fin.

the sun hung low over joan gamper, casting long shadows across the pitch as the final whistle blew. you wiped sweat from your forehead, chest still heaving from the last set of drills. eight months with lena had settled into a strange rhythm- comforting on the good days, exhausting on most others. she lived outside this world of constant travel and pressure, and lately the space between seeing her had stretched wider than ever.

“buen trabajo, chicas,” good work, girls alexia called, voice steady under the captain’s armband. on the pitch she stayed precise and focused, corrections sharp but fair, pushing everyone without unnecessary softness. but when her eyes found you across the grass, something shifted. the edges softened.

you jogged over as she reviewed notes with the staff. “knee holding up after that last sequence?”

she looked up, offering the small smile reserved only for you. “si, estoy bien. just thinking about the next one.” her hand brushed your arm, lingering a second longer than necessary- a quiet anchor.

the two of you had been inseparable since you joined barca in 2021. best friends first, always. late night talks, shared rides home, her quietly taking you under her wing when your spanish was still shaky and everything felt overwhelming. the tension underneath it all had grown over the years, but neither of you ever named it.

the girls clustered near the tunnel, peeling off training vests. ingrid fell into step beside you, mapi on your other side. “plans tonight?” ingrid asked, casual but with that careful edge.

you checked your phone. another text from lena- short, delayed. sorry babe, work ran over again. we can always reschedule? third time this month. “lena’s stuck late again. so thats a no from me.”

mapi made a small noise. “shame. thought we were your first pick.”

“come with us instead,” ingrid added, rubbing your back. “proper meal after today. that assist in the small-sided game was nice.”

frido slung an arm around your shoulders from behind. “that little spot near the harbor. good patatas. and it’ll take your mind off of things. lena seems busy a lot lately, huh?”

you laughed it off, used to the gentle nudges. “big project at her job.”

alexia slowed until she matched your stride. “you should come,” she said quietly, just for you. “my place is closer anyway. you can stay after.”

the offer felt warm, familiar. most nights when lena canceled, you ended up at alexia’s. her couch had slowly become more yours than not.

“alright, i’m in.”

⸻

dinner with the team was loud and easy, the kind of night that reminded you why this squad felt like family. you sat between alexia and frido, knee occasionally brushing hers under the table. she didn’t pull away. her hand rested near yours on the bench, close enough for heat to radiate.

“you looked good today,” alexia murmured during a lull, voice low. “that pass that split the defense- classic.”

“thanks, capi.” you used the nickname lightly, knowing it made her roll her eyes in private but smile anyway.

around the others she stayed composed, but with you the walls dropped. the girls kept conversation light, but the undercurrent lingered. ingrid mentioned how relationships were hard with your schedule, how the right person showed up anyway. mapi hummed in agreement. no names. no direct shots at lena. just enough to plant the seed.

later, in alexia’s car, the city lights blurred past. “thanks for letting me tag along again,” you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“you never have to thank me.” she started the engine, radio low. “you spend more time at mine than i do anyway.” a pause. “lena canceled again?”

“yeah.”

she didn’t push, but the silence felt heavier lately, charged with everything unsaid. she had waited since 2021, watching you date people who never quite saw you the way she did. holding you through breakups without crossing the line. it had worn on her quietly, especially these last eight months.

at her apartment you kicked off your shoes by the door. the familiar scent of lavender wrapped around you. you had your own drawer in the guest room now. alexia moved to the kitchen, pulling ingredients for your recovery shake without asking-  heavy on strawberries, light on banana.

“you don’t have to do that every time,” you said, leaning on the counter.

“i want to. besides, it’s good recovery for your body.” her voice softened, captain mask gone. just alexia- attentive, warm, crumbling in the way she only did for you.

you took the glass, fingers lingering against hers. “what would i do without you, ale?”

her eyes held yours a beat too long. “you’d be fine. but i’m glad you’ll never have to find out.”

⸻

the next few days blurred between training and recovery. on the pitch alexia directed with quiet authority, voice carrying without shouting. “keep the press higher,” she called during set pieces. the squad responded instinctively.

off the pitch her glances toward you carried everything. she pulled you aside after one tough sequence, hand on your waist to steady you. “breathe, amor. we do it together, okay?”

the touch lingered. around the team she kept it professional, but everyone who paid attention noticed the way she softened for you.

evenings at her place became routine. shared meals, deep conversations, her arm around you on the couch while movies played mostly ignored. one night you vented lightly about lena’s latest cancellation.

“it’s fine. she’s got her thing.”

alexia listened, jaw set but voice gentle. “it doesn’t sound fine.” she passed you tea made exactly how you liked it. “you deserve someone who shows up, mi vida.”

you lifted your head from her shoulder. the spanish phrase made your stomach flip, even if you didn’t catch every word.

she pulled you closer, thumb tracing circles on your arm. the tension hummed stronger lately-years of almosts building between best friends who had always been more.

⸻

two days before the champions league fixture, you decided to surprise lena. flowers in hand, you let yourself into her place with the spare key. voices drifted from the bedroom, door slightly ajar. you pushed it open.

lena in bed with someone else. sheets tangled. laughter cutting off sharply.

“what the fuck?” the flowers slipped from your hand.

lena scrambled up, face flushing. “y/n, wait. this isn’t- she’s just a friend. things got carried away.”

“carried away?” anger flared hot. “i’ve been making excuses for you for eight months. missed games, rescheduled dinners- everything. and now this?”

the other woman grabbed clothes and slipped out. lena pulled on a shirt, tone shifting to accusation. “you’re never here anyway! always with the team, always with alexia. what am i supposed to do?”

“she’s my best friend,” you yelled. “you’re the one i was with. don’t turn this on me.”

the fight escalated- voices overlapping, blame flying. lena threw your closeness with alexia in your face, claiming it justified everything. you grabbed your things and slammed the door, chest tight with rage and betrayal. eight months ending in screams. strangely, relief mixed with the hurt.

you drove straight to alexia’s without thinking.

⸻

she opened the door in recovery clothes, face shifting from surprise to deep concern the second she saw you. “what happened?”

“lena cheated. i walked in on it.” the words broke. “we yelled. she blamed it on how much time i spend with you. said it justified everything.”

alexia pulled you inside immediately. “ven aqui.”

she wrapped you in strong arms, one hand stroking your back, the other cradling your head. you let the tears fall as she guided you to the couch, rocking you gently.

