ran up to me as I stood in the crowd of the team, waiting for her to bring it to us. She held her hand out for me to take, trying to pull me with her.

"No, Ale, you're the captain ... "

"You lift it with me, or I don't do it at all."

"That's not how this works. It's your job to do." I argued back.

"I don't care." Her eyes were fierce, determined, full of love."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her this was her moment, that she'd earned this, that she deserved to have this glory all to herself, but looking at her face, I knew I'd lose. Alexia had made up her mind, and when Alexia made up her mind, the universe bent to accommodate her.

"Okay," I whispered.

We gripped the trophy together, her on one side, me on the other, as we lifted it high above our heads. The crowd roared as gold streamers rained down from somewhere behind us. Cameras flashed like lightning in front of us, but all I looked at was Alexia beside me, her face full of joy, and all I could feel was the weight of the trophy and the lightness in my chest at the knowledge that we'd made it. Through the darkness, through the pain, through all the doubt, we'd made it back.

--- --- 

Hours later, after the champagne had been drunk and the photos had been taken and the fans had reluctantly filtered out of the stadium, Alexia and I found ourselves standing in the middle of the pitch.

The stadium was completely empty now, bar a few staff members who were cleaning up, collecting abandoned scarves and signs, but they left us alone. The floodlights were on, casting everything in stark white light, and the grass was covered in confetti, looking like snow.

My arms were wrapped around Alexia's waist. Her arm was draped over my shoulders, holding me close against her side. We stood there in silence for a long moment, just breathing, just being.

"I can't believe we're here," I said finally, my voice quiet in the vast space.

"I can. I always knew we'd make it back." Alexia's voice was soft but certain.

"Did you? Really?" I turned my head to look at her because I knew for a fact that wasn't true. She might have known, but it wasn't always a conclusion.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Maybe not always," she admitted. "There were days when I wondered. When the pain was so bad, I couldn't imagine ever running again, let alone playing. When the physios would talk about timelines and percentages, and I'd think, what if I'm in the percentage that doesn't make it back?"

"Me too," I whispered in agreement.

"But we did it anyway." Her arm tightened around my shoulders, and in return I tightened mine around her waist. "We showed up anyway. We did the work anyway. Even when we were scared, even when it hurt, even when everyone was asking if we'd ever be the same."

I thought about those voices a lot. The commentators who'd speculated about our careers being over, the articles analysing our injury timelines, the well-meaning people who'd said things like 'at least they had a good run' as if our careers were already past tense. I thought about the doubt that had lived in my own head, the voices that whispered you'll never be as fast, as strong, as good as you were before.

"Are we the same as we were before?" I asked.

Alexia was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was carefully considered. "No. We're not the same. We're better."

"Better?"

"Stronger. Not just physically, though we are that too, after all that work, but mentally. Emotionally." She turned to face me fully, both arms coming around me now. "We know what it's like to lose everything. We know what it's like to have to fight for every single step back. We know what rock bottom feels like, and we know we can climb out of it. That makes us so much better, Lova."

I thought about the goal I'd scored tonight. The way my body had moved without thought, without fear, just pure instinct and muscle memory and trust. I thought about the months of work that had gone into that single moment. The hours in the gym, the painful sessions with the physios, the days when progress felt impossible and we'd pushed through anyway.

"We had one of the worst injuries we could have. An ACL rupture is sometimes a career-ending injury."

"Sometimes, but not for us." Alexia agreed.

"Not for us," I echoed.

I remembered that day, two weeks after our surgeries, when I'd shown up at her apartment desperate and hurting and so tired of being strong. I remembered curling up on her couch, hiding, and falling asleep in her arms. That had been the beginning, not of our friendship, which had started years before, but of something deeper. Something that had grown through shared pain and shared hope and shared determination.

I looked around at the now-empty stadium, at the torn-up pitch, at the trophy that sat nearby where we'd set it down, gleaming in the floodlights. I thought about the journey that had brought us here, from that sofa where we'd both questioned everything to this moment of triumph. Eleven months. Eleven months of work and pain and doubt and hope, and we'd made it through.

Together.

"I love you," I said, the words spilling out before I could think about them. "I love you so much, Ale."

"I love you too Lo." She leaned down and pressed her forehead against mine.

We stood there in the middle of the pitch, wrapped around each other, and I felt something settle in my chest. We'd survived the worst and come out the other side, not just intact but stronger. Together.

--- --- 

The tunnel at Eden Park felt impossibly long as we walked out, two separate lines. Spain in red to my left, and I and the rest of the team in yellow to the left. I could see Alexia ahead of me in the Spanish line, her hair pulled back tight, her face set in that focused expression I knew so well. We'd spent the last year together, every single day, every meal, every training session, every quiet evening on the couch. We'd rebuilt ourselves side by side, lifted a league trophy together, kissed under the Eiffel Tower, built a life that felt unshakeable.

On the other side of the next ninety minutes, we were about to try to destroy each other's World Cup dreams.

The anthems played, and I stood looking out at the crowd singing the Swedish words. As we finished and were walking through the last seconds of pre-match, my eyes kept drifting across the pitch to where Alexia stood with her teammates. She was looking at me, too. Our eyes met for just a second, and I saw everything there, love and determination. This was what we'd worked for. This was why we'd pushed through the pain and the doubt and the endless hours of rehab. To be here. To compete at the highest level.

Even if it meant competing against each other.

The opening whistle blew.

The match was brutal from the first minute. Spain controlled possession the way they always did, patient and precise, while we sat deep and looked to counter. I chased Alexia's passes, tracked her runs, and every time we came close to each other on the pitch, there was this electric charge in the air of awareness and familiarity and something that felt almost like grief.

At halftime, it was 0-0. In the locker room, Peter talked tactics and adjustments, but I could barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes between us and a World Cup final.

The second half was more of the same, with Spain pressing and us defending, while the tension built with every passing minute. My legs were burning, my lungs screaming, but I kept running. Kept fighting. This was too important to give anything less than everything I had.

Then, in the 81st minute, it happened.

Spain worked the ball patiently across our defensive line, probing for weakness. Alexia dropped deep to receive a pass, turned, and suddenly there was space. She played it wide to Mariona, who crossed it low and hard into the box. Salma was there, and the ball was in the net before our goalkeeper could react.

1-0 Spain.

The Spanish players erupted in celebration. I watched Alexia get mobbed by her teammates, watched her smile, and felt something crack in my chest. I was happy for her; I was so proud of her, but I also wanted to scream.

"Come on! We're not done! Seven minutes! We can do this!" Filippa shouted across the pitch, clapping her hands

Seven minutes felt like both an eternity and no time at all. We pushed forward, desperate now, throwing everything at Spain's defence. The crowd was deafening, our fans screaming at us for an equalizer while the Spanish fans tried to will the clock forward.

Minute 88. Johanna won the ball in midfield and immediately looked up. I was making the run to time it perfectly, and her pass split two defenders. I took one touch to control it, another to set myself, and then I struck it.

The ball flew past Cata's outstretched hands and into the top corner for a goal.

1-1.

I didn't celebrate. There was no time. I grabbed the ball from the net and sprinted back to the centre circle, screaming at my teammates to get ready. Two minutes. We had two minutes to hold on and force extra time.

That was our plan, but Spain had other ideas.

They kicked off and immediately went on the attack. I tracked back, trying to help in the defense, but they were everywhere, passing, moving, probing. Alexia had the ball at the top of the box. I was ten meters away, too far to close her down, and I watched as she played a perfect through ball to Olga, who'd made a run behind our defence.

Olga took one touch and slotted it past Zećira.

2-1 Spain.

90th minute.

The referee added four minutes of stoppage time, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. We threw everything forward, but Spain held us back. When the final whistle blew, I was in Spain's half, having just taken a shot that sailed over the bar.

The sound of that whistle was the worst thing I'd ever heard.

My legs gave out instantly. I didn't decide to fall; my body just stopped working, and suddenly I was face-down in the grass, my hands pressed against the turf, my whole body shaking. We'd been so close. So, fucking close. Ninety seconds from extra time, from another chance, from maybe making it to the final, and now it was just all ... over.

I could hear the people around me, people were crying, Spanish players celebrating, and the roar of the crowd. Although I could hear it, it all felt so distant and muffled, like I was underwater. Someone touched my shoulder and said some words to try to get me to stand up, but I couldn't. I couldn't move. If I moved, if I stood up and faced this, then it would be real. At least if I stayed here, I didn't have to face it.

Another hand on my back with another voice. I ignored them all.

Then I felt it. A touch that was different from the others. This one was familiar. A hand running slowly down my spine, gentle and knowing, and a voice that cut through everything else.

"Lova."

Alexia.

"Lova, please. Look at me. Please"

I wanted to ignore her too. I wanted to stay here in the grass and pretend none of this was happening, but there was something in her voice, not triumph or pity, but a sense of hurt. She was hurting because I was hurting, and that made everything worse and better at the same time.

I pushed myself up slowly, my arms shaking with the effort. When I got to my feet, I crossed my arms over my chest, putting a physical barrier between us. Alexia stood in front of me in her red Spain kit, her face streaked with tears and mascara. Her happy tears,

"Lova..." she started.

"I'm mad at you right now," I said, and my voice came out harder than I meant it to. "I know you didn't score the goals yourself, but you did play a key role in them. I know you're just doing your job, and I would never expect you not to, but right now it hurts. Losing at this stage hurts a lot, particularly like this." My voice cracked on the last word. "So, I have the right to be mad at you for at least the next twenty-four hours, no matter how fucking proud of you I am."

Alexia's face crumpled. She didn't say anything, didn't try to defend herself or apologize or tell me it would be okay. She just stepped forward and pulled me into her arms.

I resisted for maybe half a second before I broke. My arms came around her, and I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in, letting her hold me together while I fell apart. She smelled like sweat and grass and that perfume she always wore, and I hated that even now, even in the middle of this devastation, being in her arms felt like coming home. They felt safe, and I felt so loved while they held me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, amor," she whispered against my hair.

"Don't apologise for winning, that's stupid," I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder.

"I know, but I'm still sorry you're hurting."

We stood there for a long moment, holding each other in the middle of the pitch while chaos swirled around us. Eventually, I pulled back, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

"You have to win this whole thing now," I said, trying to inject some firmness into my voice. "Do you hear me? If you don't win the final, I'm going to be really mad at you. When you come home, you'll find you'll have been replaced by Otto and Nala and that your new bed will be the couch."

Alexia laughed, and it was a watery, broken sound. "That's a lot of pressure."

"Good. You deserve it after breaking my heart today."

"I love you, Lo. So much. You know that, right?" she said, cupping my face in her hands.

"I know." I covered her hands with mine. "I love you too. Even though I hate you a little bit right now. I love you so much more than I could ever hate you."

"Only for twenty-four hours, though."

"Only for twenty-four hours," I confirmed.

She kissed my forehead, then my cheeks, and then my lips before she was pulled away by her teammates and swept up in their celebration, and I was left standing there watching her go.

Stina appeared at my side as she put her arm around my shoulders. "Come on. Let's go."

I let her lead me away, but I looked back once. Alexia was watching me, even in the middle of her team's joy, and when our eyes met, she pressed her hand to her heart.

I did the same.

Twenty-four hours. I could be mad for twenty-four hours.

--- --- 

The Stadium Australia was absolutely packed with 75,000 people screaming as Spain and England battled it out in the final game of the World Cup. I sat next to Eli in the family section, holding onto her hand tighter than was probably safe for her circulation, with my heart in my throat as I watched every pass, every tackle, every near miss.

Sweden beat Australia yesterday in the third-place match. Bronze medals. It wasn't a final, and it wasn't the gold medal I'd dreamed of, but after the devastation of the semifinal, there was something healing about stepping onto the podium, about having something tangible to show for our tournament. The medal was tucked in my pocket, weighing down the right side of my coat.

Despite all my own excitement, right now, all I cared about was the woman in the red number 11 jersey orchestrating Spain's attack.

"She's playing so well," Eli said beside me.

"She always does," I said, my eyes never leaving Alexia.

The match was tense and physical, and both teams were desperate. England had their chances; Lauren Hemp hit the crossbar in the first half, which nearly caused me to have a heart attack, but Spain was controlling the game the way they always did. Patient. Precise. Deadly.

Then, in the 29th minute, it happened.

Mariona crossed the ball into the box. Olga was there, and suddenly the net was rippling as the ball came to sit at the back of it, and the Spanish section of the stadium lost its mind.

1-0 Spain.

I was on my feet, screaming, Eli beside me doing the same. We were still holding hands as we jumped about, hugging. Around us, Spanish families were crying, hugging, and celebrating. My heart was soaring even as a tiny part of me still ached from five days ago.

The second half was utter agony. England pushed hard, throwing everything forward, but Spain's defence held firm. Alexia was everywhere, winning balls, distributing passes, controlling the tempo. She was magnificent.

When the final whistle blew, I burst into tears.

Spain had won the World Cup.

Alexia had won the World Cup.

The pitch was utter chaos. Spanish players piled on top of each other, and English players collapsed in devastation. The trophy and medal ceremony wasn't much different. Players were climbing and jumping all over each other with confetti cannons exploding. I watched Alexia emerge from the pile of bodies, her face radiant with joy, and I wanted nothing more than to run down there and hold her.

After the air had settled, the English players had made their way into the changing room, and the Spanish team remained on the pitch, taking it all in.

"Come on," Eli said, tugging my hand. "They're letting family down."

We made our way down to the pitch access, showing our credentials to security. The field was packed with people now, players, staff, families, and media. I scanned the crowd, looking for my familiar figure in red.

Alexia was standing with some of her teammates, her gold medal already around her neck, and she was laughing at something Laia had said. She looked so happy, so free, so completely herself, and I felt my heart expand in my chest.

As if she could feel me watching, she turned. Our eyes met across the crowded pitch, and her whole face lit up.

She started walking toward me, and eventually we collided in the middle of the pitch, and she lifted me off my feet, spinning me around while I laughed and cried at the same time.

"You did it! You won! You actually won!" I said through the tears.

"I did," she said, setting me down but not letting go of me. She held me captive in her arms, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

"I'm so proud of you," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "So, fucking proud. You were incredible."

She kissed me then, right there in the middle of the pitch with 75,000 people watching and cameras everywhere, and I kissed her back as my life depended on it.

When we finally pulled apart, she was grinning. She reached up and lifted the gold medal from around her neck, holding it up between us.

"So," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is this a good enough token for you? Do I get to sleep in our bed when we get home, or am I going to have to fight Otto and Nala for it back?"

I laughed a real, full laugh that came from somewhere deep in my chest. I reached into my coat and pulled out my bronze medal, the one I'd won yesterday, and held it up to mirror her pose.

"I think that your token is acceptable," I said slowly,

I pulled her close again, my arms around her waist, her arms around my neck, and we stood there swaying slightly in the middle of the pitch. Around us, the celebration continued: fireworks, music, laughter, tears, but in our little bubble, there was just us.

"I love you," I said against her ear. "Gold medal, bronze medal, no medal. I love you always."

"I love you too," she said. "Thank you for being here. Thank you for being proud of me even when it hurt."

"Always. Even when you break my heart on the pitch, I'll always be proud of you." I promised.

"Same," she said. "Your bronze medal is just as beautiful as my gold one. You know that, right?"

"I know." I did. Standing here with her, wearing my medal while she wore hers, I understood that we'd both won something more important than any trophy. We'd won each other. We'd won the ability to compete fiercely and love deeply. We'd won the knowledge that we could face each other as opponents and still come home as partners.

"Come on," Alexia said, pulling back and taking my hand. "Come celebrate with us."

"Are you sure? This is your moment ... "

"Our moment," she corrected firmly. "Everything is our moment now, Lova. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

I let her lead me into the crowd of Spanish players and families. I thought about the journey that had brought us here, from adjacent lockers and Google Translate, through torn ACLs and months of rehab, through Paris and the Eiffel Tower, through domestic titles and now a World Cup.

We'd faced each other across a pitch in Auckland, and I'd told her I had the right to be mad for twenty-four hours.

Those twenty-four hours were long over.

Now there was only pride, and joy, and love, and the gold medal around her neck that she'd won, and the bronze medal around mine that I'd won, and the knowledge that whatever came next, we'd face it together.

Champions. Partners. Survivors.

Together.

Always together.

You could count on one hand what was there to do during camp when training was over, gym sessions were done for the day, and sunshine was out of the question. To end the boredom, you had gone up to the room you shared with Alexia and grabbed the uno cards you always had in your camp bag. You brought them down to the game room and set them on the round, light wooden table.

And just like that, a war began between you, Alexia, Jana and Patri. 

"UNO!" Jana yelled as she slammed her penultimate card onto the table.  A +4, mind you — directed straight at Alexia, who was already holding approximately thirty-two cards in her hands. 

Safe to say, the captain was not a natural at uno.

You leaned to the side, watching the Catalan stare down at the colourful card as if Jana had just invoked a curse upon the putellas bloodline. You and Jana exchanged a brief look, both of you trying very hard not to laugh (and failing miserably).

Across the table, Patri – holding about half the number of cards Aleixa was saddled with – looked equally as furious. It was now extremely obvious that either you or Jana would take the win, a sad realisation that was about to result in Patri and Alexia's collapse.

Collapse, yes. Because apparently, a casual, friendly and harmless round of uno was treated as the worst form of personal affront by those two, especially Alexia.

"Come on! Jana, this ain't possible," Patri complained, leaning forward to examine the discard pile as if hoping the number would magically change. "You definitely cheated, tía! That's the fourth plus four you've dropped during the whole game! How many did you draw?"

"I didn't cheat," Jana said cheekily, biting back a smile. "You and Ale just... lost. Stop being sore about it."

Alexia's jaw clenched. Actually, she had been grinding it for the last three rounds, ever since Jana had forced her to draw sixteen cards in total. You could see her pterygoid muscles tense up under the skin of her neck; it would (undoubtedly) give her a tension headache later on, and you could practically hear her whining about it.

"I really don't understand how either of you can't seem to formulate a reasonable strategy," you teased, leaning back into your red, plastic seat. You guys are midfielders. Isn't that what you all do? Isn't that your job? Think ahead of your opponents? Analyse the other team's game and weak spots?"

Alexia glared at you, her fingers gripping the million cards in her hands so tightly the cardboard began to bend.  

"Hey… stop it," you murmured, reaching across to gently pat the back of her hand, trying to coax her into loosening her grip. She didn't budge. 

Stubborn woman.

"Maybe defenders just have some form of innate privilege during card games," Patri said, more to herself, genuinely trying to find a correlation between the art of stopping crosses and matching numbers and colours.

You smiled at Patri's analytical face, but your attention didn't stay on the Mallorcan for long. Your eyes naturally fell back to your girlfriend. They always did that; it was muscle memory at this point, an instinct to seek her face in every room.

Right now, it was written across her face as clearly as if it were flashing in neon lights: the competitor in her did not know how to handle losing at a card game. Or at any game, really. 

Alexia hated losing, and right now, she was very frustrated

"Let's play again, vale?" Patri said, already snatching your remaining cards to shuffle them into her own pile. "Let's do a best of three-"

"That was our third round," Jana pointed out, her voice absolutely dripping with fake innocence. "That was the best of three."

Patri narrowed her eyes, unfazed. "Best of four, then, whatever. Don't be difficult."

"No. Let's definitely not play again," you interrupted, laughing. "Just accept the defeat, Patrícia. That's what normal people do."

"You lost too!" Alexia chimed in defensively, her voice super indignant. "Jana won, not you. Her victory is not your victory! This is an in-di-vi-du-al game!" She enunciated every single syllable to make her point across, but she only resembled a grumpy toddler.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, but you don't see me pouting about it, do you? I'm grown up enough to play simply for the fun of it."

"I'm not pouting!" Alexia responded as if that was the only thing that mattered in your entire sentence. 

"You are, though, just a little–" Jana's teasing was cut short by the sound of plastic chair legs dragging across the wooden floor.

Alexia stood up abruptly, a storm on her face.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced flatly, tossing her remaining cards onto the table. "I don't want to play anymore."

"Oh, Ale! Come on," Jana said, grinning. She was clearly enjoying this, watching two of the most competitive players in women's football (and her own captains) lose their minds over a kids' game. "Don't be like that! We can reset, alright? I promise I'll go easy on you this time."

"Stop mocking me," Alexia grumbled. She turned on her heel and walked toward the glass door that separated the game room from the lounge, where the stairs led up to the bedrooms.

She wasn't necessarily angry-walking, but she was definitely pouty-walking, foot stomping and everything. You rolled your eyes. This was becoming premeditated behaviour at this point. Alexia did this every single time she lost. Board games, card games, and video games, it didn't really matter. The moment she realised she couldn't win, she always found a reason to leave, and of course, ensured her exit to be as dramatic as possible.

"Alexia, don't be such a sore loser!" you called after her, twisting around in your chair. "It's just a game!"

…

That did it.

She stopped in her tracks and turned back around slowly. Just like a dramatic scene straight out of a novela. Alexia moved at 0.75 speed. When she finally spoke, the coldness in her voice could have turned all the rain outside into snow.

"I'm not a loser," she said, looking right into your eyes, her hands curled into fists at her sides.  After delivering her cinematic final line,  she turned again, and this time she left for good. The last thing you saw was her Nike shoes as she rounded the corner of the corridor. 

The silence left was, as anyone could imagine, uncomfortable. The only sounds left were the droplets of rain against the window and Patri letting out a forced cough, a clear (and desperate) attempt to end the tension in the room.

"Bueno…" Jana said slowly, looking at the door, "I think she's a bit upset."

Patri turned to you, her expression softening into concern."Tia, I think you actually hurt her feelings this time."

"Oh come on!" You protested, throwing your arms up in the air. "It was a joke! A broma! She did lose."

Patri reached for the scattered cards again, stacking them in a pile. "Yeah, but you know how she is. She gets annoyed when she loses."

You knew Patri was right. Alexia did get incredibly annoyed, but something in your gut told you that a simple apology later wouldn't fix this. The best thing to do was to follow her right now.

You found her in your shared room, lying face down on the bed. She was still wearing the same clothes, still committed to the bit of anger and sulking. 

No shower then, huh?

"...Ale?" you said softly, stepping inside. You closed the door behind you, and your fingers reached for the lock, twisting it until you heard the click.

She didn't respond…. she didn't respond at all, which was exactly what you had anticipated. 

You walked over to the edge of the bed, looking down at her and her spectacular display of stubbornness. "Come on, amor. I was just teasing you."

Crickets.  Zero response.

She just… lay there, her face buried in the white pillow, fully devoted to giving you the silent treatment. The silent treatment was another classic Alexia behaviour, usually reserved for when she felt truly and deeply slighted by you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. You couldn't help it; even when she was acting entirely miserable, she looked cute. Pouty, grumpy and petulant. What a devastatingly good mix.

She shifted slightly on the mattress, and the movement offered you a spectacular view of her backside and… Okay, wow. Alexia's ass and thighs looked absolutely perfect in those red training shorts. Even while sulking and ignoring your entire existence, the woman managed to be breathtakingly hot. 

You crawled onto the mattress and leaned down to press a soft kiss against the only part of her cheek that was peaking between the pillow. "I shouldn't have said that," you whispered close to her ear. "Vale? Perdon?"

