Be curious, not judgemental

People, as you had come to realise, all shared the same contradiction: humans were social creatures, dependent on one another to survive, and yet always eager to dissociate themselves from the group at the first opportunity. To be different. And not only that, but better.

You often wondered why this type of trait was chosen by evolution. What kind of survival value could it possibly offer?

The pitch was a good place for those kinds of thoughts, and, if you were feeling ambitious enough, you could drift into sociological questions too. Did people shape sports, or did sports shape people? Was football influenced by politics, or had football itself become political? You could think of at least five examples where the latter was true.

As it was clear, your mind was absolutely everywhere but on the ball at your feet, and not because the game was easy that you, as one of the defenders, were simply chilling beside Cata in the box. Quite the opposite, actually. Turns out, the discomfort you had experienced on the bus still clung stubbornly to your skin, and what made you feel better when you were mentally tired? Thinking. As controversial as it sounded.

Thinking was, admittedly, becoming a problem. A big one.

Maybe you should learn other ways to keep your mind grounded, preferably ones that don't risk losing your team a match.

It happened at the exact mark of 80 minutes, the big screen was shining bright with the number just as a brunette girl from Sevilla broke through the midfield with great acceleration that you did not remember seeing during analysis, despite having spent days studying her movements.

As both disastrous and splendid things in football , it all happened in the space of mere seconds. The girl's run wasn't catastrophic by any means; she didn't bring anyone down, the team was simply in a bad position, leaving great gaps, one of those gaps being you.

The striker made her run past Patri and Ona, and you read her heading in your direction. You saw it coming, and you also took the time to analyse the rotation of her foot to see whether she was setting up to shoot or not. Your body had learned to speak the language of the game before your brain could fully take in the afferent information and convert it into signals down your spine. Maybe that's why your movement was a bit clumsy, perhaps a bit careless, too.

The girl was faster than the tapes suggested; she was also faster right now than what she had been in the first half. You moved, of course you did, but it wasn't enough because you were a few meters out of place, and that mere gap was all she needed.

The ball went in, and the fans at the stadium all roared in unison. It was always a good sensation for the home team to score; right now, you hated their happiness and how it meant that you had failed.

You stood exactly where you were, your boots glued to the patch of yellowish, dry grass, staring at the empty space on the turf where you were supposed to be. Cata spat on the grass before slamming her gloves into the pitch. But milliseconds later, she was already up, already resetting, clapping her hands for the team, shouting that there was still time to turn the score around. She yelled your name, telling you to do something, but you barely registered her words. Then, her eyes moved, looking right over your shoulder, and you knew someone was approaching.

Around you, the game was reassembling itself (or trying to). Sevilla was still celebrating, taking advantage of a referee who was giving them too much time. Most of your teammates were going back into position. You could hear Pere's voice from the sideline in the tone you'd learned to recognise as controlled disappointment. Well… he was not the only one disappointed.

Then Alexia was beside you.

She hadn't run to get to you; you hadn't even seen her move. She was just suddenly there, appearing in your peripheral vision without any kind of warning. Her voice, when it came, was low, controlled, and (painfully) professional. You hated that tone on her; she was too soft to be throwing such cold words at you.

"Adjust your line," she snapped. She wasn't even looking at you; her lips were curled and her eyebrows drawn together. "You have been sitting way too deep since halftime. I've been shouting at you to get back into position, but it's like you decided to tune me out completely."

You hadn't listened to her; that much was entirely your fault. You had been too busy thinking about football and politics. You felt your cheek turn red in shame.

"She had all that space because you handed it to her on a plate," She continued in the same tone. "You're more disciplined than that. Do better."

Alexia wasn't screaming the words at you, but there was an edge in her voice that just usually wasn't there at all.

Your teammates, watching from a few meters away, would have taken it for nothing more than a captain making a tactical correction, but you were far too familiar with her cadence. You had spent months learning every gradient of it: the version she used in interviews and press conferences, the one in team meetings, the one that came out soft and private in the dark of her room. This was the version she used when her competitive side took over, and she decided that cold efficiency was the best response. It was a version she had never once used on you until now.

You were ready to argue, not against her but with her, because she was right, after all. But Alexia didn't give you a single second to reply; her words kept shooting from her mouth so fast she barely stopped to draw breath.

"You have been half a step behind the entire second half," she cut in, each word carefully enunciated, determined to make sure it landed. "I could see it from midfield. You were a step behind the whole time, and you didn't even bother to adjust!"

"We specifically talked about their number fourteen," she went on, stepping closer to you. "We spent days on the tape. We even said–"

"I know what we said."

"Well, it clearly didn't stick, did it?"

She didn't wait for you to answer. She was already turning her back on you to get back into position.

You could have pointed out that Ona had been slow to close her down as well, that the gap left wasn't entirely on you. But the thought didn't take root. Alexia was right, and looking for someone to share the blame with felt worse than the goal itself.

A few seconds later, you felt a warm hand settle on your shoulder, making you realise just how tight your trapezius muscles had been.

"Just take a deep breath, tía," Cata said, looking at you with a mix of pity and sympathy.

Maybe Alexia's reaction wasn't as private as you had thought. You realised Patri was looking at you too, her eyes darting between you and Alexia. She looked at you with sympathy, and at Alexia with a quiet reprimand, though you knew Patri wouldn't actually say anything to her, not right now at least. You hoped she wouldn't. In the end, Alexia was right.

You nodded at Cata, forced a small smile, reset your position and said nothing else. A sudden surge of bittersweet relief washed over you, and that was the strange thing. It was as though your subconscious had been waiting for this exact moment. A hidden part of you had been waiting for Alexia to finally see you get something wrong.

She had been watching you for months with that kind of attention that felt like belief, and belief, in your experience, had a habit of expiring. She had always looked at you as if searching for the good and finding it; even if you showed her the flawed parts of you, the bad and the ugly, she brushed them aside as if dismissing the sight with a shooing motion of her hand, wanting to see only the best in you.

But now? Now she had seen you fail. And thank god she had. She was mad, disappointed, and you couldn't help but feel like it had taken her long enough. You were glad she had seen it, and hated yourself for feeling that way. You were the reason your team was behind, the reason Cata lost a clean sheet. The reason, you would soon find out, that you lost.

You played the rest of the game with focus and precision. Every ball that came near you was met with a good, clean first touch. You closed down every striker. You had been half a meter too slow once, and your body made sure it wouldn't happen again.

And it didn't happen again, but it didn't matter, because the final whistle blew and the scoreboard was still one-nil. Alexia was already walking toward the tunnel before you even had a chance to look for her. You stood on the pitch a moment longer than necessary, sitting with the bitterness of defeat, letting it rest deep in your bones.

Maybe if you let yourself remember exactly how this felt, you would never make that mistake again.

You watched the tunnel Alexia had just disappeared into. She always waited to walk into the tunnel with you. She didn't this time; she disappeared into the dark without looking back, and you weren't sure if that was meant to sting or not. You weren't sure it mattered.

A hand came down on your shoulder, making you lose your balance slightly. It was Cata again; she stepped beside you, her white gloves tucked beneath her left arm.

"Come on, amiga," she murmured. "Let's go to the locker room. Yeah?"

You nodded, but let her walk ahead. As you finally turned towards the tunnel, a Sevilla player, Laura, approached you. You had played together for a few months back in Manchester; you weren't exactly friends back then, but it was nice to see a familiar face.

"Good game, Y/n," Laura smiled, her cheeks still a deep pink from all the running.

"Yeah… it could be better for us, though," you gave her a sad smile and patted her on the arm. "But you were very good. I bet you gave Kika a good headache."

You left after making empty promises of meeting for coffee once the season schedule allowed. Near the entrance of the tunnel, Patri was leaning against the plastic wall. Her chocolate eyes caught you as you approached; she took a step in to meet you.

"I don't know what Ale said to you back there," Patri started, her eyes everywhere but on you, "but don't read too much into it, okay?"

You tilted your head slightly, your defensive instinct flaring up. You were feeling oddly cornered, though you were careful not to let it show on your face.

"Alexia was right about every word she said," you replied simply.

"That's not what I mean," Patri muttered. "She's impossible after we lose, give her a few hours–"

"She doesn't need a few hours," you interrupted. "She has every right to be angry right now."

Patri tilted her head in return, studying you for a moment. "You are upset," she said, reading right through you. You hated it. "Come here–" she stepped closer, but you took a step back.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I-I just messed it up," you continued before she could speak or move any closer. "It's expected of Alexia to be mad. She's the captain. So if a player switches off and it costs us a goal, she's supposed to call them out, hold people accountable."

Patri sighed and clicked her tongue. "I'm not saying she shouldn't have corrected you. What I am saying is that it sounds like you are treating one mistake as if it rewrites the whole season."

"It did rewrite the whole season, though," you said quietly, furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance. "Now we need to beat Real Madrid if we want any breathing room! If we thought the next game against Valencia would be easy... well, now it's all ruined! We are going to have to--"

"We can lose three consecutive games and still be at the top," Patri said, deadpan. "You and Alexia… you've got this little miss-perfect thing going on. Mistakes happen. It's normal. It's just part of the game. Now take a breath and move on."

"I know it's part of the game. And I'm not Miss Perfect. I never said I was," you said, any ambition of not sounding defensive crumbling right at your feet. "I get stuff wrong all the time. Today it just happened to cost us points."

"Yeah… and that's completely okay. No need to beat yourself up over it," Patri said in a shrug. "You shouldn't be this upset. The loss is not on you. You were good... You are good. Maybe there was a small mistake, but I'm sure it won't happen again."

You stopped, looking at Patri as if she were speaking in an alien language. You gestured around, at the dark tunnel, at the scoreboard still shining, at the way the staff were all quietly packing up the equipment.

"It's clearly not okay," You said, completely ignoring everything else Patri had said. "We lost."

"Losing isn't the end of the world," Patri said softly in the same voice she used on the younger players. Great, now she was going to think you were childish.

"It is for me." You frowned, looking down. "

Patri shook her head, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she clicked her tongue once more. "Tsk, tsk. You and Alexia," she said, stepping toward the locker room door. "Cut from the exact same cloth, huh?"

"We're not–"

"Yes, you are," she cut you off "Awfully competitive. Even worse at forgiving yourselves."

You felt a slight surge of annoyance. "Did you give this whole speech to Alexia, too? Or did you reserve it strictly for me?"

Patri smirked, her hand already reaching for the old door handle. "Oh, I wasn't nearly as gentle with Alexia as I was with you."

She pushed the locker room door and walked inside, leaving you standing alone in the hallway for a minute too long.

You stood outside for a few minutes. Taking some deep breaths. Trying to ignore how it stung when Alexia shouted and when she left the pitch alone. You tried to ignore how you felt like an awful player.

Did you even deserve to be in a club like Barcelona?

Of one thing you were sure: Patri was one good co-captain.

The locker room was quiet; the girls were all unusually careful around one another. The room wasn't completely silent per se. There were still familiar sounds here and there: boots being dropped onto the white, dusty, concrete floor, someone's phone buzzing incessantly against a wooden bench, Maria, one of the staff members, talking on the phone outside. But all the conversations that existed were held in a very low voice.

Pere said what he needed to say, which wasn't much, and left almost immediately after. You thought it was a bit rude of him to leave like that, but deep down you knew it was the right call. It was better to be absent than risk losing his head. The players, or more specifically you, were already beating themselves up enough; no need for external help to do that.

Patri and Alexia were standing near the far corner of the room. They were talking rapidly and in a low tone, their heads bent close together, and their body language was rigid. Alexia stood with her arms crossed, her lips in a slight pout, while Patri was doing most of the talking; she was gesturing a lot, as she always did. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but the sight alone told you everything you needed to know: clearly Patri was finishing the conversation she had started in the tunnel.

Vicky chose that exact moment to start playing an upbeat Beyoncé song from her phone. The music lasted approximately fifteen seconds before both Alexia and Patri turned to her.

"Now it's not the time, Vicky," they said in terrifying synchrony, shooting the kid a look that could terrify anyone.

"Vale, vale," Vicky grimaced, hitting the pause button. "Perdón! It's not like I was throwing confetti around! Chill out! I just wanted to end this funeral mood we're all in."

"Clearly it was a bad choice," Clara muttered at her side, a pout on her face. She looked more sad because of the song's interruption than because of the defeat itself.

You, meanwhile, were sitting in front of the locker with your boots still on. They were too tight, you realised, digging into your foot, and you knew you should loosen up the laces, but you didn't. Maybe you deserved to feel this bit of discomfort.

Before you could let yourself go with your thoughts, Kika stepped right beside you on the bench. She looked down at you, wearing that characteristic mix of kindness and mischief you could only ever find in her face.

"I know you've got some deep emotional issues going on when it comes to affection," Kika said, wrapping her arm around your shoulders into a side hug, "but I'm going to hug you anyway. I think you need it, sim?"

You smiled and didn't push her away, choosing to lean into the hug and welcome the pressure of her arms. You even allowed yourself to rest your head against her side. "Do I look that bad that you thought I needed a pity hug?"

"Pity hug?" Kika gasped dramatically, squeezing your shoulders again. "Excuse you? This is a comforting hug. Preventive maintenance, if you want to call it."

"So… I look like I need preventative maintenance?"

"Yes, you look pretty bad," Kika said without missing a beat. "Mostly because you've been letting me hug you for more than two seconds. That's… deeply concerning."

"Thank you."

"For the hug?" she asked, looking down at you.

"No," you said. "For humbling me."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. You were glad you could make someone laugh today.

You were, although, even happier that the joke had shifted the focus away from your actual feelings. You didn't like that kind of attention on you; you didn't like that Kika had picked up on just how deeply the loss had affected you.

"Patri told me you weren't feeling your best," Kika said. "So I came to rescue you."

"Oh, you're working with a sad footballer in your free time, I see?" you teased her.

"Oh, shut up," Kika smiled. "I'm trying to be nice."

But the playfulness slipped from Kika's face a moment later. You looked up at her, and she (very subtly) tilted her chin towards the other side of the room. Your eyes followed her gaze, landing on Alexia, who was looking right at the two of you.

Alexia's face tightened, her whole jaw locking almost imperceptibly. Then, as if just suddenly realising she had been caught staring, she looked away and forced her attention back to Patri.

Patri, also not subtly at all, raised her eyebrows at Alexia before looking at you and Kika. She tilted her head, as if she was a cat analysing if she could squeeze in a small cardboard box or not, before turning back to Alexia with a terrifying knowing smirk.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the two of them resumed talking.

Kika cleared her throat at your side, a playful smirk on her lips "I don't think Capi liked me hugging her favourite full-back."

You tried to fight the pink tinting your cheeks, but it was a lost battle. "Shut up," you murmured embarrassedly. "Don't go around starting rumours."

Kika leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. "We don't need to start anything; you two give us more than enough evidence on your own."

Alexia chose that moment to step toward the centre of the room, bringing all the attention to her.

Kika stepped to the side and watched Alexia, not with her mischievous expression, but with the expression of someone ready to listen to their captain.

"Alright, let's gather up," Alexia called out. "Let's talk about the game."

Naturally, all the girls stopped what they were doing. Irene put her phone away, Marta and Caro halted their conversation in the far corner of the room, and all the younger kids immediately paid attention to the place Alexia stood.

Whenever a defeat could be traced back to one obvious mistake, something that could be pinned on a single moment or a single player, Alexia had a way of addressing it that made the person not feel bad, or, better yet, a way that kept the person from drowning in guilt. She never pretended it hadn't happened, and she never sugar-coated it either. Alexia just said a few words that made the weight of the mistake get distributed across the team rather than left crushing a single pair of shoulders.

Today, for the first time, you were that player. The one who got it wrong. The one responsible for the awful atmosphere in the locker room.

You kept your eyes on your boots when Alexia started speaking. She went on to talk about the second half, about the adjustments that hadn't come, and about how she could have done something about it from the midfield – because Alexia had a habit of taking responsibility for things that didn't belong to her alone. Maybe you two shared that habit; Alexia just carried it with a lot more grace than you ever managed.

Alexia's voice was even and measured; she spoke with certainty, so as not to let anyone misinterpret her true intent. She was always so, so careful with words. Not with you, though, not when you were alone. Not when you shared a mattress with her.

You listened to her without really absorbing the words; you were only half there, too busy letting the guilt eat you alive.

You should have done better.

You should have done better.

Be better.

By the time the voice in your head had quieted a bit, Alexia had stopped talking, forcing you to look up at her frame.

When you did, you saw her looking around the room: Ona sitting with her head down, Aicha staring blankly at the wall, and the three or four players whose minds were somewhere else entirely.

The attentiveness Alexia had needed from them wasn't there. She rolled her eyes, and despite yourself, your mind insisted on supplying the adjective beautiful to them. She then made the (wise) decision to stop pushing against something the team wasn't ready to receive yet. Maybe the loss was too fresh.

You chuckled to yourself.

You could see her mind turning as she tried to solve this locker room issue. Not knowing how to handle a loss was a problem only a few clubs had to endure. Was Alexia thinking of suggesting mandatory psychological sessions for everyone in the team? It would be a ridiculously Alexia thing to do. But maybe mandatory therapy was not a very smart move. People had to want to talk, right?

Back in the reality of the locker room, Alexia let out a puff of air.

"… Let's just get some rest for tonight," she said, her shoulders dropping slightly. She was tired and didn't want to hide it anymore. "It's clear our heads aren't in the right place. We'll look at the tape tomorrow, when we are rested and feeling like ourselves again."

You nodded automatically, and only then did you realise Alexia was still looking at you. Her eyes stayed on you for a second too long, and that was it.

You looked back at your boots. The room began to loosen after that. People started moving, undressing, the sound of the showers multiplying minute by minute. Patri was having a conversation with Pajor while Vicky peeled off her kit, murmuring about how damp it was and how maddening it was to wash a kit when you hadn't won. You could sympathise with that, but truly, defenders' kit got dirty no matter how the game went. You were well used to being covered in dirt, and grass and other people's sweat,

On a normal day you had a system for changing in the locker room: you found small reasons to delay, waiting until the room had thinned out enough that no one was left – no one except Alexia. It was a system that worked, mostly. Alexia knew about it, and sometimes she stayed, almost to provide cover.

But today Alexia was on the other side of the room, her back turned to you, and you found yourself wondering if the usual arrangement still applied.

You couldn't imagine Alexia wanted to deal with you any longer than necessary, and the last thing you wanted was to give her another reason to be frustrated with you. So you simply picked up your bag and left the locker room quietly, not really wanting to bring attention to yourself or to the reason why you were sneaking out.

The corridor outside was empty, and the one beyond it was too. You followed the signposts along dirty walls towards the bathrooms until the signs stopped making sense altogether, ending up in a part of the stadium that smelled like old paint, a place clearly not designed with visiting teams (or anyone, really) in mind.

You found a single-stall bathroom behind a door that required some physical force to open, then you changed quickly and spent a lot of minutes trying to find your way back. And by a lot, you meant a lot. The stadium was bigger than it had looked from the pitch.

You needed to go back to the locker room, but it felt like you were trapped in the minotaur's labyrinth.

You took one wrong corridor, and then another, and by the time you found the right one, your phone showed four missed messages from the team group chat about the bus. Kika had asked where you were; Vicky had tagged you in the messages saying everyone was just waiting on you. You sighed; you were already calculating how many minutes behind schedule you had pushed everyone.

The locker room was almost empty when you (finally) made it back. The showers had stopped running, and the room was a "clean mess", showing that people had been there moments prior. You thought you wouldn't find anyone still in there – you had only come back to take the water bottle you had left behind, but Alexia was sitting on the bench.

She was already showered and changed; her hair was wet, and her game bag was at her feet. She was looking at her phone, but she looked up the moment you came through the door, and your stomach dropped. The expression on her face was not the one you had been bracing for.

It wasn't cold, nor was it the detached expression she had worn while addressing the team. It looked more like relief, but beneath it you could feel the edge of anger that only came from worrying too much.

She snapped your name. "Where the fuck were you?"

You halted, your mouth parting in a surprise "o". "I went to find somewhere to change–"

She stared at you. "It's been thirty minutes."

"I know, I'm sorry." You crossed to your locker, keeping your voice even. "The stadium is... huge..I took a wrong turn, ended up in the wrong section, and I couldn't find my way back."