“breathe, mi vida. i’ve got you.” she kissed your temple, then your forehead, catching tears with soft lips. “lo siento.” i’m sorry.

every press was tender, focused only on you. you curled closer, the safety of her arms muting the sharpness of the breakup. minutes stretched while she whispered reassurances, fingers threading through your hair.

when you finally looked up, eyes red but clearer, she cupped your face. the kiss landed tentative at first- years of restraint breaking. then deeper, full of everything she’d held back. when you pulled away just enough to breathe, she rested her forehead against yours.

“te quiero,” she whispered, voice thick. “i have for so long.”

tears slipped again but you smiled. “i love you too, ale. i think i have for a while.”

she kissed you once more, slower, pouring in every quiet night, every protective glance, every time she waited. “stay. we’ll figure everything else later.”

⸻

the rest of the evening passed in quiet closeness. she made tea exactly how you liked it and listened as you vented more about the fight. no jealousy, just steady support. “she never saw you right. but i do.”

conversations flowed genuine and deep, the years of tension finally releasing into something real. kisses came easy between words- soft, reassuring. the girls sent casual texts in the group chat, keeping things light. frido asked about a playlist. mapi shared a meme that made you laugh despite everything. no prying. just family.

that night you slept in her bed, wrapped in alexia’s arms, her lips pressed to your hair. “te quiero,” she murmured again. the sadness lingered but felt manageable here.

⸻

the next morning training brought new lightness. jonatan gave you a knowing nod during warmups, keeping an extra eye but not hovering. on the pitch alexia directed with her usual quiet authority- cool and precise. “tighter on the left.” but her glances toward you carried soft promise.

water breaks brought small touches, her hand brushing yours behind the bottles. the girls kept conversation natural, chatting about match prep and silly stories. ingrid pulled you into talk about a new series. it felt right.

after training you ended up back at alexia’s, tangled on the couch exchanging more i love yous between kisses. the path ahead felt open, built on years of genuine care finally named.

and if alexia knew one thing for certain, it’s that she could love you better. better than any other woman ever could try.

⸻

the national team hotel feels like a pressure cooker wearing the same old lights.

two weeks of nothing. absolutely nothing. more nothing than nothing. two weeks of silence so loud it drowned out everything else. two weeks pretending the supply closet never happened.

⸻

you spot her the second you walk into the lobby.

alexia stands near the elevators in a spain tracksuit, hair tied back, talking quietly with mapi like the world is perfectly ordinary. when her gaze lands on you, it slides right past- cool, detached, barely a flicker of recognition.

“hola,” she says. flat. indifferent. the same tone she’d use for any random teammate.

your stomach twists hard. you nod once, acknowledging her acknowledge, jaw clenched, and continuing to walk.

the whole day is hell wrapped in professionalism.

on the pitch she marks you cleanly but without fire- no extra shoulder, no low taunts, no lingering eye contact that once set your skin alight (not that she was the type to do so, but with radio silence your brain definitely had started coming to conclusions). during tactical meetings she sits on the opposite side of the room. at dinner she laughs at something aitana says and doesn’t look your way once. every polite, distant interaction feels like a deliberate blade twisting deeper.

by the time curfew hits, you’re vibrating with rage and something sharper underneath it. something that feels dangerously like hurt. like longing wearing a cruel mask.

you hate her for it.

you hate her more because you know exactly why she’s doing it.

and still- you walk straight to room 412 anyway.

why? why not.

three sharp knocks.

the door opens almost immediately. alexia stands there in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders. she doesn’t look surprised. she just steps aside silently, letting you in.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, the air thickens.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you demand, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

she leans against the desk, arms crossed, face carefully blank. “nothing.”

“bullshit.” you step closer, fists clenched at your sides. “two weeks of radio silence after you fucked me in that closet and whispered ‘next time’ like it meant something. then today you look at me like i’m a stranger. like touching me was some kind of mistake you’d rather forget.”

alexia’s jaw tightens. her eyes flash for the first time all day- that familiar mix of anger and heat you’ve come to crave.

“you think this is easy for me?” she says quietly, dangerously. “you think i can just walk around camp eye-fucking you while twenty teammates are watching our every move? im a private person, y/n. one wrong look and this whole thing explodes.”

“so instead you chose to make me feel like shit?” your laugh is bitter, edged with pain. “you ignored me like i was nothing. after you had me against that shelf, after you said my name like it belonged to you. congratulations, putellas. you succeeded in making me hate you even more.”

she pushes off the desk, closing the distance until only inches separate you. you can smell her shampoo, feel the heat rolling off her body, see the slight tremble in her fingers where she’s fighting for control.

“you think i enjoyed it?” her voice drops, rougher now, cracking at the edges. “you think i liked pretending you don’t exist when all i could think about for two weeks was how you tasted? how you clenched around my fingers? how you bit my shoulder so no one would hear you come?”

the words hit low and hard. heat floods your body even as anger burns hotter in your chest.

“then why?” you whisper, voice shaking. “why act like you hate me?”

alexia’s hand shoots out, grabbing the front of your hoodie. she yanks you forward until your foreheads almost touch, breath mingling.

“because i do hate you,” she breathes against your mouth, eyes anything but the familiar brown and gold you’ve come to hate loving. “i hate how badly i want you. i hate that i can’t stop thinking about you. i hate that you’re the only person who makes me lose control like this. i hate how much control you have over me.”

then she kisses you.

it’s not soft. it’s angry and desperate and honest in a way that scares you both. teeth clash. lips bruise. her hands shove your hoodie up and off in one rough motion. you rip her t-shirt over her head in return, nails dragging down her bare back hard enough to leave marks.

“say it again,” you demand, biting her bottom lip until she hisses.

“i hate you,” she growls, walking you backward toward the bed. her hands are already pushing your shorts down. “i hate how wet you already are for me. i hate that your body reacts like this even when you’re pissed.”

you shove her down onto the mattress and climb on top, straddling her hips. both of you are breathing hard, chests heaving, skin already flushed.

“good,” you whisper, grinding down against her, leaving a slick trail on her thigh. “because i hate you too. i hate how much i need this. how much i need you even when you treat me like i’m disposable.”

alexia’s hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise as she flips you underneath her in one smooth motion. her mouth finds your neck, sucking a dark mark just below your jaw where your collar might hide it- or might not.

“then let me show you how much i hate you, princesa.”

⸻

clothes vanish fast after that, scattered across the floor like casualties.

she strips you like she’s angry at every layer keeping her from your skin. when you’re both finally naked she pins your wrists above your head with one hand and kisses down your body with biting, open-mouthed drags of her lips and teeth- collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your stomach. when she reaches between your legs she groans low in her throat.

“fuck… look at you.” two fingers slide through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance. “soaked. all because i ignored you today?”