Apparently, that unlocked something inside the Catalan. Suddenly, she was sitting up, her honey eyes flashing at you like an angry snake.

"Of course you shouldn't have!" she snapped. "I'm a Champions League winner! I have won every single domestic cup there is! I have won the World Cup, Déu meu! I'm not a loser, and I'm absolutely not a sore one!"

"I know, guapa," you interrupted smoothly, biting the inside of your cheek. "But you still lost at uno, and that's okaaaay! You can't let a card game ruin your night."

She stared at you, genuinely offended by your words. Then, before you could even blink, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on top of her. 

You land half on top of her body. For a delicious moment, you thought she was maybe she was actually going to… engage with you properly, kiss you. But instead, she just pouted. Like, full-on pouted, her bottom lip stuck out completely, a display to make it clear how aggrieved she was. 

"You are so annoying right now," she said straightforwardly, her warm breath brushing against your lips, causing you to part them slightly, instinctively trying to breathe her in. "Did you come up here to annoy me even more?"

You giggled, which was apparently the wrong move. Her expression got even more wounded. 

"What? Do you get off by making me mad or something?" She groaned, tossing her head back against the pillow.

You smiled down at her, still hovering over her chest. "A bit, yeah. I'm not gonna lie… you get all grumpy and pouty, and-"

"I don't want to talk to you," she cut you off, pushing hard at your shoulders and rolling out from under you. "I was expecting some sort of apology."

"I did apologise!"

"You didn't mean it, though!" She claimed petulantly as she swung her legs over the side and got off the bed. 

"Okay, okay, Ale," you said, sitting up on the mattress, still amused by the theatricality of it all. "I'm sooo sorry, yeah? From the bottom of my heart, from the depths of my soul–"

Alexia didn't even bother turning around to look at you. 

Instead, she walked straight toward the attached bathroom. At first, you thought she was just going to take a shower to cool off, but then… the distinct click of the lock echoed through the bedroom. 

You froze in your spot.

Alexia never locked the bathroom door. Ever. She was one of those people who loved company while showering; she loved when you washed her hair, or when you simply sat on the counter or the closed toilet lid to chat with her while she washed. You'd always thought it was because she grew up in a house full of women, accustomed to sharing space.

Locking the door was basically a statement. It was her way of saying she was genuinely upset (as if the previous fifteen minutes hadn't been glaringly obvious). 

"Ale?" you called out, padding over to the door and knocking against the wood.

There was no response. You groaned, resting your forehead against the frame. "Alexia, come on. Open the door. Now."

Since you heard nothing, you reached down and tried the handle anyway, even though you already knew it would refuse to budge. You rattled it a little in frustration. She had actually locked you out.

"Ale! Don't be like this," you said, leaning your shoulder against the door. "I was joking! You know I was joking! Now you are just being childish."

A second later, you heard the sound of water running. She had turned on the shower. Your conscience told you she had probably done it for the sole purpose of drowning out the sound of your voice.

You rolled your eyes. Impossible women..

"Alexia!"

The sound of the water intensified, as if she had set it on the maximum pressure. She was definitely doing that on purpose.

You waited outside the bathroom door like a dog for a few minutes, alternating between cajoling her with sweet talk through the door and threatening her with a (retaliatory) silent treatment of your own. But Alexia was as stubborn as a bull and far too proud to surrender. Eventually, you gave up the fight and decided to wait it out, tossing yourself back onto the bed.

When Alexia finally emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later, she was still mad. A thick cloud of warm condensation followed her into the room behind her. Her fingers were pruny, and her hair was dripping onto the fabric of a hoodie, one you hadn't even realised she had sneaked into the bathroom with her.

You blinked, trying to look closer… It was your hoodie.

A smile tugged at your lips. The fact that she was wearing your clothes was a fantastic sign that she (secretly) wanted to make amends, right? Either that, or she had simply assumed it was hers, given that the national team's standard training gear didn't have any individual identification on it. Either way, she looked incredibly pretty and adorable, all swallowed up by the clothing.

Naturally, she was making a point of looking anywhere but at you.

"Ale," you tried again, softening your voice to butter her up. "Guapa, talk to me, por favor?"

Ignoring you entirely, she climbed into the double bed and immediately crawled to the opposite side, turning her back to you.

After ten whole minutes of silence, you couldn't take it anymore. 

"You're being ridiculous."

"I am not talking to you," she muttered into her pillow, her voice muffled. "And I won't until tomorrow morning, at least."

"Are you really giving me the silent treatment because I called you a sore loser at uno?

"Yes. And for giving me empty apologies."

"Empty apol–? Good God!" You scoffed, rolling onto your side to face her rigid back.  "You lost, and you stormed out like it was the end of the world! That's the only reason I called you a sore loser. I obviously know you aren't an actual loser."

She huffed. 

Yep. That was it. The only response you got. To drive the point home, she pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, completely shutting you out of her cocoon.

Despite everything, despite her being upset, despite the locked door, despite the stubborn silence, you found yourself grinning. Alexia sulking was quite literally the most endearing thing you had ever witnessed.

Very slowly, you slid across the mattress and stopped short of pressing your chest against her back, making sure not to fully touch her yet. You wanted to respect her boundaries while she cooled off, but you still wanted to be close enough to smell her honey shampoo and body wash.

"I really am sorry," you said quietly, your teasing tone melting.  "I shouldn't have called you that. Even as a joke."

She didn't answer right away, but you watched as the tight lines of her shoulders finally dropped. Her body relaxed, just a bit.

"You are right, bebe," you coaxed, sliding closer. "You have won everything. You are the absolute best." You paused, letting the compliment sit… but, because you couldn't help yourself, you added. "Well, except at uno apparently. But that's totally okay. I don't love you any less for it."

You heard her try to muffle a giggle into her pillow.

"Guapa," you whispered, reaching out to nudge her shoulder. "Let's talk? Please? I don't like it when you are quiet."

She was quiet for so long, you thought she was actually going to commit to the silent treatment until morning, but then she finally spoke. 

"Okay… so I might have overreacted a little bit," she admitted quietly. 

"Yes, you did."

(Finally) she turned around to face you.

"Jana was lucky," she said, her hazel eyes were wide and intense as she looked at you, practically begging for validation.

"Yes, unbelievably lucky," you agreed, nodding instantly. At this point, you would say anything just to keep hearing her voice. "But she's also very talented at card games."

Alexia pouted again. You leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

"Forgive me?" you asked, humming against her skin.

She took her time answering, considering it as if she were deciding whether you had suffered enough for your crime.

"Yes," she said slowly, but then she paused, her eyes now had a bit of a spark to them. " But you have to make it up to me."

"Okay, baby," you smiled, placing your hand on the mattress right beside her head. "You tell me exactly what to do, and I'll do it."

"We are never playing cards again," she declared.

"Never," you agreed solemnly, without hesitation.

"And you have to tell the others that Jana only won because she cheated. "

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. "She didn't, though! She's just that good at it… accept the reality, amor."

"Then we are no longer friends," she said, completely serious.

"Oh, we're not friends anymore?" You smirked. "How exactly are we supposed to be dating if we aren't even friends, huh?"

She shrugged, bottom lip still out, unbothered by her contradiction. "We won't have to find out if you just do what I'm asking you to do."

You let out a tsk with your tongue. "Now, now, Putellas. You want me to lie for you? Start a rumour over a silly card game?"

"Yes, please," she said with a single nod of her head, looking satisfied with the logic of her own argument. 

"Is there something more that you want, Ale?"  you ask, your voice turning velvet. 

You knew she understood the sudden change in your cadence; she knew exactly what that low tone implied. She looked up at you, her pupils visibly dilating in the dim light of the room.

"I want..." she started, but then she trailed off, her eyes dropping to your lips. The hesitation made you lean even closer, hovering just centimetres away from her face.

"Yeah? Tell me."

"I want you," she breathed.

"I'm right here, guapa," you murmured. You wanted to see her squirm just a little bit more.

A pretty flush crept up her whole face, and she let out a frustrated huff through her nose. She got flustered so quickly, it was as hot as it was endearing. 

"Y-you know what I mean," she stammered, glaring at you half-heartedly. "Don't be condescending now."

You had to bite back your smile because she was being so clearly needy, so openly desperate for your touch and attention, and yet, she was doing it while maintaining this pouty, wounded expression as if she hadn't just completely given herself away.

"I just want to be sure," you whispered. You leaned down and kissed her left cheek."...that I give you exactly what you want." You shifted, now pressing a slow kiss to her other cheek before stopping on top of her lips. "So I can be completely certain that I'll be forgiven."

Her hands lowered to your hips, her long and delicate fingers gripping at your flesh as best they could over the fabric of your adidas shorts. Her lips were pink and pouty, her forehead deeply creased, with the tiny droplets of water from the shower still clinging to her skin. Her cheeks were so, so flushed you could practically see her capillaries dilating in real time. 

She was thoroughly embarrassed. You grinned like a mean wolf. You got yourself a good little sheep.

"Te quiero aquí," she breathed, pressing her pelvis to yours as she clawed onto your hips again. It seemed she was incredibly handsy tonight. [I want you here]

"Here, where, amor?" You asked, teasing her for pure self-enjoyment. "Be good for me. Tell me what you want."

Her eyes flickered away from yours immediately. 

"You could ask for anything," you continued, attenuating the teasing slightly, just enough to coax the truth out of her. "You could have my fingers, my mouth… or do you want to be strapped, bebé? Oh, what about scissoring? Want to feel me against you?"

Alexia groaned and looked toward the wall beside you, just so she wouldn't have to meet your eyes. She muttered something under her breath, but it was too quiet; you only caught the very end of it.

"...please?"

"Please, what?" 

She snapped back at you, and you kissed her grumpy face. "I'm not teasing, I promise. But you keep mumbling so much when you are like this, I genuinely couldn't understand you."

You two held a staring competition. 

You won. 

You tilted your head, waiting patiently while running a single finger up and down her inner arm, feeling her hair stand on end.

"...eat me out? Por favor?"

You smiled victoriously. "Of course I will!" you replied, your voice honey-sweet, almost as sweet as the taste you were already craving.  "See? That wasn't so hard."

Alexia looked up at you, a mix of shyness and sweetness on her smile. You had to physically hold yourself back from calling her cute; you didn't want to ruin the dominant moment you had carefully set.

She shifted beneath you, spreading her legs and making space so you could slot yourself between her things. You heard how her breath turned heavier, her nostrils flaring up a bit as she drew in more air through her parted lips. All while her eyebrows remained knit despite how much you wanted her to just relax.

You settled between the space she offered, but before you did anything else, you pressed a kiss to her forehead again. "You are being so needy right now." You didn't say it as a question, nor exactly as a statement, but as a condescending comment.

You were a little too smug, a little too pleased with yourself. And you watched as the words made their way to her brain, settling deep into her white matter as she processed and made sense of them. Alexia hated being teased like this. She hated being the one who was flustered, hated feeling like she lost control when, deep down, she wanted nothing more than to completely surrender it to you.

"S-stop it," she mumbled, her protest so weak you almost had to lean down to hear her. "I'm not–"

"Yes, you are," you interrupted, pressing kisses along her jawbone. "You're sulking and pouting, locking doors, giving me the silent treatment... all just so I'll come up here after you and spoil you rotten."

She made the smallest sound of defeat, and you knew you had her exactly where you wanted her. You smiled wolfishly again. 

"That is very needy, Alexia, very princess-like behaviour from you. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You do this from time to time, right bebé?" You tilted your head. "My beautiful little drama queen."

"But that's alright," you continue, pulling back just slightly to look at her whole face. "I like it when you're like this. All vulnerable and desperate and mine."

Her cheeks were deep red now, her breathing already uneven, and you haven't even truly started yet.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" you coaxed. "Let me take the grumpiness right out of you"

She gave you a helpless nod, completely unable to form words, and that was all the permission you needed.

You could feel the heat of her skin over the fabric of your own clothes. Her chest was rising and falling in shallow breaths. You pouted teasingly as you noticed the tiny damp spot darkening her shorts, a promise of how wet she already was for you, all from your dirty talk, all from being teased on. 

Deep down, she liked it. 

You slid lower down her body,  stopping to press a kiss to her inner thigh. "Let me cheer my girl up," you murmur, voice low and dripping with mock sympathy. "Since she was so deeply upset about losing a silly game."

You slid your thumb under the waistline of her shorts. "Hips up, baby," you instructed, tugging for emphasis. 

Alexia lifted her hips without a second thought, allowing you to slide both her shorts and underwear down in one go, baring her to the room and to your eyes. The last thing to leave her body was that goddamn hoodie.

You swallowed and licked your lips as you watched her, now completely naked. Her cunt looked absolutely delicious, messy and damp. Her clit was glistening with her own desire, begging to be taken into your mouth. 

Slowly, you brushed your thumb over her swollen clit, then you slid lower, tracing over her slit and pressing down toward her ass. "Spread your legs wider for me, Alexia."

She obeyed, very compliant. With her thighs parted wider, you had a perfect view of her.  You hummed, satisfied. Of course, she was acting all bratty during uno; the poor thing must have been turned on since you guys were downstairs, judging by how soaked she already was.

"You're such a mess, baby," you murmured, playing with her clit gently, circling it and watching her cunt contract around nothing.

"Ugh," Alexia groaned, throwing her hands over her face to herself, "Stop it."

"No," you said simply.

You leaned your head down and kissed the soft flesh of her stomach before making your way down towards her cunt again. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Alexia peek through the gaps between her fingers. She was watching you with that same shyness from before, but now the pride was entirely gone; it was overtaken by need.

You left a wet trail with your tongue as you made your descent. Your hand settled firmly on her hipbone, holding her from moving away from your mouth. Your tongue flicked out the moment you reached her mount, and you traced a slow line from the pink tip of her clit down to her hole, feeling the salty slickness coat your tongue and your chin. You wanted to be as messy as she was; you wanted to be covered in her.

"My poor baby," you said as you licked her labia before slowing your rhythm, sliding your tongue gently into her hole, tasting her as you pushed in and out. "So wet, so desperate. You know you could have just told me you wanted my face in your pussy earlier, right? There was no need to go all bratty on me downstairs."

You weren't sure if Alexia could fully understand you; your words came out incomprehensible from being stuck at her pussy.

 She gasped, a whimper escaping her pink lips just as she arched her back off the mattress. "I-I don't like when you tease me like this, "she pouted, pressing her fingers even harder into her face to hide.

You chuckled. "Tu cono dime otra cosa, no?" You teased, pulling back just enough to look up at her and shake your head playfully. "Tsk, Tsk, Ale, stop lying to me" [Your cunt tells me something different, no?]

Reaching up, you caught her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face, forcing her beautiful eyes to look straight at you. You leaned up just enough to steal a quick peck from her lips before your fingers resumed their attention to her clit.

"Why are you so wet, bebé? ¿Estabas pensando en mí mientras te duchabas? Estabas tocando a tu coño?" Your voice was a purr, each word made for her to jerk her hips involuntarily. "¿O estabas demasiado ocupada, enfadada por haber perdido?" [Were you thinking about me while you took a shower? Were you touching your pussy?/ Or were you too busy being angry for losing?]

Alexia groaned, her fingers digging into the white sheets as she tried to hold back from moving too much. Her eyes were rolling from the pleasure of your fingers. 

"Joder… fuck," she gasped. "I-I was just taking a-a shower, I wasn't doing anything."

You chuckled. Her argument was entirely too weak, just like her voice. Her body was also betraying her; you felt her pelvic muscles contracting, her clit getting even more swollen.

You couldn't take it anymore. You need to devour Alexia again. 

Lowering your mouth fully onto her pussy, you abandoned talking and focused on making her cum with your mouth. Your tongue lapped at her clit in firm strokes before dipping down to slip between her folds, tasting her wetness, savouring the mess she was making just for you. You sucked gently at her clit, pulling her sensitive nub into your mouth, then releasing it with a pop, only to dive back in with vigour and hunger. 

Her legs were already trembling, her thighs closing around your ears, and her heels dug hard into your back, forcing you close and locking you in her cunt. She bucked again against your face, a desperate sign for you to keep going.

"Like tha–fuck, sí," she cried out. You could feel her pulse throbbing against your tongue, each flick eliciting a sharper gasp from her, each messier than the other.

You circled her hole gently. "Can I?" You asked, resting your chin on top of her naval so you look up her body and meet her eyes properly. 

"Yes, please," she nodded, her eyelids shutting. "T-two, please… okay? Please–"

You slid two fingers inside her in one move, curling them upward to press against her spongy spot, all while your mouth continued its relentless caress on her nub. The dual stimulation was becoming too much; it was already enough to send Alexia over the edge faster than she had anticipated.

Alexia could become rather vocal when she was orgasming. Knowing that, with your mouth still on her clit, you blindly searched for her shorts that had been discarded on the mattress and draped them over her chest before continuing your indivisible attention to her pussy. Alexia, even out of her mind, understood you instantly and bit the fabric of the shorts just as her back arched and a loud and unrestrained moan tore

from her throat. 

She shocked slightly, her thighs momentarily constricting your airways as they clawed at the sides of your head.

You helped her ride her waves of pleasure with steady movements from your fingers and tongue, matching her pace until the trembling began to subside, turning into satisfied sighs.

You were lazily self-indulging in her sweetness when you heard her drop the shorts off her mouth. She tapped your cheek, and you lifted your head. Your face was covered in slickness, your skin flushed red from the temporary lack of oxygen, and your lips still glistening with her juices. 

You were a mess, but looking up at her, she looked equally undone. She gave you a lazy smile as she let her head completely fall into the pillow. You gave her a final and soft kiss on her pussy before making your way up.

You let your weight fall over her chest. She wrapped one hand around your waist while her other hand reached up, her thumb gently brushing across your lips to wipe away the wetness she had left there.

"Te gusta perder ahora?" you whispered right against her thumb, voice filled with amusement and a hint of condescension. [Do you like losing now?]

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop smiling. Her breathing was still heavy, her cheeks a beet red that spread across her neck. Her light brown hair was tangled on the pillowcase, undoubtedly filled with knots since she'd lain down while it was still damp. 

Yep, you were definitely going to have to brush it out for her later.

"You are still annoying," she breathed out shyly, which made you grin. "Just so you know."

"And you are entirely too easy to fluster," you countered, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her left cheek, then her right. It was all very soft and tender now that the urgency had passed.

You kiss her cheek again, and this time she turned her head to catch your lips with hers. It was slow and deep, completely unhurried. She tasted your palette as you exchanged saliva. You bit her lips gently, and she mimicked you, but her teeth were more aggressive, making you whine as she pulled at your lower lip. It forced a sound from your throat, but to make it better, she soothed the ache with a wet swipe of her tongue. 

When you eventually pulled back, both of you were panting. "You okay?" you asked.

She nodded, but she didn't speak. She simply looked at you with vulnerable, hazel eyes while her breathing gradually evened out. Her hand reached out to your torso, and she tugged your shirt in her fist and pouted. She didn't need to use words for you to understand precisely what she wanted. You'd become fluent in Alexia's body language.

Now straddling her lap, you pulled your shirt and black training bra over your head, throwing them somewhere across the mattress or the floor; you weren't sure where they had landed. Your eyes were fixed on Alexia's, while hers were glued to your chest. She held your hips with one firm hand while the other trailed upward, her warm palm cupping your tit.

"Guapa," she murmured, still not looking at your face, completely bewitched. "So pretty…"

She flickered her thumb across your nipple, causing you to feel a spike of heat to pool in your underwear. You leaned down, pressing your naked chest against hers, liquefying against her body. You pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, before trailing back to her cheeks. You took your sweet, sweet time kissing every flushed centimetre of her face while she gripped at your ass with her left hand. 

"Take this off, please," she whined against your mouth, her hands clumsily tugging at the elastic of your red shorts.

"Mhm… so polite now."

You quickly undressed, discarding the adidas shorts until you were completely naked on top of her. You were fully prepared to make out with Alexia again, but her half-lidded eyes and soft expression stopped you in your tracks. You looked down at her, tracing the relaxed lines of her face. 

"I'm sorry for locking the door," she whispered, her hand sliding down to press softly against the bottom of your back. "That wasn't very nice of me."

"Not it wasn't… but it certainly was effective," you admitted, which made her giggle. The sound was tired, but also incredibly beautiful; you instantly wanted to do whatever it took to hear it again.

You kissed her face once more, merely because you couldn't seem to stop yourself, because she looked so soft right now, and she was your girl, and absolutely no one else in the whole entire world got to see her like this, or taste her. 

You were so in deep. When had you become this disgustingly in love? 

"Did you know you look so pretty when you cum?" you murmured, nosing at her sensitive (and still flushed) neck. You tenderly nudged her face to the side so you could get more space to kiss down her throat.  Her blush deepened almost instantly, colouring her skin in the exact same tone as the national team's uniforms. "You get all needy and hot."

The poor thing covered her face with her hands for the twelfth time that day. "Stop," she pouted, her voice muffled. "You're embarrassing me."

You chuckled, pressing your warm lips against her cold knuckles. "Embarrassing you with the truth?" You gently pulled her hands away from her face. "Why is that embarrassing?"

"Because it just is," She trailed off, searching for words.

Where was her oh, so sharp vocabulary now?

"Not my fault, you get all cute, and flushed and breathless for me, capitana."

She rolled her eyes and tried to shield her face again, but you wouldn't let her hide. You caught her chin gently between your fingers, and you tilted her head up, making her meet your eyes. 

She held your gaze like a good, fucking girl.

"Eres guapissima," you say simply. "Even when you're being competitive, when you're sulking like a baby, and especially when you're like this – completely undone, trusting me to take care of you."

"Te estimo," she whispered.

"I love you, too," you replied softly. 

Now it was her time to reach up to pull you down for a kiss.  When you broke apart, she was smiling brightly. You rolled off her chest, cuddling up into her side, as she wrapped her arms around your waist. You held her close, running your fingers through her (tangled) hair, gently trying to work out the knots.

"Thank you for making it up to me," she said after a while, her voice filled with contentment.

"Anytime, amor," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Anytime."

Her hand slid lower again, resting on your bare ass. You tilted your head, pressing a lazy and messy kiss to her jawline, then you trailed it down to the hollow of her throat, feeling her heart beating against her pulse point.

She whimpered a tiny, needy sound, and shifted her hips slightly, as if trying to draw you closer. "Kiss me… please," she whispered against your skin.

You obeyed, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss. Your tongues slid together, tasting each other, sharing the arousal that still lingered on your lips. She groaned into the kiss, her hands migrated to your shoulders, her short nails digging in your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

When you broke the kiss, both of you were breathing hard, your chests rising and falling in sync. Alexia's stubborn pout had melted into a shy grin. 

"I… I can take care of you, too, if you want," she offered.

You chuckle. "I just want to focus on you right now, yeah?" You let your fingers trail down her side, feeling the soft curve of her waist before settling on the inside of her thigh, where her skin was still (incredibly) warm and damp.

You adjusted your body, lowering yourself until your forehead rested gently against hers again, your breath mingling with hers. Your hand moved slowly, two fingers sliding back into her slick entrance without teasing. She moaned, eyelids closing. You felt the familiar tightness of her pussy, the way her walls closed around you as you began to pump in a steady and unhurried rhythm. Alexia's hips rose to meet each thrust, her body responding to your movements with complete compliance.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, fucking her while sharing sweet kisses. She always took a little longer to come the second time around, but you knew her body inside and out; you were used to her rhythm.