"You were wandering around a stadium you don't know," she said. "Alone."

"I wasn't wandering, I just—"

"For thirty minutes."

"Alexia." You turned to face her. I didn't mean to disappear. I just went out to change."

"Without telling anyone?" she pressed. "Without telling me?"

You clenched your hands. "Do I need to ask you for permission for every step I take? I'm fine."

"I know you're fine now", she snapped again. It dawned on you then that she must have been sitting here, staring at the door, waiting for you to come back. No shit she was mad. "But I didn't know that for the last thirty minutes because I didn't know where you were!"

"I'm just saying–" she continued, running a hand through her hair. "--that maybe next time you don't disappear for half an hour in a stadium you've never been to! Just… just tell someone where you're going!"

"I didn't think anyone would notice," you said. You meant it practically, logistically, but the words landed differently than you intended. "It was supposed to be quick."

Alexia let out a humourless laugh. "Well, I noticed," Alexia snapped then, taking a step toward you. "I notice everything when it comes to you, as pathetic as it sounds. Just like I noticed you being very comfortable letting Kika hug you!"

You blinked, completely thrown off by the shift of the conversation. "...what?"

"You had no issues letting her touch you," she said, her voice filled with frustration. "You let her hug you; you even leaned into it, but with me? You put up this entire wall the second we are around other people."

You stared at her, your mouth hanging open. "Alexia, what on earth does Kika hugging me have to do with me taking thirty minutes to change?"

"It has nothing to do with it," she blurted out, her cheeks flushing red.

Alexia looked angry, not just at you, but at herself for letting the words slip out. Alexia was usually the emotionally mature one between the two of you, but it seemed like you had a terrifying talent for reducing her to a jealous, flustered teenager.

"Kika gave me a side hug because I was upset. I was upset because you yelled at me," you said. "And that was it! You know we are just friends. You know I like you."

"Y-You just don't talk to me the way you talk to her!"

"Now you are being ridiculous," you said. "You are the person I've opened up to more than anyone in my whole life, and you know that! I've told you that! Me and Kika are friends–"

"And what are you and I?" Alexia cut in, her eyes burning. "We're not far from that either, are we?"

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Now you were angry, too.

"I don't know, Alexia," you said sarcastically, being as dense as her. "Are we? After everything we've talked about these last few days, do you honestly think we are just friends?"

Alexia looked at you, her neck red. Her bottom lip was out, and you could see she was fighting not to cry.

You took a deep breath. "Ale, I don't understand where this is coming from. I don't understand why you are feeling this way."

"Have you ever considered, just for a second, that you don't have to understand everything? Every feeling?" Alexia practically groaned, running her hand through her face out of pure frustration. "Have you ever thought that feelings can be valid even if you don't understand them?! Yo-you are so frustrating! You analyse everything. Why can't you just feel?"

Her words were a knife to an open wound.

"Not everyone is like you, you know?" she continued. "Not everyone can just… bury things over and over again until they disappear, or push stuff down until they convince themselves it's not there anymore!! Some people suffocate if they don't express how they are feeling."

"I am trying," you said, feeling your own throat tighten. "We talked this morning. You told me I have to decide what I want when it comes to you. We literally just had that conversation; now we're suddenly here having a full-blown fight about feelings? I never say anything about you not expressing how you feel! Why are we having this talk?!"

"Because you are doing it again!" Alexia shot back, her voice cracking a bit, but quickly recomposed herself. "This morning I asked you to figure out what you want, and the very first difficult thing that happens, you disappear? You just lock yourself away, run off and don't tell me! You act like I'm the last person you want to be near when you are upset, and that's not how this is supposed to work! If you were upset about the loss, I could have comforted you! Talked to you! But you disappeared!"

"I didn't want to be near you because I thought you were mad at me!" You stood up from the bench, anger and hurt all flaring up at once. "I-I thought you didn't like me anymore."

Alexia stared at you, looking completely thrown off. "And where the fuck did you get that from!?"

"You always wait for me to walk back into the tunnel! An-and today you didn't!" you blurted out, suddenly feeling ridiculous for being upset about that. "After I messed up the game, I just thought you were furious with me. That I was the reason we lost, and you simply didn't want to be anywhere near me anymore.

Alexia groaned.

"I was upset, okay?" her tone softened, the anger slowly dissolving. "I shouldn't have shouted on the pitch, and I should have waited for you. I was just angry about the match. But of course I wanted to be with you. Or what, do you think I only like you because you are some flawless player?"

"I just thought that… if you saw another flaw, you wouldn't want to be with me anymore."

Alexia sighed, looking at you with both exhaustion and tenderness. "Déu meu, we are both so fucked up in the head," she murmured.

"Well, yeah," you muttered.

There was a moment of silence before Alexia spoke.

"I do notice when you're not there."

You looked at her side and watched her speak.

"I-I was upset you left without telling me. We are always the last ones to leave the locker room, but when I got back from the shower, Vicky told me she had seen you leaving with your bag."

You didn't say anything.

"I admit," she continued softly. "Maybe I blew things out of proportion… You don't have to tell me every step you take. I-I just like this little… ritual of ours, and I was upset. I think I'm a little, mhm, sensitive today."

"Well, I'm sorry I left without saying anything," you said. "It wouldn't have hurt to give you a heads up if I really just wanted to change alone. I know I'd be a bit nervous if you were nowhere to be found and your phone had no signal."

"You would?" she asked quickly, her eyes snapping to yours.

You chose your words very carefully, hoping she would understand the weight behind them.

"Of course, baby."

Alexia looked at you before turning to her lap. "...I was jealous of Kika."

A small laugh escaped your mouth before you could stop it. "I noticed. You don't have to be jealous of Kika, you know."

"I know that," she mumbled, her lips forming a subtle pout as she looked away.

You decided not to push her on it.

"I'm sorry I called you frustrating," Alexia added, playing with her fingers. "You're not."

"You don't have to apologise for telling the truth."

Alexia tilted her head. "I wasn't telling the truth."

"I know I'm frustrating," you said softly. "I know I analyse everything so I don't have to sit with how I feel. I'm sorry that hurts you."

"You don't have to apologise for being who you are," Alexia countered immediately.

"Even when the way I am keeps hurting you?"

Alexia let out a long sigh. "No, it's not like that. We are just different people who deal with things differently. It just takes us a little bit of work to meet in the middle, that's all."

You shrugged. Deep down, you still thought you were annoying and frustrating, but didn't have the energy to argue with her any further.

"Did you really think I wouldn't want to be with you just because of a loss?" Alexia's voice came soft into your ears.

Now that the worst of the emotions had settled, it sounded a little ridiculous when spoken aloud. Even though, yeah, you had feelings exactly like that. "Yes. It cost us three points... and you were angry."

"That had nothing to do with how I feel about you," she said firmly.

You sat there listening. You knew it, of course you did, but hearing it and actually understanding were two things very differently. It was like when people tell you that everyone deserved self-compassion: the idea made perfect sense, but applying that same grace to yourself felt unnatural, not right.

"I know," you murmured.

Alexia studied your face. "Do you, torito?"

Before you could create another (logical) defence, Alexia stood up from the bench and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm going to the bus, yeah?" she said.

"Okay."

A/n: Come talk to me about the chapter!! I love talking about the character hehe!! I'm sorry for any mistakes; I'm running on 4 hours of sleep <3 Personally, I think their relationship will somehow go smoothly from here? I think they both needed to have this conversation so they can understand they have different ways of seeing relationships and people, etc!!

Unfortunately, I act just like reader <3

Your quick overnight bag is packed by the door, and she’s fighting to get everything back into her suitcase, the newest medal to her collection clinking against the case's structure as she forces the top down to zip it. Careless with the gold thing, already possessing too many to give it a spare thought. 

“Relax, we have twenty minutes.”

“Last time we had twenty minutes and then suddenly we were late.” Alexia gives you a pointed look, hands on her hips as she stares you down. “Who paid the fee?”

“I wonder why that was.” You smirk at her. “And yes, it was you who paid the fee. Because you’re the one on an athlete’s salary, fucking me around the continent every other week.” 

She scoffs, but the corner of her mouth gives her away.

The hotel room around you is entirely anonymous. There’s charcoal curtains blocking the grey morning light, two empty coffee cups sitting on the bedside tables, and an armchair in the corner of the room now cleared of the clothes that were thrown on it last night. 

It’s a room with history that no one will ever know, designed to be forgotten the second the keycard is left at reception. The only kind of space that actually works for this.

Alexia finally wins the battle with her suitcase zipper with a quiet, irritated exhaling of air through her nose. She drops her hands, leaving the bulging bag at the door, and walks over to where you’re leaning against the desk.

Her hands find your hips, an easy habit now, her fingers settling on to the familiar curve like muscle memory. Her touch is firm as she steps closer enough that your lower back is pressing against the wood. She smells like the generic hotel body wash mixed with the extortionate perfume she brings every time.

“I’m the one that battled the bags,” She says, her voice still carrying that slight rasp from finally falling asleep far too late. “Least you could do is keep track of the time.”

“I am keeping track,” You reply, your hands trailing up casually over her ribs. “I just don’t panic every time a clock hits the hour.”

“It’s not panic. I’m just used to respecting schedules.” 

You raise an eyebrow at her. “I respect schedules when they mean I get a good night’s rest.”

A small, slightly cocky smile touches her lips. “You weren’t complaining about my schedule a few hours ago.”

You try to fend off the pink tinge that finds its way onto your cheeks, but there’s not much you can do to stop it and it only encourages her smugness.

“A few hours ago, you weren’t standing over me with a suitcase.”

The brunette rolls her eyes, but her grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. Her thumbs press gently against your hips, moving up and down again and again in a slow rhythm that’s built over months in random cities. Taking in the contented proximity before real life starts again.

Alexia opens her mouth to offer another quick retort about making her flight, only for the words to stall before they can leave her lips.

Her hands stay anchored to your waist, but her expression subtly shifts. The dry amusement fades out of her eyes, replaced by something more considered. Her gaze drops down to your lips for a split second, then drifts back up to hold your eyes.

You can tell right away that there’s a thought sitting on her tongue– something unscripted that she hadn’t planned on saying, hovering right on the edge. 

“What is it?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

She hesitates, her the movement of her thumbs becoming absentminded circles as she thinks.

For someone who seems to move through her life with absolute certainty, whose life is measured in quick decisive moments, the tiny pause feels uncomfortably long and sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Come over to my apartment this week.” She says eventually.

The words are uttered quietly, they land gently between you, but they hit with the weight of a brick. The air in the room shifts a little. 

You blink, pausing like you’re waiting for a punchline. “What?”

“On Wednesday. When we’re both back in Barcelona,” Alexia elaborates, her voice steadying as she talks even though her fingers tighten on your waist again. “Come to my apartment. Before the team flies to Lisbon.”

The sound of someone walking by outside the door fills the room as you process her words.

In eight months, her home has never come up. It’s never been an option. Not once.

Your entire existence together lives in four walls like the ones you stood between now– hotels in Bilbao, Paris, Manchester. Places where the sheets get washed by strangers and no one leaves even just a toothbrush behind.

Something tugs in your chest. You look at her, searching for the joke, but her mouth is set in a rigid line. There’s a tightness around her eyes and an almost invisible twitch in her jaw that wasn’t there two minutes ago.

You take it for her usual caution, the relentless paranoid privacy of someone whose name is printed on thousands of shirts and who gets followed by paparazzi on a yacht off the coast of Ibiza. You don’t look any deeper than that.

“Are you sure?” You ask, the teasing edge dropping from your voice. “You’ve never asked.”

“I’m sure,” She says softly. She doesn’t look away, but there’s something unsure in her eyes that makes your heart swell. You think for a brief second that perhaps the feelings there match the ones in your own. “I want to see you one last time before the final. Without a hotel checkout hanging over us.”

A smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. You nod once. “Okay. Wednesday.”

Something in her shoulders drops, the hard line of her spine giving way just a fraction, like a weight off her chest. She leans in almost immediately afterwards, her hands pulling you flush against her as her mouth finds yours.

It’s not the urgent, restless, celebratory and endorphin-filled kiss from last night. It’s firm and lingering, her lips dragging against yours with a deliberate slowness that makes your hands find the back of her neck on instinct.

It feels different.

You don’t look any deeper into that, either.

When she pulls back, her eyes linger on you, the familiar tilt returning to the corner of her mouth at the look on your face. 

“Right,” You say, clearing your throat and tapping her chest lightly to break the spell. “You really do have to go now if you don’t want a late fee and a missed flight.”

Alexia nods, leaning in one last time to press a quick, softer kiss to your lips.

“I’ll see you back in Barcelona,” She murmurs against your lips before stepping back and finally letting her hands fall from your hips. “Three days.”

“Three days.” You echo, biting back a smile. Her face is doing the same.

“Bye, cari.”

You stand by the desk still, and watch her grab the suitcase by the door, the gold medal clinking once more against the frame before she opens the door.

She lingers in the hallway, waiting for you to say goodbye.

With a light roll of your eyes and a faint blush, you obey. “Bye, Alexia.”

The brunette gives an unexpectedly soft smile in place of her predicted grin, before she slips out in the carpeted hallway.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you alone in the quiet room. You stare at the empty doorway for a long moment, your chest fluttering with a feeling you know you shouldn’t have.

And half an hour later, sitting with an espresso in the hotel restaurant, you can’t help the smirk that breaks across your face when your phone lights up with a screenshot from Alexia– a bank notification for a late checkout fee, followed by a single eye-roll emoji.

— 

When Wednesday arrives, focusing on anything at your desk feels like a losing battle.

Your laptop screen displays a half-finished report you’ve been staring at for two hours, but your brain is stuck entirely on a timer that seems to be ticking down at half-speed. Every time your phone screen lights up on the desk next to your keyboard, an involuntary flutter hits your chest before you even check the notification.

She’s been texting in short sporadic bursts since she woke up. Brief check-ins between physio reviews, training, and tactical meetings that slowly weave a web of anticipation through your workday.

Alexia [09:14] Morning. I’ve had two coffees already and I’m still tired. This day is going to drag on too long until tonight.

You [09:22] That’s what happens when you stay up arguing about hotel checkouts.

Alexia [09:25] Worth it. Still on track for tonight?

You [11:46]  Unless my boss realises I’ve done nothing productive and just stared at the same word doc for two hours, yes.

Alexia [11:48] Good.  Send me a text when you’re leaving the office.

You’d leaned back in your chair, staring down at her last message.

A wave of hesitation washed over you for the briefest second. 

Eight months of absolute secrecy, unwritten rules, and polished hotel rooms made the idea of stepping into her actual life feel surreal.

Risky? Maybe.

No, surely not.

You’d typed out a teasing reply, testing the waters, half-expecting her to pull back or turn it into a joke.

You [13:15] So we’re really doing this? No hotel keycards tonight? Should I be honoured or concerned that I’m finally seeing your mysterious athlete’s bachelor(ette?) pad?

Her response hadn’t come immediately.

Minutes had ticked by– five, ten, fifteen, twenty – long enough for a tiny knot of doubt to form in your stomach. You’d almost convinced yourself that you’d pushed a boundary she wasn’t ready to cross, that the invitation in Huesca had just been a fleeting moment of post-win sentimentality she now regretted.

Then your phone had finally buzzed.

Alexia [13:49] Honoured. Code for the front gate is 4092. Top floor, door on the left.

An address pin.

Alexia [13:50] Don’t make me regret it.

You’d stared at those messages for a long moment, your thumb running up and down the edge of your phone case.

It was odd seeing her address spelled out in monochrome text.

Your mind had archived her in transient spaces for so long. 

Dim lighting of a suite in Paris. Crisp white sheets in Manchester after an unexpected loss for her. Muffled sound of traffic below a balcony in London. The outline of her in front of a window that overlooked the view of Barcelona. 

Places where you’d lay awake in the middle of the night, indulging in the warmth of your body pressed close to hers, listening to her even breathing, wondering what she was like when she wasn’t living out of a suitcase. Wondering if the easy and unspoken warmth between you was just an illusion created by a temporary room, or if it’d survive out in the real world.

Well, you were about to find out.

At 5:30PM, you shut your laptop with a hasty click, completely abandoning the rest of your email inbox.

You [17:31] Leaving work now. See you at 7 x

The walk from your office through the early evening heat of Barcelona carries a light but restless energy. On the way to the metro, you find yourself ducking into a small wine shop tucked away on a side street. You browse the wooden shelves with a slow focus, eventually picking out an expensive Priorat white.

It’s an irrational purchase, and you know it.

Alexia won’t touch a drop of alcohol four days out from a Champions League final – her discipline on that front is terrifyingly rigid, you’ve come to learn– but the bottle feels like a necessary prop.

It’s a domestic gesture. A wordless declaration that tonight isn’t just about a quick turnaround before a flight; it’s about sitting on a sofa (or laying in her bed), pouring a glass, and finally existing without an alarm set for checkout.

She’ll have an alarm set for training, and you’ll have your own set for sneaking out in time to get ready for work. But that feels... like a life, not an alibi.

You’re standing on the pavement outside her building a little before seven, the glass bottle heavy in the canvas bag slung over your shoulder.

The building is sleek, private, understated. A place designed for people who pay extra to never be looked at too closely. It looks a little like some of the hotels you’d found yourselves in, and you shake your head with a huff of laughter.

You punch in the four-digit code at the main gate, the wrought-iron lock clicking open with a soft mechanical buzz.

Your thumb absently traces the canvas strap on your shoulder as you step into the marble-lined foyer and head toward the lift. Your heart is doing that annoying flutter against your ribs; though, this time, it’s not a result of the adrenaline of a hotel hallway, but something warmer, softer, and infinitely more dangerous.

You press the button for the top floor, watching the numbers light up one by one. It ends at the top floor quickly with an imperceptible chime. 

The silence up here is exclusive and unbothered by the city below as you step out into the tiled floor corridor. You soon find the door on the left and pause for a beat, letting out a quiet breath to steady the pace of your heart.

Then, you raise your hand and knock. Three short taps.

Footsteps sound from the other side almost immediately, a little too quick to be classed as unhurried, before the door swings inward.

And there she is.

Alexia stands in the doorway framed by the warm glow of her hallway. She’s completely stripped of her usual armour; no official club or national team travel wear, no designer clothes that indicate a victory’s deserved night-out. She’s wearing a soft oversized t-shirt that hangs loose over her shoulders, paired with low-slung sweatpants. Her now mostly brunette hair is pulled back into a loose bun, a few stray strands framing her face.

The midfielder looks remarkably soft. Unpolished. Content. Seeing her like this, grounded in her own sanctuary, pulls the air right out of your lungs.

A smile tugs at her lips as her eyes sweep over you. “You made it.” 

“I made it,” you echo softly, stepping across the threshold after she moves back to give you space.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the rest of the world outside. 

It’s a similar feeling to the hotels, shrinking your lives to this one shoebox and taking you far away from anything that could harm or disrupt it. But it’s so different, already, and it’s something akin to addiction if you were brave enough to name it.

Before the quiet tension can stretch too far, you reach into your bag and pull out the cool bottle of white. You hold it out between you like an offering.

“I brought wine,” You say, a slight sheepish smile touching your mouth. “I know you don’t drink during the season, especially three days out from a final, but… it felt necessary.”

Alexia looks down at the bottle, a low breathy chuckle escaping her chest. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as that familiar cockiness returns to her face.

“Let’s fix you a glass, then.” She drawls, before turning.

She leads you down the hallway, her sock-covered feet silent against the floor. The apartment opens up into a fairly expansive kitchen– sleek marble countertops, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the fading light over Barcelona.

You glance around inquisitively as she reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a single wine glass, before she takes the bottle from your hands. Her fingers brush against yours in what feels like a purposeful point of contact that sends a spark straight up your arm. 

There’s a few things that you notice which stand out. The sheer amount of jackets and shoes by the door (surely there’s not enough days in the year for that many shoes), the ajar dishwasher door showing off the packed appliance yet to be unloaded. 

Photos of her and her family and football achievements littering the walls and shelves, though a few frames missing off their hooks; probably in the process of changing the photos over, considering how often she gains titles.