“shut up,” you hiss, hips jerking up desperately.

she doesn’t. instead she sinks two fingers deep inside you and curls them perfectly, thumb pressing firm circles on your clit. your back arches off the bed with a broken moan that echoes in the quiet room.

“that’s it,” she whispers, watching your face like she’s memorizing every flicker of pleasure and pain. “hate me while you fuck yourself on my hand. show me how much you’ve been thinking about this.”

you do. you roll your hips desperately while she fucks you deep and steady, adding a third finger that stretches you beautifully. the anger and the pleasure twist together until you can’t tell which is driving you higher.

“i hate you,” you gasp as the orgasm builds fast and vicious.

“i know,” she says, voice wrecked. she leans down and bites your collarbone, sucking hard. “come anyway. let me feel it.”

you shatter- hard, clenching around her fingers, her name tearing from your throat like a curse and a confession. she works you through it, slower now but not stopping, whispering filthy, conflicted things against your neck.

“i hate how perfect you feel. i hate how much i missed this. i hate that i’d risk everything just to hear you moan like that again.”

you flip her the second your limbs cooperate.

this time you take control, kissing down her body with the same biting hunger. you spread her thighs wide and drag your tongue up her center slowly, savoring the way she shudders.

“say it,” you demand against her soaked pussy.

alexia’s hand fists tightly in your hair. “i hate you,” she moans as you suck hard on her clit. “i hate how good you are at this. i hate that no one else makes me feel like this.”

her words cut off in a sharp cry as you slide three fingers inside her and curl them relentlessly. you eat her out like you’re trying to ruin her for anyone else- relentless, deep, every stroke laced with weeks of frustration and unspoken longing. she comes hard, thighs shaking around your head, moaning your name like it hurts her. you don’t stop. you keep going, gentler but still insistent, until she’s coming again, quieter this time, almost sobbing with overstimulation and relief.

you crawl back up her body and kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on your tongue. for a moment the kiss softens- still desperate, but heavier with everything neither of you wants to name out loud.

alexia pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest heaving.

“i wasn’t indifferent,” she admits, voice hoarse. “i was fucking terrified. still am. terrified of how much i want you. of what this is becoming.”

you rest your forehead against hers, both of you breathing the same charged air.

“good. be terrified. it means you feel it too- this stupid, messy, burning thing between us.”

she kisses you again- slower, deeper, almost tender for a heartbeat- before the fire catches once more. her hands slide down your body, gripping your ass as she pulls you closer, grinding up against you.

the night is far from over.

you ride her thigh while she grips your hips and tells you exactly how much she hates how badly she needs you. she fucks you from behind with deep, punishing strokes of her fingers while biting your shoulder and admitting she’s replayed that supply closet every single night for two weeks.

the hate and the want keep bleeding into each other, feeding the flames higher.

you’re both slick with sweat, chests heaving, when alexia suddenly stills beneath you. her hands tighten on your waist, holding you in place as you grind down on her.

“wait,” she murmurs, voice rough like gravel.

you freeze, breathing hard, looking down at her. her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, but there’s something else there too- a flicker of decision.

“what?” you ask, half-challenging, half-curious.

she sits up slowly, bringing your bodies flush together. her lips brush your ear.

“i want more tonight.” a pause. her fingers trace your spine. “i brought something.”

your stomach flips. heat coils tighter between your legs.

“show me.”

alexia kisses you once- hard, claiming- then gently shifts you off her lap. she leans over the side of the bed, reaching into her suitcase. when she straightens, she’s holding a harness and a thick, long silicone, dark shades of blue and garnet stripes, almost humorous if it wasn’t intimidating

she watches your reaction carefully, almost vulnerably.

“why is it barca themed?”, you ask with an eye roll.

“callete. only if you want it,” she says her tone of voice going from snappy to shy. the arrogance from earlier is gone. this is raw alexia- the one who pretends to hate how much she feels.

you reach out, wrapping your hand around the toy, then around her tattooed wrist.

“i want it,” you tell her. “i want you to fuck me with it. hard.”

her eyes flash with fresh hunger. “get on your back, princesa.”

you obey, spreading your legs for her as she steps into the harness, tightening the straps around her hips. the sight of her- toned abs, strong biteable thighs, the strap jutting out heavy and ready- makes you ache.

alexia crawls over you, kissing you slow and deep while she teases the head of the toy through your folds. you’re so wet it glides easily.

“still hate me?” she whispers against your lips, nudging the tip just inside you.

“yes,” you breathe, rolling your hips up, trying to take more. “i hate how much i need you to fill me.”

she pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open. the burn is perfect. you moan loudly, nails digging into her shoulders. when she bottoms out, hips flush against yours, she stays there, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.

“fuck, you feel so good,” she groans. “so tight around me.”

“move, alexia,” you demand, voice breaking. “fuck me like you mean all that hate.”

she does.

the first thrust is deep and measured. the second harder. soon she’s fucking you with long, powerful strokes that hit every spot inside you. the sound of skin meeting skin, your shared moans, and the wet slide of the strap fills the room.

you wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper.

“harder,” you gasp. “please amor.”

alexia growls, shifting her angle and driving into you faster. the harness presses against her clit with every thrust, making her breath hitch. she pins your hands above your head again, eyes locked on yours.

“i hate how much i love fucking you,” she admits between thrusts. “but i love how your face looks when you take me like this.”

you’re close already, the emotional weight and physical intensity pushing you toward the edge. she senses it, grinding deep and circling her hips.

“come for me,” she commands softly. “let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

you shatter with a cry, clenching haard around the strap, body shaking beneath her. alexia fucks you through it, slower but no less deep, kissing you through the aftershocks.

but she doesn’t pull out.

instead she flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you’re on all fours. she re-enters you in one smooth thrust, hand fisting your hair gently.

“again,” she says. “i’m not done hating you yet.”

the new angle is devastating. she fucks you deep and relentless, one hand reaching around to rub your clit. you push back against her, meeting every thrust, moaning into the pillow.

“tell me,” she demands, voice strained. “tell me you hate me while i’m inside you.”

“i hate you,” you moan, pushing back harder. “i hate how full you make me feel. i hate how much i want this every day.”

her rhythm falters for a second, then she doubles down, pounding into you. the slap of her hips against your ass is loud, obscene. you come again, harder this time, nearly collapsing forward. alexia holds you up, fucking you through it until her own orgasm hits from the friction against her clit. she grinds deep, moaning your name against your back as she trembles.

⸻

you barely have time to catch your breath before she’s pulling out gently, removing the harness and setting it aside. but she’s not finished.

she lies back and pulls you on top of her again, guiding your hand between her legs.