When your wrist began to burn from the weird angle and repetitive movement, you shifted your position. You tried to lean more of your weight forward, resting your knee against the mattress, and used the rolling tilt of your hips to drive your fingers deeper into her, letting your body do the work so your hand could rest a little, without ruining Alexia's moment. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her mouth parting in an o as she felt how deeply you could get in this new position. "You can… ugh, fuck… You can stop if it's hurting your fingers, okay?"

"Shh," you kissed her temper. "Don't worry about it bebé, just relax for me." You captured her mouth, tangling your tongues together to distract her from her own thoughts, forcing her to just feel. 

She let out a gasp that quickly turned into a whimper as you pressed the heel of your hand on her clit, rubbing in sideways. She bucked helplessly against your hand, her hands came up to clutch at your shoulder. You wouldn't tell her that, but it hurt like hell because you had spent the whole afternoon doing shoulders and back workout. 

 "Oh, fuck, baby–" she cried against your lips. "Amor… amor, please."

You watched her face carefully, enamoured by the way her eyebrows knit together in concentration, the way her lips part with each exhale. She was close again, you could feel it, the tension building in her thighs and inner walls, the way her breath was short.

"You are almost there, ale,"  whispered against her mouth, your voice husky. You increased the pressure on her clit, your fingers curling just a little more to hit that sweet spot inside her. 

Just a few seconds later, her body tensed, every muscle tightened, before she shuddered. She moaned loudly, but you quickly shut her up with a kiss. Her cunt gripped your fingers as pleasure overtook her. Her wetness spilt onto your fingers, dampening your hips and hands as she rode the peak of her orgasm.

You kept moving until her body turned soft. Slowly, you slip your fingers out and brough them to your mouth to taste her; your tongue lazily licked her from your skin. She tasted sweet and salty and utterly addictive.

While you enjoyed the taste of her, Alexia completely collapsed against the mattress, her chest heaving with a lazy smile spreading across her face. You took your finger off your mouth and Alexia reached up, tracing a fingertip along your lower lip, then leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your mouth. 

You shifted your body, settling down beside her, your bodies pressed side by side, legs tangled. You felt her shivering a little bit, so you pulled the duvet over you both to warm her up.  The waiting outside continued, and it was the only sound you could hear besides your shared breaths. You were running tired, and Alexia too, so you just held her, letting her head rest on your shoulder.

"You are very polite right now, huh?" You finally teased because why not? "Saying a lot of thanks, a lot of sorries…"

"Gràcies," she murmured against your lips, her voice soft.

Alexia let out a sleepy chuckle. "I can be very polite when I want to be," she said, turning her head to you with a cheeky expression. 

She moved impossibly closer, nuzzling her face into you. Her breath brushed across your collarbone. You felt the subtle shift in the air before she even said anything. That amazing, lazy, post-organs softness was slowly giving way to something darker and needier again.

"Now…" She whispered, her finger drawing a tentative line down the centre of your stomach. Her touch was light at first, but it became bolder as she slid her hand lower, parting your thighs to find your cunt completely slick.  

You gasped the moment her fingers made contact with your clit. Her thumb rubbed slow circles over the nub while her lips grazed your ear. "Let me make you feel good, bebé." she whispered.

"Si, please," you nodded desperately,  your hips rolling to meet her. 

She penetrated you with two fingers, brushing perfectly against your G spot. Her other hand found your breast, squeezing and rolling your nipple between thumb and forefinger, getting you even wetter.

As she picked up her rhythm, a wave of self-consciousness hit you… Alexia was hitting everything so fucking perfectly. You were already so sensitive from watching her, from making her come, you felt yourself rushing toward the edge entirely too fast.

"A-ale, wait," you gasped, your hand coming up to catch her wrist to slow her down. Your cheeks were burning with unusual embarrassment. "I-I'm going to… It's too fast, I think I'll finish too quickly."

Alexia paused her thrusts, but she didn't pull out, keeping her fingers nestled deep into your warmth. She lifted her head, her eyes devoid of any judgment. "Do whatever you need to do, bebé," she murmured, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "Come as fast as you want. I've got you, sí? I'm here."

With her permission, it was like your defences completely crumbled.

"Amor… feels so good," you moaned as she resumed her work, moving faster this time, her thumb massaging your clit just how you liked it. You could feel the orgasm building low in your belly. She kissed your jaw, then your mouth, swallowing your breathless sound as she drove you closer to the edge. 

Her movements become more urgent, her fingers thrusting deeper, her palm grinding against your clit so perfectly you thought you might die. Finally, you shattered all over her.

Your whole body tightened, your thighs fighting to clamp themselves over her hand as it all became too much. You felt yourself flooding her fingers as she continued to move, milking every last tremor. Eventually, with a weak (and exhausted) wrist, you gently pushed at her shoulder, falling to the mattress panting and spent.

She smirked, a look of pride on her face. Alexia was too cocky for her own good. Then, just like a copy-cat, she sucked her two fingers into her mouth, savouring you. 

"You taste so good," she said, taking her finger off and drying them on the blanket as if you were simply trying to remember what being a functional human being felt like.

When you failed to offer her a response, Alexia crawled back up on your body, laying her weight on top of you. Sweat-slick skin against slick skin. 

Rain. That was all that you heard. 

The smell of sex hung in the air, and your mind was already making the mental math about what time would be the best to sneak into the laundry room to leave those damp sheets so no one would see them. You pushed that thought to the side and focused on Alexia. You were tangled together, her body so warm against yours. This was heaven, definitely.

You tilted your head when her breath brushed against your throat, pressing a series of soft kisses up your neck. 

"Wanna go again?" she murmured against your skin.

You blinked into the dimly lit room. It felt like your eyelids were made of pure lead. You were so, so exhausted. But then, mama raised no quitter. If your girl wanted to come again, you were going to make it happen, no matter how tired your muscles were. 

"Okay," you breathed out, moving your body to make yourself more available to her. "Do you want my mouth? Fingers…?"

Alexia let out one of her characteristic pouts against your neck. "No, bebé," she trailed off, her voice a tiny and sleepy whine. "I want my mouth on you."

Your hand lazily found its way back to her damp hair, "Ale, I don't think I can come again. I'm so tired. I'm empty, sweetheart." 

"Please?" she whispered. She lifted her head, just enough to look at you; her light eyes were so wide and soft, stripped of any authority. "Let me try? Or let me just taste you… I like your taste, your smell. I just like being between your thighs, please?"

Your heart melted on the mattress at her words. She was just as tired as you were, yet she was begging just for the comfort of burying herself in you. And honestly, you sympathise a lot with the feeling. 

"You are impossible," you said fondly, your finger gently hooked at the back of her neck, guiding her down. "Go on then. Try your best."

She let out a victorious sigh against your skin. She kept kissing her way down your chest, each press of her lips leaving a faint sheen of saliva and a glistening trail behind. She lingered a little longer at the spot just below your breasts, at the dip of your ribs, her tongue dragging across your skin in a lazy motion that made you shiver. 

Alexia moved lower now, her lips finding your hipbone. She then flattened her tongue and swept it back and forth over your skin, spreading a thin film of her saliva that made the skin slick and sensitive to the light breeze in the room. You could feel her breath hitching each time she pressed a little harder, as if trying to memorise the scent of you.

Her mouth moved up again, catching the meat of your breast. She took your nipple between her lips, sucking it deeply while her free hand found the opposite breast, squeezing and rolling the flesh in a rhythm that matched the pull of her mouth.

"You feel so good, baby," you breathed, your hand coming up to cup the back of her neck while your other hand rested on her ass.

Alexia was being so messy. There was a thick trail of saliva glistening at the corner of her mouth, dripping down her chin until it smeared on your breasts in a warm pool. You closed your eyes at the sigh, your pussy giving tight and involuntary contractions.

She hummed something around your nipple, but you were more preoccupied with what she was doing to you to care about what she was actually trying to say. The two of you were making a mess of the sheets beneath you; you could only feel the inner skin of your thighs slick, overwarm, as if it had been smeared in honey.

Maybe you were not so empty, after all. 

After a (long)  moment, she released your nipple. She trailed a wet line of saliva down your sternum before going further down on you again, leaving a path of kisses behind. Her kisses had become more careful and slow as she worked her way down your abdomen, pausing to nibble lightly at your lower stomach. When she reached your cunt, she paused and gazed up for a second, surely just to see the mess she had left across your chest. 

Then, she lowered her face, her breath so warm against your folds. She began o lick you languidly, as if enjoying the most delicious meal she had ever been served. Her tongue swept in around your clit, gathering the slickness that coated your inner lips. She then narrows the tip of her tongue, flicking it lightly over the sensitive bud, teasing you enough to make your thighs tremble. As she worked, she let her saliva drip freely, creating a glistening mess that slid down your thighs and pooled faintly on the sheets beneath you.

You watched her with tired eyes, too immersed in the view. Her cheeks hollowed with each suction, her eyes fluttered closed when she found a spot that made you gasp and moan. Her tongue went deeper into your hole, slipping between your lips to explore the velvety warmth inside, curling and stroking slowly, drawing out a low moan from you. 

She seemed to really savour the taste of you; her own breathing was growing ragged as she lost herself in the act. Her nose was brushing against your pubic mound with each pass, before she pressed her tongue firmly over your clit while licking it.

Her hands were wandering now, cupping and gently squeezing one of your tits, while the other went down to press lightly against your thigh, urging you to open just a bit more for her, so she could have more space. The combination of her tongue and the pressure of her fingers against your flesh sent a wave up your body. 

You could hear the profane and wet sounds of her mouth working on your pussy, the occasional sigh that escaped her lips, as she was truly having the time of her life.

"Mhmm,  sí… so good," she mumbled.

The sight of her, utterly focused, her hair falling in damp strands over her forehead, her lips glistening with your own arousal, was intoxicating and inebriating. She looked lovely and messy and utterly absorbed in the task of giving you pleasure. Her own arousal was also evident in the way her hips shifted subtly against the mattress, seeking friction even as she devoted herself to you.

As her tongue pressed deeper into your pussy, she found that sensitive spot again, and the well-known warmth of the orgasm approached. Your breath was all over the place, and you pressed yourself harder against her face, searching for her. Alexia responded, increasing the pressure, her tongue flicking faster. She focused her tongue on your clit again, her lips sucking eagerly as she drew out every last shiver of sensation.

With a final sweep of her tongue across your clit, you finally reached your high, completely dampening her face. Your pussy clenched as she continued to lap at you, drinking in your release, her own moans muffled against your skin as she rode out the aftershocks with you. She had come too, you realised.

She pulled back after a minute. Her face was pink, her lips swollen and glistening with a mixture of her saliva and your cum. She rested her forehead against your thigh, breathing heavily, a satisfied smile on her lips. 

"Deliciosa," she whispered, her voice hoarse, probably from dehydration. She moved and pressed a soft kiss to your lower belly, then slid up to claim your mouth, making you taste yourself. 

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close as the two of you lie together, bodies slick with sweat and saliva. You stayed like that for a long time. Just holding each other. For the first time in the day, you were both completely soft and relaxed and spent. Both getting their fill (more than once).

Hopefully, Alexia would lose at uno a lot more often.

You woke up from the deadest sleep imaginable with a persistent nudge against your shoulder. You groaned miserably. You were thoroughly tired, exhausted. This was the price you paid for spending too many hours having sex instead of sleeping like a normal person.

You ignored the nudge, turning to your other side and trying to shut your eyes even more, as if it was possible. But the irritable nudge came agai,  and you forced your eyes open. You glared grumpily at the pitch-black room before your eyes drifted blindly towards the digital clock on your nightstand. It was 1:15 am.

"What?" you asked drily. Your mouth felt lined up with dust; it hurt to speak.

You heard a soft chuckle in the dark and, even without seeing her face, you knew Alexia was smiling with that know-it-all attitude. "Water, grumpy," she murmured.

Your vision was blurred, your face sticky with sleep and sweat. The room was so dark you couldn't understand how Alexia was navigating it; she had turned off every light, so how was she seeing anything? She didn't wait for your eyes to adjust; instead, she pressed a cold and condensation-soaked water bottle against your bare arm. You flinched at the chill, but took the bottle and swallowed its liquid eagerly. You were, indeed, very thirsty. 

Little by little, the world around you came back into focus as your eyes adapted to the dark, your sympathetic system doing its work to dilate your pupils. Alexia was sitting beside you, wearing a pair of clean pyjamas. You, on the other hand, looked like her complete dichotomy; you were naked, entirely covered in a dried mix of saliva, sweet, and well… her and your fluids. 

A cloud of discomfort hung over your head. You felt completely disgusting. The sheet beneath yours was still the exact same damp ones from earlier, too, and it did not help with how you were feeling. 

"Let me guess, that it wouldn't be hygienic of us to sleep in your shared body secretions?" you finished for her.

"I took a shower while you were sleeping," Alexia said, reaching out to take the bottle from you. "I didn't want to wake you up because you looked cute, but then I thought that–"

She pouted, crossing her arms. "Well, when you put it like that, you make it sound incredibly unromantic."

You let out a dry laugh, but it disappeared as soon as you realised how every single part of your body hurt. Your back and shoulder were crying from the gym session from earlier in the afternoon, your tights were burning from being spread open for Alexia for hours, and your left arm was numb because Alexia had a habit of sleeping directly on top of you. You were profoundly uncomfortable.  

It was the same sensation from taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon and waking up hungry, thirsty, confused and with a headache throbbing in your front lobe. 

Alexia, ever the sweetheart, noticed the pathetic slump of your shoulder and, knowing that you hated being woken up, shifted on the mattress and forced a thing in your hand.

It was a passion fruit protein bar, already unwrapped. "Eat," she said. "You look like shit, bebé."

You rolled your eyes. "You are such a gentleman, Alexia." You tried to hand it back to her. "Thank you, but I'm not really hungry. I just want to take a shower and go back to sleep. I'm dead tired."

She refused to take it back. "You can eat a few bites, and then we can shower together."

"You already showered."

"Yes, but it won't hurt to shower with you," she insisted, softening her tone a bit. "I want to wash all of your bad mood away."

"I'm not moody," you pouted.  "Just tired… You shouldn't have woken me up, I was in such a good sleep."

"Oh yeah," she said, and you could feel her dramatic flair returning. "I should have just left you to die in your sleep from lack of nutrition."

"You're ridiculous," you muttered, but you decided to give her that and bite into the protein bar.

You finished the bar, and Alexia helped your heavy limbs out of the bed, walking into the bathroom. Your thighs burned with every step. Would you need to go to physio tomorrow because of the pain? You should come up with a lie about the reasoning behind it… Maybe tell them your psoas muscle was tight as a rock? Or perhaps blame it on the abductor? 

As you were thinking about a million things at once, Alexia kept true to her word and took over. She helped you under the warm water of the shower and washed you like she said she would. She took her time soaping you up.

When her hands moved between your legs, working with careful focus, you couldn't help but think this was a far more self-indulgent activity than a mission about cleanliness. Still, you didn't complain, didn't open your mouth. You just leaned your forehead against her shoulder and let her pamper you. 

Once she was satisfied with her work, she rinsed you off, wrapped you in a fluff towel and dried you down before pulling a set of fresh clothing over your body – her clothes. When Ale was done playing caretaker, she stepped back and looked at you with fondness as if she was admiring her favourite doll.

"Guapa," she said then, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your lips. "Now, let's go back to bed… I feel like I'm talking to a zombie. I'm not even sure if you are awake right now." 

You blinked lazily at her, walking back into the bedroom. "Oh, I'm not."

A/n: I think I said this in the last few fics, but I'm trying to make my writing as realistic as possible, which means including some "raw" and sometimes "disgusting" details, but honestly, I kinda love reading stuff like that, so I'm trying to incorporate it more and more.

The words on the page had ceased making sense about an hour ago. And now, they were just black ink bleeding into the white glare of your laptop screen, a blur of developmental psychology terms that seemed to mock your rising panic.

You dragged both hands down your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until you saw static; desperate to shut out the reality of how little you were retaining.

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. A dead silence that only ever accumulated during exam season, broken by the barely there noise off the kitchen appliances and the frantic tapping of your own foot against the table leg.

You glanced at your lifeless phone. No notifications still, despite sending a text forty minutes ago that’d had your heart guiltily thumping against your ribs ever since.

(You)

I’m so sorry, Ale. I can’t make it tonight. My brain is completely fried, I still have three chapters to get through, and I’m just a total mess. I’m so, so sorry to ruin our plans.

And below it, the little blue ticks to confirm she’d read it. 

No reply at all. Not even a quick ‘no worries’ or anything.

A fresh wave of anxiety, somehow bigger than each one before it, washed over you. It crashed right into your stomach, leaving you with a nauseating pit that made it a little more difficult to breathe. You groaned, slumping forward until your forehead hit the cool wood of the coffee table, right next to a scattered pile of papers and highlighter pens. 

You couldn’t even blame her. 

It was supposed to be a real date. A reservation at a restaurant she’d been on the waiting list for for weeks, a proper night together away from your university exam revision and her grueling football schedule. She’d been so excited about it, her eyes lighting up when she told you she’d finally secured a table, and you had just stomped all over it.

A perfect night ruined because you couldn’t balance your own life.

Fucking idiot, you muttered to yourself, the silence of the flat swallowing the curse whole. 

Things were still incredibly new. You’d only officially been her girlfriend for a month. You were still in that beautiful, slightly fragile phase where you wanted to be perfect for her, where every shared look still made your stomach flip. 

Yet here you were, screwing things up already. Showing her exactly how chaotic and unreliable you were.

Why would a two-time Ballon d’Or winner want to deal with someone who couldn’t even manage a basic university timetable?

You forced yourself back up, a dull throbbing beginning in your temples as you stared miserabley at a paragraph on cognitive milestones.

Except, the guilt made it impossible to focus. The words just continued to blur until they were a grey smudge on the screen. 

All that was running through your mind was the image of Alexia in the midst of getting ready – maybe standing in front of a mirror, dressed up and putting in her hoop earrings, checking her phone only to find your pathetic message.

You could practically see the disappointment dropping over her face, the way she’d probably sigh, take her earrings back out, change into sweatpants. Annoyed at wasting her time dressing up for someone that couldn’t even get through their University work. 

The thought made your throat tighten all over again, frustration burning behind your eyes. But you quickly blinked it away, angry at yourself for being so emotional.

You reached blindly for your coffee mug, only to find it bone-dry, the dark ring at the bottom completely cold. Great. Even your caffeine had given up on you now.

You were just about to stand up, to wander aimlessly to the kettle just for something to do that wasn’t going square-eyed staring at your laptop for so long, when a knock echoed from the front door.

Your foot stopped its tapping as you froze. And the knock came again. 

Your mind couldn’t quite process the math of it as you walked toward the entryway, your socks sliding slightly on the wooden floorboards. You unlocked the deadbolt, pulled the door open, and the breath caught in your throat.

You stared at the figure before you, completely paralysed, your hand grasped around the edge of the wood as your eyes mapped the person standing in your doorway.

It was Alexia. 

But not the version of her your guilt-ridden brain had spent the last forty-five minutes torturing you with.

She was dressed in a matching grey Nike hoodie and joggers, casual but still effortlessly clean. Her hair – clearly freshly washed and freshly straightened - was pulled into a quick loose bun, a few stray pieces framing her face. 

Her makeup was minimal but polished, the soft tint on her lips and the liner that sat above her mascara-coated lashes showing she had definitely taken the time to get ready for you tonight. 

And nestled right against the line of her jaw, were the silver hoop earrings you’d envisioned her tearing out in frustration. She hadn’t taken them out at all.

Your attention dropped down, taking in her hands. A delicate watch on one wrist, a couple rings decorating her fingers, and a plastic bag from the local supermarket bursting to the brim in her arms. 

“What…” Your voice was thick, cracking around the syllable as you gripped the door a little tighter. You swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to catch up with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Alexia?” 

The brunette didn’t look angry. Nor did she look disappointed.

Instead, an awfully warm grin broke across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes as she took in your messy attire and the sheer unfiltered panic radiating off you. She shifted the weight of the shopping bag in her arms, her head tilting slightly to the side.

“Hola, guapa,” She beamed, her Spanish accent heavy but comforting. “You no go to restaurant, so the restaurant go to you.”

The lightheartedness of it, the ease, only made the knot in your chest twist painfully. You shook your head, stepping back a bit but not letting her in just yet, your hand lifting to rub at your temple where a stress headache was definitely firmly embedding itself.

“Ale, no, you don’t understand,” You whispered, voice dangerously wobbly. “I can’t. The exam is in three days. I still have three massive chapters to go over again, and… I’m just an absolute mess. I’m… I can’t be a good girlfriend tonight.”

Her easy grin faltered, her lips turning downwards and her eyebrows knitting together into a deep, almost comical frown. She looked at you as if you’d just said the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard in her life.

“Qué?” She said, her head jerking back a little. She adjusted the bag against her hip, refusing to let you push her away with your panic. When she spoke again, her voice was firm, her broken English coming out with a fierce and protective cadence. “You no good girlfriend? What is this?”

She stepped closer, forcing you to look at her, her eyes flashing with a mix of stubbornness and overwhelming affection.

“Being good girlfriend is no about… going to fancy place, wear nice outfit, makeup,” Alexia argued, stumbling a little over the words, but pushing through with absolute determination. She tilted her head further, her gaze softening more as she took in your wilted posture. “You are stressed. Your brain is… loud. My job is be here. I am good girlfriend when you are happy, and I am more good girlfriend when you are a mess. Entiendes?” 

The bluntness of her declaration, delivering in that earnest accented lilt, struck you directly in the chest. It caused a hot blush to creep up your neck, warming your cheeks even as the threatening tears from earlier finally spilled over your eyelashes.

“Ale…” You breathed, a watery helpless sound escaping you. 

“No, no ‘Ale,’” she countered, though her comically stern expression completely cracked at the sight of your tears. Her eyes melted into something incredibly tender, a low sigh escaping her. “You.. you are stupid.”

You blinked through your emotion, caught off-guard. 

“That’s… that’s not very nice.” You whispered, the sentence cracking completely as a tiny tearful laugh hitched in your throat. 

An amused but apologetic smile took over her face. “Lo siento. Perdón.” 

She didn’t wait for your permission this time; she gently nudged her shoulder against yours, stepping past you and into the quiet of your apartment towards the kitchen.

She set the bag down on the counter with a thud. But didn’t start unpacking. Instead, she turned around and walked right back to where you were standing by the now closed door.

Then, she closed the distance between you, stepping into your space until there was nowhere else you could look but at her. She reached out, her hands landing to rest gently on your hips, and her thumbs began to stroke slow soothing circles over your shirt.

“Tell me,” She started in a quiet tone, head dropping as she tried to catch your downcast eyes. “What is wrong? Where this come from, hm?” 

It was the softest voice you had ever heard her use. The low timber of her accent wrapped around you like a blanket, completely stripping away whatever remaining defenses you had.

Your bottom lip quivered, and you quickly looked away, staring hard at the zipper of her grey hoodie because looking at her face was simply too dangerous. 

“I’m just stressed, Ale,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper. “My head is spinning. I can’t focus on… on anything.”