“How was your day?” She asks, drawing your attention back to her. She works the corkscrew with practiced precision, the soft pop of it echoing in the open space. She looks up through her lashes as she sets the cork on the counter. “Did your boss catch you staring blankly at that document?”

You lean your hip against the edge of the marble island, watching her as a sly and knowing smile takes over your mouth.

“We don’t do that.” You state simply, tilting your head at her.

Alexia pauses, the neck of the bottle hovering just above the rim of the glass. She raises an eyebrow, her gaze locking onto yours. “We don’t do what?”

“Small talk about our workdays,” You answer, crossing your arms as the smile turns amused. “That’s not us.”

A dangerous smirk spreads across her own face. 

She pours a generous splash of the pale white wine, then settles the bottle down with a deliberate tap against the counter.

“We’re in my flat now,” She says, her voice low as she picks up the glass and steps slowly around the corner of the island until she’s standing directly in front of you. “We can do whatever we want.”

She holds the glass out to you, her eyes never leaving yours.

You take it from her, the cool glass contrasting with the heat radiating off her skin. You bring the rim to your mouth, taking a deliberately slow sip under her watchful eye. The white is crisp and dry.

Alexia’s eyes track the movement, watching your throat work as you swallow.

“Well?” She prompts, voice dropping another octave as her eyes fall back to your lips, tongue darting out to lick her own. “Is it good?”

“Very.” You reply, holding her stare.

Her gaze darkens. A sudden focus lands across her features that instantly wipe away the casual air of the kitchen, momentarily draped in silence.

She steps an inch closer, closing the distance until her body envelops you, her hand coming up to rest gently against the side of your neck. Her thumb presses right over your racing pulse. 

“Let me have a taste,” She murmurs against your cheek.

Before you can react, her mouth is on yours.

She’s unhurried as she tastes the faint wine on your tongue. But it is possessive in a way that makes your knees go weak, her fingers tightening at the nape of your neck as she pulls you flush against her.

You just manage to blindly reach back and set your glass down on the marble before Alexia’s other hand finds your waist.

Without breaking the kiss, she spins you slowly, her touch firm as she begins guiding you backward out of the kitchen and leads you down the dark hallway toward her bedroom.

The wine sits alone and forgotten in the kitchen for a while. An expensive domestic gesture that turned out to be entirely unnecessary, of course– serving as little more than an easy segue to the inevitable. 

Her apartment settles into a subdued silence in contrast to the charged energy that’d filled it the second you stepped in earlier. 

And in the bedroom, the duvet is dragged lazily halfway up your hips, leaving the rest of your skin exposed to the cool drift of the air conditioning, white linen twisted around your ankles in a chaotic mess.

Alexia lies on her side facing you, her head propped against a pillow, her breathing gradually returning to its steady baseline after the storm of the last hour.

One of her hands rests heavily against your inner thigh, her thumb tracing mindless shapes over the sensitive skin there. A calm pressure that keeps you grounded next to her.

She lets out breathless huff of air through her nose, her eyes tracking the rise and fall of your chest in the dim light filtering through the gap in the curtains.

“You left your glass,” She mumbles into the silence, her voice raspy with tiredness and satisfaction.

You offer an amused exhale, turning your head on the pillow to look at her. Her hair has completely tumbled out of its updo, strands scattered across her shoulders and clinging to the damp skin at her temples.

“I was a little distracted,” You reply, your hand trailing aimlessly down her arm, your fingertips catching on the subtle dip of her waist before settling against her hip. “Hardly my fault.”

Her attention drops to the movements of your fingers against her skin as a tiny grin tugs at one corner of her lips. She shifts closer, sliding her knee up between yours until your thighs are pressed flush together under the crumpled duvet. 

“You’re easily led,” She teases, her gaze lazily making its way back up to your eyes.

“By you? Always.” You reply, an answer that brings a smile to her face. “I don’t hear you complaining about it.”

“Never.” She whispers, leaning forward to initiate the slowest kiss of the night. After she pulls away, there’s a sheen to her lower lip that your eyes get caught on as she speaks again. “Your bank account might complain if you buy a bottle every time you come over though.”

“Oh, so this is gonna be a frequent thing now, is it?” You jest, though you ignore the jump your heart does at her words.

“Mm,” Alexia hums, her hand, a little heavy from the exhaustion in her limbs, lands on your cheek and her thumb runs along the bow of your lips. “I hope so.”

The helpless grin that takes over your face is the type that reaches your eyes and warms your chest until it feels almost tight.

It’s a reaction you’d usually try to hide or brush off behind a smirk, but Alexia misses it entirely. Her dark lashes flutter closed as her hand slips down from your cheek to rest against your collarbone. She’s not asleep, just letting the weight of the day and the comfort of her own room sink into her bones.

You stay still under her, letting your breath even out so you don’t disturb her.

Her words replay in your mind to decorate the silence, the three words heavy with promise. I hope so.

Such a simple offhand phrase, but it sets off a cascade in your mind. 

No more suitcases waiting by the door or careful countdown to bus departures and flights. No more tense walks down hallways at ungodly hours of the morning, hoping no teammates spots you leaving her suite. 

The idea of this– of her– not being restricted to meaningless cities and single rooms feels absurdly good. It feels like grounding something that was only ever meant to float. 

You let your fingers trace a feather-light line up her forearm, taking in the soft movements of her chest. 

“You know,” she slurs a little. “I could get used to not having to worry about a rushed checkout in the morning.”

You look at her, taking in the unarmoured lines of her face in the darkness of her bedroom.

“Don’t lie,” You whisper with a fond smile as you brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You have a training alarm set for seven to worry about it instead.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she pulls you impossibly closer, burying her face into the crook of your neck with a contented exhale, her hand sliding down further to grip your waist under the sheets.

“Quiet,” She grunts against your skin. “Let me pretend for a little longer.” 

A soft laugh escapes you, your hand moving to rest against the small of her back. You don’t push it. Because for once, laying in her apartment, in the city you both live in, there is no reason to bring up travel plans and schedules. 

So you just stay wrapped up in each other, breathing in the stillness of her bedroom.

It feels so much like those late nights around Europe. The same hushed whispers in the dark and the same easy shift of her weight against yours. 

And yet, everything is subtly skewed. The mattress is firmer, and most definitely more expensive. The air smells like an actual life instead of generic hotel linen. There’s a framed print on the wall instead of lifeless commercial art. 

You don’t think you could ever go back to just hotel rooms again. She’s spoiled you now; ruined you for anything else but this.

You indulge in it, until she lets out a dramatic, drawn-out sigh against your neck after a long while.

“I have to shower.” She grumbles, though she doesn’t actually move a muscle for another thirty seconds.

“Off you go then,” You tease, tapping her hip. “I’m not carrying you there.”

“Come with me.” She requests, punctuating it with a kiss to your neck.

“Not a chance,” You grin, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I’m way too comfortable right now.”

Alexia finally moves, lifting her head to give you a playful look. “Lazy.” 

“Exhausted.” You correct her.

She rolls her eyes but grins nevertheless, leaving a kiss to your forehead before tossing the crumpled duvet off her legs as she sits up on the edge of the bed. As she stands, stretching her arms over her head, long lean muscles moving under her skin, you look up at her from the mess of sheets.

“Hey,” You call out quietly. “Can you grab me my clothes? Or at least something to put on?”

Alexia pauses, turning her head to look back at you. A slow smile stretches across her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes with its usual warmth.

“Hold on.”

She disappears into the ensuite, then emerges a few seconds later holding a plush cream robe. She walks back to the bed and tosses it down beside you.

You reach out, feeling the thick, ridiculously soft material between your fingers.

“Look at you,” You tease, sitting up and looking at her as you slide your arms into the sleeves. “You even brought me a dressing gown like the ones at the hotels. You athletes with your traditions.”

The smile stays fixed on her face, but it goes noticeably tight at the corners. A rigid stillness settles into her shoulders, her jaw clenching for a fraction of a second before she recovers.

“Just wear it,” She mumbles, her voice slightly flatter than before. “I won’t be long.”

You don’t think twice about the shift, pulling the belt tight around your waist as Alexia walks back into the bathroom. The shower hums to life in the ensuite, the rush of water hitting tiles filling the room.

With a pleasantly tired sigh, you sink back into the soft mound of pillows on her side of the mattress. The cotton of the robe smells of lavender and fabric softener, a stark contrast to the stiff white terrycloth of the hotels’.

You lay there in the quiet for a while, staring up at the ceiling as your pulse slowly settles. The room is muted, bathed in the ambient glow of the moon outside the window. Then your eyes drift idly around the space, taking in the details you hadn’t paid attention to when she’d pulled you through the door well over an hour ago.

Opposite the foot of the bed, a TV hangs sleek against the wall. To the left, a wall of built-in, floor-to-ceiling wood wardrobes stretches into the shadows, housing an enviable collection of clothes you’ve only ever seen packed tightly into designer duffels and suitcases.

On the adjacent wall, a set of floating shelves displays a curated mess of her actual life: a stack of books, a few random trinkets, a couple player of the match awards, and a small framed photo resting near the edge.

You tilt your head, straining your eyes in the low light to make out the dark shapes in the picture. It’s a shot of two women laughing on what looks like a sunlit boat, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. You can barely discern the features in the gloom, but you mentally fill in the blanks.

It’s probably her sister, Alba.

The one she occasionally brings up when talking about family dinners back in Mollet and making jokes about how little she cares about football.

A quiet thought slips into your mind. Maybe you’ll meet them one day. Soon?

The second the thought takes root, you catch yourself with a self-deprecating huff against the pillow. You shake your head, rolling onto your side. Slow down. You’ve been in her apartment for three hours.

Smothering the thought before it can get too big, you reach over to the nightstand and pick up your phone, the screen illuminating your face to pass the time as she showers. 

Five minutes pass by.

And then a distinct click echoes down the hallway. 

The front door opens.

You freeze. Your thumb hovers motionless above the glowing phone screen, the sound of your own breathing suddenly sounding far too loud in the room.

Across the bottom of the bedroom door, a bright strip of yellow light cuts through the darkness as the hallway light flicks on.

Footsteps follow– keys jingling, shoes dragging across floorboards, a coat dropping onto the entryway bench.

A pit drops instantly into your stomach. Your heart begins a violent thud against your ribs, the peacefulness of five minutes ago vanishing in a single second.

A cleaner? An assistant? A teammate? A friend? Her sister?

A woman’s voice calls out into the flat. It sounds awfully casual and at ease.

“Alex?”

The shower is still running in the ensuite, the muffled rush of water meaning Alexia clearly hasn’t heard a thing. You sit up in the bed, the fabric of the cream robe bunching around your waist as you pull the belt tighter with trembling hands. 

Panic spikes through your veins, your mind frantically searching for a plan, a hideout, a joke, anything– but you’re completely trapped, sitting in the middle of the bed that’s suddenly lost it’s comforting allure.

The footsteps grow louder. Unhurried, and heading straight toward you.

“Alex, I came back early from Madrid. I wanted to surprise y–”

The bedroom door swings wide open. A hand reaches out and flicks the light switch.

The room is followed with the momentarily blinding overhead light. You wince, squinting through the glare, your eyes locking onto a woman standing in the doorway. Her hair is darker than Alexia’s and windblown as she holds a small overnight bag, keys still between her fingers.

She halts mid-step. 

Her eyes drop to you, sitting in the middle of the disheveled bed, tangled in the duvet.

A sharp gasp hitches from the woman’s throat, her body jerking back an inch in sheer shock. Her face pales, her eyes widening as they sweep over the messy sheets, the clothes strewn over the floor, and then back to your frozen, wide-eyed form.

For two agonising seconds, neither of you breathe. The only sound in the entire apartment is the oblivious rush of the shower still running.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The woman’s voice whips through the room, sharp and laced with disbelief.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out except a pathetic hitch of air. Your tongue feels like lead against the roof of your mouth. “I—I’m—”

“Is she fucking you?” The woman interrupts, the words spitting out of her with raw, jagged fury. Her eyes scan the bed, the damp sheets, the robe.

You flinch at the bluntness of it, a suffocating heat rushing up your neck. You hesitate for half a second, paralysed, before giving a slow and horrified nod.

The brown-haired woman lets out a bitter scoff, slapping both hands over her face.

“I don’t fucking believe it. Fuck!” She shouts into her palms, her shoulders hitching as she takes a ragged step back toward the doorframe.

The pieces fall together with a violent crash in your brain. It’s a sickening realisation that makes your skin crawl.

The packed dishwasher, clearly too much for one person. The missing frames in the lounge, the photo on the floating shelves of the boat. The way Alexia had gone rigid when you teased her about the dressing gown. Shit, was it hers?

“You’re–” Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “You’re her girlfriend?” 

The woman drops her hands, letting out a laugh that is entirely devoid of humour– a scathing sound that cuts right through you.

“Three years.” She snarls, her eyes flashing with tears she’s fiercely trying to hold back. “I’m her girlfriend of three years.” 

“I had no idea!” You gasp out immediately. “I swear to you! I had no idea she was in a relationship!”

“Right,” She snaps back instantly, tone dripping with venom. “You didn’t notice the photos in the living room? You didn’t notice half the clothes in the wardrobe that aren’t hers? You just walked into her flat and thought you were the only woman to exist?”

You stay silent. 

The nausea hits you so hard you feel like you might throw up right in front of her. You feel like you’re part of a completely different life now. 

Fuck, you are. You already have been living a different life. Caught up in cross-continent thrill, oblivious to the world Alexia really lived in. 

How could you have been so fucking blind.

The woman takes a long, shaking breath, rubbing the back of her neck as her chest heaves. She stares at you, reading the genuine horror written across your pale face.

“You really didn’t know?”

You nod frantically, tears of sheer mortification pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

“Yes! Yes, I swear to you. I promise on my life I had no idea. I’m–I’m not that kind of person.” You beg her to understand, plead for her to hear your guilt and regret. “I would never, ever willingly do this to anyone. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

The profuse apologies spill out of you like a broken valve but they do nothing to extinguish the fire.

Her expression cracks, the anger giving way to an abrupt wave of emotion that makes her voice tremble.

“You’re in my bed,” She spits out, the words breaking slightly as she gestures at you. “You’re laying in my bed, wearing my robe, after fucking my girlfriend.”

Every word feels like a physical slap.

You pull your arms tight against your chest, feeling smaller and more disgusted with yourself than you ever have in your entire life.

You want to strip the robe off right now, you want to melt into the floorboards, erase the last eight months of your life completely. 

The last year, actually. There’d been that night in Bilbao, too. What you thought was a one-off, only to pick right up where you left it at a bar in Madrid in September.

She opens her mouth again, her lower lip trembling. “How long– how long has this even–”

The bathroom door opens. The water had gone off at some point in the last few seconds.

Alexia steps out into the bedroom, dressed in her own white robe, steam billowing out behind her as she rubs a small towel through her damp hair.

“Hey, do you want to g–”

She stops dead in her tracks.

The towel drops from her hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Her eyes dart from you, cowering on the bed in the matching cream robe, to the woman standing in the doorway with tears spilling fast down her cheeks.

The colour drains from her face in a second. She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her node tightly, a silent exhalation escaping her as the full gravity of the scene hits her. 

She opens her eyes again, a fearful look on her face. 

“Isabel,” Alexia breathes out, her voice barely audible. 

She sounds regretful. Full of remorse. You hate that you panic at the sound of it given the situation you’re in. You’re the other woman. Not her girlfriend. Not anything remotely meaningful to her it seems.

Isabel doesn’t even look back at her. Her glossy eyes remain locked on you, a sickeningly sweet, terrifyingly flat smile spreading across her face.

“I think you need to leave.” Isabel tells you.

You nod instantly, already throwing the duvet off your legs. “Okay, okay.”

“Gather your clothes,” Isabel adds, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that leaves no room for error. “Go change in the bathroom down the hall. And get the fuck out of my life.”

You don’t hesitate for even a millisecond.

You scramble off the bed, grabbing your crumpled pile of clothes off the floor with shaking hands. You don’t dare look at Alexia for even a fleeting moment as you rush past them both and head down the corridor.

Almost as soon as the bathroom door shuts behind you, the shouting begins. You try to tune it out as you dress, politely folding the gown and placing it on top of the laundry basket like it might rectify your mistake. 

You catch some of Alexia’s pleas, defenses, apologies, excuses, as you head out the bathroom and dart toward the front door.

You glance back toward the bedroom with tears in your eyes, your head a mess, your heart beating between guilt and something you’re too ashamed to admit. You look at the bottle of wine and the half-filled glass still sitting on the kitchen counter, and can’t raise your hand in time to muffle the sob that breaks out.

Then, you step out into the corridor you’d walked earlier that evening with such a delicate and thriving anticipation. And now, you close the door behind you, swallowing the sound of another woman’s heart breaking over a life you never knew you were stealing. 

—

sooo. that was a lot lol. i know there's some heavy and unfavourable themes in this, and they will be a main part of the plot if i were to write a series from here. the series would be about navigating alexia and r's complex feelings and emotions following the lies and betrayal and newly discovered affair etc. it'll feature flashbacks, more backstory about it all, etc etc. the purpose of it being a series will be navigating how they end up getting together (alexia and r) given what's happened. it won't be easy and it won't be quick. that's why i want to write this story because (as much as i despise cheating and would never put myself in this situation) purely from a writing fiction side of it i think it'd be fun to explore the emotions and such.

The room was almost silent, not truly silent hospitals never were, there was always something. The soft rhythm of monitors, the quiet hiss of oxygen, footsteps passing outside, the occasional murmur of nurses changing shifts.

You sat beside Olivia's bed, exactly where you'd been for hours, you hadn't moved, not really.

One hand rested gently on the top of her head, your thumb stroking slowly backwards and forwards through her impossibly soft hair.

The movement was instinctive now, the same one you'd used every night when she struggled to sleep, your eyes never left her.

She looked so small the hospital bed swallowed her whole, tiny fingers disappeared beneath layers of blankets. One arm lay outside them, taped carefully where the IV disappeared into the back of her hand, a pulse oximeter wrapped around one little finger. Heart monitor leads disappeared beneath her gown, machines quietly confirmed what you already knew.

Heart rate, respiratory rate, Oxygen saturation, numbers you'd spent years reading without emotion.

Today they were the only things stopping you from falling apart, she looked peaceful, her little chest rose and fell steadily. A dummy rested against her cheek where it'd slipped from her mouth sometime after she'd been sedated to keep her calm.

You reached over, gently brushing a curl away from her forehead looking to the clock, you knew Alexia would still be on the pitch, you just wished time would go quicker. 🍼

The car hadn't even fully stopped outside the emergency department before Alexia was opening the door.

She ran past reception, past the waiting area, all she wanted was to find you.

She reached the paediatric department, the automatic doors slid open and a wall of noise hit her, children crying somewhere further inside monitors beeped steadily, parents sat with exhausted expressions.

Alexia's eyes darted everywhere, then she spotted you immediately, still wearing the same clothes you'd left the hotel in that morning, hair uncharacteristically a mess sitting in one of the chairs outside a treatment room.

You looked up as she approached, the relief on your face was instant, "Ale."

She was in front of you in seconds, "What happened?" Her hands found your arms immediately, "Where's Olivia?" she asked pulling you into a hug as you burst out crying a hand cradling your head as she kissed your forehead.

You wiped at your tears trying to pull yourself together, "She's having an MRI scan" You guided Alexia into the empty room Olivia was just in, "She should be back soon"

"What happened?"

"She had a seizure"

Alexia stared at you, for a moment she didn't speak, didn't breathe the words didn't seem to register, "She..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper, "...had a seizure?"

You nodded once, your eyes red raw from crying, "She'd just started walking." You rubbed your hands together nervously, "She took a few steps towards me... then she tripped." You swallowed hard, "It wasn't even a hard fall." You stared at the floor, "She cried for a minute I picked her up I cuddled her, I thought..." Your voice cracked, "I thought she'd be alright."

Alexia quietly pulled another chair over until it was directly beside yours. She reached for your hand, you held on immediately, you squeezed your eyes shut.

"I should know better. I'm a doctor, I should've—"

"No." Alexia's voice was firmer now, you looked at her, "You stop that." She took your face gently between both hands until you couldn't look anywhere except at her.

Her thumb brushed away the tears still falling, your shoulders shook, "I froze." You whispered, "For a second...I froze."