“your turn,” she whispers. “fuck me with your fingers while i still feel you.”

you do - sliding three fingers into her soaked pussy, curling them exactly how she likes. she rides your hand desperately, kissing you messily, whispering broken confessions between moans.

“i hate wanting you this much… i hate needing you… i hate that you’re ruining me for anyone else…”

“the word hate tends lose its meaning after you overuse it, you know.” you retort, a smirk growing on your face as you add a fourth finger, stretching her, and after song moments she comes with a sharp cry, clenching around you, thighs shaking.

the night blurs into a long, consuming haze.

you take turns. she fucks you with the strap again on the edge of the bed, your legs over her shoulders, hitting so deep you see stars. you ride her face while she still wears the harness, grinding against her tongue until you’re shaking. she bends you over the edge of the bed, fucking you from behind while whispering how much she hates how perfect you are.

every round is laced with conversation that cuts deeper than the physical pleasure.

between orgasms you argue and confess in the same breath.

“you ignored me all day like i was nothing,” you say while slowly riding the strap, hands braced on her chest.

“because if i looked at you too long i would’ve pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you right there,” she answers, thrusting up to meet you. “i hate how stupid you make me.”

“good,” you gasp, leaning down to bite her lip. “stay stupid for me.”

later, tangled and slow, she fucks you missionary again with the strap- deep, rolling thrusts that feel less like fucking and more like making love wearing hate’s clothing.

“i hate you,” she whispers, eyes locked on yours, sweat dripping from her brow.

“i hate you too,” you reply, cupping her face. the words feel like the truth and the biggest lie at the same time.

you lose count of how many times you come. how many times she does. the room smells like sex and sweat and both of you. the sheets are ruined. your bodies are covered in marks- bites, fingerprints, hickeys that will need careful hiding tomorrow.

⸻

hours later, the sky outside is beginning to lighten toward dawn.

you’re both utterly spent.

alexia lies on her back, breathing slow and deep. you’re curled into her side, head on her chest, one leg thrown over hers. her arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on your bare hip.

the strap and harness are discarded somewhere on the floor. the only sound is your heartbeats and the distant hum of the hotel aircon.

no more words for a while. the anger has burned out, leaving only raw tenderness in its place.

alexia presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“i wasn’t lying,” she murmurs, voice hoarse from hours of use. “i’m terrified of this. of us.”

you tilt your head up to look at her. her face is soft in the dim lamplight- lips swollen, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something much deeper.

“me too,” you admit. “but i don’t want to stop.”

she pulls you closer, tucking your head under her chin.

“then we don’t stop. we figure it out. quietly. messily.”

you smile against her skin, pressing a gentle kiss to her collarbone.

“deal.”

her fingers keep stroking your back, slow and rhythmic. your eyelids grow heavier. the ache in your body feels earned, almost sacred.

“you think anyone heard us?” you asked softly, forcing yourself to glance at her.

“probably. but that’s a problem for later. stay until we have to get up,” she whispers.

you nod, already drifting.

alexia reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. the room falls into soft darkness.

she holds you tighter, like she’s afraid the morning light will steal this moment.

you fall asleep like that- tangled together, skin against skin, hearts still racing even as exhaustion finally wins.

two rivals. two fools. completely consumed.

and for tonight, at least, that’s enough.

⸻

Y/n woke up with Aggie nudging her arm. She was ready to groan and ignore it, but then she smelled fresh eggs and toast.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly, barely able to see Aggie through her heavy eyelids.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Aggie said, sing-songy. She placed the tray on the bed and cupped Y/n's cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Hm, I’m tired,” Y/n mumbled, leaning into her touch.

“From what?” Aggie tilted her head like she was actually thinking about it. “From hitting your head, getting stitches, staying six hours at the hospital or from not sleeping the whole night because there was a chance you might die from the concussion?”

Y/n let her body fall back onto the mattress. “You said too many words.”

“Come on, sit back up,” Aggie said, nudging her again. “You need to eat something. The last thing you had were chips.”

“Not hungry,” Y/n said, turning onto her side with her head buried in the pillow. “I’m nauseous.”

“The doctors said that’s normal,” Aggie said. 

Y/n blinked. “They did?”

“You don’t remember?” Aggie’s voice softened. “That bad, huh?”

Y/n ignored her, choosing to keep her eyes closed…maybe she could take a little nap.

“...But you still need to eat,” Aggie said, interrupting Y/n’s peace.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up. When you talk, my head hurts…and you never stop talking.”

“Okay, rude,” Aggie scoffed, rolling her eyes. She reached over and gently turned Y/n back around. “Just a few bites of the egg? Please?”

Y/n shook her head, eyes still shut.

Aggie sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you’re eating later.”

“Way later. Like when I don’t feel like my insides are upside down.”

“No, later–like in half an hour, tops,” Aggie said, no room for argument.

She disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a first aid kit. “If you’re not eating, at least let me clean your stitches.”

“No.”

“You do realise patience isn’t one of my amazing qualities, right?”Aggie said flatly.

“Yes,” Y/n replied, not missing a beat. “But being pretty is.”

Aggie paused. “Okay, I forgive you for being a pain.”

“Hm,” Y/n muttered. “Can’t blame me. I’ve barely slept. You kept me up all night–and not even in a fun way.”

“And you kept me up all night doing concussion checks,” Aggie said. “So we’re both tired. Which means you should stop being annoying and let me clean your face and feed you.”

Y/n groaned again but sat up slowly, sitting on the bed again. “Now you’re making me feel guilty.”

Aggie smirked. “If it makes you behave, I don’t mind.”

There was a beat of quiet as Aggie gently dabbed around her stitches.

 “How did I get there?” she asked, sitting cross-legged on Aggie’s bed while the other girl carefully tended to the wound on her forehead.

Aggie didn’t look up. “Get where?”

“The hospital.”

Aggie squinted, her lips pursed in concentration as she dabbed the wound with damp cotton. “Relax your face.”

“I am relaxed!” Y/n insisted, wincing.

“No, you’re not.” Aggie huffed, pressing her finger between Y/n’s eyebrows to smooth the tension. “See?”

“Ow, okay, you’re right.”

“Always am,” Aggie said, continuing the cleaning.

“You didn’t answer about the hospital”

“Oh, well.. Luis took you to get scans and some other exams,” Aggie said, switching cotton balls. “You both thought it’d be quick. Then the doctor said you almost had a brain bleed, so they made you stay for six hours.”

Y/n blinked. “And then you came.”

Aggie smiled faintly. “Then I came for my girlfriend, yes.”