“Is only exam stress?” She asked softly, her thumbs never stopping their steady motion against your hips. She nudged her head lower, trying to coax your gaze back up. “Only University? Or something more?”

Another blush took over as you gathered the honest answer together. 

“No, it’s… we’re still so new,” You admitted dejectedly. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes still glued to her zip. “We’ve only been together a month. I… don’t want you to see me like this. A disaster.” 

Alexia let out a hummed breath, her grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly. 

“A disaster?” She repeated, her tone teasing but still terribly gentle.

“Yes.” You muttered, a tear escaping and tracing a path down your cheek. “I don’t like anyone seeing me like this. I like to be the– the organised one. I try to have my life together. But instead you’re here looking perfect for a date and I’m just crying on my own in my apartment whilst studying.”

A tut escaped Alexia before she could stop it, a single disappointed, or disbelieving, click of her tongue. She let go of one of your hips and her hand travelled up your arm to carefully cradle your cheek. Her thumb caught the tear before it could reach your jaw, her skin warm and palm slightly calloused.

“Look at me, please.” She whispered.

You hesitated, but the quiet command in her voice was impossible to resist.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet hers. Her expression was devoid of the amusement from earlier; it was just pure sincerity. 

“I no like hearing this,” She said. “You think I only want you… when you perfect? When everything easy? No.” She shook her head as a small line appeared between her brows. “I know you work hard. I see it, I see how much you care. This– this is you, too. And I want all you. You stressed, you crying. Everything.”

Your heart skipped every other beat in a way that surely wasn't healthy, the rapid thumping of it echoing right up into your throat. It was impossible to comprehend how someone could look at you at your absolute worst and say something so effortlessly heavy, so entirely grounding.

You didn't know what to reply. Your brain, completely fried from hours of staring at cognitive development models, couldn't formulate a proper, poetic response.

Instead, you just swallowed past the lump in your throat and offered a tentative, “If you say so.”

“Oye,” Alexia murmured instantly, the single word sharp enough to catch you by surprise. Her thumb gave a reassuring swipe against your cheekbone, ensuring you kept your eyes locked onto hers.

“I do,” She said, her gaze steady, intense, and utterly unwavering. “I say so. You…” She stopped, taking a deep, determined breath in, her chest rising against yours as she gathered her English words together. “...you no choice but to agree. Yes?”

A breathless giggle slipped past your lips. 

The sheer stubbornness of her, the competitive and unyielding spirit of Alexia Putellas being pointed entirely at making you feel loved – was ridiculous in the best possible way.

You let your head nod just once. And her face lit up with that beaming grin that completely creased her glinting eyes again.

“Perfecta.” She declared, her hand sliding down from your cheek to rest back on your hip, giving you a playful squeeze. “So, I stay. I make you feel better, I cook dinner. And, most important, I keep you smiling.” 

The warmth in your chest was such a fire it was almost dizzying. You couldn’t help but smile, a genuine one this time, even as you decided to tease her just a little bit more to keep your own emotions from boiling over again. 

“I also don’t have a choice in any of these things, either?” You joked, raising an eyebrow. 

Her grin widened, her chest puffing out slightly with playful authority. 

“No,” She said, leaning in a fraction closer. “Ab– ab… ab-so-luty not.” 

She stumbled over the syllables, but she didn’t even care, looking incredibly proud of her attempt anyway and how it elicited another laugh from you. The sheer fondness in her eyes made you feel like you were soaring.

And before you could say anything in reply, she leaned in. Her hands left your hips and slid up your neck to cradle both your cheeks. Her palms were warm still, her touch soft as she gently angled your head up, tilting her own to meet you.

The kiss she gave you was slow, gently, but deeply telling. It wasn’t rushed or demanding; it was a grounding press of her lips against yours that seemed to carry the full weight of everything she had just promised. You let your eyes drift shut, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against her wrists as you melted into the solid comfort of her presence.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. She kept her hands cradling your face, her thumbs moving in a similar way as they did earlier as she rested her forehead against yours.

“I like spend time with you.” She whispered. “In… in any way. It no have to be… glamorous.”

She paused and frowned.

“...glamorous?” 

A quiet giggled escaped you at the pronunciation, the endearing lilt of her accent wrapping around the word, but you nodded against her hands. “Yeah. Glamorous is perfect, Ale.”

She smiled, reassured, and continued. “It no have to be glamorous. It can just be us, in joggers, home-cooked dinner. Your University work everywhere in the room. I just want you happy, bebé.” 

You released a shaky breath, the last remnants of your exam anxiety evaporating into the space between you. You reached up, placing your hands over hers where they still held your face.

“I am,” You murmured, eyes locking onto hers. “I am happy whenever I’m with you.”

Alexia’s expression softened into a beautiful little smile. “Good.” 

Then, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you into her chest, wrapping you in a tight protective hug. 

You didn’t hesitate in burying your face into the soft cotton of her hoodie and following suit in wrapping your arms around her waist. You allowed yourself to completely relax against her, breathing in the scent of her perfume that took you right back to your first date with her. 

And as the silence stretched, the apartment finally feeling peaceful instead of suffocating, a sudden memory of the days prior to that first date flickered in your mind, and a teasing smirk began to pull at your lips.

You slowly pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You know,” You began, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve got really good at English for those journalists, haven’t you?”

Alexia’s head dropped back as she let out a loud dramatic groan, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. But she couldn’t keep a serious face for long. As soon as you started laughing, she cracked, and a bright chuckle rattled her chest. 

“Shut up.” She grumbled, her hand dropping to your hip to give you a cheeky pinch in retaliation. 

Afterwards, she caught your hand, fingers intertwining with your to lock them together.

“Come on,” She said, giving it a gentle tug as she began to back up, leading you out the hallway and into the lounge.

The room was still cast in darkness aside from the corner lamp and your laptop, which threw long shadows across the paperwork scattered over the coffee table. The brunette walked over to the sofa and sank back into the cushions with a content sigh.

You stood by the edge of the couch for a second, hesitating, before Alexia tapped the couch between her parted knees. 

“Sit,” She instructed softly. “You no can study if your body is stiff like a– a… how you say? Wood?” 

“A plank.” You supplied with an exhausted laugh as you headed over and lowered onto the floor, your back resting comfortably against the front of the sofa between her legs.

Having her behind you, even in that scenario, especially in that scenario, brought you a strange but undeniable amount of comfort and peace of mind.

She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting just above your head as she reached past to drag one of your highlighted study sheets off the table. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the dense English text.

“Okay…” She mumbled, her finger tracing beneath a line of bold print. She took a slow deep breath, concentrating hard on the letters. “So-cio-cul-tur-al… the-o-ry? No. This is… this too many letters together.” She shook her head, a huff escaping her nose. “What is this? Explain.”

“Sociocultural theory.” You said, tilting your head back so you could look up at her. “It’s basically just the idea that children learn everything through their social interactions. Like, they learn from the culture and the people around them. And they need a mentor.”

As you spoke, Alexia’s hands found your shoulders. 

Her palms rested over the fabric of your shirt, her fingers immediately finding the rigid muscles at the base of your neck. When her thumbs pressed firmly into the tightest spot, an involuntary gasp slipped past your lips, your shoulders instantly dropping.

“Shh,” Alexia uttered beside your ear, her hands working in slow and agonisingly perfect circles. “No stop. Speak. I listen.”

“It… it means,” You stammered slightly, your brain melting under the dual influence of her voice and the pressure of her hands. “Knowledge is initially constructed through social interaction or exposure, then internalised by the child. And part of this theory is that we all need… we all need a ‘more knowledgeable other’ to guide us. Like a teacher or a parent or…” You leaned back into her touch as she dug a heel of her hand into your shoulder blade. “...or a girlfriend.”

A soft, rumbling chuckle vibrated against the back of your head.

“Ah,” Alexia hummed, her fingers kneading their way down your upper back, chasing away the physical tension that’d been building up for days. “Like.. you are the ‘more… know-ledge-able… other’ when we do the English? But now…” She dug her thumbs into a stubborn knot, eliciting a soft gasp from you. “I am the boss of the massage.”

“Exactly,” You breathed, closing your eyes as you let your head sink back against her knee. “Just like that.”

“Muy bien. I like this theory.” She decided, the last word making you smile with how much she emphasised the ‘o’. Her hands slid back up to your neck, fingers gently massaging the muscles below your ears. “See? You know this. Your brain is smart, bebé. You just… think too much. You make the words in your head too loud.”

“I have to,” You sighed, a tiny bit of the old worry trying to creep back in. “There's just so much of it, Ale.”

“No,” She countered softly but firmly, her thumbs giving a reassuring press against your collarbone. “You no have to do it alone. You tell me the words, I try to say them, and you explain. Is easy. We are… un equipo. A team. Yes?”

You opened your eyes, looking up at her upside-down face. She was looking down at you with such a tender look of encouragement that you felt a fresh wave of warmth completely consume you, pushing the very last dredges of your academic dread far out of reach.

“Yes,” You whispered, a helpless smile taking over your face. “We're a team.”

“Vale,” She said under her breath, leaning down to leave a kiss on your forehead. When she sat back up, her eyes drifted back to the cluttered table, scanning the pages until she spotted another phrase she wanted to conquer. “That one. E-go… cen-tre-ism?”

“Egocentrism,” You corrected gently, your voice a little thick with sleepiness. Whenever Alexia was here, and the living room was dim and at the perfect temperature, it took no time at all for your tiredness to creep in. “It’s when a child struggles to… comprehend and understand that other people have thoughts and perspectives and feelings different to their own. It’s not selfishness, just that they think everyone sees, hears, and feels exactly the same way they do.”

Alexia let out another hum, her hand playing with the collar of your shirt. “Like… like when Jana think everyone want to eat her terrible pasta? Because… she like it, so she think everyone like it?”

A laugh erupted from you at the comparison, loud enough to echo in the otherwise quiet room. “Actually, yes. That’s a good example of adult egocentrism.” 

“I am very smart.” Alexia preened, a smug grin emerging onto her face. “And you– you are very good teacher, see? You explain, I learn, I understand, and you… you no die from the stress.” You smiled bashfully at her praise, cheeks heating up just a touch when she pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Your head, it feel better?”

“My head is much better,” You admitted, raising your hand to rest over hers on your shoulder and squeezing once. “Thank you, Ale. Really.” 

She stared down at you for a long moment, her expression shifting into the adoring, admiring look that always made your heart swell in the best possible way. Her hand moved up to cup your jaw, her thumb lightly tracing your lower lip.

“Good,” She drawled. She held your gaze for another beat before she suddenly tapped your shoulder, the theatrically stern look returning to her eyes as she stood up. “Now. I go make dinner. You relax. Or study, if you want.” She paused for a second to shoot you a light warning glare. “But I no happy if you stress again.”

The midfielder raised her eyebrows, waiting for your compliance. 

You smiled shyly up at her, your heart feeling incredibly full. “I won’t stress. I promise.”

The stern facade dissolved immediately, becoming a warm and beaming grin. She leaned down, some strands of straightened hair falling from her bun around your face like a curtain as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead again.

“Te quiero, profe,” She murmured against your skin.

When she pulled away and headed toward the kitchen, her silver earrings catching the light as she redid her bun, you sat back against the sofa and watched her go.

But the peaceful silence only lasted about ten seconds before the rustle of the plastic bag was interrupted by a confused groan.

“Dónde está la…” Alexia started, before there was a long pause. It was filled only by the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing, and then her head popped back around the entryway with a frustrated frown. “The… the thing for the… hob. To cook in.”

You blinked, trying to translate her frantic gestures in the air. “Do you mean a pan, Ale?”

“Yes! A pan!” She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Where is it? Your kitchen is a… a mystery.” 

You gave a laugh as you pushed yourself up from the floor. “Wait there. I’m coming to save you.”

You scooped up a fresh pad of bright yellow post-it notes and a black sharpie from the coffee table, then headed to the kitchen. Your girlfriend was still standing in the middle of the small space, looking at the closed cupboards with a dramatically forlorn, defeated expression.

“I have a solution.” You announced, taking the lid off the pen.

You walked past her and opened the cabinet below the counter, pulling out a pan for her. “First, the pans go in here.” 

You scribbled olles y sartenes/pots and pans on a yellow square, peeled it off the stack, and slapped it right onto the cabinet door.

Alexia laughed as she watched you, the sound bubbling up from her chest. “You make labels for me?”

“I’m a teacher in training, Ale. It’s called visual aids.” You teased, already writing the next one.

You opened the slim drawer to the right, sticking cubiertos/cutlery on the front, before moving upwards to the wall cabinets and labelling them with the same language mix on all of them.

Finally, you stepped up to the stove. You neatly wrote delante izquierdo/front left and atrás derecho/back right onto two separate notes, sticking them directly above the respective dials so she actually knew which one she was turning on.

Alexia leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched you work. She was quietly chuckling, but as she looked at the tidy print on the papers, she reached out and ran a finger over the platos y boles note.

“Is… actually very good,” She admitted, then pointed to the newly labelled stove dials. “Front left. Back right. Okay, I no burn the flat down now.”

“Please don’t. Both my landlord and the neighbours would be very upset.” You smiled, capping the pen and pocketing it. “I’m gonna do the rest of my work in here. I’ll try and read, but I’m mostly keeping an eye on you.”

“No, no eye on me.” She scolded, picking up a wooden spoon from the utensilio drawer and waving it at you. “You study, I cook.”

You grabbed your laptop and a notepad, sitting onto one of the tall stools at the high bar table which divided the kitchen from the living area. It was the perfect spot– close enough to still feel settled by her presence and smell whatever she was starting to make, but separate enough that you could focus.

…or try to, at least.

Instead of looking at your screen, your eyes kept drifting over to her, now that you finally had a calm moment to actually take her in. 

She stood in front of the counter, carefully cutting up some onions, and the sight of her made something soft squeeze in your chest. 

The brunette had really gone all out for you tonight. Her straightened hair caught in the light every time she moved, and the hoops glinted against the warm tone of her skin. Even under the plain kitchen light, the subtle makeup she’d done for your date made her look exceptionally striking, a contrast to the casual grey set she’d changed into. 

“You look really beautiful, Ale,” You said softly, catching her off-guard. “I’m sorry about the restaurant again.”

Alexia paused, placing the knife down carefully. She turned her head to look at you over her shoulder, a small, slightly surprised smile tugging at her lips. A faint blush had made its way to her cheeks, too.

“No more sorry.” She murmured, her eyes inexplicably soft as they held your gaze. “And thank you. I try look good for you.”

You gave her a smile that left her feeling a little bashful. “You always look good for me.”

The colour to her cheek only got brighter, and she turned back to the stove with a pleased sway of her shoulders. “Focus on your work, bebé. You distract me.” 

You grinned, but turned back to your laptop.

For a few minutes, the flat did fall into a comfortably domestic rhythm. Only the sounds of your pen scratching the paper and the keyboard of your laptop, paired with the sizzle of oil in a pan and Alexia’s humming could be heard.

But then the humming stopped.

You kept your eyes on your notes, but you could feel a gaze burning into the side of your face.

You slowly glanced up. Found her leaning back against the counter, now aimlessly pushing the spoon around the vegetables in the pan, not focusing on it at all. She had her free hand on her hip, watching you with a fond smile, her eyes watching you write.

You held her attention, refusing to let your cheeks blush too much, and pointed your pen at her.

“Now it’s your turn to concentrate. Stop watching me or you’ll burn dinner,” You warned, keeping your voice serious despite the tug at the corner of your mouth. “And then I will stress again. And we both know you don’t want that.” 

Her grin instantly turned wicked. She held her hands up in mock surrender, the spoon still dangling from her hand.

“No stress, no stress.” She laughed, turning back to the stove with a shake of her head. “I cook, see? Quiet.” 

Your girlfriend – or teaching technique guinea-pig – passed the cooking test with flying colours. 

Even if she did forget the word for garlic and instead call it the vampire vegetable.

“I just don’t understand how you didn’t know how to say garlic, but knew how to say vampire vegetable in English.” You were still laughing as the two of you made your way back to the couch after dinner.

“Because… because is logical!” Alexia defended herself, nudging her shoulder against yours as she walked beside you. Her hand rested against the small of your back as she continued her weak defense. “Vampires, they… hate garlic. Everyone know this. So, vampire vegetable. Is perfect English.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ale.” You chuckled, the banter between you both helping to further put you at ease.

However, that didn’t stop your eyes drifting back to the open textbooks and articles on the coffee table. The familiar, anxious itch began to grate away at you again. 

You hesitated, knowing she’d disapprove, but still stepped toward the table. “I’m just going to go through one more cha–”

“No.”

Before your fingers could even touch the paper, Alexia’s hand, gentle but firm with intent, closed around your wrist. You looked at her, ready to argue, but the look on her face stopped you.

Her eyes were serious, and filled with an unexpected amount of concern.

“No more tonight,” She told you softly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “You have done enough, okay?”

“Ale, I still have three more–”

“And you have two days to do the work,” she interrupted, her thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist where she still held you. “You are tired. You study for two weeks, every day, and you go to work. Your brain is… full. When you study like this, you learn nothing. You only will make you go crazy.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, breathing through another peak of anxiety.

“I’m just worried I’ll forget everything.” You mumbled, though the fight was leaving you much quicker then you, and Alexia, expected.

“You no forget,” She promised, drawing you into her side as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “You are smartest person I know. Tomorrow, you study. The weekend, you study. But tonight, you rest. Okay?”

You stared at her for a second. 

You wanted to argue, tell her that every minute counted, but the heaviness to your limbs and eyelids told a different story. The exhaustion was finally catching up to you, settling deep into your bones now that she was here and the adrenaline of the panic had faded.

With a defeated sigh, you rested your forehead against her cheek. “Okay. You're right. I’m too tired anyway.”

Alexia let out a very quiet, but definitely there, victorious hum as her arm tightened around you in a brief squeeze. “See? Ale is always right.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, to which she grimaced at herself. 

“If I agree to that, you have to agree to something too.” 

“Okay… dime.” Alexia said suspiciously.

You reached a hand up, unzipped her hoodie in one swift tug, and shrugged it off her shoulders.

“You give me your hoodie. I’m cold.” You said, already putting it on before she got a chance to disagree.

“That… unfair. But okay.” She shrugged, zipping it up for you unnecessarily but it for some reason triggered another bloom of warmth through your body. She then pulled you closer by the hood strings, looking down at you with a soft and affectionate expression. “You look cute in my hoodie. You… my favourite girlfriend.”

Your brain, even as tired as it was, immediately caught the phrasing. You let out a sudden laugh, “Your favourite girlfriend?”

Alexia’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at your amusement. “Yes. What?”

“Ale,” You teased, a sleepy smirk playing on your lips. “Who are the others?”

“The… others?” She repeated, looking genuinely confused. She tilted her head as she tried to translate the joke in her head. “No others. Only you.”

“But you said ‘favourite’ girlfriend,” You explained, your voice filled with quiet giggles as you lightly tapped her chin. “It’s a describing word, yes, but when you say favourite, it implies there’s a list. Like you have a ranking system of girlfriends, a league table, and I just happen to be at the top of it right now.” 

Alexia’s eyes instantly widened as the realisation of her mistake finally landed. Her face turned red, the tips of her ears pink, and she began to frantically shake her head.

“No, no, no!” She stammered, accent thicker than normal and rushed as she panicked. “No list! No– no league table! No others! Madre mía, no! I mean... my... my only girl. My... favourite girl. But no other girlfriends! You are the only one! I swear, only you!”

You burst into a fit of laughter, the adorable panic on her face dissipating as you did so. “I know, Ale. I’m just teasing you.”

She stopped to let out a long and dramatic huff as she realised you’d been winding her up. She rolled her eyes, though a reluctant grin quickly broke through her embarrassment as she gave you a gentle shove.

“You are mean,” She grumbled. “Very mean. I try be… sweet in English, and you… you make me look stupid.”

“I think it was very sweet,” You smiled, leaning up to press a quick apologetic kiss to her jaw.

“Good.” She huffed again, though she was beaming now, the blush still faintly colouring her cheeks. “Now, TV time. Love Island time.”

“I can’t believe you watch that.” You shook your head, allowing her to manoeuvre you over to the sofa as she tugged you down beside her, settling you both into the corner of the sofa.

“I like the drama,” Alexia defended with a shameless shrug, her fingers already navigating the remote. “And the people… they are so stupid. Is funny.”

You gave an amused breath, too exhausted to properly debate her terrible taste in reality television, and reached for the thick knit throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa. You tugged it over both of your laps, immediately burying your hands under the fabric as the show's loud theme music started to play.

Almost instantly, the comfort of the sofa, the warmth of the blanket, and the oversized weight of Alexia's hoodie began to work against you. You let your body go entirely slack, melting sideways until your head found its familiar spot in the crook of her shoulder.

Alexia didn't say anything at first. She just adjusted her posture, sinking a little lower into the cushions to give you a better angle, her arm wrapping securely back around your shoulders. 

But as the first couple on screen started arguing about some trivial villa drama, she turned her head, her eyes dropping to look down at you. She looked at your face, then pointedly glanced down at the face of her watch, a silent calculation running through her head.

With the way your eyelids were already fluttering, your breathing already deep and slow against her chest, she was quietly wondering to herself if you would even make it to the first ad break. You looked completely defenseless, the anxious ball from an hour ago replaced by a sleepy, curled-up bundle.

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of Alexia's lips. She nudged her shoulder slightly, letting you snuggle even deeper into her side until you were practically tucked under her arm, your nose pressed against the collar of her t-shirt.

She stared at the TV for a quiet second, then shifted her gaze back down to the top of your head.

“I guess…” she mumbled under her breath, her voice barely a whisper against the background noise of the television. “...I stay over tonight, hm?”

You didn't even open your eyes, your brain too heavy to construct a proper sentence, but you gave a slow, deliberate nod against her shoulder, your hand clutching a fistful of her shirt under the blanket.

A soft, low chuckle vibrated in Alexia's chest. 

“Sí,” She whispered, leaning her head down to press a lingering, warm kiss to your temple. “Pensé que sí.”

And it was the best decision you’d ever agreed to in a sleepy daze.

Even if you woke up the following morning, in your own bed somehow, with a post-it pressed to your forehead. Mi novia inteligente y my only favourite, it read. Along with a mug of coffee on the bedside table, aptly labelled too of course.

—

By the time you reached the stadium in Madrid, Olivia was already bouncing with excitement. Whether she understood there was a football match happening was doubtful or did she understood everyone around her was excited absolutely.

She sat happily on your hip in her tiny Spain shirt, the one Alexia had given her the day before, the sleeves a little too long and the hem almost reaching her knees.

"You look very official," you murmured, smoothing down the front.

Alexia had already disappeared amongst the rest of the squad heading out to warm up.

You were settling into your seats between Eli and Alba, with Alexia's aunt and uncle just along the row.

Olivia immediately twisted around on your lap, "Ale?"

"She's down there," Alba said, pointing towards the players warming up, "Can you see her?"

Olivia looked where Alba pointed with intense concentration. Whether she'd actually found Alexia or simply liked the colour red remained unclear.

"There!" Alba gasped dramatically, "There's Ale!"

Olivia squinted, then waved enthusiastically at absolutely nobody in particular.

Eli laughed, "I think she sees every player as Ale."

"I don't blame her," Alba replied. "Half of them have the same haircut."

Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, Olivia sat for a while mesmerised even clapped when Alexia gave her a little wave disappearing down the tunnel.

When the teams walked out for the start of the game, the entire stadium rose to its feet.

The applause rolled around the stands like thunder, Olivia startled for a second at the fireworks let off before looking around in complete fascination.

Then very deliberately she started clapping too, tiny hands smacking together completely out of rhythm.

Everyone around you melted, Olivia babbled happily at the pitch, clapping whenever everyone else clapped, stopping only to point enthusiastically whenever somebody ran past in a red shirt.

She didn't understand football she understood excitement and that was enough.

About twenty minutes into the match, Alba leaned across you, "I've got an idea."

You looked at her suspiciously, "I don't like that face."

"It's a good face."

"It never is."

Alba ignored you completely, she leaned towards Olivia instead, "we shout" She cupped her hands around her mouth, "...ALE!"

Olivia stared.

Alba did it again, "ALE!"

Olivia frowned in deep concentration, Alba pointed excitedly as Alexia received the ball near midfield. "Quick! ALE!"

Olivia opened her mouth.

"So close!" Alba grinned, "ALE!"

Again Olivia just opened her mouth, her finger going into her mouth as she went shy.

"Come on!"

The next time Alexia touched the ball Alba was ready.

"ALE!"

Olivia suddenly threw both hands into the air, "ALE!"

Not particularly loud or clear, but unmistakable, Alba gasped as though she'd just witnessed history, "Yay!"

Alexia couldn't possibly have heard it from the pitch, but somehow almost instinctively she glanced towards your section anyway.

You smiled despite yourself, "There she is," you murmured quietly.

Olivia pointed proudly, "Ale."

"Yes, baby." You kissed the top of her head, "That's your Ale."

By half time, Olivia had made firm decisions about football clapping was excellent, waving was essential, trying to steal Eli's scarf was apparently mandatory.

Alexia's uncle entertained by pretending to lose his programme every time she tried to grab it.

"Oh no."

"Where's it gone?" Olivia squealed, he pulled it out from behind his own back, "There it is!"

He did it again, again, again, she laughed every single time as though it were brand new.

The second half started much the same, Olivia happily watched players sprint back and forth, occasionally joining in with applause several seconds after everyone else had stopped.

She babbled continuously to nobody in particular, then gradually, the excitement began catching up with her.

Her blinks became slower, her head rested against your shoulder for longer, she rubbed one tiny fist across her eyes.

"You getting sleepy?" You asked softly.

She answered with a small yawn, Alba smiled, "I give her five minutes."

"Optimistic." Eli laughed, "Three."

They were both wrong, barely two minutes later, Olivia had curled herself completely into you, her cheek pressed against your chest. One tiny hand clutching at the front of your top.

You gently rubbed slow circles across her back, her breathing steadied almost immediately, within moments she was asleep.

Completely unaware that sixty thousand people around her had erupted after Spain scored. She slept through the roar, through the applause, through Alba celebrating beside you.

You looked down at her sleeping peacefully in your arms then back out towards the pitch where Alexia was already jogging back into position after celebrating with her teammates.

Your heart ached in that strange, complicated way it seemed to do so often these days, but this time the feeling wasn't only grief.

There was warmth there too, the kind that came from looking around at the people surrounding Olivia.

People who loved her not because they had to, but because somewhere along the way she had quietly become part of all of their lives.

🍼

The hotel room was quiet, the match was over.

The celebrations had faded into distant laughter somewhere down the corridor before eventually disappearing altogether.

Olivia slept soundly in the travel cot beside the bed, one arm dangling dramatically through the bars, her stuffed rabbit trapped beneath her cheek.

You and Alexia lay side by side in the dark, your head rested against her shoulder. One of her hands lazily traced patterns up and down your arm.

She never slept after matches you learned, her body was exhausted, her brain refused to follow.

You listened to her breathing for a while before speaking, "Would you say Jenni's your best friend?"

The movement of Alexia's fingers paused for half a second, then continued, "What makes you ask that?" There was amusement in her voice, you recognised it immediately.

You smiled into the darkness, "No reason."

"Mhm."

"Just..." You shrugged against her, "from social media's perspective you spend a lot of time with her at camp."

Alexia hummed softly, "Yeah." Her fingertips continued their slow journey up your arm before back down again, "Me, her and Irene were nicknamed the dinos."

You laughed quietly, "That's funny."

"We're old apparently."

"You are."

"Oi."

"You walked straight into that."

Alexia nudged you gently with her shoulder, "I did."

For a few moments she was quiet, you wondered if she'd leave it there, instead, she surprised you, "We were together for" You felt her thinking, "...seven years, I think."

You looked up at her, she was still staring at the ceiling.

"We drifted apart romantically." She smiled faintly, "There wasn't some huge explosion, no cheating, no shouting, no dramatic story. It just..." She shrugged, "stopped being what it had been, we both knew it, so we ended it."

You stayed quiet, giving her space.

"She went to Mexico, we naturally stopped talking as much, different time zones, different lives." She let out a slow breath, "Then everything happened after the World Cup." You knew exactly what she meant, "The whole situation, she leaned on me through it. I leaned on her too and somewhere in all that we found a friendship."

You nodded slowly, "That's nice."

"It is." There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her voice, "I care about her, I always will, just no like that anymore."

Silence settled again, Alexia was the first to break it.

"You've been thinking about her." It wasn't really a question.

You sighed, "I have."

She turned her head slightly to look at you, "Because of Instagram?"

You gave a tiny nod, "I know it's ridiculous."

"It isn't."

"It is." You laughed quietly at yourself "But when I saw pictures of you and Jenni..." You searched for the words, "...it felt different." Alexia listened, no interruption, "I don't know her. I don't know what your relationship actually looked like. I just see someone you loved for a lot of years and she knows a version of you that I don't."

Alexia was quiet for a long moment, then she rolled onto her side to face you fully, "You know something she doesn't."

You frowned, "What?"

Alexia smiled, "You know who I am now."

You blinked.

"Jenni knew the woman I was in my twenties. The woman who thought football came before absolutely everything. The woman who was still trying to figure herself out." She brushed her fingers gently across your cheek, "You know the woman who panics about waking you up."

You smiled.

"You know the woman who knows how Olivia likes her toast cut, who calls my mami because she doesn't know how to get tomato sauce out of baby clothes."

A quiet laugh escaped you.

"You know..." Her forehead rested lightly against yours, "...the woman who wants to come home to you and Olivia."

Your throat tightened.

"And yes..." She smiled softly, "I'll probably always love Jenni." You looked at her, Alexia didn't look away, "But not because I want a future with her." She reached for your hand, "I love her because she was a huge part of my life, because we grew up together and she's my friend and i hope an auntie to my kids"

She squeezed your fingers gently.

"But I'm not lying here wishing she was in this bed, I'm lying here hoping you finally believe that I'm exactly where I want to be."

You felt your eyes sting.

"I think" You admitted with a small, embarrassed smile, "I'm still learning how to be with someone who has a past."

Alexia laughed softly, "So am I." You looked at her in confusion, "You've got one too, but this is my first time being with someone who thinks herself into a panic before breakfast."

You groaned, "Oh, don't."

"I'm serious."

She kissed the end of your nose, "I need to learn when you're asking a question and when you're actually asking me to reassure you."

You smiled sheepishly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"So next time don't ask me if Jenni's my best friend."

"What should I ask?"

She answered without hesitation, "'Ale" Her voice softened, "I'm feeling a bit insecure.'" She kissed your forehead, "And then I'll remind you every single time that you're the one I chose and will keep choosing."

From the travel cot came a sleepy little murmur the two of you froze then looked at each other, Alexia grinned.

"I think she agrees with me."

You rolled your eyes affectionately, "You are unbelievable."

"I know but..." She smiled as she pulled you a little closer, "...I'm yours and that's the only answer that matters."

🍼

The hotel room was unusually peaceful, morning light filtered through the curtains, across the bed where you and Olivia were still hiding beneath the duvet together.

Alexia had already disappeared to a recovery session after kissing both of your foreheads goodbye.

Which left you alone with a very important task you wanted to undertake, teaching Olivia the names of the Spanish national team.

The matchday programme lay open between you, its pages already becoming slightly crumpled from enthusiastic little hands.

Olivia lay in the crook of your arm, feet kicking lazily as she stared at the photographs with complete concentration.

You pointed to the first picture, "Who's that?"

Olivia didn't even hesitate, "Ale."

You smiled, "That's right." You kissed the top of her head, "Very clever."

You turned the page to the team photograph.

"What about this one?" Your finger landed on Patri Guijarro.

Olivia leaned closer, "...Atri."

You laughed, "Yeah, good girl. Patri."

"Atri."

"Close enough." You moved your finger along the line, "And who's this?"

You pointed towards Clàudia Pina, Olivia squinted as she thought hard.

"...Eena."

You grinned, "Pina."

"Eena."

"Pina."

"Eena."

You gave up with a laugh, "Alright. Eena it is." She beamed proudly at herself, "You are very pleased with that answer."

Olivia clapped once, then stuck out her tongue.

You gasped which made her giggle, "Pina does that to you doesn't she"

You turned another page.

"What about this one?"

Your finger rested beneath Cata Coll, Olivia tilted her head, "...Cata."

Your eyebrows shot up, "That was actually perfect."

She looked delighted by your reaction, "Cata."

"Yes!" You applauded, "Very clever."

Encouraged by the praise, Olivia sat herself upright to get an even better look.

She jabbed an enthusiastic finger at the middle of the team photograph.

"Ale!"

You looked and sure enough there was Alexia, "There she is."

You smiled, Olivia proudly pointed again, "Ale."

"And who's beside her?" You moved her finger slightly towards Vicky López.

"...icky."

You laughed, "Vicky."

"icky."

"Vicky."

"icky."

"I don't think she's going to mind."

Olivia giggled as you turned the page again, one more photograph, one more face.

Your finger landed on Jenni Hermoso, "Do you know who this is?"

Olivia frowned thoughtfully, she stared at the picture for several long seconds, you whispered, "Jenni"

"...Nini."

You smiled, "Jenni."

"Nini."

"Jenni."

"Nini."

You couldn't help laughing at how cute it was, Olivia looked incredibly pleased with herself.

"Nini."

You closed the programme slightly and tickled her tummy, "You're such a clever baby!"

Olivia squealed, rolling onto her tummy, "Mama no" You froze, your hands stopped tickling her almost instantly.

Olivia looked up at you, completely oblivious to what she'd just said, a grin still spread across her face as she reached for your nose.

Your heart seemed to swell and break all at once, you swallowed hard.

She was looking at you when she said it, reaching for you, wanting you.

Your eyes began to sting, because a part of you, one you almost hated admitting existed, felt something warm spread through your chest.

It was impossible not to, she trusted you, loved you, she looked at you with complete certainty and somehow somewhere in her little mind you had become Mama.

It was an honour so enormous it almost stole your breath, but the warmth only lasted a second before grief crashed into it.

Sofia should have been here, Marta should have been here, they should have been the ones hearing that word for the first time, not you.

You pictured Sofia bursting into tears immediately before dramatically insisting everyone in Barcelona needed to know what Olivia had just said. You pictured Marta pretending to stay composed for all of ten seconds before crying harder than Sofia.

You knew exactly what they would have sounded like, how happy they would have been.

You looked down at the little girl who was happily chewing the corner of the matchday programme now, apparently deciding international football tasted interesting.

You gently rescued it from her mouth, "Not everything goes in there."

You whispered with a watery smile, she simply smiled back, "Mama."

The word hit differently the second time, you closed your eyes for a moment, "I'm not your mama, baby." Your thumb stroked slowly across her soft cheek, "I'm just..." Your voice cracked, "...I'm just very lucky that i get to love you."

A tear escaped before you could stop it, you wiped it away quickly.

"I wish they were here to see you." You admitted to the empty hotel room, "They'd be so proud of you. So proud."

Olivia reached up, clumsy little fingers brushing your face as though trying to understand why your cheeks were wet, then she did something that completely undid you.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against yours, exactly the way she must of seen that Alexia did.

You let out a shaky laugh through another tear, "You're far too good at fixing broken hearts."

Olivia smiled simply because you had, she had no understanding of grief or death.

She didn't know there were two women missing from her life, she only knew who loved her today, who picked her up when she cried, tucked her into bed, kissed scraped knees and read the fish book five times in a row because she asked.

Your heart twisted painfully, you weren't replacing Sofia and Marta, you never could. They were her mothers and always would be, but children couldn't pause growing because the people who loved them were gone.

They kept learning, laughing, speaking, loving and maybe that wasn't something to feel guilty about.

Maybe the greatest way to honour Sofia and Marta wasn't to stop yourself from becoming important to Olivia.

Maybe it was making sure she never doubted, for a single second of her life that she was loved enough for four mothers.

🍼

By the time you'd both managed to get dressed, Olivia had insisted on wearing her Spain shirt again.

You'd offered her two different outfits, she'd pointed very firmly at the red shirt hanging over the chair.

"Spain again?"

"Ale."

You smiled, "I should've known."

A few minutes later you had her balanced comfortably on your hip as you made your way downstairs towards the hotel dining room.

The room buzzed with conversation, players scattered between tables, you spotted Alexia, Eli and Alba almost immediately.

They were all standing together near the buffet, smiling and laughing with Jenni, you stopped for the briefest moment.

Yesterday that sight would've sent your mind racing, you would've analysed every smile, every glance, every laugh, compared yourself.

Today you just smiled, because lying awake beside Alexia the night before had changed something.

The more you'd thought about everything she'd said, the more you'd realised that even if the two of you didn't work as a couple, you knew, without question, that the two of you would still raise Olivia together.

You'd still choose each other for her, that certainty made any jealousy quietly dissolve.

Alexia looked up as you approached, the second she spotted you her whole face softened, "There are my girls."

Olivia lit up, "Ale!"

Alexia leaned in, kissing your cheek before kissing the top of Olivia's head. "Morning."

"Morning."

She smiled between the two of you before turning slightly, "Y/N... this is Jenni." Jenni stepped forward with the easiest smile you'd ever seen, "And Jenni..." Alexia looked back at you, "this is Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you." You shifted Olivia slightly higher on your hip.

Jenni wrapped you in a warm hug, careful not to squash the little girl between you, "You too." She stepped back smiling, "So this must be Olivia."

The attention made Olivia retreat instantly, you rubbed gently across Olivia's back, you touched her tummy lightly to get her attention, "Can you say hi?"

Olivia gave the tiniest wave imaginable, "Hi."

Jenni's smile somehow became even softer, "Hi, Olivia. I've heard so much about you."

Olivia stared for another second before looking back at you, then she pointed towards Jenni.

You smiled knowing she recognised Jenni from your morning watching highlights on your phone and flicking through the programme.

"Yeah..." You turned slightly so Olivia was facing Jenni again, "What's her name?"

Olivia looked between the two of you, as her entire face brightened with recognition, "Nini!"

You laughed, "Yeah, Jenni."

Jenni laughed.

Olivia suddenly stuck her hand out towards her, "Nini..." She paused dramatically before holding her little palm even higher, "...five."

You couldn't help smiling, and translated as Jenni seemed unsure what she actually wanted "Jenni, highfive"

Jenni looked delighted, she held her own hand up, Olivia slapped it with all the force a one year old could manage.

Olivia looked impossibly pleased with herself.

Jenni gasped theatrically, "Oh! That was a proper one!"

Olivia giggled, "Nini!"

Jenni looked across at Alexia with mock disbelief, "You told me she was shy."

Alexia blinked, "She normally is."

You nodded, "Normally she takes at least half an hour before deciding someone is acceptable."

Jenni looked down at Olivia, who had already offered her another high five, "I feel honoured."

"You should." Alba grinned.

Jenni crouched down slightly so she was closer to Olivia's eye level, "Can I ask..." She smiled, "...am I forever Nini now?"

Olivia nodded immediately, "Nini."

Jenni put a hand dramatically over her heart, "Well. I think that's my favourite nickname I've ever been given."

Alexia watched the exchange with a smile before her eyes drifted back to you. She didn't say anything, she simply reached over, her fingers finding yours for a brief squeeze where nobody else would notice.

You squeezed back it was a tiny gesture, but somehow it said everything.

🍼

The recreation room had become everyone's unofficial meeting place, music played quietly from a speaker in the corner while coffee cups, card games and half finished conversations were scattered around the room.

You sat cross legged on the floor with Olivia between your knees, pr rather she climbed over you like you were an inconveniently shaped piece of playground equipment.

She hauled herself onto your lap, back down again, then attempted to climb over your shoulder. You laughed, catching her before she disappeared entirely.

Around you, Alexia's usual circle had settled wherever they'd found space, Patri and Pina were sprawled on the floor nearby, Vicky occupied one end of a sofa, Irene the other, Cata sat opposite with a coffee balanced on the armrest. Jenni was half listening to Alba's story while absent mindedly peeling an orange.

The conversation drifted between football, travel and who had somehow managed to lose their phone charger already, Olivia, meanwhile, had discovered a miniature foam football.

She shook it enthusiastically in both hands before pushing herself upright, nobody thought much of it, she'd been pulling herself up for months.

She stood there, wobbling happily, waving the ball around like she'd just won a trophy.

Patri noticed first, "Oh..." She smiled brightly, "Look at the big standing girl." Olivia looked straight at her, "Are you bringing me the ball?" Patri held both hands out dramatically, "Come on then."

You smiled until you saw it, one little foot lift and go forward, your breath caught as you froze, "Oh my God."

The entire room went quiet, Pina looked up, "Is that..." Her eyes widened, "...new?"

Olivia swayed, steadied herself then very carefully brought her other foot forward.

Your heart practically stopped, "ALEXIA!" You shouted before you'd even realised you were shouting, no idea where she'd disappeared to, "ALEXIA!"

The room erupted, "She's walking!" "Someone get Ale!" "Quick!"

A few seconds later Alexia appeared in the doorway, still zipping up her Spain jacket, "You yelled?" She looked mildly alarmed.

Then followed everyone's gaze, Olivia was still standing and completely focused, the little ball clutched tightly against her chest.

This time there was no doubt, she took another tiny step, then another, her face lit up, "Ale..." She looked towards the doorway, "...ba."

Alexia's entire expression melted, "Oh..." She immediately crouched down a few feet away, arms opening instinctively, "You've got a ball?" She smiled through eyes that were already beginning to shine, "You bringing it to me?"

Olivia hesitated, one tiny foot shuffled forwards then another, the room had fallen completely silent nobody dared interrupt or even breathe.

Olivia concentrated with every ounce of determination in her little body. her arms lifted slightly for balance.

Alexia stayed perfectly still, "That's it." She whispered, "I'm right here."

Olivia giggled halfway across the room, delighted with herself, "Ale!"

"I'm here, cariño." Alexia's voice cracked just enough for you to hear it, "You've got this, come on!"

One last slightly wobbly step, then Olivia toppled gently forwards into Alexia's waiting arms. The little foam ball bounced across the floor unnoticed, Alexia caught her easily, lifting her into the biggest hug imaginable.

"You did it." She laughed, kissing every inch of Olivia's face she could reach, "You walked. You clever girl."

Olivia squealed happily, wrapping both little arms around Alexia's neck around the room applause finally broke out.

Patri wiped suspiciously at one eye, "I am absolutely not crying."

"You are." Pina replied immediately.

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

"It's allergies."

"Inside?"

"Very aggressive allergies."

Jenni laughed, shaking her head, "Sure."

You hadn't moved, you were still sitting exactly where you'd frozen, watching the two of them.

Alexia looked up over Olivia's shoulder, your eyes met and she just smiled through the tears she'd stopped trying to hide.

You smiled back, "She walked." You whispered, almost to yourself.

Alexia nodded, "Our girl walked."

Neither of you corrected the words, neither of you wanted to, because for that one perfect moment watching Olivia beam proudly between the two people who loved her most it simply felt true.

🍼

Spain were in complete control, thirty minutes gone, the midfield belonged to Alexia.

She'd broken up attacks, dictated the tempo, created three clear chances already and was barking instructions constantly.

When the fourth official stepped towards the touchline with the electronic board, she barely glanced over. Until she saw the number, her number.

Alexia frowned immediately, "What?"

She looked towards the bench, Sonia was already waving her over.

Alexia threw both hands out, "No." She pointed towards herself, "Me?"

Sonia nodded firmly, "Now."

Alexia laughed in disbelief. She looked around the pitch as if somebody else might explain what was happening.

She shook her head, she'd done nothing wrong, she wasn't injured, she wasn't tired. She'd been one of Spain's best players, frustration burned through her as she began walking towards the touchline, slowly very slowly.

Sonia kept motioning for her to hurry, Alexia deliberately didn't. Clara Serrajordi stood ready beside the fourth official, she looked almost apologetic.

Alexia just gave a tiny shrug, not your fault, as she reached the touchline Sonia touched her arm, Alexia instinctively shrugged it away.

A teammate held out a bottle of water, she snatched it without looking and dropped heavily onto the bench her jaw tight.

She unscrewed the bottle with more force than necessary, Sonia spent a few moments shouting fresh instructions onto the pitch before finally turning back towards her.

"Ale—"

"Don't talk to me." Alexia didn't even look up, she took another drink, her pulse was still racing with irritation.

"Ale." Sonia's voice was different now, quieter.

Alexia frowned, still refusing to look, "I said don't—"

"Y/N called."

Everything stopped, Alexia finally looked up, Sonia was no longer wearing the expression of a coach making a tactical decision. She looked worried.

"Olivia's in hospital."

The water bottle slipped slightly in Alexia's hand, "What?"

"You need to go." Sonia nodded towards the tunnel, "Lois is taking you."

Alexia was already on her feet, "What happened?"

"We don't know."

Alexia didn't wait for anything else she turned to leave, the tunnel entrance was on the opposite side of the technical areas.

The fourth official immediately stepped forward, "Alexia!" She motioned, "You can go across the pitch" The official pointed directly over the pitch, "I've held the restart."

Alexia didn't hesitate she sprinted straight across the grass, the referee lifted a hand to her ear, as the fourth official explained.

Players watched Alexia, confused, concerned, the stadium murmured, Seventy thousand people trying to understand why Spain's star player was suddenly sprinting diagonally across the pitch faster than she ever had during a game.

Clara, only just substituted on, looked back towards Patri who frowned, "What happened?"

Clara simply said, "It's Olivia, that's all i know"

Alexia reached the far touchline at full speed, Lois was already waiting by the tunnel they disappeared inside without a word.

Behind them the stadium buzzed with uneasy confusion, nobody knew, not the supporters, not the commentators, not even most of the players. Sonia stood with her arms folded, eyes fixed on the tunnel long after Alexia had vanished.

Alexia barely remembered getting into the car, the engine started, Lois pulled away from the stadium. Traffic parted under the escort arranged by the federation, Alexia's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"What happened?" She asked again.

Lois glanced at her, "I honestly don't know."

"Y/N just called to speak to Sonia, all I know is Olivia is in hospital."

Alexia stared out of the window, but she wasn't seeing Madrid anymore. All she could see was Olivia, laughing as she took her first steps, sleeping with one little hand wrapped around Alexia's finger. Calling her Ale, the memory hit like a punch to the chest.

She reached for her phone, her hands trembled so badly she dropped it onto her lap, she tried again and called you.