Alexia rested her forehead against yours, "You got her here." Her voice softened.

You broke then, really broke, "I was so scared." The words dissolved into sobs, "So..." You struggled to breathe, "...so scared."

Alexia wrapped both arms around you, pulling you against her chest, you buried your face into her shoulder, "I know." She whispered into your hair, "I know."

You cried for several minutes, neither of you cared who walked past the room. Eventually your breathing steadied enough for Alexia to ask quietly, "What have they said?"

You rubbed tiredly at your face, "The CT didn't show any bleeding." Alexia visibly sagged with relief, "But..."

You couldn't quite make yourself continue, her stomach tightened again, "But?"

"They're worried because of the seizure." You nodded towards the corridor, "They've taken her for an MRI. They want to make sure there's no injury the CT couldn't pick up."

Alexia looked towards the empty doorway as though she could somehow see through the walls to where Olivia was, "Has she..." Her voice caught, "...has she woken up?"

You nodded slowly, "Briefly. She's been under a mild sedation for the scans and things"

"And?"

"She cried." Your own voice cracked again, "She didn't understand why strangers were touching her." You smiled sadly through fresh tears, "She just kept reaching for me."

Alexia closed her eyes.

"And then they gave her a top to help her settle before the scan."

Silence settled between you, Alexia squeezed your hand again, "You've been here on your own?" You nodded, "You called me."

"I knew you were playing but I knew if they told you, you'd come."

Alexia looked at you with an expression so full of love it almost hurt, "There was nowhere else I was ever going to be."

You gave a tiny nod, "I know."

A gentle knock interrupted the silence., both of you looked up, one of the paediatric nurses smiled softly from the doorway, "They're just bringing Olivia back now."

You and Alexia were both on your feet before she'd even finished speaking.

A moment later the bed appeared around the corner, Olivia looked impossibly tiny beneath the blankets, still sleepy, still pale her curls flattened where they'd been tucked beneath the MRI head supports.

The porter carefully wheeled her back into the room as soon as the brakes clicked into place, you were beside her again, your hand immediately finding her hair.

Alexia moved to the other side of the bed, she reached carefully for Olivia's tiny hand, avoiding the IV taped to the back of it.

Olivia stirred, her eyelids fluttered slowly very slowly she opened her eyes, for a second she looked confused.

Then she saw you, "Mama..." The tiny whisper was barely audible.

Your eyes immediately filled again, "I'm here, baby." You bent down, kissing her forehead, "Look who's here."

Olivia's gaze drifted across the bed, "...Ale."

Alexia let out a shaky laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob, "Hi, princesca."

She kissed the back of Olivia's little hand, "We're both here." Neither of you let go, and neither of you intended to.

A soft knock came at the door, a consultant neurologist stepped inside, followed by one of the paediatric registrars you'd worked with before.

You immediately stood, doctor mode threatened to take over again.

The registrar noticed, "You can stay where you are." You nodded, but couldn't quite bring yourself to sit.

"So..." The doctor smiled reassuringly, "We've reviewed Olivia's MRI." Your stomach tightened, "There is some good news."

You instinctively reached for Alexia's hand, she intertwined her fingers with yours.

"The scan is completely normal." The breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding escaped all at once, "No bleeding or swelling and no evidence of structural injury."

You closed your eyes, Alexia's head dropped forward with relief, "Oh thank God..." She whispered.

The consultant continued, "We believe Olivia has suffered what's called an impact seizure." You nodded slowly, he recognised the look, "I imagine you already know what that means."

"I do." You answered quietly., "But..." You looked up and glanced to Alexia, "...could you explain it anyway?"

He smiled knowingly, "Of course." He glanced briefly towards Alexia, "Sometimes after a bang to the head, particularly in young children, the brain essentially has a temporary electrical overload. It can cause a seizure. It looks incredibly frightening, but..." He smiled gently, "...on its own, it doesn't necessarily mean theres anything to worry about."

Alexia looked between the two of you, "So..."

The consultant nodded, "We're optimistic. We'll keep her overnight for observation, If she remains ok in herself and has no further seizures or concerning neurological changes then she'll be able to go home tomorrow."

You finally sat back down, your legs suddenly didn't feel capable of holding you anymore, "I thought" Your voice was barely audible, "...I'd missed something."

The consultant looked at you kindly, "I've read your notes from the emergency department. You recognised the seizure immediately. You protected her airway. You even thought to time it. You handed over every important detail before she'd even reached us." He shook his head gently, "You didn't miss anything. You did exactly what I'd hope any A&E doctor would do."

Your eyes filled again, "I wasn't her doctor." You admitted quietly, "I was just" You looked at Olivia sleeping peacefully between you and Alexia, "I was just terrified."

The consultant smiled, "I can imagine." He glanced between the pair of you, "She is very lucky."

When he left, neither of you spoke for a long while, eventually Alexia broke the silence, "You know" She looked down at Olivia, "...I have never been so scared in my life I've played World Cup finals, thought my career was done when i tore my ACL, I've played in front of ninety thousand people." She shook her head slowly, "None of that..." Her voice caught, "felt anything like trying to get here today."

You squeezed her hand, you understood, "I know." You whispered.

The room fell quiet again, Olivia sighed in her sedated state, her tiny fingers twitched before finding both of your hands resting beside hers.

One little hand settled over yours, the other over Alexia's, holding both, completely unconsciously.

Alexia looked down and smiled through fresh tears, "Bossy even when she's asleep."

A small laugh escaped you, "Wonder where she gets that from."

Alexia looked sideways at you, "I'm choosing not to answer."

You rested your head gently against Olivia's pillow, for the first time since the ambulance doors had closed you finally felt your breathing slow, because Olivia was safe and the three of you were together again.

For now that was enough.

🍼

The ward had quietened, lights had been dimmed, the bustle of the afternoon had given way to the soft rhythm of the night staff.

Olivia slept between the two of you, one tiny hand still resting across both of yours as though making sure neither of you disappeared.

Neither of you had moved for nearly an hour, eventually you spoke, "So..."

Alexia turned her head slightly, "Hm?"

You smiled tiredly at Olivia, "I think we should probably address the fact she's calling me mama."

Alexia looked down at the sleeping toddler, then back at you, "I was wondering when you were going to."

You let out a quiet breath, "I don't know how I feel about it."

Alexia didn't answer immediately, she waited.

"I mean..." You searched for the words, "part of me" Your eyes stayed fixed on Olivia, "...part of me loves it." Your throat tightened, "And I feel guilty even saying that." Your voice became quieter, "But every time she does" You blinked away fresh tears, "I feel like I'm stealing something that belongs to Sofia and Marta."

Alexia reached over, gently rubbing your arm.

"They should have heard it first." You whispered, "They should've been there, the ones crying when she said mama. They deserved that."

The room was silent for a few moments, then Alexia spoke, "They did deserve that." You looked at her, "They deserved every first. All of it."

She looked down at Olivia.

"And it's desperately unfair that they don't get those moments." She paused, "But..." Her hand found yours again, "you aren't taking there place."

You frowned, "It feels like I am."

She shook her head gently, "Sofia and Marta being her mothers doesn't disappear because she calls you mama. They're still her mother's. They always will be."

You looked away, "I just" Your voice was barely audible, "don't want her to forget them."

Alexia smiled sadly, "She won't. She might not remember them, but forgetting someone" she squeezed your hand, "requires knowing them first."

The words settled heavily between you.

"We'll tell her." Alexia continued, "Over and over. We'll tell her how ridiculous Sofia was."

A watery laugh escaped you, "She was ridiculous."

"And how Marta pretended she wasn't emotional."

You smiled, "She cried at everything."

"Exactly." Alexia smiled too, "We'll tell her how excited they were to meet her. How much they loved her. How impossible they found it to stop talking about her."

You nodded slowly, "She'll know them."

Alexia looked at Olivia, "Through us."

You brushed a finger over Olivia's curls, "I've thought about correcting her." You admitted "When she says mama, I did the first time" Alexia looked at you, your eyes filled again, "It's horrible to find so much joy in something you feel so guilty about"

Neither of you spoke for a little while, then Alexia smiled softly, "You know..."

"Hm?" You looked at her.

"I think she's saying mama" Alexia glanced affectionately towards the sleeping toddler, "because that's what love she holds for you."

You closed your eyes, a tear escaped anyway, "I don't know if I'm ready for that." you looked back down at the little girl sleeping peacefully between you.

Her tiny lips moved in her sleep, a sleepy murmur escaped, "Hungee..."

This time neither of you cried, Alexia simply smiled, and quietly whispered to the little girl, "You've always had a way of making me smile, cariño."

She looked at you before finishing.

"You and mama both do."

🍼

Alexia had climbed carefully onto the hospital bed, mindful of every wire and monitor attached to Olivia.

Now the little girl was tucked securely against her side, one tiny fist curled into the front of Alexia's shirt as she lay contently.

You stood nearby, watching them both a soft knock interrupted the quiet.

You glanced towards the door before walking over and pulling it open, Eli and Alba stood outside.

Alba held a small overnight bag,Eli clutched Olivia's well-loved stuffed rabbit beneath one arm and a McDonald's bag in the other.

You smiled tiredly,"Hi."

"We don't want to keep you," Alba said quietly, holding out the bag. "Or interrupt. We just thought... Alexia might want a change of clothes."

You accepted it gratefully, "Thank you."

Eli held out the rabbit,"And Olivia might want her rabbit."

You took it gently, the familiar little toy made something tighten painfully in your chest, then Alba lifted the paper bag with a sheepish smile.

"We were grabbing some food anyway, so we picked some up for you both. We figured you'd probably be hungry."

You looked between the three things now filling your hands, "You didn't have to do all this."

Eli reached over, giving your arm a gentle squeeze, "It's nothing, honestly." Her eyes searched yours, "...Is she okay?"

You nodded, "Do you want to eat with us?"

Both women immediately shook their heads,"Oh no," Eli smiled. "We wouldn't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding." You stepped aside, opening the door wider, "You're family. Please."

They exchanged a small look before slowly walking inside the moment they saw Olivia lying in the hospital bed amongst the monitors and IV lines, both of them visibly faltered, their smiles disappeared.

The reality of it all landing much harder than hearing about it over the phone. Both women instinctively lowered their voices even further as though the room itself demanded it.

Alexia noticed immediately, "She's awake." She smiled reassuringly, "It's okay."

You smiled softly towards the bed, "Look who's here."

Olivia peered over Alexia's stomach before recognising them, one little arm slowly lifted away from her chest to point at them.

Eli's face softened instantly, she stepped over, gently taking Olivia's tiny hand, "You gave us all quite the scare, cariño."

Olivia simply blinked sleepily.

Alexia carefully kissed the top of her head, "I'm just going to change out of my stinky kit."

The reaction was immediate, Olivia's grip tightened ger little bottom lip wobbled dangerously.

Alexia laughed softly, "I'll come back, I promise. I'm just going to the bathroom."

The wobble became even more dramatic, before the tears could arrive, Alba stood beside the bed, holding out both arms, "Shall Olivia and Alba have a cuddle?" She smiled brightly, "Yeah?"

Olivia looked between Alexia then Alba, to everyone's surprise she reached for Alba.

Eli touched with Alba's back with gentle encouragement, "Sit with her, Alba." Alba sat on the bed leaning back as Olivia tucked herself into her arm.

Alexia disappeared into the bathroom with the overnight bag, you wandered back over as Eli unpacked the food onto the little hospital table.

You leaned gently on the side of the bed looking at Olivia, "Who's that?" You pointed towards Alba, "Who are you cuddling with?"

Olivia rested comfortably against her, then with complete confidence, she lifted one finger towards Alba's face, "Silly Abba."

A quiet laugh escaped you, "Yeah..." You smiled warmly, "That's your silly Alba."

Alba immediately looked away, biting down on her lip as her eyes filled, she blinked rapidly, trying desperately not to cry in front of Olivia.

Eli noticed, without saying a word, she reached over and squeezed Alba's shoulder.

Olivia, completely oblivious to the emotion she'd caused, reached up and patted Alba's cheek with one tiny hand, "Silly Abba."

Alba laughed through the tears she'd failed to hide, "Oh, carino." She kissed the top of Olivia's curls.

🍼

By the following afternoon, Olivia had made her opinion on being allowed home very clear, she wanted to swim.

Apparently, the hospital had been an inconvenience she'd already decided to move on from. You found out Alexia often brought Olivia to her home to make use of the pool and she absolutely loved it at Alexia's.

You'd barely finished helping her into the tiny swimming costume Alexia had produced from a cupboard before she was pointing enthusiastically towards the garden doors.

"Wa'er!"

Alexia laughed from the kitchen, "I told you."

You shook your head, smiling, "She had a seizure yesterday."

"And today she wants the pool. Children they're resilient." Alexia disappeared upstairs before calling down, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I've left something on my bed."

You frowned but headed upstairs anyway, sitting neatly folded on the bed was a dark green bikini.

You blinked, Alexia appeared in the doorway a second later in a hoodie a bikini under it.

"I thought" She rubbed the back of her neck, "if you're getting in with her, you probably don't want to do it in your clothes."

You picked up the bikini, "You own a spare bikini?"

She smiled, "I own several."

You laughed, "Of course you do."

"It should fit."

You looked between the bikini and her, "You've somehow guessed my size?"

Alexia's ears pinkened almost instantly, "I" She cleared her throat, "...educated guess."

"Hm." You looked at her knowingly, "Very educated."

She looked everywhere except your face, "I'll... go get in the pool with Olivia."

You couldn't stop yourself smiling as she made a very quick exit.

A few minutes later, you stepped out into the garden, the bikini fit perfectly, almost suspiciously perfectly.

Olivia was already in the pool with Alexia, kicking her little legs excitedly.

The moment Alexia looked up she stopped, entirely.

You almost smiled, "Well?" You asked, "You guessed right."

Alexia swallowed, "...Yeah."

She hadn't expected that, not really. She'd pictured it, of course she had, but imagination and reality turned out to be two very different things.

The afternoon sun caught your skin, your hair was up from tying it back, something Alexia learned she liked very quickly, you with your hair up.

The dark green somehow suited you better than it ever had her, Alexia became acutely aware she'd been looking for far too long.

She tore her eyes away, "Olivia wants you to get in."

"Mhm."

You answered, already smiling because you knew exactly what had just happened.

You crouched at the side of the pool, smiling at Olivia, "Ready?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically, "Wa'er!"

You lowered yourself carefully into the shallow end, she squealed immediately, tiny hands slapped happily against the surface, sending little splashes in every direction.

Alexia's attention stayed firmly on Olivia, very firmly, exceptionally firmly, almost unnaturally firmly, "You can look, you know."

Alexia blinked, "What?"

"I'm just saying, you're making a remarkable effort not to when you don't have to"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mhm."

"I don't."

"You've looked everywhere in this garden except at me."

"I've looked at you."

"Barely."

"I've looked enough."

You laughed, "So now you're rationing it?"

Alexia sighed dramatically, "You are impossible."

You smiled and she risked another glance, just one, it lasted perhaps half a second before she looked back at Olivia again.

"I am trying to be respectful."

You couldn't help smiling, "Alexia."

"Hm?"

"I've seen you stare at cake for longer than that."

She burst into laughter, "That is completely different."

"Is it?"

"Very."

"Because?"

"Cake doesn't turn me on"

You grinned, "So that's the issue?"

Alexia immediately realised what she'd admitted, she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face, "I walked into that."

"You sprinted into it."

Olivia looked between the two of you before deciding neither of you were paying enough attention to her. She slapped both hands into the water as hard as she could, water splashed straight over the pair of you.

Cold water hit Alexia square in the face and she stared at Olivia in mock disbelief, "You little menace."

Olivia shrieked with laughter, you laughed just as hard, Alexia looked over this time she didn't immediately look away, her eyes met yours. There was amusement there, affection something softer than either of you had quite found the courage to name yet.

"You know" She said quietly, "I think this bikini looks much better on you than it ever did on me."

You felt warmth creep into your cheeks despite yourself, "You've finally admitted you were looking."

Alexia smiled, "I never said I wasn't."

"You absolutely did."

"I changed my mind."

You laughed, shaking your head, "I noticed."

Before either of you could say anything else, Olivia splashed you both again, giggling so hard she nearly toppled backwards into Alexia's waiting arms.

"Alright" Alexia laughed, lifting her higher out of the water, "I think someone likes having both her people in the pool."

Olivia beamed at the pair of you.

You laughed as Olivia splashed both of you again, “Right, little fish, I think that's enough." You said as you carefully lifted yourself out of the pool sitting on the edge, water cascading down your skin as you sat on the warm edge, pulling your hair over one shoulder to squeeze the excess water out.

The sun was warm against your skin as Olivia squealed happily as Alexia spun slowly with her in the water, Olivia's giggles echoed around the garden, "Again!" you heard Alexia laugh as Olivia kicked her little legs.

Alexia looked up and stopped, her eyes travelled over you far less subtly than they had ten minutes ago.

You raised an eyebrow immediately, as a grin spread across her face,” Ay Olivia" she said casually, "who knew your mama had a body like that?"

You nearly choked, “Alexia!"She looked entirely unashamed.

Olivia just laughed because Alexia was laughing, Alexia shrugged innocently, “What? She doesn't understand."

You pointed accusingly at her, “That is not the point!" She grinned wider.

Olivia looked at you and clapped her hands, “Mama!"

Alexia looked at Olivia with complete seriousness, “I know, princesa. Ale agrees."

You covered your face with both hands, “Oh my God."

Alexia walked closer to the edge of the pool, still holding Olivia securely against her, "Do you think it's nap time, princesca?" Olivia yawned immediately as if on cue and Alexia gasped dramatically, “Look at that." Then she looked directly at you, “Ale needs to help mama get out of that bikini."

You stared at her, ompletely stunned, “Alexia!" She burst into laughter, you pointed at her in complete disbelief, “You've gone from being stupidly respectful to... that!"

Alexia lifted Olivia higher against her hip as she climbed out of the pool, "Well I tried respectful."

"And?"

She smiled shamelessly, “I didn't enjoy it nearly as much."

"You practically needed permission to look at me 15 minutes ago!”

"I did."

"And now?"

Alexia walked closer, water dripping from her hair, entirely unapologetic, “Now I know I'm allowed to look." You stared at her, she smiled slow and confident, dangerously charming, “And I like what I'm looking at." You felt warmth rush straight to your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, Alexia noticed that too.

"Come on then, little fish." Alexia shifted Olivia higher onto her hip. The little girl was already rubbing sleepy fists against her eyes, all the excitement of the pool finally catching up with her, she glanced towards you, "I'll get her dried off and down for a nap."

You watched her disappear into the house, Olivia's head found Alexia's shoulder almost immediately, one tiny arm wrapped around her neck as Alexia kissed the side of her head on the way inside.

"You are so sleepy, princesa."

You heard Olivia mumble something unintelligible.

Alexia answered as though she'd understood every word, "I know."

The patio doors slid shut behind them, silence settled over the garden.

You leaned back on your hands, letting the afternoon sun warm your still damp skin.

Your eyes drifted towards the now still pool as your mind wandered.

You'd been so busy reacting to Alexia's shameless comments that you hadn't really allowed yourself to acknowledge the obvious.

She'd looked ridiculously good. The black bikini she'd been wearing had fitted her like it'd been designed specifically for her strong shoulders, tanned skin still glistening with water. The defined muscles in her arms every time she'd lifted Olivia into the air, her stomach.

The tattoos, even the way she'd laughed her head tipped back. completely carefree.

You groaned quietly, you'd always known she was attractive, anyone with functioning eyesight knew Alexia Putellas was attractive and happened to look like that in a bikini.

You let out a long breath, as the patio door slid open again.

You looked up instinctively, Alexia stepped back outside, hair now tied into a messy bun, sunglasses resting on top of her head.

You couldn't stop your eyes travelling over her for the briefest second.

Alexia caught it immediately, a slow smile spread across her face, "What?"

You looked away far too quickly, "Nothing."

"Mhm."

She folded her arms, "You've been looking at me."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

You rolled your eyes, "I was merely" You searched desperately for something believable, "checking you'd remembered to dry off."

Alexia laughed, "Oh, was that it?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." She took another step closer, "Because from where I was standing" Her smile grew, "it looked a lot like you were checking me out."