“It’s so weird,” Y/n muttered. “I remember hitting the post, then Leah’s face talking to me, then you showing up at the Arsenal bench, and… nothing really after that.”

“My poor baby,” Aggie cooed, “got brain-damaged.”

“Shut up,” Y/n groaned. “I’m gonna buy Luis a gift basket or something.”

“You should buy me a present!” Aggie said, poking her. “I literally didn’t sleep last night because I had to make sure you were still breathing.”

Y/n snorted. “Your present is my company for the last twenty-four hours.”

 Aggie leaned in close, a smirk on her face. “I return it.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Rude.”

Aggie grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pulled back, tucking the damp cotton back into the kit after Y/n’s cut seemed clean enough. 

There was a beat of silence as she fiddled with the hem of Y/n’s shirt, her lips were tight together, as if she was thinking of something cautiously. 

Then, Aggie said softly, “You know what else was rude?”

“What?” Y/n said, head tilted to the side.

“Your teammates.”

“What do you mean?” Y/n asked as Aggie started to play with her fingers, her touch warm against her skin.

“They just… ran off to celebrate like you hadn’t cracked your head open two minutes earlier,” Aggis replied, jaw slightly tensed. “I didn’t like that.”

Y/n blinked slowly, not quite sure of how to respond.

 “I get it. Big match, title on the line, everyone’s buzzing. But it’s not like you twisted an ankle.” Aggie kept going, her voice was low, but steady. “You were on the ground, not moving. Six stitches, Y/n.”

“Luis was with me,” Y/n said again, quietly.

“And Lotte showed up for, like, thirty seconds,” Aggie added, her tone sharper than before. “Then she was gone. And don’t even get me started on the rest. You were in the hospital, in pain, and it was like no one even noticed.”

“Luis said they were asking for me on the group chat, they just thought it wasn't serious at the beginning–”

“But it was,” Aggie cut in, “You were concussed, confused–when I went to the bench, you were almost falling asleep. And they barely checked on you.”

Y/n sat there, stunned by the heat in her voice. She didn’t know what to say.

Aggie sighed and rubbed her forehead, as if she was trying to get the frustration out of her head.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to get like that.”

She glanced up at Y/n, her voice softer now. “I think I’m projecting. I just... didn’t like it. It made me mad.”

“It’s normal, though,” Y/n said, voice quiet. “It was an important game. The win mattered to the club, and, yeah, I got a concussion and all that, but I had someone on my side.”

“I just think...” she started, then trailed off. “I think they could’ve shown up for you–”

“–because I couldn’t and well, I can’t”.  Aggie looked up, meeting Y/n’s eyes with a tight, half-hearted smile. “Not in front of everyone.”

Y/n blinked. Her heart twisted at the way Aggie said it, not in a bitter way, she wasn’t blaming Y/n for wanting to keep it a secret. She was just... sad.

 “And I get it. I do. But it sucked,” Aggie kept going, her voice barely above a whisper. “Watching you sit there all bruised up, and I couldn’t even hold your hand unless we were… hidden away in my house or in a hospital room.”

Y/n knew what Aggie meant. She knew the ache of pretending, the very careful steps and glances behind closed doors and empty locker rooms. But still, here, with Aggie, in her bedroom, she felt more seen than ever.

“You still did it anyway.”Y/n reached out, threading their fingers together. 

Aggie glanced down at their hands, then gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah, but not the way I wanted to.”

“You brought me toast,” Y/n said, lips quirked up faintly. “That’s more than holding my hand… It’s love ”

“You didn’t even eat it.” Aggie rolled her eyes.

“Because I have a concussion.”

“Well, that’s your fault,” Aggie muttered, brushing her thumb over Y/n’s knuckles. “You’re the one who headbutted a post.”

Y/n leaned back on her elbows, eyes fluttering shut. “I’d do it again.”

“You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

..

Y/n really did not remember what happened. She especially didn’t remember how Luis said that the Arsenal girls would visit her at her home to celebrate Y/n’s winning goal properly …and well, to appreciate her new cool scar as well.

But the silence outside Y/n’s house was way too uncomfortable. 

The driveway had her car, but the lights were off. The curtains were drawn. The house looked like no one had been home for a while. Even the neighbor said she hadn’t seen Y/n since the morning before the game.

The girls stood awkwardly on the front steps. Kyra and Lotter were carrying balloons with messages on them.

‘Goal: scored. Brain cells: lost’ from Kyra and ‘We love you!’ from Lotte.

They were staring at each other like any of them would have a clue about Y/n’s whereabouts.

Steph was the first to speak, her voice sharp, barely containing nerves. 

“Okay. So… she’s not here.”

“She’s not here,” Leah echoed, as if repeating it might somehow make Y/n appear out of thin air. Her face was squished against the front window, trying to see something inside her house. “There are still plates in the sink…” 

“Oh wow, that tells us so much,” Kyra muttered, rolling her eyes as she elbowed Leah aside to get a better look. “We need to check if her cat’s still inside. She wouldn’t leave her cat alone this long.”

“Since when does Y/n have a cat?” Steph asked, throwing her hand in the air. 

“…She doesn’t?” Kyra asked, genuinely confused. “Shit, did I get her mixed up with Laia?”

Steph held the bridge of her nose. “Laia doesn’t have a cat either, Kyra.”

“Did we… forget to pick her up from the hospital?” Lotte asked, interrupting the two girls. Her phone was already in hand, eyes flicking between messages in the team group chat and her call log. “I swear someone said Luis had her.”

“He did have her!” Kyra jumped in, already spiraling. “And now he’s not answering! That’s how kidnappings work.”

Steph stared at her. “Do you even hear yourself when you speak?”

“I do!” Kyra said exasperatedly. “And I sound concerned.”

“Kyra. I swear–” Steph said, turning to the girl with a glare that could kill.

“I’m being realistic!” Kyra protested. “She had a head injury. She’s not answering her phone, and none of us have seen her since she hit the goalpost like an idiot…lovingly, I say that lovingly!”  Kyra explained while Leah gave her new death glares.

“I really don’t think Luis would kidnap her,” Lotte said.

“Of course he wouldn't!” Steph muttered, as if she was about to lose it at any second. “Luis is sixty-eight years old, he wouldn't be able to do that.

“Maybe the Chelsea fans did,” Kyra suggested.

“That would actually make sense,” Leah nodded. “Very Chelsea behavior.”

Lotte didn’t even look up. “Why would Chelsea fans want her?”

“Because she scored against them!” Kyra hissed. “That’s a motive! A good one too.”

Leah groaned, dragging a hand down on her face. “Okay. Okay,. We’re not gonna panic.”