Straight to voicemail, she tried again and it went to voicemail, her breathing became uneven, "Come on..." She whispered, "Please answer."

Nothing, Alexia pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, you were a doctor. You knew what constituted an emergency, if you had called during an international match and had asked Sonia to take her off the pitch, then whatever had happened wasn't small.

For the first time in years Alexia was terrified.

🍼

Alexia nodded once toward Cata, "Take her home."

Cata was already moving before the words had fully left her mouth, "This way."

You looked back instinctively.

Alexia was still standing exactly where you'd left her, one hand tucked into the pocket of her trousers, the other already gesturing for two men near the railings to come closer.

Nobody questioned her, or hesitated, they simply moved.

You swallowed and followed Cata down the narrow corridor leading towards the lower deck, neither of you spoke.

The yacht suddenly felt different, less like the floating palace it had seemed when you'd first stepped aboard and more like somewhere people obeyed orders.

Crew members moved with purpose, no one looked panicked, just practiced as though everyone knew exactly where they were supposed to be.

Cata walked several paces ahead of you, you simply followed, the route wasn't the same one you'd taken to Alexia's cabin.

This one wound through narrower corridors, quieter passages used more by crew than guests.

Halfway down the corridor Cata's earpiece crackled, she pressed two fingers against it, "Sí." A pause, another voice you couldn't hear. She sighed quietly, "Entendido."

She glanced apologetically towards you.

"One second."

Before you could answer she'd turned down another passageway, you hesitated before following.

She stopped beside several members of Alexia's inner circle you'd noticed earlier in the evening, the ones sitting with Alexia around the table before you'd arrived.

Patri stood with her arms folded, the joking smile she'd worn earlier nowhere to be found.

Mapi was speaking quietly with Misa, who was giving instructions to two suited security guards.

Ingrid stood a little further back, her face pale as she handed bottled water to someone sitting against the wall.

No one noticed you, their attention was fixed elsewhere.

"The boss wants the lower deck cleared before the police arrive."

One of them nodded, "And the body?"

Your stomach tightened, Cata's expression didn't change, "Same instructions."

She turned to leave, you followed or at least, you tried to, because as you rounded the corner your eyes betrayed you.

You hadn't meant to look, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't, every instinct told you not to, but human curiosity had always been stronger than common sense.

Near the far wall, surrounded by two members of security, lay a body beneath a hastily drawn white sheet.

You looked away immediately, then without meaning to you looked back, only for a second. The sheet covered almost everything, except one foot.

A snakeskin boot protruded awkwardly from beneath the fabric, twisted slightly onto its side. One leg bent awkwardly where whoever had covered them clearly hadn't wanted to touch them any more than necessary.

Something... Something about those boots. It tugged at something in the back of your mind, you'd seen those boots before. Somewhere recently.

You frowned. Where? The answer refused to come, just a flicker of recognition that disappeared the harder you chased it.

You frowned, they looked familiar, not enough that you could place them or to know from where. Just enough for something at the back of your mind to stir, like recognising a song without remembering its name.

Cata's voice broke your concentration, "This way."

You tore your gaze away, neither of you spoke for the next several minutes, the two of you continued towards the gangway in silence.

Outside, the cool night air hit your face. You hadn't realised how suffocating the yacht had become until you stepped off it.

Behind you, men moved with quiet efficiency, no panic, no shouting, just Alexia's orders being carried out.

You found yourself glancing back towards the enormous yacht one last time. Its lights still glittered against the dark water, from a distance it looked like every other luxury party drifting across the Mediterranean.

Elegant, untouchable, beautiful, only now you knew better.

You glanced back one last time, she'd appeared on the upper deck now, silhouetted against the lights of the yacht.

Someone approached her, she listened, said something the man nodded once before disappearing again.

💪🏼

You climbed into the waiting car beside Cata, fastening your seatbelt as engine started.

The marina slowly disappeared behind you as you stared out of the window, barely seeing the lights reflected across the water.

One thought chased another. Who exactly was Alexia Putellas?

Because whatever she'd told you she did, whatever you'd assumed it clearly wasn't the whole truth.

The way everyone had deferred to Alexia without hesitation.

Boss.

Until tonight, you'd almost convinced yourself it was affectionate, a nickname, an inside joke between friends.

Now, there wasn't a single part of you that believed that anymore.

She wasn't called the boss. She was the boss. Whatever Alexia did, whatever empire she'd built around herself, everyone aboard that yacht answered to her. And despite everything you'd seen, your mind kept drifting back to one small, insignificant detail.

Those snakeskin boots, you couldn't remember where you'd seen them, but the feeling that you should know refused to let you go.

The drive back to the city was almost painfully quiet.

The gentle hum of the engine filled the space where conversation probably should have been, while Barcelona drifted past the windows in streaks of gold and white

The marina disappeared behind you as the car slipped onto the quieter roads leading back towards the city.

Cata drove with one hand resting lightly on the wheel, eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors every few seconds with practiced routine.

You tried looking out of the window, that lasted all of thirty seconds before your own thoughts became far too loud.

You hated your own brain sometimes, it refused to let anything go, with a quiet sigh, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone.

The familiar Sudoku app opened almost automatically, anything to stop yourself thinking, a few moments passed before Cata broke the silence, "What are you doing?" She was still watching the road, but there was the slightest hint of suspicion in her tone.

You didn't look up, "Sudoku." You filled another number into one of the squares, "You never played?"

"...No."

"It's quite addictive."

"Mhm." Cata gave a quiet hum that suggested she remained unconvinced.

Another silence, you solved another row, Cata glanced sideways briefly before looking back to the road.

The traffic light ahead flicked to red, the Rolls Royce came to a smooth stop, you heard Cata exhale almost like she'd made a decision she wasn't entirely happy with.

Her fingers tapped once against the steering wheel, twice, then she let out a quiet breath, "I shouldn't do this."

You finally looked away from your phone, "What?"

Without answering immediately, Cata reached across to the glove compartment.

She pulled out a small notepad and a pen, quickly, neatly, she scribbled down a phone number before tearing the page free.

She held it out to you, "If you ever need anything..." She paused, "...my number."

You looked down at the scrap of paper in your hand, the words were simple so matter of fact, but they carried more weight than she probably intended.

"Thank you."

She nodded once, "I mean it."

The traffic lights changed, she pulled away smoothly.

You folded the paper carefully instead of stuffing it into your pocket, sliding it safely into your phone case.

"You don't trust many people."

You said it quietly, it wasn't really a question.

Cata was silent for several seconds, "No, but when the boss does." You looked across at her, "That's enough for me."

There it was again, not Alexia, the boss. The title rolled off Cata's tongue so naturally it was obvious she'd used it a thousand times before.

"I've worked for her a long time," Cata continued, eyes never leaving the road. "Long enough to know she likes control." Another pause, "But also long enough to know she doesn't like innocent people getting caught in the middle of things."

You turned your attention back to the glowing Sudoku grid, but the numbers blurred together. You filled in a three where a seven should have gone, deleted it immediately.

For someone trying very hard not to think about Alexia, she was proving remarkably difficult to get out of your head.

The rest of the journey passed in companionable silence.

You'd insisted Cata drop you back outside the club, she hadn't argued.

She'd simply nodded, pulled the Rolls Royce to the curb a street away from the marina and waited while you climbed out.

"Goodnight," she'd said.

"Goodnight."

The car had disappeared into traffic almost silently, leaving you standing beneath the glow of a flickering streetlight, only then had you started the walk home.

The city felt different after the yacht, luxury gave way to cracked pavements and graffiti covered shutters the further you walked.

The apartment block came into view exactly as it always had, peeling paint, a temperamental security door that only locked if you slammed it hard enough. The light above the entrance had been broken for nearly six months.

You dug your keys from your bag and let yourself in, the familiar smell of stale cigarettes and someone's overcooked dinner lingered in the communal hallway.

Nothing had changed, halfway up the stairs you heard it.

"You never listen to me!"

"Oh, don't start again!"

Your neighbours, again.

The couple at the end of the corridor seemed to have perfected the art of conducting every disagreement at maximum volume.

Tonight was apparently no exception, a door slammed, someone shouted something muffled through the walls.

You kept walking, past them, past the peeling wallpaper and the broken light fitting that nobody ever seemed interested in fixing.

Your own front door finally came into view, you unlocked it, stepped inside and locked it again behind you. Only then did you realise how tightly you'd been holding yourself together.

Your shoulders dropped, you kicked your shoes off by the door and let your bag fall onto the sofa.

The shower was the first thing you wanted, you twisted the tap as hot as it would go and stood beneath the spray until the room filled with steam.

The water washed away salt from the sea air, the lingering scent of Alexia's perfume, the expensive cologne that had clung to the yacht.

None of it managed to wash away the memories, you scrubbed shampoo through your hair with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

By the time you climbed into bed, your hair was still damp, the digital clock on your bedside table read 1:47 a.m.

You switched off the lamp, darkness settled over the room, sleep didn't. You rolled onto your side, then your back, then the other side.

Every time you closed your eyes, your brain picked a different detail to obsess over.

The feel of Alexia's strap in you, Cata quietly handing you her phone number. The way everyone aboard that yacht had listened the second Alexia spoke.

You thought about your own flat. The uneven radiator that clanged every winter, the mould stain above the kitchen window you kept meaning to deal with, the shouting neighbours.

Then you thought about Alexia's world, the probable fortress disguised as a home, the yacht, the security, the people who would quite literally kill for her.

The contrast was almost laughable.

You wondered whether she'd even remember you in the morning, whether you'd simply become another face from another party. Someone she'd flirted with for a few weeks before life inevitably pulled her attention elsewhere.

You told yourself that was the sensible outcome, the safest one.

Eventually, sometime after three, exhaustion finally won.

Your thoughts blurred into dreams.

The last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you was a pair of hazel eyes watching you from between your own thighs.

💪🏼

By the time Cata returned to the yacht, the lower deck looked as though nothing had ever happened.

The blood had been scrubbed away, the body was gone.

Fresh glasses had replaced the shattered ones.

The guests had either gone home or been discreetly encouraged off the boat. Security remained doubled around the perimeter, but the frantic urgency had faded into quiet efficiency.

Alexia was exactly where she'd been told she'd find her, on the top deck not entertaining anyone, a whiskey sat untouched beside her.

Mapi lounged across one of the outdoor sofas eating an ice lolly she'd found somewhere, despite it being well after two in the morning.

Patri was halfway through a cigarette.

Alexia looked up the second Cata appeared, "What did she say?"

Cata stopped beside her, "She asked me if I played Sudoku."

Alexia slowly turned her head, "...What?"

Cata shrugged, "I'm not fucking with you." For the first time all evening, the bodyguard let out a small, genuine chuckle, "She barely spoke."

Alexia frowned, "She didn't ask about tonight?"

"No."

"About me?"

"No."

"The shooting?"

Cata shook her head, "She got in the car, sat in silence for about ten minutes, then pulled her phone out and was playing Sudoku."

There was a pause, Alexia blinked once, "I'm sorry"

Cata folded her arms, "I know."

"After everything that happened"

"Mm."

"she played Sudoku?"

"Mm."

Alexia looked genuinely baffled, "I don't understand." Alexia's gaze drifted back towards the coastline, she'd expected questions, fear, maybe anger not... Sudoku.

From the sun lounger nearby came Mapi's voice, "Elite game, to be fair."

Everyone looked over.

Mapi was sprawled on her back wearing an oversized shirt over her bikini, lazily chewing on an ice lolly as though they weren't discussing the strangest woman Alexia had ever met.

She pointed the half melted ice lolly in Alexia's direction, "Very calming."

Patri looked horrified, "You play Sudoku?"

"I do."

"I don't think I know you anymore."

"It's numbers."

"It's witchcraft."

"It's literally numbers."

Patri shook her head dramatically, "You all scare me."

Alexia ignored them both, "Cata."

"Hm?"

"She really didn't ask anything?"

"She looked like she was trying very hard not to think."

Mapi raised her ice lolly thoughtfully, "Which is exactly why she opened Sudoku."

Alexia looked at her, "What?"

Mapi shrugged, "It's keeps the mind busy,"

Patri snorted, "You would say that."

"I'm serious." Mapi gestured with the melting ice lolly, "You can't spiral if you're trying to work out where the seven goes."

Alexia barely heard either of them, "She didn't ask about the body" She said it more to herself than anyone else.

Cata watched her quietly, "I did give her my number."

That made Alexia turn around much faster than before, "You what?"

Cata met her eyes without flinching, "I know."

"You know I don't like surprises."

"I do."

"You gave a civilian your personal number."

"I did."

Patri nearly dropped her drink, "Oh, this is getting interesting."

Alexia folded her arms, "Explain."

Cata's voice remained calm, "She walked onto this yacht because her friend was invited to a party."

Alexia said nothing.

"She witnessed something she never should've seen."

Still nothing.

"And then she walked back into an apartment by herself."

Alexia's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"I thought..." Cata chose her words carefully, "...if she ever found herself scared... or confused... I'd rather she called me than the police."

Alexia held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once, "Thank you."

Cata looked almost surprised, "You aren't angry?"

"I was." A tiny smile appeared, "For about three seconds."

Patri grinned, "A new record."

Alexia ignored her, instead, she found herself smiling despite everything.

The image formed in her head almost involuntarily. You. Fresh off a yacht where someone had opened fire. Ignoring every dramatic question available to you,m opening a Sudoku app.

She laughed quietly to herself, Mapi pointed with the remains of her ice lolly, "What was that?"

Patri looked over, "What?"

"She did the smile."

"The smile?" Patri gasped theatrically, "Oh no."

Alexia raised an eyebrow, "What now?"

Patri sat upright, "Boss..." She struggled not to laugh, "...I think you've got a crush."

Six seconds of complete silence followed, Alexia stared at her, then picked up the nearest cushion and threw it.

Patri caught it effortlessly, laughing so hard she almost fell off the sun lounger, "I'll take that as a yes."

Alexia rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite suppress the smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.

For someone she'd only met twice, you occupied an alarming amount of space in her thoughts.

And somehow, the fact that your coping mechanism after witnessing chaos was to quietly solve number puzzles only made you more fascinating.

💪🏼 Sunday dinners had never changed, no matter what was happening in the rest of your life, no matter how chaotic work became or how many business trips your father took or how many arguments your siblings had accumulated throughout the week.

Sunday meant everyone came home.

The dining room was already loud by the time your mother called everyone to sit down.

Your sisters were arguing over who'd stolen whose charger.

One of your brothers was winding the other up over a football result.

Your mother floated effortlessly between them all, pretending not to hear half of it while setting dishes onto the table.

Your father sat at the head as always.

Alongside him were two of his oldest business associates, men who'd been appearing at these dinners for so long you'd stopped questioning it as a child.

Nobody questioned it anymore, it had always been this way. You'd long ago stopped asking why half the people at your family table weren't actually related to you.

Your mother certainly never did or rather she pretended not to, it was an unspoken agreement everyone seemed content to keep.

The conversations were always careful, business was discussed.

Never specifics, never in front of your mother, or in front of you girls, it had always been an unspoken rule.

Your mother pretended not to notice, you and your sisters had learnt to do the same. Your brother's less successfully.

You reached for the serving spoon just as your mother emerged from the kitchen carrying another roasting tray.

"Right." She smiled, "Before your father steals all the potatoes..."

"He absolutely would," one of your sisters muttered.

"...everyone help yourselves."

Chairs scraped, hands reached, the usual chaos began, one of the older men looked around the table, "It's strangely civil tonight."

Your father smiled into his wine, "Manuel isn't here."

A chorus of amused agreement circled the table, "That's why there's enough food."

Someone laughed, "He'd have been first in the queue."

"As always."

"...Where is Manuel?" Your father barely looked up from pouring himself another glass of wine.

Another voice joined in, "He's probably late because he's polishing those ridiculous snakeskin boots."

The table laughed, "They're his pride and joy."

"I swear he'd save those before he'd save his own wife."

More laughter, you smiled automatically, then stopped, your fork froze halfway to your mouth, snakeskin boots.

Something cold slid through your stomach, no, your mind immediately pushed the thought away, coincidence.

There were plenty of snakeskin boots in the world, your heart, however, had already begun beating a little faster.

"...his trademark," someone was saying.

"You could spot Manuel from across the room just by those bloody things."

Your grip tightened around your fork, your breathing became noticeably shallower, your stomach lurched. No. No...Surely not.

You heard your own voice before you realised you'd spoken, "...Manuel?"

The conversation faltered, your father looked over, "Hm?"

You swallowed, "Where..." Your mouth suddenly felt dry, "...where is Manuel?"

One of the men shrugged, "Haven't heard from him since yesterday."

"Probably nursing a hangover."

Another chuckled, "Or avoiding work."

Your father didn't laugh, he simply took another sip of wine, your eyes stayed fixed on him.

He noticed, for just a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed his face, then it was gone.

Your mother appeared beside you, "You alright, sweetheart?"

You blinked, "What?"

"You've gone pale."

Had you? You forced a smile, "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

You weren't, not even close, because all at once the memories of the previous night came crashing together. Those boots, those stupid ridiculous snakeskin boots.

You looked down at your untouched dinner, around you the conversation had already moved on. Your mother was asking someone to pass the vegetables. Your sisters were laughing at something. One of your brothers was telling a story.

You heard yourself asking before you'd properly decided to, "...Where is Manuel?"

The room quietened just enough for your father to look over, "Told you. Running late."

Your stomach tightened, "...Is he alright?"

Your father studied you for a second, "I've not heard otherwise."

Another associate chuckled, "He'll probably walk in halfway through dessert pretending nothing happened."

The laughter returned you couldn't join in, your mind was moving too quickly.

You'd always known, not known known, but known. You'd always known your father worked complicated jobs, you'd overheard enough conversations growing up. Seen enough expensive watches exchanged after closed door meetings, watched enough unfamiliar cars arrive late at night, but it had always remained abstract.

A line you deliberately never crossed, your father dealt in things respectable businessmen didn't.

Your mother never asked, neither did you, that had always been the arrangement. Don't ask questions, don't look too closely, everyone stayed safe that way.

You'd accepted that long ago, but now you'd looked and once you had you couldn't unsee it.

A horrible thought settled into the pit of your stomach if Manuel really was the man on Alexia's yacht then your father's world and Alexia's were far closer together than you'd ever imagined.

Until a phone vibrated, your father's right hand man glanced at the screen before excusing himself with a quiet, "Sorry." He excused himself quietly, stepping through the open doors onto the terrace.

Nobody paid him much attention, calls happened, business never really stopped.

You weren't entirely sure why you watched him, maybe because your stomach still hadn't settled. Maybe because once your brain had made the connection, it refused to let it go.

He answered the call with his back to the room, you couldn't hear a word, didn't need to. You watched his posture instead, the easy confidence disappeared, his shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched.

Something inside you dropped, he ended the call almost immediately, walked back inside but didn't sit.

Instead he bent slightly, placing one hand on the back of your father's chair before leaning down to whisper into his ear, you saw your father's face.

The warmth disappeared, the smile he'd worn all evening simply vanished, his expression hardened into something you rarely saw at home.

Your father didn't ask a single question, he just stared ahead for a second thinking, then he stood.

The scrape of his chair across the wooden floor silenced the room, even your mother looked up.

Your father snapped his fingers once, every man seated around the table looked towards him immediately, your father didn't raise his voice.

"With me."

That was all, nothing more. The business associates stood, so did your brothers.

Your eldest brother barely glanced at the rest of the family before following. Your younger one hesitated only long enough to kiss your mother's cheek, then he was gone too.

The room suddenly felt much larger, much quieter, your mother sighed softly, "They never finish dessert."

She sounded almost amused, as though this happened every week, she began collecting plates.

Your sisters resumed their conversation life continued, only you remained frozen, because you'd seen your father's face before.

When someone spoke his surname with too much confidence.

When a deal had gone wrong.

When he'd come home late with bruised knuckles and your mother had silently placed dinner in front of him without asking where he'd been.

You knew better now than you had as a child.

When you were little, you thought people respected your father because he was successful, because your family had money, because everyone seemed to know him.

Now you knew it was something else, your surname travelled before you did. You'd seen strangers falter halfway through saying it. Watched arguments dissolve the second someone realised whose daughter you were.

Doors opened, people apologised, voices lowered, not because your father was wealthy, because your father was feared.

You'd never asked why, you'd never wanted the answer, your mother had perfected the art of looking away.

You had inherited it until last nigh

You looked towards the hallway where the men were a silent procession, coats collected, phones checked, weapons...

The front door opened then closed, engines started outside, then silence the house fell strangely still.

A horrible feeling settled low in your stomach if that phone call had confirmed what you thought, then your father already knew. Which meant he would also want to know who had done it.

Your thoughts leapt somewhere across the city to Alexia. You didn't know what role she'd played, you didn't know whether she'd ordered it.

You knew almost nothing, except that if was on her boat and your father wasn't a man known for patience or mercy.

You looked instinctively towards your phone lying beside your plate, you wished, with sudden desperation, that you'd asked Alexia for her number.

A horrible helplessness spread through your chest, because all you knew a convoy of very dangerous men had just left your childhood home. And they were heading straight towards the woman who may never get to finish what she stared in her cabin.

Your father wouldn't care about the reasons, he'd care that someone had killed one of his own and if there was one thing everyone knew about your father. It was that nobody touched his people without paying for it.

You hesitated, if you called your father to plead with him, you would be stepping directly into a war you had spent your entire life pretending didn't exist.

If you didn't the collision between your father's empire and Alexia's was coming whether you wanted it to or not.

And somehow you couldn't stop thinking that the woman who'd asked you to trust her deserved to know exactly what was heading her way.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and stared out across the table, trying to make sense of the knot tightening in your chest.

It wasn't fear it was confusion, because your first instinct hadn't been relief that your father was handling whatever had happened.

It hadn't been loyalty, it had been Alexia., the thought landed heavily enough to make you close your eyes. Your very first thought had been how to warn her, how to protect her.

Your eyes looked to the little bit of paper in the back of your phone, you didn't know if the number was secure, you didn't know who might answer. You didn't even know if she'd be able to pick up, every second mattered. You were moving before you'd even fully decided to, your chair scraped violently across the wooden floor.

Everyone looked up, "Y/N?"

You barely heard your mother's voice, you were already halfway across the kitchen one second you were sat frozen in the dining room, the next you were heading for the garage.

Behind you came your mother's voice, "Y/N?" The garage lights flickered on as you shoved the side door open. "Y/N!" she called again, louder this time, or closer you weren't sure.

Your brothers' cars filled one side, your father's sat immaculate beneath its cover, in the far corner your eldest brother Luis' motorbike.

Your mother caught up just as you were pulling a helmet from the shelf, "Y/N, what are you doing?" Your mother sounded genuinely frightened.

You didn't answer immediately, you threw one leg over the bike and reached for the keys hanging neatly on the wall.

Your mother stared, "No."

You jammed the key into the ignition, "I'm borrowing Luis' bike."

Her eyes widened, "You're doing what?"

"It'll be fine."

"Y/N."

The engine roared to life, the sound filled the garage, your mother flinched, "You haven't ridden in years!"

"I know."

"Then get off it!" You thumbed the control for the garage door, it began crawling upwards, "Y/N!"

"I'm bringing it back."