You watched her with narrowed eyes as she prowled closer to the pool’s edge. Alexia shrugged out of her hoodie and tossed it onto a lounge chair. She dropped her sunglasses alongside it, then, without preamble, walked straight to where you sat, legs dangling in the blue. 

Her shadow flickered over your knees, you didn’t move. You didn’t have the sense or the will to move.

“Is there room for one more?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for a reply.

You watched as she dipped her toes, then slid into the water, resurfacing with a quick, practiced flick of her head. The droplets caught the light, scattered like glass beads over her neck and shoulders. She treaded water, took a hand to slick her hair back, and then drifted toward you until she was close enough that your knees pressed against her collarbones.

You should have said something, anything. Instead, your breath came shallow, a tremor in your thigh you hoped she didn’t notice.

She settled herself between your legs, hands braced casually on either side of your hips, and looked up, “I think I like this view.”

You snorted, but it came out thin and shaky, “Is that so.”

She grinned, leaning in to rest her chin just above your knee. “Mhm.” Her voice went low, almost a growl, “But I still think the bikini looks better on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your skin burned where she touched it, “Bold claim.”

She ran her palms up your thighs, slow, deliberate, “I like to be bold.”

You tried for a retort, but the words died as she pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, higher. The sun was suddenly too hot, the world too sharp. You tried to glare at her, but she only smiled with a lazy confidence that made your heart stutter.

She kissed up carefully, like she was savouring some new and precious discovery. When she reached the hem of the bikini, she hesitated a question in her eyes. You felt it, the simmering tension of the moment, and you tipped your chin in the smallest nod.

“Still want me to be respectful?” she asked, voice ragged at the edges.

A shake of your head, then she ducked again, mouth hot and wet and perfect along the inside of your thigh.

Alexia’s hands slipped higher, knuckles grazing the crease at the top of your thigh. She left a trail of damp heat, mouth teasing along each centimetre upward, and when she nudged your bikini aside and set her tongue to work, you nearly slipped off the edge entirely.

She steadied you with a tight grip around your hips, pinning you in place, then licked a slow, deliberate stripe. The sun was on your shoulders and the world narrowed to the warm press of her mouth, the scrape of her teeth, the low hum she made as you shuddered underneath her.

You fisted your hands in the pool towel but the sound that came from you was nothing like restraint. Alexia grinned against your skin, then redoubled her efforts, relentless, single minded, like she’d decided this was her afternoon’s work. She pulled you closer to the edge of the pool, your calves braced around her neck, and the slip of tile against your back did nothing to ground you.

You felt the groan in your throat more than heard it, and Alexia paused only long enough to say, “Don’t worry. The neighbours can’t hear you.” Her voice dark with satisfaction at how little control you had left.

She brought her mouth back, hands anchored at your waist, and took her time. She was methodical, attentive, absolutely ruthless each pass of her tongue seemed designed to unravel you. She must have felt the way you trembled, because she slowed until you were nearly begging. You hated how desperate you sounded, but you couldn’t stop. Not when her mouth was so good, not when her fingers dug into you like that.

You reached for her, fingers tangling in the roots of her wet hair. She looked up, flushed with pride and bright with the kind of happiness only mischief brings. There was a streak of your slick on her cheekbone and you almost lost it at the sight.

Alexia pressed two fingers inside, slow at first, then curling with authority. Her mouth followed, relentless, you squeezed your eyes shut, head tipping back, and moaned loud enough that it echoed off the garden walls.

She pumped her fingers, found that sweet, secret spot that made your moans dissolve into shameless noises you’d once only heard in movies, and she ate up every sound like it was a reward she’d earned. You heard yourself pleading once without even knowing what you’d asked for. Alexia answered you by moaning back, a muffled vibration that nearly finished you right there.

Above you the sky was clear blue, trembling in the heat, but your world telescoped to the pressure building between your legs and the glorious, obliterating tug of her mouth. You clamped down, your thighs squeezing tight around her head, and Alexia didn’t protest she just urged you on, like she wanted to see how far you’d go.

When you crested, the surge left you gasping, a convulsion that left you slumped on the pool’s edge, knees splayed, hair damp and sticky at the nape of your neck. Alexia glanced up, gaze flicking to your face for permission, and then licked a finishing stripe, slow and self satisfied.

You tried to catch your breath, but you tasted chlorine in the air and the hint of salt on your lips. Your hands spanned your own thighs in disbelief. Alexia eased her fingers free and pressed a kiss to your knee, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand with a cocky little smirk that made you want to throttle her and kiss her, preferably both at once.

“Jesus Christ,” you managed, “You’re…” The words failed to queue.

She let her head rest on your thigh, blinking up, “Incredible? Best you’ve ever had? Internationally recognised?”

You snorted, still half dazed, “I was going to say ‘shameless,’ but yes, internationally recognised also works.” You slid a hand through her hair, the strands warm and slippery from the pool. “I can’t believe you just did that. In your backyard. In broad daylight.”

Alexia grinned, unbothered, “It’s my backyard. My rules.” She pressed her cheek to your knee, voice lowering, “And my girl.”

You snorted, “We haven’t even gone on a real date yet.”

She shrugged, all fox and trouble, “We’ll do that after. I have plans.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. Your body still trembled, energy frizzing with aftershocks and nerves.

Alexia straightened, hands sliding up your calves, then to your thighs, then to your waist, she pulled you down into the pool trapping your body against the pool wall, your legs wound around her waist, the both of you still in nothing but those damn bikinis, skin slick and hot, arms tight around each other. She held you there, just above the waterline, barely afloat, her hands braced beneath your thighs.

You couldn’t think, not properly, not with her mouth on yours, insistent and wild, not with the shudder of pleasure still rippling through your nerves. Your head felt light, like you’d been spun around and let go.

She pressed in, tongue begging access, and you parted for her, hungry for the taste of her.

You lost track of time whether it was minutes or hours, the sun slipping behind the neighbour’s roof, or if it remained caught immobile, like you were trapped in a time warp. You barely cared that you were half-naked in a suburban backyard, Alexia’s hands all over you, fingers carving patterns on the small of your back, your chest pressed against hers.

She groaned into your mouth, low in her chest, the kind of sound you hadn’t heard from anyone in years not directed at you, it made everything inside you combust.

Eventually, after what felt like lifetimes, the fever broke. You pressed your forehead against hers, both of you panting, reckless with endorphins, as you both grinned like idiots.

You rested there, still tangled, cheek against her temple. The pool water was cooling, the air breezing damp over your skin. You shivered, and Alexia rubbed your back, softly.

Alexia’s hand moved in slow circles on the small of your back, your bodies floating gently, anchored together in the cool water. Alexia’s hair had escaped the bun and fanned along her shoulders, the ends curling at her collarbone. She pressed a soft kiss against your jaw, then rested her chin on your shoulder, quietly.

Just the sound of the water, birds somewhere in the trees, the distant hum of a lawnmower a few gardens down.

"You know..." She rubbed absent minded circles against your side beneath the water, "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous."

She smiled, "I think" There was a slight hesitation, "the three of us should live here."

You lifted your head to look at her, "What?"

She nodded towards the garden, "I mean" She looked around, "look at this."

You followed her gaze, the pool shimmered in the afternoon sun, beyond it stretched the lawn where Olivia would undoubtedly spend hours running around one day.

"When she's bigger" Alexia continued, "she'll have somewhere outside to play in a garden, a pool. Space." You stayed quiet, "The apartment is lovely" She shrugged, "but it's still an apartment. Here she could learn to ride a bike, kick a football, run around."

You tipped your head back, water lapping at your neck, and gazed up at the trees. The thought was so outlandish it almost made you laugh, but Olivia’s giggle had sounded different here, brighter. The last apartment had thin walls and concrete everywhere and held so many good and bad memories.

You pictured the three of you, a morning with Olivia in the grass, breakfast at the patio table, the way it would feel to turn the key and step inside this luxury home as if it were already home.

She squeezed your waist gently, “I just think” Her eyes followed the sunlight dancing across the water, “this would be a nice place for her to grow up."

You smiled faintly, "You've thought about this."

"A lot." She admitted without embarrassment, "I may have even imagined where we'd put a swing."

You laughed, "You've planned the garden?"

"Only a little."

"A little?"

"Fine." She grinned, "I also know where I'd put a sandpit."

You couldn't help smiling, "You really have been thinking about this."

Alexia's smile softened, "I have." There was a long pause, then she spoke much more quietly, "It isn't really about the house."

You looked at her.

"I just" She searched for the right words, "I like waking up with you both." Your heart skipped, "I like hearing Olivia shouting for us in the mornings. I like eating breakfast together. I like” She laughed to herself, "...watching you pretend not to like me flirting with you."

"I don't pretend."

"No?"

"No."

"What do you do then?"

"I tolerate it."

Alexia smiled knowingly,"Mhm."

"I do."

She leaned her forehead lightly against yours, "I've spent years living in this house on my own." Her voice was barely above a whisper, "It stopped feeling like home a while ago."

She glanced towards the baby monitor, "Then I moved into their apartment with you and it quickly felt more like home than this place ever did. And i realised, a family makes a home.”

You reached up, your fingertips brushing lightly against her cheek, "You know I was almost convinced this conversation was about the pool."

Alexia laughed, "Well that too." She looked back at you, "Am I making a very compelling argument for Olivia?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Entirely for Olivia?"

Alexia held your gaze, for a moment she looked like she might lie, instead, "Mostly."

You laughed, "I appreciate the honesty."

She rested her chin lightly against your shoulder again, "I'm not asking you to decide now." She said quietly, "I know its quick and very sudden" Another gentle squeeze around your waist, "I just wanted you to know I've been thinking about it."

You looked towards the house again, then you looked back at Alexia, "You know I’ve come to realise, I think she'd be happy anywhere as long as we're both there." Alexia didn't say anything, “I’ve held onto to this idea that if we’re there, we’re somehow close to Sofia and Marta but in a way, i feel the furthest from them there, because it's a constant reminder they aren’t here any more.”

You admitted it, not just to Alexia but to yourself.

“I think I’ve held myself hostage in that place,” you said, “Maybe it’s time to stop.”

Alexia didn’t smile, she didn’t need to, she just tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and said, “Then we’ll look at it together, when you’re ready.”

“Deal,” you said, and meant it.

You drifted for a while in the pool, legs still hooked around her hips, neither of you spoke. You just soaked in the warmth, the steadiness of her arms, the contentment on her face.

“I need a shower,” you said eventually, teeth chattering as the sun dipped behind a cloud, “I smell like chlorine and regret.”

Alexia laughed, a bright, delighted sound, “I like both.”

You splashed her on the way to the pool ladder, but she caught your wrist before you could escape. She pressed her mouth to your knuckles, then let go, “Go on. I’ll check on Olivia.”

You didn’t look back as you made your way upstairs, heart warm and pried open. You could get used to this, this house, that pool, her hand in yours.

Showering in Alexia’s house felt different than at the apartment. There was more space, more glass, a sense of being on display even behind steamed-up doors. Her shampoo smelled like citrus and something floral, and when you stepped out wrapped in a towel, you nearly ran headfirst into Alexia, who’d materialised on the landing in her hoodie, hair still dripping.

“Sorry,” she said, not moving aside. 

You stood there, droplets tracing your collarbone, the air thick between you, “Do you always just stalk the hallway, or is this special?”

“I missed you,” she said, deadpan.

You rolled your eyes and edged past, but she caught your elbow lightly. “Hey,” she said, voice shifting. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part?”

“That this can be our home,” she said, “whenever you want it to be.”

You studied her, unsure what to do with the swelling in your chest. Not fear, but something adjacent, maybe hope. “That’s a pretty big promise,” you said.

She smiled shy, “I’m a big promises kind of girl.”

You shook your head, gave her a half shove before ducking into the bedroom. Olivia was already in her pajamas, sprawled starfish on the bed, she stirred when you entered, blinking sleepily.

“Mama,” she said, eyes already drifting closed.

You knelt by the bed and brushed her hair back, the wet strands sticking up in soft tufts. You kissed her forehead, then her cheek for extra measure. She smelled like sunscreen, sugar, and something indefinably sweet. You whispered, “I love you, baby”

You kissed her forehead once more before carefully pulling the blanket a little higher over her tiny shoulders.

Behind you, the floor creaked, you didn't need to turn around to know it was Alexia.

She'd changed into joggers and an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair hanging loose over one shoulder.

She smiled at the sight in front of her, she came to stand beside you, both of you looking down at the sleeping little girl.

Alexia reached over, gently smoothing one of Olivia's curls away from her face.

"She looks so peaceful."

"She does."

There was something about watching Olivia sleep that always seemed to slow the world down, you looked back down at Olivia, "I think" You spoke quietly, "today felt normal." Alexia looked at you "In a good way, yesterday was awful, but today we went swimming. We laughed. She splashed us. You flirted far too much."

"I flirted the perfect amount."

"You absolutely did not."

"I disagree."

You smiled despite yourself, "My point is..." You reached down, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb over the back of Olivia's tiny hand, "it felt like a family day."

Alexia didn't answer straight away, instead she stepped a little closer until your shoulders brushed, "It did."

You let the silence settle, then quietly admitted something you hadn't expected to, "I liked it."

Alexia turned her head, "So did I."

You looked at one another, Alexia spoke carefully, "I think it's the happiest I've been in a very long time."

Your heart tightened, "I was going to say exactly the same thing."

Her fingers found yours tentatively, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You didn't, instead you intertwined them, she smiled, "So does this mean you're going to let me keep flirting with you?"

You rolled your eyes affectionately, "I've accepted that's probably a losing battle."

"I knew you'd come around."

"I didn't say I enjoy it."

"You smiled."

"I smile at lots of things."

"You blush at me."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

You laughed quietly as she lifted your joined hands, pressing the gentlest kiss against your knuckles.

-

You strolled into training Monday morning and knew from the drop that it was about to be a very different season than last year.

Largely because the club had made some big signings over the summer transfer and now sat with a bloated roster.

Part of you was concerned with where you would fit into the coach's plan when the likes of Alexia Putellas and Mapi León are now in contention. Nobody signs names like theirs to not play them.

Thankfully you feel a bit of relief that your position on the right wing means you at least won't be battling either of them for a spot.

The nerves settle quickly that first day.

Jana is still Jana—loud and bubbly and talking a mile a minute in both English and Spanish and occasionally Catalan to Alexia who keeps murmuring, "English, Jana."

You and the defender became fast friends last season. You both came onto the squad as new signings together, and with her tumultuous and last-minute sale by Barça, you made it your duty to make sure she acclimated well to the English culture shock.

Jana in turn looped you into the Spanish way of life. She's taught you some of her mother's recipes and why you should never equate a catalana with Madrid. Ever.

Jana became your best friend last year.

You jokingly (well, partly) told her when news broke of Alexia joining the team that you supposed your top friend status had been revoked for the upcoming season.

Jana just grinned at you over your FaceTime call and said she was enjoying your jealous side. With a quick add that you and Alexia would be good friends; she was sure of it.

So, you suppose you should have known then that you would end up in closer orbit to Alexia than most of the team, considering your mutual friendship of Jana.

What you hadn't considered is that you and Alexia would launch head-first into something all your own.

And all because of a comment she made week 1.

It was a clip recorded for the team’s social media page. It wasn't meant for you. But like anything in football, proximity means you hear and see things about each other because there is no privacy on the pitch. And definitely not on a team holding 35-some names on the roster.

Training is loud and chaotic at times.

Alexia is commanding in training. Her accented English calling for a ball or praising a play as if it is second nature. But when the whistle blows to end a drill, she's quiet.

You've seen the smile as she listens to all the ongoing conversations.

You've seen the questioning eyes when she isn't sure exactly what a slang word means or a truly English-coded phrase.

You've seen the utter confusion when Alana tries to talk to her in that hard-to-follow accent even for those born of the language.

And you have insider knowledge from Jana's first year of just how difficult it can be to follow a conversation and join in when topics move so quickly. Internal translation doesn't always keep up.

You're not quite as quiet. Especially around your people. But you notice things.

Your mother would always say that as a kid you would watch the dew form in the morning if she let you.

Noticing details is your normal.

So when Alexia makes that comment with her little tentative side smile to the camera, and a hand fiddling with her hair, you notice her voice go soft at the end.

"But not alone!" She corrects with a somewhat tight laugh. "With my teammates!"

Not alone.

"Alexia?" You ask once the social media lead has wandered away to capture more content, mouth opening without your explicit consent.

She turns at the sound of her name, eyebrows raised expressively in question of who needs what from her now.

The catalana sighs lightly and gives you a smile, gesturing to the ground next to her in offer.

You plop down a respectful distance away, unsure if you should even be here right now.

"Want to practice that connection drill from yesterday after training today? I could use a few more reps I think," you finally settle on, hoping it lands in a friendly manner and not as an obligation or weird attempt to get closer to her.

She nods immediately. "Yes. I am free."

You grin in relief. "Awesome!"

And this is how you find yourself sharing the field an hour later with five balls, two mannequins set up as the opposition, and one Alexia Putellas.

You set off in another repetition of the drill, passing her the ball and looping past in a cutting run off to her left.

Alexia sends you a quick back heel pass that you collect as you spin around a mannequin, dragging the ball around as you do so to use your body to protect possession.

And then you are sprinting off, the ball at your feet and an open net ahead. You lob a rocket in from outside the box. It easily finds the back of the net.

"Yes Good!" Alexia exclaims with excitement.

"Thanks!" you respond and then pause. Something about that feels slightly off.

You turn, eyes finding hers, wondering if maybe your brain froze in the moment and she actually said it was shit or something.

Alexia is rooted to the spot, head tilted. "You know…Catalan?" She asks softly instead of reiterating that you need more work.

That's why the words sounded a bit off. Not because you heard something that wasn't there. But because you heard something that was. Just not in your language. In hers.

You jog back to the start where she stands in the center circle, slightly breathless from your run.

"I've been bothering Jana to help me learn Catalan. But she's a terrible teacher, really," you joke. "I started learning on an app. Her parents let me practice with them when they visit."

"Why Catalan?" Alexia asks, face curious. "No need here."

Your face tightens for a second. "Jana had a bit of a rough couple months when she started," you state.

"She never mention it," Alexia mutters.

"The way she left Barcelona hurt," you offer with a shrug. "And her English is really good. Yours too," you add hurriedly. "But I know she was missing home."

"So you learn language for her?" Alexia clarifies.

"Well, she also took me back home on one of our breaks. And I gotta say, Catalan girls are something else. Figure I up my chances of landing one if I can flirt in their own language," you state with a smirk.

Alexia's lips quirk up in amusement. "Catalan girl, hmm? So you and Jana when?"

"No, absolutely not," you exclaim with a gasping laugh. "She's too much for me."

"Too much?"

"I'm about the highest level of extroverted I can handle on a daily basis," you say with a grin. "Jana is about 100 points past that. I need someone quieter than me in my relationship, not competing noise."

"She help you learning flirting in Catalan?" Alexia asks with a smirk.

You groan. "I have game," you defend. "But no, she nor Duolingo have been helpful on that front. Yet."

"I speak Catalan," she stats.

You nod slowly. "I am aware. The fourteen years at Barcelona sort of gave it away."

Alexia rolls her eyes at you. "I could teach."

You sputter. "I'm going to get flirting lessons from La Reina? In Catalan?"

"I am good at game," she states with a shrug. "I speak Catalan. I know how Catalan girls flirt. Easy solution, no?"

You're silent, gaze locked on hers.

The black training top really makes her eyes pop.

Should you be noticing that?

Are you allowed to notice that?

The mannequins sway slightly in the light wind cutting across the field.

Sweat beads down the back of your neck.

Alexia watches you.

You lick your lips, thoughts chaotic as you internally process what she just said.

"Okay," you croak. "How about a trade?"

The catalana cocks her head, listening.

"I will show you around and translate whenever Alana corners you again—"

Her lips upturn at the joke.

"And in return you help me with my Catalan. Sound good?"

Alexia nods, a small smile on her face as she directs you to start the training drill again via a hand gently pushing the small of your back. Apparently enough time has been wasted on chatting.

She's quiet.

She's Catalan.

She's exceptionally pretty and exactly your type.