“You literally are panicking.” Steph crossed her arms. 

“I’m allowed!” Leah snapped. “She’s basically my child.”

“Since when?” Kyra asked.

“Since she asked me to paint her nails red when she debuted for Arsenal at sixteen,” Leah snapped, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Everyone shut up and get in the car.” Then Steph clapped once. “We’re finding her.”

Now they were all crammed into Steph’s car, shoulders smushed and the balloons long forgotten in the trunk.

There was silence in the car, one of those built purely on tension and panic.

“We should’ve gone straight to the hospital,” Leah muttered as she chewed her thumbnail. “What if she wandered off? What if she thought she lived somewhere else? What if she forgot who she was?”

“Let’s retrace steps,” Lotte said, fake calmness in her tone as she pulled out her phone, once again opening her messages “She’s either with Luis, or at the hospital or–”

“On a ditch,” Kyra said, sadly.

“Kyra!” All three heads snapped towards her as they yelled in unison.

“What! You all thought of that,” Kyra huffed, “I’m just saying it.”

“This is not one of those true crime podcasts you listen to,” Steph said, eyes locked on the road ahead of her. 

“Exactly,” Leah muttered, rolling her eyes. “She's probably at the hospital and she… probably left her phone in the locker room back at Emirates, that’s why she’s not answering our calls.”

“I think we should try and call Luis again,” Steph said.

“No!” Lotte said, determined. “We should check the hospital first.”

“But you’ve called the hospital and they said they discharged her last night!” Steph said. “We can’t waste more time!”

“I say we check every ditch between here and the Emirates,” Kyra muttered, looking out the window.

Leah turned to Kyra slowly, pinching her arm “If you say ‘ditch’ one more time, I will ditch you.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Kyra mumbled, crossing her arms.

“You’re helpful when you’re quiet,” Leah said.

Silence again. But then–

“Wait,” Steph said, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Did anyone ask around if she might be with someone? Like, other people outside our team?”

“With whom?” Leah scoffed. “Her family’s abroad. I’ve never seen her hang out with people outside Arsenal, especially lately. The last few months, she has barely hung out with us.”

“She has to be with someone, though,” Lotte cut in. “There’s no other explanation. The hospital is completely clear.”

“Did you ask if she left with someone?” Leah asked.

“Yeah,” Lotte nodded. “But they said it was private information, that they couldn’t give anything else away—”

“Wait!” Kyra said, more serious now. “If they say it’s information, then it means she did leave with someone.”

“…And that someone’s got to be someone else besides Luis,” Leah continued. “Luis was the one who checked her in, so it would only be private if he wasn’t the one who checked her out, right?”

“Um, I guess?” Steph said. “I don't really know the whole privacy policy of the hospital.”

“But then we’re back at square one,” Leah said. “Who would she call to pick her up? And why would Luis let her leave with that person? I mean, he was with her. There’s no doubt about that.”

“Well… if he left and let the other person stay with Y/n,” Lotte said slowly, “maybe it’s someone Y/n was very comfortable with.”

“But who?” Leah groaned.

“I don’t know, but… did anyone else notice she’s been kind of… I don’t know. Happier, maybe?” Steph suggested. “Like she’s been smiling more lately? And she skipped every Friday night outing last month. Said she had plans, but never said what.”

“Where are you going with that?” Kyra asked, a smirk forming. “Do you think she has someone?”

“She’s not dating anyone, if that’s what you guys mean,” Leah chimed in. “She would’ve told me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m like her big sister. She wouldn’t leave me in the dark about something like that.”

“What if there’s a reason she wouldn’t want you to know?” Kyra said, clearly enjoying herself now. “Like… if she had a little secret lover.”

“Secret lover?” Leah made a face.

Kyra shrugged, her grin widening. “What else do you call it? Forbidden romance? Romeo and Juliet?”

“Kyra, shut up!” Leah said.

“No…,” Lotte cut in, thoughtful now. “Kyra might be onto something here—”

“What? I am?” Kyra blinked, then smiled proudly. “Yeah. Of course I am.”

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, already suspicious.

“Well… when she was on the bench, while we were on the pitch, she was talking with a player–”

“What player?” Steph asked.

“Beever-Jones,” Lotte said. “She was kneeling in front of Y/n, but I didn’t think too much of it at the time.”

“AGGIE BEEVER-JONES?” Leah practically screamed, louder this time—like repeating it might exorcise the idea from her mind. “Do you think she’s going out with the enemy?”

Kyra gasped, delighted. “Star-crossed! I knew it!”

“This is not romantic, Kyra,” Leah snapped. “This is betrayal.”

Lotte reached over, placing a hand on Leah’s shoulder–partly to calm her down, partly to stop her from climbing out of the car and storming Chelsea’s training ground “Okay. Let’s just slow down for a sec. We don’t know anything yet.”

“They did smile a little too much when they shook hands last game,” Kyra offered.

“I think I saw her wink at Aggie during warm-up,” Steph added.

A moment of stunned silence.

Leah clutched her head. “No. No. Absolutely not. I would’ve noticed. I see everything.”

“You didn’t see this,” Steph said gently.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Leah mumbled, staring blankly at the road. “Not a Chelsea girlfriend. Oh, bloody hell. Betrayed.”

“And that’s why she didn’t tell you anything,” Kyra said, rolling her eyes.

“Guys,” Lotte said firmly now, voice cutting through the noise. “We need to focus. Y/n’s hurt. She didn’t go home. She’s not at the hospital anymore. We need to make sure she’s okay before we plan a…group intervention.”

“We should look for her at Aggie’s house,” Leha said. “If what you guys are talking about it’s really true, she might be there.”

“Okay, but we cannot just show up at Aggie Beever-Jones’ house,” Steph said, “That’s insane. She barely knows us, like, outside of the pitch!”

Leah waved her off like that was irrelevant. “She barely knows you and Kyra. She knows me and Lotte very well from camp.”

“Also,” Lotte said, “We know where she lives, it’s not too far away from here.”

“Wait, you guys know where she lives? Why?” Kyra asked, suspicious. 

“As I said,” Leah rolled her eyes. “We are friends because of the lionesses. She threw a party at her house last camp. We all went there.”

“Oh, so now you’re friends?” Kyra said, lifting her eyebrows. “Just seconds ago you called her ‘enemy’.”

“She is my enemy when we’re not playing for England!” Leah said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re not that close, she hangs out with the younger girls more–but that doesn’t mean I can’t know where she lives.”

..

The girls were all standing in front of Aggie’s door; the lights were on, so they knew somebody was home. Leah had pressed the doorbell, and they anxiously waited.