"Y/N!" Your mother stepped towards you, "Your father will—"

"I know." You pulled your visor down, "I'm sorry I have to go"

"Go where?"

"I..." The answer caught in your throat, because you couldn't exactly say, To warn the woman who might have just killed one of Dad's men.

The automatic garage door began crawling upwards, too slowly, you revved the engine once, twice, the gap became just wide enough.

You didn't wait, the bike lurched forward, your mother shouted your name.

You squeezed beneath the rising door with inches to spare before tearing down the driveway.

The evening air hit like a wall, the front gates were still opening, just enough, you leaned the bike slightly and shot through the narrowing gap then you were gone.

The engine screamed beneath you, streetlights blurred into long golden streaks cool evening air whipped through the gaps in your helmet.

Your heart beat almost as loudly as the motor you had no plan, only destinations.

The bar, you'd met Alexia there, maybe she was there, you pulled up outside barely ten minutes later.

You killed the engine and hurried inside, the bartender recognised you, offered you your usual, "Have you seen Alexia?"

His smile faltered, "No."

"You sure?"

"I haven't seen her."

"What about..." You realised you didn't know anyone else's names, "...her friends?"

He shook his head, "They're not here tonight."

You thanked him anyway before hurrying back outside, the marina, it had to be. The bike tore through the city once more, you parked illegally this time and ran.

Past rows of expensive yachts, security barriers, empty berths, your trainers echoed against the wooden walkways.

The place was eerily quiet, the yacht was gone, only dark water rocking gently against empty moorings.

You turned slowly in a full circle, your breathing came hard you ran a hand through your hair.

No towering yacht, no black Rolls Royce, no sign of Alexia, the marina felt wrong. Too quiet, after everything that had happened the previous night, you'd expected police, tape.

Instead there was nothing, as though the yacht had never existed, as though no one had died, a chill ran down your spine. The silence around the city felt deliberate, like something enormous was happening just out of sight.

You stared at the folded piece of paper in the back of your phone, for a long moment, you simply looked at the number.

Then you unfolded it completely, typed each digit into your phone, our thumb hovered over the call button, "If this is a terrible idea..."

You pressed it anyway, the phone rang, three times, by the fourth ring you were convinced it was going to voicemail.

Then, "Hello?"

Cata, you'd never been so relieved to hear someone's voice.

"Cata..." There was a pause, "...It's Y/N."

Recognition was immediate, "Y/N." You could almost picture her straightening where she stood, "Is everything alright?"

"I need to speak to Alexia."

Silence, when Cata spoke again, her voice had become noticeably more guarded, "No."

Your stomach dropped, "No?"

"You can't just demand to speak Alexia, she's busy"

"What?"

"You need to forget about her."

"Cata—"

"I'm serious." Her tone was calm, professional, "The less you know about her world, the safer you'll be."

"I don't care about that."

"You should."

"I don't."

Another silence, when Cata spoke again, there was genuine regret beneath her words, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

She was about to end the call, the tiny shift in the line, words tumbled out before you could stop them, "It's about Carlos Hernandez."

Nothing, not even breathing, the line went completely still.

"Cata?"

No answer, you pulled the phone away to check the call hadn't disconnected. It hadn't.

"Cata?"

When she finally spoke, her voice was entirely different, "...Say that again."

"Carlos Hernandez." Another pause, "He's my dad, he's after Alexia, I need to speak to her"

Then, "Hang on."

The line clicked, not disconnected, just muted, inside the estate, Cata lowered the phone slowly.

There were only a handful of people who should even know that name so she believed you.

She turned immediately, crossing the home with purposeful strides, past the kitchen where Ingrid, who looked up from washing dishes.

Past Mapi and Patri arguing over a football match in the sitting room, she stopped outside a closed door.

Knocked twice, firm, several seconds passed. The door opened, Alexia stood there in a grey T-shirt and loose jogging bottoms, reading glasses balanced low on her nose, obvious irritation written across her face.

"I said I didn't want to be—" She stopped, Cata never interrupted without reason, "...What happened?"

Cata held up the phone, "It's Y/N."

Alexia frowned, "Why is she calling you?"

Cata hesitated, "She says it's about Carlos Hernandez."

Every trace of annoyance disappeared from Alexia's face, Cata nodded once.

Alexia didn't move, she simply stared at Cata for a long second, as though trying to decide whether she'd misheard her, "...You're certain?"

Cata nodded once, "She said, 'Carlos Hernandez is my dad.'"

From the sitting room doorway came the unmistakable sound of a television being muted.

Patri appeared first, "What happened?"

She took one look at Alexia's face before the smile she'd been wearing disappeared.

Mapi followed a second later, curiosity quickly giving way to concern, "What is it?"

Cata held up the still connected phone, "Y/N."

Patri blinked, "The yacht girl?"

Alexia still hadn't spoken, she was thinking, Misa emerged from the hallway, drying her hands with a towel after finishing a training session downstairs, "What did I miss?"

Mapi answered before anyone else could, "Apparently Boss's mystery woman is Carlos Hernandez's daughter."

Misa stopped walking, "...What?"

"The one from the yacht."

Misa looked from Mapi to Cata, searching for the joke, finding none, her expression hardened immediately.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Alexia finally looked up, Misa stepped closer, "That's too convenient." Nobody interrupted, "She appears out of nowhere." Misa began counting on her fingers, "She meets you in a bar, ends up on the yacht. And now,"

She shook her head.

"...she suddenly reveals she's Carlos Hernandez's daughter?" Her eyes settled on Alexia, "Boss." The word was clipped, "I think she's a plant."

Patri frowned, "That's a hell of an accusation."

"It's a logical one." Mapi folded her arms but didn't disagree, Misa continued, "Carlos has been trying to get close to us for years."

She nodded towards the phone.

"Now suddenly his daughter just happens to walk into your life?"

Alexia remained unreadable, Misa took another step, "Bring her in." Silence, "I'll go get her, we need to end this now." She spoke with complete certainty.

Patri grimaced, "Misa..."

"What?"

"That's a bit..."

"A bit what?"

"A bit harsh."

"We've done worse."

"...Fair."

Alexia's eyes drifted to the floor, thinking, every person in the room recognised the look, nobody spoke while she weighed the possibilities.

If you were telling the truth, you represented the biggest security breach she'd experienced in years.

Slowly, Alexia looked up, "Misa." She met her gaze, "No."

Misa frowned, "You don't think she's a plant?"

"I think she might be." That answer caught everyone slightly off guard, Alexia continued, "I also think if Carlos Hernandez wanted someone close to me..." A faint smile appeared, "he'd choose someone considerably better trained."

Patri snorted, "True, she copes with trauma by playing Sudoku."

Even Misa's mouth twitched despite herself.

Alexia looked towards Cata, "Find out where she is." Alexia didn't hesitate, "Bring her to me."

Misa raised an eyebrow, "Just like that?"

Alexia met her eyes calmly, "If she's lying..." Her voice was steady, "...she can try to lie to my face."

"And if she's telling the truth?"

Alexia's expression became unreadable once more, "Then Carlos Hernandez has just declared war."

Nobody argued with that.

Cata lifted the phone back to her ear as she quietly stepped into the hallway, "Y/N?" Her voice was calm again, "I need your location."

She listened for a moment before nodding to herself.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

The call ended.

Cata slipped the phone into her pocket.

"She's at the marina."

Alexia was already retreating back into her office, "Go" 💪🏼

You hadn't moved from the marina, the low growl of an engine pulled your attention from the water, a familiar black Rolls Royce eased to a stop beside the pavement.

The driver's door opened, Cata climbed out, immaculate as ever in a black suit despite the late hour.

She looked around once before her eyes settled on you, "Get in."

You instinctively reached for the front passenger door.

"The back."

You looked up, "What?"

"The back, please."

There was no edge to her voice, just quiet professionalism.

You nodded, "Right."

Climbing into the rear felt strangely different this time, the first time you'd sat back here, everything had been exciting, mild blowing, now it felt intimidating.

Cata pulled away from the curb without another word, the city slipped past in silence.

You tried counting traffic lights, buildings, anything to stop your mind spiralling.

It didn't work, eventually you cleared your throat, "Am I in trouble?"

Cata looked at you briefly through the mirror, her silence wasn't exactly reassuring. Neither of you spoke again for the remainder of the journey.

The gates appeared out of nowhere, tall stone walls stretched away in both directions, disappearing into trees.

The gates swung open before the Rolls Royce even slowed, you watched cameras follow the car as it wound along the long driveway.

The estate looked elegant, beautiful and somehow intimidating.

The car rolled to a stop outside the front entrance, Cata climbed out first, she opened your door, you looked at her waiting and swallowed.

Your legs felt strangely heavy as you climbed out onto the gravel, the house towered above you.

It looked less like someone's home and more like somewhere history had happened.

"This way."

You followed closely behind Cata, the front door opened before she reached it, aomeone inside had clearly been watching.

The entrance hall was enormous, polished wooden floors reflected the warm light from chandeliers overhead, paintings lined the walls, fresh flowers sat on a table beneath a sweeping staircase.

It was beautiful and unnervingly quiet, you became acutely aware of your own footsteps.

Cata led you deeper into the house, past a sitting room where voices murmured behind half closed doors, past a kitchen that smelled faintly of fresh bread and coffee. Someone laughed somewhere upstairs, the normality of it all felt almost surreal.

This was the headquarters of a criminal empire and someone was apparently baking.

Your eyes wandered as you walked, a bookshelf stretching floor to ceiling, old family photographs, a grandfather clock ticking steadily in the corner.

You were so distracted looking around that you failed to notice Cata had stopped.

You walked straight into her back, "Oh—" You stumbled a step backwards, "Sorry."

She didn't seem remotely bothered, she simply raised her hand and knocked twice on the door in front of you.

You suddenly realised your heart was hammering, the handle turned, the door opened.

Alexia stood on the other side, she was in a grey t-shirt, loose dark jogging bottoms and reading glasses resting low on her nose.

She looked...fuck, but also unexpectedly ordinary. If you ignored the fact she ran one of the most feared organisations in the city.

Her eyes met yours immediately, she studied you for a long second, then stepped aside, opening the door wider.

"Thank you, Cata." Cata inclined her head, Alexia looked back at you, "Come in."

You hesitated only briefly before stepping over the threshold, the room felt private, lived in, books covered one wall, screens with live pictures of all the cameras on the property on the other.

A large desk sat in the middle of the room, scattered with neatly organised paperwork.

A chessboard stood abandoned on a side table midway through a game, nothing about it resembled the office of the woman you'd imagined.

You heard the door close behind you, then the unmistakable sound of a lock turning, your shoulders tensed after you flinched at the noise.

Your flinch was barely noticeable, but Alexia saw it. Of course she did.

For a fleeting moment, something passed across her face, not annoyance or amusement.

She rested one hand lightly against the now locked door, "I locked it," she said quietly, "to make sure nobody interrupts us." She held your gaze, "Not to stop you leaving."

The words hung gently between you, there was no pressure in them, just an acknowledgement that she'd noticed your reaction.

Alexia took a slow step away from the door, giving you more space rather than less.

"I think," she said, removing her glasses and setting them carefully on the desk, "we both have quite a few questions."

You realised you weren't the only nervous person in the room.

Alexia didn't speak, she simply watched you.

The room had become impossibly quiet, the ticking of the antique clock somewhere behind you suddenly sounding far louder than it should have.

She hadn't asked you to sit down, you hadn't took it upon yourself either.

She leaned one hip against the edge of her desk instead, arms folded loosely, giving you space to speak first, "You said..." Alexia began carefully, "Carlos Hernandez is your father."

You nodded once, "He is."

"And you came here to warn me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

The question wasn't accusatory, it was genuine. You looked down at your hands before answering, "Because I know what my father is like."

Alexia's expression remained unreadable.

"I think..." You sighed quietly, "I think I've spent most of my life pretending not to know who my father really is."

The admission felt strange to say aloud.

"My mum..." You let out a humourless laugh. "She's always had this incredible ability to not ask questions." You smiled faintly, "I used to think she genuinely didn't know."

Your eyes drifted towards the bookshelf rather than Alexia.

"I don't think that's true anymore. I think she made a choice."

Your voice had become quieter now.

"She chose not to know." You looked back at Alexia, as you searched for the right words, "If Dad comes home late, she doesn't ask where he's been. If someone appears at our dinner table covered in cuts and bruises, she doesn't ask why. If people lower their voices when business comes up..."

You shrugged.

"...she walks into another room." Alexia listened without interrupting, "I copied her."

You laughed once, not because anything was funny, "Actually, all my sisters did. We all just...looked the other way."

You met Alexia's eyes again.

"It was easier."

"You knew he wasn't legitimate."

"I knew..." you corrected gently, "I knew he wasn't selling insurance." That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Alexia's mouth, "And I copied her. I knew Dad dealt in..." You searched for the right word, "...things."

You shrugged helplessly.

"I knew people were scared of him. I'd hear stories growing up. I'd catch bits of conversations. I knew there were conversations I wasn't supposed to hear, but I never asked. It was easier."

Alexia hadn't moved, "You never asked?"

"I never wanted the answers." Silence settled again, "I thought..."You swallowed, "I thought if I didn't know, then none of it had anything to do with me."

Alexia's gaze softened almost imperceptibly, "And then you saw what happened on my yacht."

You nodded, "And then I saw what happened on your yacht." Another humourless laugh escaped you, "I think that illusion disappeared pretty quickly. And I realised by meeting you and being there, I was in the middle of something I had no idea of"

Her arms remained loosely folded across her chest, "And now?"

You swallowed, "This is me stopping pretending."

Your eyes met hers properly, Alexia looked down briefly before looking back at you, "You understand how this looks."

It wasn't a question, "I do" You answered immediately. "I saw Manuel." Alexia's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, "I didn't boot the boots I saw to the person who would come for dinner at my home not until today",

You closed your eyes briefly.

"Dad got the phone call. I watched his face change." The image replayed vividly, "The second he stood up I knew."

Your breathing steadied.

"I've never seen him look like that unless someone is about to have a very bad day."

Alexia looked away for the first time since you'd entered, "So, you came to warn me of what exactly?"

"I don't know, that I think he knows he died on your yacht, or that.. I don't know honestly"

You drew a steady breath.

"I'm not here because my father sent me. I'm not here because I've been spying on you. I'm here because I watched my dad leave dinner looking like he was going to start a war and the first person I thought about was you."

The words lingered in the silence, Alexia's expression slowly faded, not because she was angry, because something about what you'd just admitted had landed deeper than she'd expected.

She unfolded her arms, walked past you, towards the wall of monitors, her hands slipped into the pockets of her joggers as she stared at them.

When she finally spoke, her voice was almost thoughtful.

"You know..." She glanced back over her shoulder, "Cata said you played Sudoku when she took you home."

Heat immediately rushed to your face, "I was trying not to have a panic attack."

Alexia let out the quietest laugh, "I know."

"If I were you..." You shook your head, "I wouldn't trust me"

Alexia didn't respond, you took a slow breath.

"I need you to understand something." She waited, "No one knows I know you"

You stepped forward without really thinking.

"Lily doesn't know. My family doesn't know. My dad..." You gave another small shake of your head, "...would lose his mind if he knew I was standing in this room."

Alexia studied you carefully.

"I looked for you before I called Cata, I was terrified"

"Of your dad?"

You hesitated, "...Partly."

"And the other part?"

You looked directly at her, "You."

Alexia blinked, you gave an embarrassed smile.

"I mean..." You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. "I'm not blind, you have this..."

You gestured vaguely, "...presence?" Alexia raised an eyebrow.

"You..." You searched for words that didn't sound ridiculous, "...have an aura. I don't know how else to describe it. You walk into a room and everyone watches you. You barely raise your voice and people move."

You laughed quietly at yourself.

"So yes... I was slightly afraid of whoever you turned out to be."

Alexia's expression didn't change.

"I'm not blind. I know you're dangerous."

There. You'd finally said it.

"I don't know exactly who you are. I don't know what you do exactly, but..." You shrugged faintly, "...I figured getting on your bad side would probably not be a good idea"

You took another careful breath, "I'm not asking you to trust me."

Alexia remained completely still.

"I know I haven't earned that. I know who my father is. I know what that means now. I know what it probably looks like from where you're standing." Your voice cracked ever so slightly, "I'm not asking you to trust me" You held her gaze, "...I'm asking you to believe me."

Then she turned fully to face you again, "I do believe you."

Your shoulders sagged with relief before you could stop them.

"But..." The word made you tense again, "I can't promise you I won't react if something was to happen" Alexia said gently.

The truth settled heavily between you both, because whether you'd wanted this world or not you were standing in it now and there was no pretending otherwise.

You nodded, understanding even as your throat threatened to erase all your words. You didn't want promises, not from her, not from anyone.

Alexia seemed to sense it, your hands flexed at your sides there was a flicker of indecision when you met her eyes.

"You don't want anything from me," she said, not as a question. "You just want me to know."

You laughed, short and sharp, a sound you didn't even recognise, "Wanting anything would be madness," you admitted.

She stepped toward you, the distance closing to nothing, "I'm not afraid of madness," she said, and then she touched your face, light as static, as if to prove there was no such thing as too much exposure.

It didn't feel like the first time she touched you by now it felt like you'd already spent a lifetime circling this exact collision point. Her thumb traced the hollow beneath your eye, moving down to the line of your jaw, the touch reverent and curious all at once. She searched your face as if she could read the loyalty in your skin.

A thought occurred to you, maybe this was forbidden love, or something adjacent to it, so hard and bright it made every other thing in your life taste of cardboard.

"You're shaking," Alexia murmured, thumb resting at the hinge of your jaw.

"I hadn’t noticed." You leaned in, not for a kiss, but for confession, "I don't even know your last name."

She smiled, and it broke the tension the way a glass shatters "Putellas," she said, "If you say it around here, the maids will faint."

You repeated it, and it sounded like a secret you weren't meant to learn, "So what happens now?"

Alexia drew in a measured breath, "Now you decide if you want to go home and forget all of this" a look, clean and clinical, "or you stay for a little while."

You didn't know how to answer. For a second, you tried on the idea of leaving, of walking out of this fortress and back to your mother's kitchen, resuming the old, soft habit of pretending. You looked at the lock on the door, she'd left the key in it, a deliberate statement. "I want to stay," you said at last, and it felt like the bravest and stupidest thing you'd ever said.

Alexia nodded, "Good." She released your face and turned away, crossing to the drinks cart, "I'm going to pour us something truly disgusting," she said over her shoulder. "We might both need it."

You tried to laugh, found yourself trembling, then realised it was the first time in hours you'd let yourself feel anything that wasn't either terror or shame. She poured two glasses of something brown and viscous, then handed you a glass. Your hands brushed. You pretended not to notice the brush of her fingers as you took the glass. You watched her settle back against the desk and sip without ceremony, without flinching, giving you nothing. You brought it to your lips and your face did something involuntary.

You held the glass to your chest, eyes drifting around the room. She was watching you over the rim of hers, "You're thinking," she said quietly before taking another sip and setting the glass down beside her. You looked back at her, "What about?"

“Didn’t have you down as a reader” Her clasped into her lap as she looked amused at you, “I won’t take offence at that”

You let your gaze wander around the office, the books stacked in lopsided towers or slotted sideways to make room for chess sets, dusty trophies, and the occasional bottle of aged liquor. You tried to picture Alexia reading for pleasure, and failed. You pictured her instead using books as blunt objects, slamming them shut, leaving them face down in the middle of a chapter as if daring somebody else to tidy up after her.

"I was thinking," you said, "about what you'd be like if you ever took a day off." You raised your glass, then sipped.

Alexia’s lips curled, "I don’t believe in holidays," she said, "Life gets too messy while you’re gone and when you come back, there’s a backlog of mess, and then you need another vacation to recover from it."

You kept your eyes on her, not flinching from the challenge in her tone, "Does anyone ever get close enough to see the mess, or do you have it all cleaned up before the doors open?"

She cocked her head, weighing you, then shrugged as if the entire world was a game of acceptable losses. "Some people don’t know how to look. Some know and pretend they don’t." Her mouth twisted. "You seem like the sort who can’t help but look."

You didn’t disagree, "You seem like the sort who likes being watched." You let the words hang, and the air in the room shifted, sharp and electric.

"That’s dangerous," Alexia said.

"Not for me."

She saluted you with her glass, drained it, and set it down with a sharp clack. "You’re still shaking," she observed, but her voice was lower now, not clinical, something almost hungry in the way she watched you.

You shook your head, then laughed, "Maybe you have that effect on people."

She took a step nearer, then another, until the difference between your bodies was centimetres. You caught yourself tensing, every muscle braced for violence or for touch, you didn’t know which you wanted. With a single finger, Alexia traced the inside of your elbow, then followed the line up to your shoulder. She stopped, considering the curve of your neck as if it was the first time she’d seen it.

"Last chance to run," she said, softly. 

"I’ll take my chances," you replied. 

She smiled wolfish, as if privately delighted and pushed you back, not hard, not gentle. You let it happen, let her guide you until your spine met the bookcase, the impact sending a tremor through every shelf. Several spines toppled, a copy thumped to the carpet.

She kissed you then, open mouthed and demanding, the taste of smoke and whiskey sharp between your teeth. Her hands bracketed your face, thumbs pressing under your jaw, holding you steady as her tongue traced the seam of your lips. You clung to her like she was the only thing sturdy enough to stand up to you.

You parted for air, and she didn’t let go, her hands sliding down to your waist as she tucked her forehead to yours. She let her hands drift down, fingers skimming the bottom of your shirt, and you gazed at her in daring.

“Are you going to ask?” she said, and you almost didn’t know what she meant, then you did.

You pressed a kiss to her lips, then to the line of her strong jaw, “I want you.” you whispered in to her ear.

She exhaled, sharp, and kissed you again, harder this time, her hands sliding under your shirt and up your ribs. You dug your fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, and she made a sound in the back of her throat that you felt in every nerve.

The pressure of her body against yours was overwhelming, and you let her pin you with her hips, the aggression of it both a threat and a promise.

She let go long enough to pull your shirt over your head in one smooth movement, then she just stared at you for a beat, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world and you were the only thing worth paying attention to.

You felt the flush rising up your neck, but you held her gaze, refusing to look away even as you were bared to her. Alexia nodded approval, then leaned in, tracing her mouth down your throat, the scrape of her teeth a warning. “You sure?” she breathe.

Instead of saying yes, you hooked two fingers into the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled her so close the air shattered, “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be here,” you told her. “And if we’re being honest? I want you to make it impossible for me to leave.”

She blinked, stunned, then let out a slow, shaky laugh, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Good,” you said, and watched her resolve crack, just a little, she kissed you again, hands exploring more now, and before you knew it she’d walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of her desk.

She lifted you to perch on the edge, Alexia stayed standing, looming above you. She studied you as if she was deciding what to do with a beautiful problem.

You sat obedient, looking up, a flush working down your chest. She trailed her fingers lightly over your shoulder, then your breast, then down your side. “Lay back,” she commanded, and you did, let yourself go limp, arms spread as she pressed at your chest until your back hit the desktop, cold against your spine, breathe stolen from your chest as she bit softly up the column of your throat. Her hands made a map of your body, every line and shadow of muscle catalogued, claimed, learned.