Maybe you won't need to head back to Barcelona for the opportunity to flirt in Catalan. You have the Queen standing in front of you, her eyes soft as she smirks at the lag your brain is still going through in the moment.

She is entirely aware of the effect she just had on you. And judging by the look on her face and the smile she is failing to hide, she likes it.

"Right, yeah," you murmur as you shake your head with a grin and jog back to your spot.

"Maybe we have extra time after this?" She ventures softly. "To do Catalan practice."

"I accept your offer to be my personal Catalan tutor. I can offer you pop culture references and dry humor as compensation," you joke.

Alexia sighs, shaking her head in amusement. "Your place or mine?"

"Do you have snacks?" You ask seriously.

"I just move here. I need to find shop," she answers with a frown, eyes flicking away as she mentally adds that to her to-do list.

"Okay," you break her train of thought. "Yours, and we'll stop and do the shopping on the way so you are all set for the week."

She's surprised. You can tell by the way her eyes widen before she tentatively nods.

"You're not the first Spaniard I've acclimated to England," you say with a cheeky wink, sending her a fast pass and kicking off another repetition of the drill without checking she was ready. "I now have a checklist!"

She receives the ball like it was her idea to start, a light tinkling laugh escaping at your words. She doesn't counter it, instead watching you make another run.

It is amazing really how good she is at just immediately going with the flow and slotting into space.

But as the ball finds the top corner again, you're definitely not complaining.

Playing with her—talking with her—feels easy.

This season is going to be different.

And you have a feeling that isn't just due to football.

Because when she compliments your shot in Catalan, your stomach lurches in a way it hasn't in a long while. Your pulse thrums.

Alexia's smirk grows as you have to ask what exactly she said, Duolingo and Jana failing you in the moment.

"Maybe need lots of extra time," she says with a laugh, a finger swiping teasingly across your back as she leans down to grab her water bottle.

You let out a full-bodied laugh.

Her quick banter has taken you by surprise. You assumed you would have the upper hand here, English being your first language and all.

It seems like Alexia isn't going to just let you claim that, though.

You like the challenge.

You let your head fall all the way back, arms splayed, a boneless heap in the chaos of her desk. Your pulse still thundered in your ears, so loud you only half registered the scrape of Alexia’s chair as she rolled it closer. She braked the wheels with both feet, then picked up your wrist and pressed her lips to the inside, a lazy kiss to the vein as if sampling its speed.

“You’re not breathing,” she teased, voice roughened by what had just happened. “I can do CPR, but you’ll have to ask nicely.”

You snorted, tried to catch your breath, then remembered your own state of undress and groaned, “You ruined me.”

She grinned, and for a moment the dangerous, untouchable Alexia was replaced by the side that laughed at her own bad puns and got way too competitive at chess. “Did you want gentle?” she said, reaching up to run the back of her knuckle down your cheekbone, the gesture was almost sweet.

“No,” you admitted, “But I think I need a minute.”

She stood, rolled her own neck until it popped, then started collecting your scattered clothes from where they’d landed on the floor. She walked them over, but instead of handing them to you, she just laid them across your stomach like a towel at a spa.

“Clothes,” she said, matter of fact as if the air between you wasn’t still sparking, “We should get dressed.”

“Are you sure?” You waggled your eyebrows, making a joke of it, but you both knew the spell had already shifted into something less urgent, more raw and real.

She gave you a look that said she was sure, then turned and started buttoning her own shirt. You watched, mesmerised, as she went from unguarded to composed in the time it took you to pull on your jeans.

You sat up gingerly, legs quivering, and Alexia watched you with the same analytical gaze you’d assume she’d use on her chessboard, “Should I order you a car?” she asked.

You pursed your lips, “You want me to leave?”

“No,” she said, too quickly, then smiled, “But if you stay, I’m not responsible for your legs in the morning.” She poured herself another two fingers of the brown stuff, then offered you the glass. You took it, sipped, and this time didn’t even flinch at the taste. You let it burn a path straight to your core.

“What now?” you asked, when the silence had grown comfortable.

Alexia considered, then leaned back in her desk chair, arms folded behind her head. “Now I try to figure out what your father will do,” she said, completely matter of fact, “and whether you just created an international incident or merely a complicated family drama.” Her smile softened the words.

You fiddled with your jean button, then shrugged. “If it helps, I think he’s more likely to kill you for fucking me than for killing his man”

Alexia’s eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, igniting the hushed air between you with a static so palpable it felt like a third presence in the room. “Family first, always,” she said, “But your father’s never met anyone like me.”

You took the glass from her hand with deliberate slowness, letting your fingers brush the rim of her knuckles, “He has no imagination,” you said, “but he knows how to burn things down.”

You wondered whether the same was true of you, whether you’d inherited your mother’s gift for absence or your father’s genius for violence, or perhaps both, which terrified you more than either alone.

“It’s always a burned bridge with men like him,” Alexia said, propping her chin on her fist. “They don’t know another language.”

Her gaze flicked over you, still half clothed and barely holding yourself together after what she’d just done to you, and arched a brow.

“You’re not like him.”

You shivered, partly from the chill of the open window, partly from the weight of being seen.

“You don’t know that,” you said, but you tasted the lie even as you said it. Your legs still twitched with echoing aftershocks, desperate to fold themselves beneath you, to run, to stay.

“I do,” she insisted, and her certainty was its own wrench, “You hesitate. People like us never hesitate, unless we’re fighting ourselves.”

She stood, circled behind you, and rested her hands on your shoulders, moulding them with slow, deep pressure. It was not a tender gesture, but it was honest, and you pressed your cheek to the back of her hand, feeling the pulse in her wrist, steady as a metronome.

“You could stay,” she said, voice pitched low, “if you want.” 

You let your breath out slowly. “And if I do?” Alexia didn’t answer right away, just kneaded at the muscles in your neck until your resistance slackened.

“If you do,” she said at last, “you’ll have to own who you are in my house.”

You could have argued, but didn’t. Instead, you stared at the chessboard near her desk and saw that the game was unsolvable, every move endgame and checkmate at once. “I’ll try,” you said, and let her hands move you as they pleased. It felt like the only thing left you hadn’t ruined yet.

She spun you in the desk so you faced her, knees colliding with her. “You’re safe here,” she said. “No one gets in without my say so”

The words should have comforted you, instead, they made your chest tighten.

You're safe here.

You searched Alexia's face, trying to decide whether she believed that or whether she'd simply said it because it was what you needed to hear.

"My father has people everywhere," you said quietly.

"So do I." There wasn't an ounce of arrogance in her voice, just certainty.

You let out a slow breath, "This is insane."

Alexia smiled faintly, "I've had that thought once or twice."

"No..." You shook your head, looking around the room, a laugh escaped you, disbelieving more than amused, "I met you in a bar."

"You did."

"I thought you were just..." You gestured vaguely, "a ridiculously attractive woman who was far too confident."

"And now?"

"Now I find out you're the head of..." You stopped yourself, unsure what word to use.

Alexia spared you the effort, "My organisation."

"You say that like you're the CEO of a tech company."

"It keeps the paperwork simpler." Despite everything, you laughed, she watched the tension leave your shoulders a fraction, "You laugh when you're overwhelmed," she observed, "and you play Sudoku."

"I do."

"You make jokes."

"I do that too."

"You flirt." You looked up at her, he corner of her mouth lifted.

Silence settled again as your gaze drifted to the chessboard on the table beside her desk.

Neither side had an obvious advantage.

"You play?"

Alexia followed your eyes, "Every evening."

"Against who?"

"Myself, usually."

You frowned, "Doesn't that get predictable?"

"No."

She walked over, absentmindedly moving a white knight one square, "It teaches you to think like the person trying to beat you."

You watched the move, "Is that how you stay alive?"

She looked at the board for a long moment before answering, "It's part of it." The honesty surprised you, "So is knowing when not to make a move."

You thought about your father leaving the dinner table, about the convoy of cars disappearing into the night, "I don't think he's going to wait."

"No." Alexia's expression hardened slightly, "I don't think he is either."

A knot formed in your stomach, "I'm sorry."

She looked up, "For what?"

"For bringing this here."

"You didn't."

You rubbed your forehead, "If I'd never walked into that bar..."

Alexia interrupted gently, "If you'd never walked into that bar" She held your gaze, "I'd still have killed Manuel."

The bluntness caught you off guard.

"He made a decision that endangered people under my protection." There was no pride in her voice, no satisfaction it was just fact. "This was coming whether you met me or not."

You weren't sure whether that made you feel better or worse, Alexia stepped closer, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk.

"The only difference now" She paused, "...is that you're standing between two worlds."

You gave a tired smile, "I spent years pretending one of them didn't exist."

"And the other?"

"I thought it only existed in films."

A quiet laugh escaped Alexia, "I assure you" She glanced toward the window overlooking the estate, "it's considerably less glamorous."

You looked around the room again, the books, the chessboard, the reading glasses she'd left beside a stack of paperwork, it was strangely ordinary, if you ignored the wall of monitors with cameras on every square inch of the property constantly rolling.

"I keep expecting you to become..."

"What?"

"I don't know." You smiled sheepishly, "Scarier."

Alexia laughed properly then, the sound was warm, genuine, and so different from the composed woman who gave orders that people obeyed without question. "I'm afraid that's disappointing."

"It is, actually."

"Oh?"

"I was preparing a speech."

She folded her arms, "I'd love to hear it."

"It involved me dramatically announcing that I wasn't afraid of you."

"And now?"

You looked at her for a long second, "I'm still a little afraid of you." She nodded as though that was entirely reasonable. "But" You took another breath, "...I'm starting to think I'm more afraid of what happens when my father finds out I came here."

The amusement faded from Alexia's face, she became serious again, "So am I."

The admission landed heavily, not because it frightened you, because it told you she was no longer thinking only as a boss protecting her organisation.

She was thinking about protecting yo, the distance between you no longer felt charged by flirtation.

It felt charged by choices, by consequences.

By the uncomfortable understanding that whatever happened next, neither of your lives would be as simple as they had been before you looked across that crowded bar. Alexia left you and unlocked the office door, the heavy click echoed in the quiet room.

She pulled the handle down and stepped aside, "After you."

You walked out first, you barely made it two steps into the hallway before stopping, Alexia raised an eyebrow, her team had appeared with almost supernatural speed.

Ingrid stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.

Patri was somehow already leaning against the wall opposite, phone tucked into her pocket.

Mapi looked up from the sofa with the remote still in one hand.

Misa remained further back, shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded, unreadable as ever.

It was as though the simple act of Alexia's office door opening had summoned everyone.

Alexia didn't seem remotely surprised, Ingrid looked past you to Alexia, "Is she staying for dinner?"

The question wasn't directed at you, it was directed entirely at Alexia.

You answered anyway, "I've already eaten."

Alexia's lips twitched, that smug little smile was becoming dangerously familiar.

Before she could respond, Patri spoke with complete nonchalance, "We know you have."

You frowned, "...What?"

Patri looked genuinely confused that you were confused, "Enjoyed yourself did you?" She grinned, "Those moans almost made me blush!"

Your brain stalled, your mouth fell open. You looked from Patri to Mapi to Ingrid, who had suddenly become deeply interested in the tea towel she was folding.

Finally, your horrified gaze landed on Misa, the bodyguard met your eyes without a flicker of emotion, "You're the loudest one she's had yet."

The sentence was delivered so flatly it took you a second to realise she wasn't joking.

Your entire face burned, slowly, very slowly, you turned towards Alexia, "I thought you said your office was soundproof."

Alexia looked entirely unbothered, "I mean it basically is."

You stared at her, "Clearly fucking isn't."

Mapi made a thoughtful noise from the sofa, Alexia folded her arms, thoroughly enjoying herself now, she tilted her head.

"So are you saying if you knew that" She took one small step closer, "it would've changed how the night went?"

You opened your mouth, nothing came out, your brain searched desperately for a response and found absolutely nothing.

You blinked at her, Alexia smiled, "Thought so."

She simply slipped her hands into her pockets, the corner of her mouth still lifted in quiet satisfaction as she watched you try and fail to recover your composure.

"It's soundproofed."

Patri looked at her incredulously, "...It's certainly not."

Mapi nodded from the sofa with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "Could hear her moaning from across the city I bet."

You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a plea for the floor to swallow you whole, "Oh my God..."

Pina, who hadn't looked up from her phone once, spoke without missing a beat, "I've already ordered earplugs for next time."

Alexia slowly turned her head towards them all, one eyebrow lifted, her voice lost its amusement, dropping into something quieter. "I said..." She paused just long enough for everyone to notice, "it's soundproofed."

The atmosphere shifted instantly, Patri straightened so quickly it was almost impressive, "Didn't hear a thing."

Mapi nodded with complete sincerity, "Must've been the wind."

Pina tapped at her screen for another couple of seconds before finally looking up, "I actually just paid the invoice for the soundproofing they installed last month."

Silence, then Pina looked back down at her phone as though that settled the matter entirely.

You stared at them, then at Alexia, Alexia looked back at you with an expression that very clearly said, See?

You rolled your eyes, it was automatic, you didn't even think about it.

The hallway went suspiciously quiet, Patri's eyebrows climbed, Mapi looked between the two of you, even Misa glanced over.

Nobody. Absolutely nobody, rolled their eyes at Alexia, except, apparently, you, Alexia didn't seem offended in the slightest, if anything, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You staying," she asked calmly, "or going?" The question pulled you back to reality.

You sighed, "I should go." Alexia waited, "I've got work tomorrow."

She nodded once, no argument, no attempt to persuade you otherwise.

"Cata will take you."

As if on cue, Cata appeared from somewhere further down the hallway, already holding the Rolls Royce keys, "I'm ready whenever you are."

You looked back at Alexia, "Thank you."

"For?"

You smiled faintly, "For... listening."

There was a brief pause, then Alexia stepped forward just enough to maybe open the front door for you herself, "You know how to reach us now."

Not me. Us.

You understood the distinction, you nodded, "I do."

As you walked towards the entrance, Ingrid called after you, "Next time" You turned, "come hungry."

You laughed, "I'll try."

Patri folded her arms, "And maybe warn us before you disappear into Boss's office."

"Patri," Alexia said evenly.

"I'm joking!" Alexia gave her a look, Patri immediately raised both hands, "I'm stopping."

Mapi leaned back into the sofa, "Smart choice."

You couldn't help smiling as Cata opened the front door for you, for a house full of people who, by reputation alone, should have terrified you they were alarmingly normal.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you glanced back once, Alexia was still standing in the hallway, watching you leave.

She gave a single nod, you returned it, then Cata closed the door gently behind you, and together you made your way towards the waiting car.

💪🏼

The drive back into the city was quiet, not awkward, just quiet, the Rolls Royce glided through the evening traffic, the cabin insulated from the noise outside.

You watched Barcelona drift past through the tinted glass, neither of you seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.

Eventually, you spoke, "Can you just drop me where you picked me up?"

Cata caught your eyes briefly in the rear view mirror, she simply inclined her head, "Alright." Nothing more was said for the remainder of the journey.

The Rolls-Royce rolled to a gentle stop beside the pavement overlooking the marina not too long later, Cata climbed out first, opening your door.

You stepped onto the pavement, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

You hesitated, "...And thank you."

Cata frowned slightly, "For what?"

"For answering the phone."

Something softened in her expression, "I almost didn't."

A small nod passed between you, then you turned and started walking, Cata waited until you disappeared around the corner before climbing back into the driver's seat.

She pulled away from the curb, but not very far, she drove another fifty metres before easing the car into a quiet parking bay overlooking the marina entrance.

The engine remained running, she rested both hands lightly on the steering wheel and waited.

She wasn't following you, not exactly, just making sure, as she was a little suspicious that you didn't want dropping home at the late hour.

Then you appeared pushing a motorbike, Cata sat forward slightly it was black and very large. Powerful enough that even from a distance she recognised it wasn't something a beginner rode.

You pulled a helmet from the handle bars slipping it onto your head, then swung one leg effortlessly over the bike.

Cata's eyebrows lifted, "Hm."

You clearly knew what you were doing, the engine barked into life it was deep and aggressive. You barely let it idle before pulling away, the bike accelerated down the road with startling speed.

At the first junction the traffic lights turned red and you didn't even slow down. The bike slipped cleanly through the empty intersection before disappearing into the evening traffic.

Cata watched until the taillight vanished completely, "...Well then."

She reached into the centre console and picked up her phone to ring one contact. Boss.

The call connected after two rings, Alexia answered immediately, "Everything alright?"

"Yes." Cata looked once more towards the now empty road, "I've just learnt something."

A pause, "What?"

Another brief glance towards the intersection, "Y/N rides like she's trying to outrun death."

Alexia was quiet for a moment, "...She what?"

"She had me drop her where she must keep this very powerful bike, she ran a red light and accelerated hard enough to make me question my own driving."

Alexia smiled to herself on the other end of the line.

"I think" Cata paused. "...she has more layers to her than she lets on."

Silence, then Alexia answered quietly, "I know."

Cata ended the call and couldn't quite shake the image of you disappearing into Barcelona traffic.

One thing had become abundantly clear, you might have grown up sheltered from your father's business, but fear had never stopped you from twisting a throttle and charging headfirst into danger.

💪🏼

For three days, your phone became something you actively avoided.

The first call came the morning after.

Cata 🕶️

You stared at the screen until it stopped ringing, the second came that evening, ignored.

The third arrived the next afternoon while you were making coffee at work and you ignored again.

Lily glanced over as your phone vibrated across the counter, "You gonna get that?"

You looked at the screen for barely half a second before turning it face down, "Spam."

"Hm." Lily didn't sound convinced, neither were you by your own lie

By the fourth day, you'd stopped jumping every time your phone buzzed. You'd convinced yourself that if you ignored it long enough whatever this was would eventually go away.

But it didn't.

You'd just finished work, apron folded neatly into your backpack, headphones resting around your neck as you wandered down one of the quieter side streets towards your apartment.

The afternoon sun was warm, people drifted past carrying shopping bags.

For the first time all week your mind wasn't occupied with mafia families, murdered right hand men or women named Alexia fucking you until you couldn't think straight.

A familiar engine purred beside you and your shoulders slumped before you even looked.

The black Rolls Royce matched your walking pace the window lowered smoothly, there sat Cata behind the wheel expression as unreadable as ever.

She looked at you, "Get in."

You stopped walking, people continued flowing around you as though nothing unusual was happening. You sighed, "Do I have a choice?"

Cata considered the question, then answered with complete honesty, "Boss sent me to find you."

"...So no then?"

"No."

You looked at the immaculate car, then back at Cata, "You know this is a really weird thing to do, right?"

"Is it?"

"People are looking."

"They usually do."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, "I've been ignoring your calls."

"I noticed."

"I thought you'd take the hint."

"I did." You frowned.

"...You did?"

Cata nodded once, "Boss didn't"

You stared at her for a long moment but you couldn't help it, a laugh escaped you. You looked up and down the street, there really wasn't much point arguing, Alexia clearly wasn't going to stop sending Cata.

Cata almost smiled, almost as you let out another sigh, "Fine."

You opened the rear door, paused then looked back at Cata.

"If she's sent you to kidnap me..."

"You're getting in voluntarily."

"That's a technicality."

You climbed into the back seat, the door closed with its familiar soft thud, Cata pulled smoothly back into traffic.

You settled against the leather seat, "So..." You looked towards the driver's rear view mirror, "Where am I being kidnapped to?"

Cata's eyes met yours briefly in the reflection, "Boss said you'd ask that."

"And?"

"She told me to tell you..." A tiny pause, "that if she wanted to kidnap you, she'd have done it properly"

You stared at the back of Cata's head, Cata drove on in silence for another few seconds before her phone began ringing and the blackout divide slid up between you.

The journey ended somewhere familiar, the tall gates rolled open before the car reached them, you recognised the sweeping driveway. Cata parked outside the front entrance, she climbed out first, opening your door with the same practiced efficiency she always had.

"We're here."

"I gathered." You stepped onto the gravel, looking up at the enormous house, "You know normal people usually text."

Cata almost smiled again, she gestured towards the front door, "After you."

The front door opened before either of you reached it, someone inside had clearly been watching the cameras, the house felt different today, less busy, quieter.

The smell of something baking still drifted from the kitchen, but there were no raised voices, no football playing on the television.