Then Aggie opened the door, blinking at the sudden crowd gathered on her doorstep. She looked like she’d just come out of the shower, her hair damp, she had a shirt way too big for her, and the socks on her feet didn’t match.

She looked very comfortable, very innocent.

Her brows furrowed instantly.

“Oh… hi?” she said, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the group on her doorstep. 

The girls said nothing, only watched Aggie up and down, as if investigating every inch of her.

“Is this… like… a Lionesses-Matildas emergency meetup or something?” Aggie continued, feeling wary over their glare. “Did you guys come here to show me the trophy you won yesterday or–”

Leah didn’t waste a second. “Where is she, Beever-Jones?”

Aggie blinked. “I’m sorry? What do you mean, Leah?”

“Hi Aggie. We’re sorry to bother you,”  Steph stepped forward, her voice calmer but firm. “But we’re looking for Y/n, she had a concussion, I don’t know if you remember that…but she’s not at the hospital anymore, and no one knows where she went–we’re looking for her.”

Aggie’s confusion didn’t budge. She blinked again, clearly trying to process. 

“Okay, wow, that’s very concerning, but… why are you here?” Aggie asked. 

Leah narrowed her eyes. “Because you might know where she is.”

“What? Why me?” Aggie’s voice pitched up in disbelief. “I barely even talk to her off the pitch–why would she come here?”

“I saw you talking to her last game,” Lotte said, tone sharp with accusation. “I thought nothing of it, but now– we have a few theories that involve you and our Y/n.”

Aggie blinked, then crossed her arms. 

“Yeah. I was checking if she was okay. You know–being a decent fellow player.” Her mouth curled into a tight, sarcastic smile. “I guess that makes me a better teammate than the rest of you. I didn’t leave her alone and injured while I ran off to celebrate.”

“...Okay, point made,” Kyra said in a low voice, watching as Leah fumed in silence beside her.

“We didn’t leave her alone!” Leah snapped. “We came back–but by then, she had already gone to the hospital with our medic.”

“Oh yeah,” Aggie scoffed. “A club’s medic is great company when you’ve just found out you nearly had a brain bleed.”

Leah crossed her arms. “And what were we supposed to do? Hover over her? She gets overwhelmed with that stuff—I know Y/n. She doesn’t like that kind of attention.”

“It’s not attention, though,” Aggie shot back. “It’s just… checking in? Like a decent person would do? You lot are acting like you care now, but she didn’t seem too surrounded when she walked off the pitch.”

Steph stepped in between them, raising a hand. “Okay, okay, let’s all take a breath. This isn’t helping Y/n.”

“Yeah,” Lotte muttered. “Especially since you’re basically confirming she is here.”

Aggie blinked. “I’m not confirming anything!”

“Well, you might not be confirming,” Kyra said, leaning slightly to peek inside Aggies’ house, “but that Arsenal jacket on your sofa says otherwise.”

Aggie instinctively shifted, half-turning to block the view from the door. “That? That’s mine.”

“You own an Arsenal player jacket?” Leah raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Aggie said, voice firm.

Kyra tilted her head. “They’re not even for sale.”

“Well, this one was.” Aggie shrugged.

Leah narrowed her eyes. “You mean to tell me Chelsea’s golden girl just happened to buy an Arsenal team jacket? Does your club know about that?”

“Yes,” Aggie crossed her arms, staying planted in the doorway. 

“Really? You bought it? Where? From who?” Kyra leaned to the side again, trying to get a better look. 

“Online,” Aggie shot her a look. 

“There’s no online store for those jackets,” Kyra said, smirking. “They’re team-issued.”

“Well, maybe I’ve got connections,” Aggie said, stepping slightly to the left again as if that’d help.

“Or maybe you’ve got a concussion patient hiding in your house,” Leah said under her breath.

There was silence.

“You guys are the most annoying friend groups I never asked for,” Aggie said, staring at them.

“You’re welcome, mate,” Leah said, nudging Aggie aside as she stepped into the house.

Aggie rolled her eyes but didn’t bother fighting it. It was a lost battle–they clearly weren’t planning to leave anytime soon.

“Where is she?” Steph asked, hovering just inside the door, looking slightly awkward about intruding on someone else’s space. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aggie said, pulling her damp hair into a bun.

“Sleeping? She can’t sleep, what about the–”

“I already did the whole protocol,” Aggie cut in, exasperated. “It’s been sixteen hours. She can sleep now.”

 “Oh. Right.”Steph blinked. “Sorry.”

“I was just getting out of the shower and about to go to sleep too…I’m dying–I spent the whole night awake with her.” Aggie said as she went to the kitchen, getting herself a water bottle.

“You did?” Leah asked, a little surprised.

Aggie shot her a look. “Of course I did. What did you expect me to do? Close my eyes and leave her alone with a head injury?”

“That’s…nice,” Lotte offered.

Aggie huffed. “I am nice.”

Silence again.

“So… you guys are a thing,” Leah said, arms crossed.

“Oh, we’re definitely something, yeah.”Aggie didn’t even blink, but the smirk on her face was growing. “Girlfriends, to be more exact.”

“Oh!” They all said in unison.

“You. A Chelsea,” Leah said slowly, pointing at her, “dating Y/n. An Arsenal?”

“Yes, it’s not that deep,” Aggie said. “We’re not the first nor the last to date someone from the rival’s team.”

“But the rivalry between Chelsea and Arsenal is crazy,” Kyra chimed in. “I get it, though, keeping a secret–If I told you the story about this scarf I wore once…”

“Oh god,” Leah muttered. “Not the scarf again.”

“It was a Tottenham scarf of Charli,” Kyra said, ignoring her. “I wore it for one match, everybody treated me like I had kicked a dog or something like that. The fans were ruthless, the media too.”

“Oh yeah,” Steph said. “People said you weren’t supporting Arsenal.”

“Yeah! But I just wanted to support my friend.” Kyra threw her hands up.

“Um… yeah, me and Y/n won’t be doing the scarf thing,” Aggie said. “Boundaries and all that.”

“Oh, look at this!” Lotte called from the other side of the room, pointing at a cluster of framed photos on the wall. “It’s us–”

Leah and Steph stepped closer, with Kyra peeking over Lotte’s shoulder.

It was a photo from the Lionesses camp–Lotte, Leah, Aggie, and a few others grinning with their arms slung around each other, faces flushed from training.

“We look so happy here,” Lotte said softly. “Even Leah’s smiling.”

“Oh, come on,” Leah huffed. “I smile sometimes.”

“Very rarely,” Kyra muttered.

“What camp was this?” Lotte asked, turning to Aggie.