She unbuttoned your jeans, peeled them down your hips, mouth following the line of exposed skin as if she’d never had you before and was determined to do it right this time. You wanted to watch her, but your eyes fluttered closed every time her hands tightened, every time her tongue found a new place to linger.

For a second she went still, her breath hot against the inside of your thigh. You lifted your head just enough to see her watching you, not just with hunger but with something curious behind it. Like she wanted to see if you’d be too proud to beg. You weren’t, not even close.

“Don’t stop,” you said, and she laughed once, soft, then fit her mouth to you as neatly as if it had always belonged there. She licked you open slow, savouring you, coaxing your body to trust her again. She always did this to you, made you forget everything else, made you a body before you remembered you were a person.

And she didn’t stop. Not even when you bucked against her mouth, not even when you moaned her name into your bicep to avoid being heard by the rest of the house. She pinned your knees apart, setting a pace that had you panting before you could remember what you even had to say. At the edge, she slowed, let you hover, dragged her tongue lazy through your folds, letting you tremble while you waited for her to finish you off.

She drew it out for as long as she could stand it, which turned out to be almost as long as you could. Then, in a move you should have expected, she inserted one finger inside you, then two, curling them up until you saw stars, breath catching so hard you thought for a second you might pass out.

She fucked you with her hand, gentle at first, then harder until the sound of it was slick and obscene and the only thing you could hear in the room. She worked you with a patience that bordered on cruelty, your body growing so desperate you ached. When she brought her mouth back to your clit, tongue circling, alternating light and pressure, you came so hard you knocked your head on the edge of the desk.

You shuddered, a sound escaping you that was half sob, half desperate laughter. Only then did Alexia draw back, wiping her mouth with a knuckle, staring at you with the predatory satisfaction of a cat who’s just caught something too slow to escape.

You lay there, spent, limbs heavy and useless, and she ran her hand down your thigh, soothing the aftershocks,she made her way back up your body, mouth trailing heat, and kissed you deep enough that you tasted yourself on her tongue.

You pushed yourself up with a force that surprised even you, fingers skimming the hem of her shirt before she tugged it off herself. The fabric whispered over her skin, and then your mouth was on her tracing the ridges of her stomach, your tongue tracing the line of her abs. Her palm found the back of your head, guiding you higher, until your lips closed around her nipple, already hard against your tongue.

You hooked your fingers into the front of her joggers, the soft fabric clinging to her hips, and tugged at them. Your mouth found her breast again, teeth grazing her nipple, tongue pressing flat against the heat of her skin as you moved to the other.

Your hands slid around her waist, fingers splayed against the small of her back before dipping lower, tracing the curve of her ass. She arched into you, a silent permission, and you took it, your hands slipped into the back of her joggers, your palms cupped the full weight of her ass, kneading the soft flesh.

She made a sound, low and rough, as you dug your fingers in just shy of too hard, before the elastic snapped against her thighs, and then yanked the joggers the rest of the way down, letting them pool at her ankles.

Your mouth trailed down her torso, a slow pilgrimage of heat and teeth and worship, until you reached the soft plane of her lower stomach. Her palm tightened in your hair, not pulling you away but holding you there, a silent plea for more. She lifted one leg planting her foot firmly on the edge of the desk to open herself to you. You moved in without hesitation, your tongue finding the wet heat of her folds, tasting salt and musk and the sharp, taste of her arousal.

She let you kneel, not just let you, but guided you to it, one hand in your hair, the other braced on the desk behind your head. The power shift was instant and total, you knelt at her feet, the taste of her already slick on your tongue, and she watched you with the kind of sharp, proprietary interest usually reserved for chess pieces and difficult problems.

She adjusted her stance, widening, and you took the hint, mouth finding her again, tracing the seam of her pussy with your tongue, then plunging in, slow and deep, until you felt her thighs tense on either side of your face. She said nothing for a long time, just watched, the only sounds her breathing and the wet, obscene noise of your mouth working her. Each time you flicked her clit, her fingers tightened in your hair, a silent command, a praise, a dare.

You used everything you had, tongue, lips, even the tip of your nose, the whole time aware of the way she rocked into your mouth, chasing sensation with a focus that bordered on violence. When you looked up through your lashes, her eyes were half lidded, mouth parted, and you thought you could watch her come apart for hours and never get bored.

But then she did something unexpected, she stepped forward, crowding you until you had to tilt your chin up to keep your mouth where she wanted it, her scent overwhelming, the heat of her body swallowing the air. She rode your face with exquisite control, using you for leverage, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other braced so she could set her own pace.

You let go, surrendered completely. You focused on her clit, the pressure and speed she liked, learning her rhythm, matching it beat for beat. She tasted like sweat and salt and something dark, and you wanted every drop.

She fucked herself on your mouth, hips rolling, and you felt the tremor in her thighs before you heard it in her voice, the way her hands changed from controlling to clutching, how her breath came ragged, how her body started to stutter on the edge. She said your name, just once, a surprised, reverent curse, and then she came, hard, her thighs clamping around your jaw, her hand yanking your head in so close that for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You let her, let her use you until she was done, until her body shivered with aftershocks and a tremor running through her whole body.

Her mouth found yours when she guided you back to your feet, tongue pushing in, tasting herself, and you let her do that, too, let her take everything she wanted from you until you were dizzy with it.

She kept one hand on you as she pulled open drawer after drawer, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. When she found what she wanted, she didn't ask this time. She stepped into the harness and buckled it with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly what came next, then slicked the length of it slowly, deliberately, her eyes on you the whole time.

You watched her, nerves buzzing. Alexia was a vision, sweat slicked skin, hair knotted at the nape, abs smeared with a cameo of lipstick and saliva. She stepped toward you, black harness buckled low and hungry between her thighs, the silicone cock rigid and already glistening from her own hand, and you wondered how many times she’d worn it for lovers in this same room with these same bruised bookcases as witness. You held her gaze, refusing to shrink from the wolfish smile as she guided you back and up, seating you on the lip of the desk.

You spread your legs without being asked, and she stepped between them, hands bracing on either side of your hips, chest to chest, heat vibrating between you.

You reached for her, tangled a hand in her hair, but she caught your wrist and pinned it gently behind your back. She leaned in, her tongue flicking the shell of your ear, “This won’t be gentle,” she whispered, as if you had ever wanted it any other way.

She lined the head up, letting it brush slick through your folds, teasing, and you arched your hips, tried to get her inside, but Alexia only smiled, eyes half closed, and held you there, dangling between need and its answer.

“The room is soundproofed,” she said, a purr at the edge of her voice, “Let me hear you” She thrust in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch of it, the exquisite, burning fullness. You gasped, and she captured the sound in a kiss.

Then she started to move, slow at first, and then, as you loosened and opened and gave yourself to her, faster, until the rhythm was desperate and deranged.

She smirked as you got louder, her hand travelled up between your breasts to hod your neck, “Atta girl”

Alexia’s hand stayed at your neck, forcing you to look her in the eye as she fucked you. The approach of orgasm was sharp and hot and wild, nothing like what you’d known before. And just as you started to spiral, she stopped, cock buried inside you, mouth at your ear. “You only come if I say,” she said. “Understand?”

You whimpered, nodding, and she resumed, setting a different rhythm, more brutal now, more like she was trying to hammer something out of you.

“I want you ruined for anyone else,” she said, and you realised you already were.

It hit you sooner than you expected. You squirmed under her grip, the edge rushing up fast and merciless, and heard yourself say it before you could stop it, "I'm going to come."

She showed no signs of stopping, "Did I say you could?"

You couldn't answer, you were past words. She pulled out entirely at the sound of your moan. “Fuck” you groaned legs pressing together.

She tapped your ass once, sharp. "Turn over."

You took your time, rolling slow onto your stomach, and felt her patience snap before you'd finished her hands finding your hips and angling them exactly where she wanted, no negotiation. The desk was cool against your breasts, the edge of it biting into your thighs. Behind you, the blunt head of the cock rested against you, not pushing, just present, a reminder of who was deciding the pace. Her palm came down on your ass, not cruel, but definitive.

"Good girl."

You turned your head and looked back at her over your shoulder, let the look say everything. Her pupils had gone almost fully black, "Do good girls get to come," you said with an innocent tone to it, "boss?"

She leaned over you, cock lined up, one hand twisted in your hair, the other bracing your hip. "Only if you beg," she whispered, almost sweetly.

You didn’t hesitate, pride already long since shredded, "Please," you gasped, and she pushed all the way inside, the force of it making you groan louder than you meant to. It was not gentle, not even close, but she wasn’t rough for the sake of it. Every thrust became its own command, her hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, the desk creaking with each merciless repetition.

"Again," she said. 

"Please, Alexia, let me come, please," you cried, and she bent over your back, mouth at your ear. 

"You take it so well," she growled.

She filled you so utterly that it burned, but you moaned for it, not caring how ragged and raw you sounded. Every muscle in your body locked and trembled. Her hand gripped your jaw, turning your face so you had no choice but to watch the reflection in the glass of a bookcase. You saw yourself, slick and ruined, face shining with sweat, lips parted, hair wild. You’d never seen anything like it, never wanted anything more.

You watched in the glass as Alexia’s hips snapped into you with relentless, perfect tempo, as if she could see your limits and chose to ride just up to the edge and hold there. She kept you at that edge on purpose, until you begged absolutely shamelessly, and even then, she didn’t immediately grant you the release she wanted you wrung dry, fucked past pride or posturing, nothing left to offer but the truth of what you wanted.

She leaned forward, her slick chest plastered to your back, and you felt her mouth at your ear, her voice barely audible, "Come for me," she said, and you came instantly, the whole world narrowing to the fierce wet heat in your belly, the way your body convulsed around her.

You cried out into the wood of the desk, hips bucking as you rode it out, heard yourself sob her name as if it were the only word you remembered. Alexia braced you, held you together as you fell apart, her palm pressed to the small of your back until every spasm had passed. Only then did she slow, letting the movement ease into a lull, gentle now, almost apologetic.

You lay there, cheek pressed to the lacquered wood, body limp and spent. Eventually, Alexia withdrew, the absence of her almost as sharp as the fullness had been. You couldn’t move for a moment, and she seemed to like that, seemed to savour the way you had to relearn your own body after what she’d done to it.

"Oh my god," you managed, voice muffled by the desk or maybe just your own disbelief.

She laughed, still bent over you, and kissed the back of your neck. It was the softest thing she’d done all night. She stood, slid the harness off with a casual click of the buckles, and tossed it onto the side table. She found her shirt and cleaned you up with it, her hands surprisingly gentle, then turned you to face her.

You looked up at her, still breathless, and she smiled really smiled at the sight of you. She laced a hand behind your neck, drew you in, and kissed you with a tenderness that was almost jarring after what had just happened. When she broke away, she pressed her forehead to yours, and both of you breathed in tandem for a while. Then she let herself drop into the chair behind her desk, sprawled out, utterly self satisfied, like a cat in a sunbeam.

Alexia watched you, her gaze soft but still predatory, as if she was planning the next move already, you rested your heels onto the arms of her chair as you lay back on her desk.

This was sharper than that. More dangerous. It came with images she had not ordered and did not know how to return. Alexia barefoot in their kitchen with a child on her hip. Tiny football boots by the door. A small hand wrapped around Jay’s thumb. Someone calling her Mama with complete trust, as if Jay Jones was a place you could run to and not a place you had to survive.

That last part was what scared her.

Not nappies. Not screaming. Not the logistics of IVF, sperm donors, hormones, clinics, schedules, legal documents, parental rights, birth plans, night feeds, tiny socks that looked too small to be real and therefore emotionally manipulative. Jay could make a plan. Jay could over plan. Jay could turn becoming a mother into a colour coded operation with folders, tabs, emergency snacks and a level of intensity that would make Clara take her glasses off and stare for a long, professional second.

But the trust terrified her.

Children trusted because they did not know better yet. Jay knew that better than most. She knew how small a child could feel in a hallway that smelled of old carpet and boiled vegetables, listening for footsteps that might be kind or might be tired or might be angry.

She knew how quickly a child learned the weather in other people’s bodies. The slam of a cupboard. The pause before a voice answered. The difference between silence that meant peace and silence that meant danger. She knew what it was to grow up collecting rules nobody had written down, rules about being easy, being useful, being funny at the right time, being invisible at the better time. She had spent years becoming impossible to abandon by pretending she did not need anyone to stay.

And then Alexia had stayed.

Alexia had stayed with all the quiet stubbornness of a woman who had captained dressing rooms, won finals, carried countries and still somehow found the patience to sit on the bathroom floor with Jay when Jay’s nervous system decided a dropped plate was the end of the world. Alexia stayed when Jay was charming.

She stayed when Jay was difficult. She stayed when Jay was loud, silent, restless, needy, funny, unbearable, brilliant, scared. She stayed like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if love was not something you earned by behaving properly but something that lived in the room with you and kept breathing even when you messed up.

That was also what scared Jay.

Because if Alexia wanted children, Jay wanted to say yes so badly it made her chest hurt. She wanted the life that came after the yes. She wanted their mornings torn apart by small chaos. She wanted Alexia Spanish and sleepy, hair everywhere, muttering, “Bebé, your daughter is eating the remote,” while Jay replied, “That’s probably sensory development,” from somewhere under a blanket.

She wanted to teach a little girl how to strike a ball, then immediately lose all authority when Alexia corrected the technique from the garden chair. She wanted the ridiculousness of it. The tenderness. The exhaustion. The permanent evidence that the love between them had become a house with more rooms.

But wanting did not make her safe.

That was the thought she could never get past.

So she did not mention it.

She mentioned other things. She mentioned coffee. Training. A stupid video Lucy had sent her of a dog refusing to walk past a cucumber. She mentioned that the neighbour’s cat had developed a vendetta against her bike cover and that she respected him as an enemy.

She mentioned holiday plans, Champions League fixtures, the leaking tap in the downstairs bathroom and whether Alexia thought a person could die from eating too many pistachios. She mentioned everything except the one thing that had started appearing in her chest whenever Alexia smiled at babies in cafe’s, or absent mindedly folded tiny Barça shirts in the club shop before putting them back with a look Jay could not read without feeling like she might fall through the floor.

Alexia noticed.

Of course Alexia noticed.

Alexia noticed everything eventually. She did not always say it straight away, because she was patient in that Spanish, terrifying, captainly way that made silence feel less like absence and more like an incoming tactical adjustment. She let Jay orbit difficult things until Jay either came down safely or crashed into furniture.

But over the last few months, there had been moments. Little pauses. Alexia’s hand lingering over Jay’s when a baby cried at the next table. Alexia watching Jay hold Mapi’s niece with an expression so soft it made Jay immediately hand the child back because her organs had started behaving strangely.

Alexia sitting beside her on the sofa one evening, half turned towards her, and saying, very casually, “You are good with children,” while Jay had nearly choked on a grape and replied, “That’s because I treat them like drunk adults with less shame.”

Alexia had laughed, but she had not looked away.

That Friday night, Alexia went for drinks with Alba.

Jay was not there because Alba had said, with affectionate bluntness, that she wanted one evening with her sister without Jay “appearing from nowhere like a tattooed golden retriever with abs,” which Jay had accepted with dignity for nearly thirteen seconds before asking Alexia whether she was more golden retriever or Doberman. Alexia had kissed her at the door, slow and smiling, one hand cupping Jay’s jaw, and said, “Depends on the day, bebé.” Jay had spent the rest of the evening at home pretending not to miss her like an idiot.

The house was too quiet without Alexia. It had all the right furniture, all the lamps warm in the corners, the kitchen clean except for the mug Jay had left by the sink despite personally promising herself not to do that again, and still the place felt like it was waiting for its centre to return. Jay made herself dinner, ate half of it, forgot the other half existed, found it later and apologised to it. She watched twenty minutes of a documentary about deep sea creatures before deciding the ocean was a badly managed nightmare. She stretched on the living room rug. She checked her phone too often.

At 11:43 p.m., Alba texted.

Your girlfriend has had wine and is talking about genetics. Prepare yourself.

Jay stared at the message.

Then another arrived.

She just said your jawline should be “inherited for the good of society.”

Jay sat up slowly.

A third message came in, this one a voice note. Jay pressed play, and Alba’s voice filled the living room, dry with laughter and exhaustion. “Jay, I am putting her in a taxi in ten minutes. She is fine, do not panic, she is just drunk enough to believe she is making sense. Also she has told a waiter he has kind eyes and would be a good sperm donor, but only emotionally, because biologically she is not accepting applications. I do not know what that means. Good luck.”

In the background, Alexia’s voice rose, warm and offended. “Alba, do not tell her this. I am being serious.”

“You are telling the olives they are symmetrical.”

“They are.”

The voice note ended.

Jay lowered the phone into her lap and stared at the opposite wall.

“Well,” she said to the empty room, “that sounds normal.”

By the time the taxi pulled up outside, Jay was already at the door. She had intended to be casual about it, maybe lean against the frame like she had not spent the last fifteen minutes pacing between the hallway and the kitchen, but then the car stopped and Alba climbed out first, and Jay immediately abandoned coolness as a concept.

Alexia emerged after her with the solemn care of a woman stepping onto land after a difficult sea voyage. She was wearing black trousers, a silky cream shirt half tucked in, gold earrings catching the porch light, her hair loose and a little wild around her face. She looked beautiful, flushed from wine and laughter, mouth soft, eyes bright, one heel in her hand for reasons that were not immediately clear. The other heel was still on her foot, which seemed to offend Alba on a personal level.

“She refused to take both off,” Alba said, walking her up the path with one hand braced at Alexia’s elbow.

“I have balance,” Alexia protested.

“You have one shoe.”

“I have enough balance for one shoe.”

Jay opened the door wider, trying not to smile too hard and failing. “Evening, captain.”

Alexia looked up at her, and the whole world seemed to turn stupidly golden. Her face changed at once, irritation melting into delight so open that Jay’s chest tightened. “Bebé.”

“Oh no,” Jay said softly. “You’re properly drunk.”

“I am elegantly drunk.”

Alba snorted. “She tried to pay the taxi driver with a loyalty card.”

“It had points.”

“It was for a pharmacy.”

Jay stepped forward and took Alexia’s free hand, the warmth of her fingers sliding into Jay’s like they had been made there. “Come here, you.”

Alexia came willingly, though not in a straight line. She folded herself against Jay with immediate, boneless affection, pressing her face into Jay’s neck and making a satisfied little sound that went directly through Jay’s body and settled somewhere dangerous. Jay caught her around the waist, steadying her, one hand flat against her back, and kissed the top of her head.

“You smell nice,” Alexia murmured into her skin.

“I smell like our laundry detergent and fear.”

“Mmm. Sexy fear.”

Alba made a noise of disgust. “I am leaving before this becomes worse.”

Jay looked over Alexia’s head. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“You’re welcome. She is your problem now.”

“I am not a problem,” Alexia said, without lifting her face.

Alba kissed her sister’s cheek, then pointed at Jay with the authority of someone who had grown up with Alexia and therefore feared very little. “Water. Bed. No letting her make decisions. She has been using the phrase reproductive destiny.”

Jay’s eyebrows rose. “Has she?”

Alexia finally lifted her head, indignant and glowing. “Because it is destiny.”

Alba closed her eyes. “Goodnight.”

“Get home safe,” Jay called, still holding Alexia upright.

Alba waved without turning. “Do not make babies tonight.”

Jay choked.

Alexia waved after her with the hand holding the shoe. “We might.”

“No, we absolutely might not,” Jay said.

The taxi rolled away. The night settled around them, warm and quiet, and Alexia turned back to Jay with the serious, unfocused intensity of a woman who had been waiting all evening to deliver a speech.

Jay recognised the expression and immediately became nervous.

“Inside,” she said, gently guiding Alexia over the threshold. “Before you declare anything to the neighbours.”

“The neighbours should know.”

“They really shouldn’t.”

“They should be happy for us.”

“About what?”

Alexia stopped in the hallway, one shoe on, one shoe off, hair falling into her eyes, cheeks flushed and beautiful enough to make Jay question several laws of physics. She placed both hands on Jay’s chest with great ceremony, the shoe dangling from two fingers, and looked up at her.

“I want your babies.”

Jay stared at her.

The hallway lamp hummed softly. Somewhere in the kitchen, the fridge clicked on. Alexia waited with the serene confidence of a woman who had just said something perfectly reasonable.

Then Jay laughed.

She did not mean to. It burst out of her, startled and helpless, not because the words did not matter but because Alexia had delivered them like she was ordering dessert. Alexia frowned at once, wounded in the dramatic, wine soft way that made her look twelve per cent more Spanish.

“Do not laugh.”

“I’m sorry,” Jay said, still laughing, catching Alexia’s face between her hands and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just, that’s not how it works.”

Alexia’s eyes narrowed. “I know how it works, bebé.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You just asked for my babies.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t currently have the equipment to provide that service.”

Alexia waved the shoe as if this was irrelevant bureaucracy. “I know biology. I am not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid.”

“You laughed.”

“Because you said it like I could just, I don’t know, concentrate really hard and make sperm appear.”

Alexia considered this, then glanced down Jay’s body with drunken seriousness. “You are very determined.”

“That is flattering but medically unsound.”

“I just want babies with you.”

The laughter softened out of Jay.

There it was. Not the joke. Not the wine. Not the ridiculous phrasing or the shoe or Alba’s warning echoing in the street outside. The truth underneath it. It stood between them suddenly, small and bright and terrifying.

Jay’s hands stayed on Alexia’s face. “You’re drunk.”

“I am drunk,” Alexia agreed, nodding carefully, “but I know what I want.”

Jay swallowed.

Alexia leaned closer, her palms sliding from Jay’s chest to her shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of her T shirt. “I want babies with you,” she said again, quieter now, her accent thickening around the softness of it. “Not because of wine. The wine only made me say it without doing the patient thing.”

“The patient thing?”

“Waiting for you to stop pretending you do not think about it.”

Jay’s breath caught.

Alexia saw it. Even drunk, she saw it. Her face softened, and one hand came up to brush Jay’s cheek with a tenderness so familiar it nearly undid her. “Ay, bebé.”

Jay looked away for half a second, towards the stairs, the kitchen, anywhere that was not Alexia’s beautiful, wine bright face. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“We’ll see.”

“I will not.”

“You might wake up and decide you actually wanted toast with me.”

“I also want toast with you.”

“Good to know.”

“And babies.”

“Morning, Alexia.”

Alexia pouted. Actually pouted. It was so unlike her usual composed captain’s face that Jay almost laughed again, but there was something tender under it too, something that made humour feel like a blanket rather than an escape. Alexia slid both arms around Jay’s neck and pulled herself closer, until their bodies met in the hallway and Jay had to steady her with both hands at her waist.

“Now, bebé,” Alexia murmured, mouth brushing Jay’s jaw. “Let’s go make a baby.”

Jay closed her eyes.

For one wild second, her body reacted before her common sense could get a hand on the steering wheel. Alexia was warm against her, soft with wine and want, smelling faintly of perfume and white wine and night air. Her lips touched the corner of Jay’s mouth, then her cheek, affectionate and persuasive in the way that usually made Jay forget at least two of her own principles. But this was different. This mattered. Alexia was drunk, and the thing between them was too important to let the wine hold any part of it.

Jay caught Alexia’s wrists gently and brought her hands down, kissing her knuckles before holding them between their bodies.

“No, guapa.”