Your footsteps echoed gently across the polished wooden floor, you'd barely taken three steps inside when something made you look up.

The landing above overlooked the entrance hall, Alexia stood there, one hand resting lightly on the bannister. She wasn't reading, wasn't working, she'd clearly been waiting, your eyes met, neither of you spoke.

For a long second, she simply studied you from upstairs as if making sure you were actually here, then, without a word, she turned walked along the landing reached the last door pushed it open and disappeared inside.

She didn't close it, she left it hanging open, an invitation, you looked beside you to Cata was already taking off her suit jacket.

She noticed your hesitation, "Go on."

You looked back upstairs, "...She didn't actually ask me."

"She doesn't need to."

You frowned, "That's incredibly cryptic."

"It's incredibly Alexia."

Taking a steadying breath, you started climbing the staircase, each step creaked softly beneath your feet, the closer you got to the landing, the quieter the house seemed to become.

At the top, you paused outside the open doorway, you knocked gently against the already open door anyway, "Come in." Her voice was calm.

You stepped inside it wasn't what you'd expected, for the second time since meeting Alexia you realised you'd built an entirely different picture of her in your head.

The bedroom was large but understated, dark wooden floors, bookshelves lined one wall, packed with novels, biographies and history books.

A king sized bed sat neatly made beneath wide windows overlooking the gardens.

A chess set rested on a small table beside an armchair, another unfinished game frozen mid match.

There wasn't a trace of unnecessary luxury, no gold, no marble, no attempt to impress anyone. It looked lived in.

Alexia stood by the open balcony doors, hands tucked into the pockets of her joggers.

The evening breeze stirred the curtains behind her, "You came."

You smiled faintly, "I was under the impression I didn't have much choice."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "Cata can be persuasive."

"Ignoring calls apparently has consequences."

"I was running out of ways to ask if you were alright."

The honesty caught you completely off guard, you slipped the phone back into your pocket, "I didn't think..." You hesitated, "I didn't think you'd actually be worried."

Alexia held your gaze, "I was."

The room fell quiet, she didn't move from the balcony, didn't look away from the horizon line, only lifted her hand in the smallest beckon. You crossed the bedroom, feeling the plush rug flatten under your feet until you stood beside her, the world outside the window now cool and washed in that strange blue that happens right before dusk.

She said, "Come here," which was absurd because you were already as close as you could get, but then she reached and drew you firmly in front of her, guiding your hips until you were pressed, back to chest, against the banister rail.

Alexia's hands landed on your waist, fingers splayed and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. She let them rest there a moment, then snaked them higher, up your ribs, until she found the hollow between your breasts and the edge of your collarbone. You let your head fall back, resting it against her shoulder, and with your eyes closed you could almost hear the rustling leaves rather than the wild racket of your own heartbeat.

Alexia kissed the edge of your jaw, slow and unhurried, her lips tracing a path from your ear to your neck. She stopped where your throat met your shoulder, tongue flicking out, teeth grazing just shy of a bite, and you felt the sound she made, low and approving, vibrate through both your bodies.

You didn't say anything, her hands bunched in your shirt, her mouth on your skin, every soft kiss she left a promise of more. Her right hand slipped down again, under the hem and between the waist of your jeans and the band of your underwear, splaying across your lower belly. She pressed you back into her, anchoring you while her left hand found your hair, sweeping it off your neck so she could get her mouth there, too.

You were in front, eyes closed, hands gripping the iron rail so hard your knuckles were pale, Alexia behind, dark hair falling over her face, features sharpened by the light, her hands and mouth the only things that existed.

She exhaled softly against your throat, then nipped you, just enough to make you shiver. Her hand slid lower, cupping you through your jeans, then pressing, testing.

"You're so tense," she said, a faint smile in the corner of her voice.

You tried to answer but only managed a stuttering breath. She laughed, the sound as intimate as a secret, your back arched from her chest, her hand expertly undoing the button of your jeans, then the zip, and suddenly her fingers were against your skin.

She didn't rush, slipping slow and careful between your legs, coaxing your thighs apart until you couldn't keep your knees steady. You heard yourself gasp, felt the vibration of her laughter at your shoulder, and then her fingers were inside, just barely, the pad of her thumb circling your clit through the thin damp cotton of your underwear.

The touch was featherlight, almost disrespectfully so, as if she wanted you to feel every millimetre of restraint. She kissed your ear as she did it, each flick of her thumb matched to the pulse in your neck.

You tried to turn, to see her, but Alexia held you there, a palm flat between your breasts, pinning you to her and into the balcony rail as if you might otherwise float away.

She pressed her body into your back, her hips flush with yours, the harness you hadn’t noticed her put on earlier suddenly and unmistakably hard against your lower back.

She mouthed at the spot just below your earlobe, “You want it here?” she murmured, her words equal parts taunt and challenge.

You found yourself nodding, the idea so raw and shameless it left you dizzy. Her right hand slipped further down, knuckles dragging between your thighs, then under the band of your underwear. Two fingers pressed in, slow and sure, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning loud enough to carry across the lawn.

Alexia’s other hand worked up your shirt, found your nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, pinching just shy of pain. The dual sensation sent you arching up onto your toes, gasping.

She fucked you with her fingers, unhurried, letting you feel every inch, every withdrawal and return. Her thumb never left your clit, the pressure gradually increasing until the friction was a constant, inescapable drag, and you could no longer keep your knees from buckling.

She held you up with the arm across your ribs, the strength in it startling, and rocked her own hips in counterpoint, as if she could fuck you open from both directions at once. The entire time, she never stopped talking, whispering praise, filth, questions you were in no state to answer.

“You’re so wet,” she said, “Did you get this desperate just from my hands?”

You nodded, or tried to, but her grip on your hair had become possessive, forcing your chin up so you could only stare straight out at the garden.

“Good girl,” she purred, and with that, drove her fingers in hard enough to make you shudder. She curled them, found that place inside you no one had ever quite reached, and milked it without mercy. You heard yourself make a noise, high and humiliating, and Alexia’s laughter was in your ear, a private delight.

She doubled the speed, the intensity, and you slammed your hands against the rail to steady yourself as the world dissolved into pure sensation. She held you there, right at the threshold, not letting you tip over. “You can come if you want,” she said, soft and approving, and the permission was all it took. You came with a violence that surprised even you, legs shaking, mouth open soundlessly, the aftershocks echoing out through your entire body. Alexia caught you, kept you upright, her hand gentling as she stroked you through the last of the shame and joy at once, until you finally collapsed against the banister and sagged into her hold.

She gathered you up in her arms, with no more effort than if you’d weighed nothing at all. You let go, head lolling back against her shoulder, and she walked you to the bed, mindless of how your jeans and underwear bunched around your thighs. She set you down on the edge, her palm firm at the centre of your chest, and pushed you flat onto your back.

She stripped the shirt from your shoulders, her hands reverent now, only when you were bare did she step back enough to strip her own joggers off, and you saw the black harness sleek, heavy, obscene already strapped around her hips. She left the grey t-shirt on, it suited her, the irony of domesticity and hunger. She knelt on the mattress, knees pressing either side of your hips, the cock bobbing impossible and perfect between you.

You felt something between panic and exhilaration as she stroked it, once, twice, slicking it with a practiced thumb, eyes never leaving yours. She bent down and kissed you mouth soft and open, a question written in the way her lips brushed yours. You answered by clawing at her shirt, hauling her close, wanting nothing more than to be filled, so totally there would be no room left for fear or regret.

Alexia took her time, lining up the head, teasing it through your folds, rolling her hips so the tip pressed just inside, then back again. You arched, desperate, and she gave you a look that said she liked you like this. With a single, slow thrust she slid inside, the stretch so sharp your mouth fell open, breath a full body shiver. She pushed all the way in, hips flush against yours, her body stretched over you, eyes still locked on yours, and waited for you to signal you could take it, and when you nodded, she grinned.

She started slow, fucking you with long, even strokes, the movement hypnotic, deliberate. Her hands mapped your ribs, your hips, her grip tightening every time you clenched around her. She watched your face for every change, every tremor, as if memorising the way you broke and reformed with each thrust.

You fisted the tee, needing something to anchor you, and she leaned in to lick the sweat from your collarbone, murmuring encouragement, filth, praise and threat all at once.

She fucked you with full attention, never once looking away, never once breaking the rhythm except to check that you were still with her, to push your hair off your face, to hold your chin steady so you were forced to meet her gaze. You felt yourself unravel, the pleasure building tight and thick, pressure mounting with every slap of her hips. She moved faster, harder, her breaths coming ragged at your ear, and when you moaned her name it made her snap to thrust so deep that you almost blacked out.

She murmured into your ear, “Get on your hands and knees” You did as you were told you felt yourself move before the thought caught up. You rolled, arms bracing, elbows gone soft, cheek still warm from the sheets. Alexia moved behind you, hands running the length of your thighs, fingers tracing up your hips, adjusting you into exactly the right angle.

The brief slip of the harness along the backs of your legs made you shiver, and then she was lining up again, the blunt head finding you with a practiced confidence that made you realise she’d done this before, and would do it again, and you wanted to be the only name she remembered each time.

She eased in, the intrusion at this angle so intense you had to grip handfuls of blanket to steady yourself. She started moving, a relentless rhythm, hard enough to force your breath out in ragged, animal sounds. Each time she bottomed out, her hips slapped the curve of your ass with a sharp, hot sting, and you pushed yourself back against her, greedy, embarrassing, nothing but friction and pulse.

“Good girl,” she said, low and guttural, her hands digging into your waist, holding on like she was scared you might vanish between thrusts. Her fingers slid down, found your clit, worked it with that perfect pressure, and you made a noise like a sob. She pressed the flat of her other hand between your shoulder blades and just held you there, caged and caught and finally, completely owned.

You lost track of the words that spilled from your mouth,

“please”

harder oh fuck, Alexia

until all you knew was the certainty that you would do anything she asked and beg for more. She fucked you until the pleasure became so raw you had to hide your face in the sheets, until you felt your body coil around an edge, then tip, then shatter apart.

You came with a violence that blanked your brain, the noise crashing out of you before you realised what you were doing. Alexia didn’t slow, if anything, she fucked you through it, pushed you harder, drew out every last wave until you collapsed finally, boneless, gasping and shaking into the mattress.

She followed you down, the weight of her body a necessary steadines, and just held you there, both of you panting, slick with sweat and something like relief. You felt her mouth brush the back of your neck, her lips on your shoulder, the soft hush of her voice telling you how well you’d done. “Can you take another?” You nodded, “go slow” You said yes, and even after everything that had come before, you weren't ready for how gently she began, how slow and unhurried the pressure was as she nudged her way back in after moving you.

She pulled back, hands finding your ankles, drawing your legs together in one smooth motion before swinging a thigh over to straddle you. You felt the harness drag slow across the backs of your legs, the weight of the cock settling between your thighs as she shifted her hips to find the angle.

She took her time, hands spread on your hips, rocking into you her left hand slipped up your back, tracing shoulder blades and the knobs of your spine, as she thrust short shallow movements.

You wanted to tell her to go faster, but you liked the control, even liked that she could take you apart with this. Each slow thrust built the tension back up, not burning and bright like before, but molten, like it was filling you up from the inside out.

She fucked you like she was memorising the sound. The way the mattress squeaked, the way you whimpered her name, the wet, slick, unashamed pitch of your body opening around her. Her right hand gripped your ass, fingers splayed and firm, until finally she let lift up and come down with a smack.

She leaned forward, body flush to yours, the harness grinding against you with a delicious friction. Her mouth found your ear, breath hot and steady, "You look so fucking good with my cock inside you," she said, and the approval in her voice made your legs tremble. 

You gasped, lost the rhythm, and she caught you, steadied you with her hands, and started up again, a little faster now, a little harder, hips snapping into you with the force of someone who knew exactly how to break a person in the best possible way. You wanted to touch her, so you reached back blindly, found her hand, held onto it as if you might otherwise float away. 

She let you have that, let you hold on to her even as she fucked you into the mattress. Your mind swam, senses overloaded, and it was all you could do to keep from coming again. "You can take more," she murmured, "I know you can," and you had no idea how you managed to obey, except that you wanted so badly to please her, no, to impress her, to be the memory she kept in her throat every time she thought of you.

She kept you on that edge for what felt like a lifetime, until you were panting into the sheets, every muscle drawn tight. Only then did she roll her hips with a brutal, perfect precision the pressure so exquisite you thought you might dissolve into molecules, and then, just as you surrendered to the inevitability of it, a sharp knock startled you halfway out of your own body.

Alexia clapped a hand over your hip, stilling you mid thrust, “I’m busy.”

The voice on the other side was crisp and apologetic, “Boss, it’s urgent.”

You heard Cata’s voice, and you wanted to laugh or scream or both, but all you could manage was to bury your face deeper into the mattress. Alexia’s cock stayed buried inside you, the fullness of it somehow amplifying the humiliation. 

You heard the sound of her picking up a blanket, then a brief rustle before the warmth of flannel was thrown over the exposed arch of your ass.

“You’re not letting her in are you?” you asked almost incredulously.

She never even stopped rolling her hips as she called out, “Come in.”

The door eased open. You didn’t dare lift your head, but Cata’s footsteps were light and efficient, the hesitation in her voice palpable, “I’m sorry, Boss. There’s a situation with the port authorities. They need your signature to process the container before customs arrives.” 

“Every fucking time,” Alexia said, her tone clipped, her hands tightening just perceptibly on your hips. You heard the shuffle of paperwork, the click of a pen being offered.

She let go of your waist with one hand, and reached for the papers. There was a moment of silence while she scanned them, then a brief, sharp click as she uncapped the pen.

Cata was standing at the side of the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she passed the pen over. Alexia dropped the papers onto your bare back the only solid surface she and signed with quick, decisive strokes, then handed it back, her other hand never leaving its grip on your ass.

“Cats?” you asked.

Cata coughed, “Erm, yeah”

"Get out," you managed, though it came out wrecked and breathless, barely a word at all. Alexia hadn't stopped moving, just that slow, devastating rock of her hips, buried so deep inside you that every small shift sent a tremor through your thighs.

Cata hesitated, as if to make sure nothing else was needed, and then you realised you were still panting, trembling, you're burying your face into the mattress not nearly enough to muffle the sounds of your breathing or the heat rising off your skin.

Cata’s eyes darted briefly to you, then away, then to the floor. “Right away.” Cata moved towards the door. Her hand found the handle, and she should have left, but she looked back. Alexia's hips had found a new rhythm, deep and unhurried, and the sounds you were making into the mattress were unmistakable. Your fingers had twisted into the sheets. Alexia glanced up and met Cata's eyes and something passed between them. The corner of Alexia's mouth pulling slow, Cata pressing her lips together against a smile she couldn't quite kill before Cata turned the handle and stepped out, the door closing with a soft click.

Alexia exhaled, slow and deliberate, then leaned over your back, her mouth at your ear, and said, “You didn’t just take that like a good girl. You took it like you wanted her to see it.” 

You wanted to argue, but then her fingers found your hair pulling your face out the mattress, and you let her, felt the tension at the base of your skull as she used your hair as a lever and fucked you harder, deeper, the fullness almost unbearable.

You breathed her name, once, twice, and she didn't let go, "You like being watched?"

You shook your head, but your body gave you away. You were shaking, raw, the friction of each thrust overwhelming, pleasure and humiliation merged, no way to tell them apart anymore. 

Alexia's grip on your hair forced your head back so your eyes caught the movement in the mirror you’d only now just seen on the ceiling.

The mirror offered a warped, perfect record of exactly what she was doing to you, her body arched over yours, her arms flexed, the harness obscenely slick, your own body straining for every inch. It hit you then, the awareness of your own image, the wanton wreckage of yourself, and you came again, violently, so hard your arms collapsed beneath you and your knees slid wide apart on the sheets. Alexia held you through it, her own breath ragged, her focus absolute.

She didn't stop until you begged her, not even then, not until the tremors had wrung every last drop of sensation from your body.

When she finally let go, you folded down, face to the sheets, lungs burning, and she stayed there on top you, hand on your spine, counting the beats of your heart with steady, possessive strokes.

She pulled out slow, and you moaned at the loss, and then she was on her back beside you. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You couldn't, the aftershocks made your teeth chatter with every exhale.

Alexia, as always, was the first to recover, she moved onto her side as she pressed her lips to your shoulder, then leaned back, the harness still strapped tight and glistening.

You stared at her, blurry and exhausted, and then the two of you started laughing at the same time, a silly, breathless, undignified sound. You covered your face, and she rolled onto her back, arms crossed behind her head, self satisfaction radiating off her in waves.

You caught your breath, eventually, you reached out, grazed your palm over the flat plane of her abdomen, fingers drifting lower, slick from a mix of your own arousal and her sweat. You traced the lines of muscle, felt the shudder that ran through her at your touch, and for a half second, the balance shifted, you in control.

She caught your wrist, kissed the inside, "If we don't stop now," she said, "I'll never let you go home."

"That's the point," you said, and you only half meant it as a joke. She didn't laugh. She just looked at you, quiet and searching, and you wondered if this was the moment she'd say whatever it was she had

💪🏼

The living room was loud in the way that rooms full of people who know each other well always are overlapping conversations, someone's feet up on the coffee table, the particular ease of people who don't need to perform for each other. You sat beside no one in particular, phone in hand, thumb moving without purpose.

You noticed Alexia glancing at your screen from across the room, not obviously, just enough. You didn't look up.

When she got up and left without a word, your attention pulled toward the TV where the rest of the group had already settled, you let yourself breathe a little.

Barcelona were up one-nil, sixty minutes gone, and visibly retreating. 

"Bit early to sit back, isn't it," you said, to no one in particular.

Misa's eyes slid sideways to you, "You watch football?"

"Six uncles, four brothers, three brothers-in-law." You chewed the inside of your lip, watching them surrender possession in the final third. "I don't get a choice." You gestured at the screen, "See that? They're inviting the press. They need to hold a higher line or it's going to cost them." 

"Careful," Misa said, "Almost sounds like you know what you're talking about."

"Player of the year. Under-fourteens."

"Same."

You looked at her, "What position?"

"Keeper."

"I was midfield."

"Didn't ask."

You rolled your eyes, she was still staring at you, which you chose to ignore, "I could score past you."

She actually laughed, short, sharp, surprised out of her, "No you couldn't."

"Want a bet?"

She turned to face you fully for the first time, "You score, name your price. I save it" the corner of her mouth pulled, "I get to watch the boss fuck you."

Alexia reappeared in the doorway , and you felt it before you saw it, the shift in the room's temperature, the way Misa's shoulders dropped a fraction, the way the air got thin. Alexia's gaze landed on you first, then slid to Misa, and something in her expression went very still, very cold, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.

She didn't say anything, she didn't need to. The set of her jaw, the way her hand found the doorframe and gripped it you knew the look. You could picture that she’s done it a hundred times, that particular stillness right before she made someone regret their existence, but she didn't address it.

She let it sit there, heavy and unresolved, and walked to the armchair in the corner instead, dropping into it with a deliberate casualness that fooled absolutely no one. She picked up a glass someone had left on the side table for her, swirled it once, and took a long, unhurried sip.

The match played on, you tried to focus on the screen, tried to care about the tactical collapse happening in real time, but your skin was prickling. You could feel the weight of Alexia's attention like a hand on the back of your neck, even though she wasn't looking at you. She was watching the game, or pretending to, her glass resting on her knee, one finger tapping a slow rhythm against the stem.

Misa had gone very quiet beside you, the energy had shifted, the easy warmth of the room curdling into something watchful and waiting.

You heard Alexia move before you saw it, the creak of leather as she shifted in the armchair, the soft click of her glass being set down on the side table. You didn't turn, but you did count the seconds in your head. One. Two. Three.

"Y/N." Her voice was quiet, conversational, the kind of quiet that makes people lean in rather than lean away, "Come here."

The room didn't go silent, someone was still talking about an offside call, but the conversation stuttered, stumbled, kept going at half volume with half the attention. You set your phone down on the cushion beside you and stood, your legs were steadier than they had any right to be.

You crossed the room, Alexia didn't look up at you until you were standing directly in front of her, close enough that your knees almost brushed the arm of the chair. Then she tilted her head back, slow, and met your eyes, "Turn around."

You turned, you felt the eyes of the room on you, you heard the rustle of fabric as she leaned forward adjusting the way she sat, felt her breath warm against your hip through the thin material of your shirt.

"Sit" she spoke as she sat back, and you lowered yourself onto her lap, feeling the firmness of her thighs beneath you. Her arm wrapped around your waist, possessive and warm, pulling you back against her chest. You could feel the steady thud of her heartbeat against your spine, "Comfortable?" she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, you could feel her strap clearly and firm beneath you. The match continued on the screen, but you couldn't focus on it anymore. Alexia's hand rested on your hip, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans. The room had adjusted to your presence on her lap, conversations resuming, though you caught Misa watching from the corner of your eye, her expression carefully neutral.

"Good girl," Alexia whispered, and the words sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

You tried to pay attention to the game. Barcelona had regained some possession, working the ball along the left flank. You felt Alexia's interest sharpen, her body tensing slightly beneath you as the play developed.

The match entered its final minutes, Barcelona held their lead through sheer determination, the defence scrambling to clear every cross, every through ball. When the final whistle blew, the room erupted in a mix of celebration and relief.

Alexia's arms tightened around you, "Stay," she said, though it wasn't really a question.

The others began to disperse, some heading to the kitchen, others to the garden for post match cigarettes. Misa caught your eye one last time, something unreadable in her expression, before following the others out.

When the room had emptied, Alexia turned you in her lap so you were facing her, her eyes searched yours, serious now.

"What did Misa say to you?"

You hesitated, then decided honesty was safer, "She offered a bet. If I could score past her, she'd give me anything I wanted. If she saved it..." You trailed off.

Alexia's jaw tightened, "If she saved it?" 

"She said she wanted to watch you... fuck me."

The silence that followed was heavy, dangerous, Alexia's eyes darkened, her fingers digging into your waist,  "And what did you say?"

"Nothing. You came back before I could answer."

She studied you for a long moment, then something shifted in her expression. The tension didn't leave her body, but her voice softened. "You're mine," she said simply, "No one watches. No one touches. No one even thinks about it."

You nodded, unable to look away from the intensity in her eyes.

"Say it," she demanded.

"I'm yours," you said, and the words came out steadier than you expected, truer than you meant.

Her expression didn't change, not exactly, but something behind her eyes settled, like a lock clicking into place. She nodded once, slow, then pulled you closer until your forehead rested against hers. You could feel her breath on your lips, warm and measured.

"Good," she said, then, quieter, almost to herself, "You have no idea what you do to me."

You wanted to say something clever, something that would make her laugh, but the moment was too heavy, too real, and your chest ached with a feeling you weren't ready to name. So you stayed quiet, let her hold you there in the emptying room, the television still playing post match analysis that neither of you was watching.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sound of voices approaching from the kitchen made you both straighten. Alexia's arm stayed around your waist, possessive even as the room began to fill again.

Cata appeared first, carrying two fresh beers. She handed one to Alexia without comment, then caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, a silent question. You looked away, feeling heat climb your neck.

The evening stretched on, you stayed on Alexia's lap longer than was strictly comfortable, but neither of you suggested moving. Her hand never left your body your hip, your thigh, your arm, always touching, always claiming. The conversation ebbed and flowed around you, football and gossip and plans for the weekend, and you found yourself relaxing into it, into the warmth of her and the easy rhythm of the room.

At some point, Misa drifted back in and took a seat on the far side of the sofa. You felt Alexia tense beneath you, her fingers tightening on your waist, but she said nothing, just pressed her lips to your shoulder in a gesture that was half kiss, half warning.

Misa kept her distance for the rest of the night. You caught her watching once or twice, but her expression was careful, measured, the look of someone who'd been reminded of their place and didn't need the lesson repeated.

When the room finally began to thin out people making excuses about early meetings, Alexia's hand found yours and laced your fingers together. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.

The last person to leave was Cata, who lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with an expression that hovered between amusement and concern. "You're staying?" she asked, though the question was clearly directed at you rather than Alexia.

You felt Alexia's thumb trace circles on the back of your hand, felt the subtle pressure of her fingers tightening not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of their presence. "Yes," you said, the word coming out steadier than you expected.

Cata nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to Alexia, something passed between them a look, a warning, or a question that you couldn't quite decipher. Whatever it was, Alexia seemed to understand it perfectly. She nodded once, a small, decisive movement.

"Be good," Cata said, and the words were directed at both of you, though her eyes lingered on Alexia. Then she was gone, the front door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made your stomach drop.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything that hadn't been said, everything that had been building since the moment Alexia had called you to her lap. You were still sitting there, your back against her chest, her arms wrapped around you, your fingers intertwined on your thigh.

Neither of you moved for a long moment. You could hear the soft sound of her breathing, could feel the steady thud of her heart against your spine. The television had been muted at some point, the post match analysis playing out in silent pantomime.

"Look at me," Alexia said, her voice low and rough.

You turned in her lap, shifting until you were facing her, your knees bracketing her hips. Her hands settled on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above your hipbones. Her eyes were dark, intense, and you felt yourself falling into them, drowning in the depth of what you saw there.

"I meant what I said," she told you, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're mine."

"I know," you said, and you did.

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze traveling over your face like she was memorising it. Then her hand came up to cup your jaw, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You scared me tonight," she admitted, and the vulnerability in her voice surprised you.

"Scared you?"

"When I saw Misa looking at you like that." Her jaw tightened. "When I heard what she said." Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, "I wanted to" She stopped herself, took a breath, "It doesn't matter what I wanted to do."

You leaned into her touch, turning your head to press a kiss to her palm, "You don't have anything to worry about."

"I know." She said it like she was trying to convince herself, "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to mark you so clearly that no one would ever dare."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly, "Alexia"

"Shh." Her hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, applying just enough pressure to tilt your head back. "I've been thinking about this all night," she murmured, her breath warm against your throat. "About having you here, just like this."

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering where her fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Her mouth found the spot just below your ear, teeth grazing the tendon there before she soothed it with her tongue. You gasped, your hands gripping her shoulders as your body instinctively arched toward her.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered against your skin.

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Your mind had gone blank, overwhelmed by the sensation of her lips moving down your neck, the scrape of her teeth, the warm pressure of her hands on your body.

"I want" you started, but she cut you off with a kiss, deep and consuming, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I know what you want," she said, her voice rough. "I've known since the moment you walked into this room."

She stood suddenly, lifting you with her as she rose from the chair. Your legs wrapped around her waist instinctively, your arms circling her neck as she carried you through the house. The journey was a blur of shadows and dim light, your focus entirely on the feel of her body against yours, the strength in her arms as she held you.

When she laid you down on her bed, the sheets were cool against your heated skin. She stood over you, looking down with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the toned muscles of her abdomen, the sports bra that left little to the imagination.

"Alexia," you breathed, reaching for her.

She caught your wrists, pinning them gently above your head with one hand. "Not yet," she said, her free hand trailing down your arm, over your collarbone, between your breasts. "I want to take my time with you."

Her hand continued its path downward, fingertips tracing the edge of your waistband before sliding beneath the fabric. You arched into her touch, a moan escaping your lips as her fingers slid between your folds.

"You're already so wet for me," she observed, her voice thick with want. "Have you been like this all night?"

You couldn't answer, couldn't form coherent thoughts as her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles. Her mouth found yours again, swallowing your whimpers as she worked you higher, closer to the edge.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, she released your wrists, her hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "Can I?" she asked, and the question was so gentle, so at odds with the intensity of moments before, that your heart clenched.

You nodded, lifting your arms to help her pull the fabric over your head, her breath caught as she took you in. Your bra followed, tossed carelessly to the floor. Her eyes darkened as they travelled over your exposed skin, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the quick rise and fall of your chest.

"Perfect," she whispered, her voice reverent. "You're perfect."

Before you could respond, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and underwear, pulling them down in one fluid motion. Alexia's eyes never left yours as she stripped off her remaining clothes, revealing the lean, powerful body you admired everytime.

She moved over you, her body hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel her heat but not quite touching. "I've wanted this," she confessed, her voice rough. "Wanted you."

"Then take me," you breathed, reaching up to tangle your fingers in her hair.

Something shifted in her expression, the tenderness gave way to something more primal, more possessive. With surprising strength, she flipped you onto your stomach, then pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, your face pressed into the pillows. Before you could process the change in position, she spread your legs wider, "Alexia" you gasped, her name before dissolved into a moan as she thrust into you without warning.

The force of it drove you forward, your hands scrabbling for grip on the sheets. She gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as she set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the headboard against the wall with a rhythmic thud that echoed through the room.

"This pussy," she growled, her voice thick with desire, "is mine. Do you understand? No one else touches it, no one else thinks about it."

"Yes," you panted, the word barely coherent as pleasure built with each powerful stroke.

She pulled you back against her, your back pressed to her chest, her hand sliding around to cup your breast, fingers rolling your nipple. "These tits," she continued, her mouth hot against your ear, "are mine. Every curve, every inch of you belongs to me."

"Yours," you agreed, your head falling back against her shoulder.

Her free hand moved between your legs, fingers finding your sensitive clit as she continued to thrust into you. The dual sensation was overwhelming, your body tightening around her as the pressure built.

"Say it again," she demanded, her voice rough against your skin.

"I'm yours," you gasped, the words tumbling from your lips. "All of me, yours."

The sound that escaped her was almost feral, possessive and triumphant. She increased her pace, her fingers working in perfect rhythm with her hips, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.

When you came, your body shuddered around her as waves of pleasure crashed through you. She followed moments later, her arms tightening around you as she buried herself deep inside you, her own release pulsing through her body.

For several long moments, neither of you moved, both trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. Then, gently, Alexia tangled her fingers in your hair, pulling gently until you were looking directly into her eyes, the intensity of her gaze made your breath catch.

"I want everyone to know," she whispered, her voice rough with desire. "I want them to hear exactly who you belong to."

"Lie down," you suggested, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.

Alexia raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Oh?"

"I want to ride you," you said, the words coming out steadier than you felt. "I want you to watch me."

Something shifted in her expression surprise giving way to something darker, hungrier. She nodded slowly, moving on the bed and reclining against the headboard, the strap positioned between her thighs.

"Come here then," she said, her voice a low command that sent shivers down your spine.

You crawled up the bed toward her, your body responding to her presence like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. When you reached her, she guided you onto her lap, her hands firm on your hips as you positioned yourself above her.

You slid onto her, the head stretching you, her hands finding your hips to steady you as you took her inch by inch. The feeling was electric, the friction perfect, your thighs trembling as you began to move. Alexia’s eyes locked on yours, jaw clenched, the tension in her arms betrayed her own restraint.

"Fuck, you look good like this," she said, her voice rough, her hands guiding your rhythm. You braced against her chest, fingers playing with her nipples, grinding down, letting yourself take everything she could give, riding her until your vision blurred and the only thing you could focus on was the way she watched you, like she was starving and you were the only meal.

The steady slap of flesh and the wet sounds filled the room, but you didn’t care if the whole estate heard you. If anything, you wanted them to. You wanted the world to know who you belonged to, and who belonged to you. 

Alexia’s hands pressed you up, holding you in place as she thrust up, hard enough to see stars. You moaned her name, over and over, until your voice broke and you came again, the pleasure so sharp you thought you’d split in two. She held you as you shook, her own voice a low, rolling groan as she came with you, her grip bruising on your ass.

You collapsed against her, sweat damp and dizzy, her arms coming around to cradle you to her chest. You stayed there, tangled and silent, the afterglow spreading lazy and warm through every inch of your body.

For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the steady, silent promise in the way she held you and you almost believed it, right up until the knock at the door.

You felt Alexia tense beneath you, a fractional tightening of every muscle. She didn’t let go, but she did shift you gently to her side, untangling your legs and smoothing your hair with a practiced, almost tender hand.

"Stay," she said. Then, louder, "Yes?"

Cata’s voice came through the door, just as calm as ever. "Boss, you need see this” Alexia just pressed a kiss to your shoulder and rolled out of bed, pulling on her joggers with a single, practiced movement. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, voice low even as her eyes darted toward the door. “I’ll be quick.”

You barely had time to yank the duvet over your chest before the door swung open. Cata stepped in, face set and businesslike, not a flicker of surprise at the scene in front of her. If anything, she looked exasperated.

Cata surveyed the scene, Alexia topless, sweat still shining along the blade of her shoulder, the bed clearly and unmistakably used, you only half cocooned in the sheets. She didn’t so much as blink at the evidence, only tensed her jaw and offered Alexia a folder, thick as a novel and creased at the edges.

“Tell me,” Alexia said, flicking it open, her eyes darting so fast you barely tracked the motion. Cata waited while she read, arms folded, not looking at you but not avoiding your gaze either.

You tucked the duvet under your arm and made yourself sit up, pretending you weren’t so wrecked your legs could barely fold beneath you.

Alexia’s face went cold and hard as first steel, then colder, then something else entirely, a look like someone who saw the whole chessboard and wished she didn’t. She snapped the folder shut and handed it back with a sharp motion, she turned to you, “Cata will take you home now” Something dropped in your chest, a cold, quiet thing, "Have i done something wrong?”

“Some business has come up i need to take care of” “I can’t just stay here?” Alexia considered you for a moment, then her face shuttered completely, "No," she said, "Not tonight."

She didn't elaborate. She had already turned to confer, in rapid fire Catalan, with Cata. They both ignored you as if you had become a piece of furniture, the way only people who wielded real power could.

You sat very still on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet around your chest, they didn't bother lowering their voices, either because they knew you didn't understand, or because it truly didn't matter if you did.

You caught the name Carlos Hernandez, your father's name, a few times, and then yacht and finally your own, thrown between sentences like a coin to the gutter.

The conversation was quick, efficient, no wasted words. Cata shot a look at you, something hard and pitying, then back to Alexia, who nodded once final, irrevocable. They left together as Alexia slipped a t-shirt on, closing the door behind them, and you were alone, blinking in the late evening light with nothing but the smell of sex and the taste of dread in your mouth.

You stayed put for a moment, waiting for the world to right itself. The window was open, the air outside slow and sticky with the onset of rain. In the garden, a sprinkler clicked to life, stuttering a rhythm that felt both random and mechanical.

You wanted to put your clothes back on, but some small, angry pride stopped your hands. Instead, you went to the window, took in the view, and let your body cool slowly in the breeze. You imagined Alexia outside somewhere, maybe in a hidden office that didn't show up on the floor plan, plotting out her next moves, or maybe simply having a drink, laughing about you with her people.

You wondered what you'd done wrong, and then realised with an electric sting, maybe nothing. Maybe this was simply how it worked sex and then absence, belonging and then exile, the whiplash between worlds. Maybe that was the cost. You couldn't decide if you felt cheap, or merely mortgaged.

You pulled your phone out from the wreckage of the bedsheets. A single text appeared, timestamped only minutes ago.

From: Mami

u coming home for dinner, mi vida? i saved you some bacalao x

You stared at the message. For a moment, an irrational, helpless laugh bubbled up. You had gotten fingered by the teenage fantasy of your own father’s criminal empire, watched a girl sign international cargo shipments off the small of your back, and now you were being summoned for salt fish and family dinner as if any of it made sense.

You didn’t answer, you stared out at the garden, feeling at once invisible and too visible, the sum of every possible contradiction. The ache in your thighs had not yet faded. You wanted Alexia back in the room, wanted her gone from your life, wanted to hold her and never let go.

It took a few more minutes for you to get dressed, raiding a hoodie and joggers from Alexia’s closet when you realised you couldn't find all your own clothes, and then you padded on bare feet down the hallway and the stairs, following the faint sound of voices toward the kitchen. The conversation inside was low and urgent, but the moment you entered, both fell silent. You hovered in the doorway, feeling the chill of the tiled floor through your skin.

Alexia was at the counter, head bowed over a phone, her hair pulled back into an impatient knot. Cata stood at the fridge, pouring mineral water into a glass, her face still unreadable. You cleared your throat and neither looked up.

It was Cata who finally spoke. "Are you ready?" The question landed with the practiced neutrality of someone who had asked it before, in other rooms, of other girls. You nodded without looking at her, already turning toward the door, already knowing how this part went. Then a hand closed around your wrist not Cata's and the air in the room shifted the way it does before a storm finally breaks. Her breath came warm against your ear, "I'm doing this to keep you safe." Then her lips, briefly, at the side of your neck not a kiss so much as a punctuation mark. "I'll see you soon."

Your hand found hers where it rested against your stomach, and you pressed down once, feeling the cool of her rings, before you untangled yourself and walked out without turning around, the gravel of the drive loud under your feet, the car already idling outside. Cata drove you in silence, the city’s lights flickering past through the tinted glass. You watched the night roll by, not bothering with words, not even when she finally pulled over four blocks from your actual building, the same discreet side street you’d used to keep everyone guessing where you really lived. She didn’t ask if you wanted walking to the door, didn’t ask if you’d be okay alone, just said, “I’ll wait here five minutes,” and left it at that, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, hands at ten and two.

You walked the rest of the way, the taste of Alexia still in your mouth, the imprint of her every finger still warming your skin. You kept your head down and hands deep in the hoodie’s front pouch, even though no one was watching no one you could see, anyway.

Your building always looked like it was waiting for the day it could collapse and be rid of itself. The elevator was dead again, so you took the stairs, winding up three flights with your hand trailing along the chipped paint of the banister. You fumbled your key at the door out of sheer exhaustion, but it wasn’t necessary, the door hung open, the frame splintered around the lock.

This was the part where you should have paused, called the police, or at least ran, but you just stood in the threshold, taking it in. The lights on, cast everything in the flat yellow of an interrogation lamp. Your shoes were gone from the rack. Your kitchen chairs were upended, their legs torn off and piled like driftwood in the hallway. In the living room, every book you owned had been ripped from the shelves and cut open, their spines splayed and pages scattered like the aftermath of some paper massacre.

The air was thick with dust and something else, not quite bleach but close, the sharpness of it stinging your nose. You stepped inside, feet crunching on torn photographs and shredded envelopes. In the kitchen, cabinet doors hung open, the contents of your fridge dumped across the linoleum in a sour, glistening heap. The only thing untouched was the old moka pot on the counter, polished to a shine and placed carefully upright, as if whoever did this wanted you to know they could have taken everything, but left you the ability to make coffee out of mercy or mockery.

You walked the perimeter of the apartment, past the bathroom where every towel had been soaked and wrung out onto the tile, past your bedroom where the mattress had been knifed through, feathers and foam bulging from the wounds like stuffing from a ruptured doll. On the wall above the bed, written in something you hoped was black marker but looked too dark for comfort, was a single word Traitor.

tell people who don’t know about the decision borja made back then, and the support he gave to both you and all your teammates.

well, for me, it was one of the most difficult moments of my life. and it’s true that there were lots of people behind me who stood by my side and tried to help me. borja was one of those who spoke out, regardless of what might happen afterwards. i think that for those of us who stay true to who we are, good things come our way in the end. and he stopped going (to the selection), then came back. for me, it’s like…i swear, i feel as though he’s part of my own family.

it’s an incredible moment that football brings to this relationship. a moment of loyalty and devotion during a footballer’s toughest times. borja stepped up. yes, yes, he gave up his place in the national team at the time. and now that you’re on this pitch, what does it mean to be a world champion?

wow, i don’t know. it’s been very special. it’s been a very intense month. it’s tough, but i also think that, like jenni, when you make decisions from the heart, things work out well, and today i’ve been lucky enough to experience this, which is a real privilege for me, being part of a world champion team, our team. feeling that spain is ours, just as each of us represents it. it’s been really lovely and it’s been a bit like…well, a continuation of what they did, what our teammates had done before. i don’t know, it’s incredible. to be honest, i don’t know what to say to you. i’m really happy, to be honest.

when your way of thinking, your essence, your values go beyond any team, pitch, title or match, i offer my respect and congratulations. my respect and congratulations.

yes, i just want to say that i told you back then, there are so many things along the way that we don’t remember later on, borja, and tomorrow, well, whether you’ve played the whole tournament or played less, you’re part of a wonderful generation, you’re one of the best in the world and you deserve it, i promise you that, and i’m absolutely delighted for you and i love you. me too. a hug.