“Belgium,” Aggie replied from across the room, drying her hair with a towel. “A couple of years ago. My first one.”

“Oh, that’s why you kept the picture,” Leah said, sounding almost touched.

“Yeah,” Aggie nodded. “But I’m painting over yours and Lotte’s faces after today, though.”

Lotte gasped. “That’s not nice!”

“You broke into my house, mate,” Aggie said deadpan.

The whole group turned their heads when they heard the sound of steps to their left, in the hallway that connected the living room with the rest of the house.

“What—what’s happening?” Y/n asked, suddenly walking into the room, her hair a complete mess and eyes barely open as she rubbed them. “Aggie, what’s all this noise–”

Then her eyes fully opened.

She blinked once. Twice. And just like that, she was pulled into a full group hug by Leah, Lotte, Steph, and Kyra, all beaming at her like she’d risen from the dead.

“You’re really here, honey,” Steph said, her voice thick with relief as she squeezed her tight.

“Fuck, I was so worried about you!” Leah snapped, her voice sharp with emotion. “Where’s your phone? We called you like a hundred times!”

“Wh–what?” Y/n blinked rapidly, still half asleep and completely confused. “Why are you guys here? Hm—Aggie?”

“Oh, my friend,” Kyra said dramatically, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s shoulders from behind, “we thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Dead? In a what?” Y/n said, eyebrows shooting up.

“We didn’t think that,” Lotte cut in quickly, gesturing to the group. “Kyra did.”

“Okay,” Y/n mumbled, gently detaching herself from Kyra’s arms and taking a step back, eyes darting between all of them. “Still not answering the question–why are you here?”

“We could ask you the same thing!” Leah shot back. “Are you seriously telling me you hid that you were dating? From me?”

Aggie watched from the edge of the room, lips twitching at the chaos, but her eyes never left Y/n.

Y/n opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. Her gaze flicked to Aggie, who stood at the edge of the room looking sheepish.

“Sorry, love,” Aggie said, rubbing the back of her neck. “They kind of… pieced it all together.”

Y/n turned slowly back to the others, eyes wide, then back to Aggie.

“Oh,” Y/n said faintly.

 That was all she could manage.

“Surprise,” Aggie grinned, like it wasn’t a very public secret now.

..

---

Your first day at the Joan Gamper Training Center was being exactly what you expected: intense, fast, and slightly overwhelming.

New country.

New language.

New team.

But nothing had prepared you for the silent attention of Alexia Putellas.

It wasn’t obvious.

She didn’t follow you or try to talk constantly.

But you noticed it.

In how she watched during the drills.

In how she passed you the ball with extra precision.

In how, after training, she seemed to stay nearby… without getting too close.

The first time she spoke to you was in the gym.

“You… uh… good training today.”

Her Spanish accent was clear, but her tone was firm, determined.

You smiled at her.

“Thanks. You too.”

Alexia nodded, clearly thinking about her next sentence.

“You play… like before. Same. Very calm,” she said, gesturing with her hands to emphasize her words.

You felt a flutter in your stomach. It wasn’t just what she was saying, but the way she said it. The marked accent, the way she rolled her r’s and how she stopped to choose the right word was, strangely, the most attractive thing you had heard in a long time.

“You’ve seen me play before?” you asked, surprised.

She made a small pause before speaking.

“Yes. Many times.”

She didn’t say it like a casual compliment.

She said it like a confession.

---

In the following days, Alexia began to get closer.

Always in English.

Always carefully.

Always… making an effort.

“You want coffee? After training?”

“Careful, pitch today is… slippery, yes?”

“If you need… help with Spanish, I help you.”

Her English wasn’t fluent.

Sometimes she searched for words, mixed tenses or frowned, frustrated with herself.

But she never switched to Spanish.

She never took the easy way with you.

And little by little, you started to wait for those moments more than you wanted to admit.

Because it wasn’t just talking.

It was the effort.

It was the intention.

It was seeing her think through each sentence before saying it, just to be able to speak in your language.

---

One afternoon, after training, you were collecting balls together.

Alexia kicked one toward the net and then turned toward you.

She seemed nervous.

“I… want tell you something.”

You waited.

She took a deep breath.

“Before you come here… I watch your games. In England.”

Your heart gave a small jump.

“You were… very strong. And smart. I like how you play."

She made a small pause.

“When I know you sign Barça… I was happy.”

Alexia hesitated, searching for the words.

“Very happy.”

She wasn’t flirting in an obvious way.

There were no rehearsed phrases.

Only sincerity.

Direct. Without embellishment.

And that was much more dangerous.

You smiled.

“Your English is really good, you know.”

Alexia immediately shook her head.

“No. Is… bad.”

“No,” you stepped a little closer. “It’s brave.”

That made her look at you.

Directly.

For longer than necessary.

---

The small moments began to accumulate.

Alexia saving you a seat in the dining room.

Waiting for you to walk together to the locker room.

Asking something new every day, even if she had to think about it for several seconds.

“Today… you tired?”

“You like Barcelona city?”

“If you want… I show you places. Good places.”

Every imperfect sentence.

Every pause.

Every attempt.

And each time it seemed more… attractive to you.

Because there was no game.

There were no poses.

Only Alexia — the best player in the world, the woman who lifted Ballon d’Ors — making an effort to pronounce a sentence in broken English just for you.

It was devastating.

---

The breaking point came one afternoon, when the rest of the team had already left.

You were leaving the field when Alexia spoke, more nervous than ever.

“Can I… ask something?”

“Of course.”

Alexia took a deep breath.

“Wait.”

She took her phone out of her pocket.

Your eyebrow lifted, curious, while she unlocked the screen and looked at something quickly. Her lips moved without sound, as if she were reading.

When she looked up, she seemed even more nervous.

“Okay.”

She made a small pause, as if she was trying to remember what she was going to say.

“You… want… dinner?”

She stopped and her expression changed immediately.

“No,” she shook her head quickly. “I mean, yes. Dinner. But… with me.”

She stopped.

She breathed.

“You want… dinner with me? Not team. Just… you and me.”

Silence.

Alexia quickly added.

“If you don’t want, is okay. I just… I like talk with you. And I want… know you more.”

It wasn’t a perfect line.

It wasn’t elegant.

But the way she looked at you… waiting, vulnerable, sincere…

That was what finally convinced you.

You smiled.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Alexia blinked.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

She exhaled a sigh of relief and the smile that appeared on her face was slow, disbelieving.

“Tomorrow? Or… when you want. I am flexible. Very flexible.”

Her own nervousness made you inevitably smile.

“Tomorrow is perfect. I’ll send you my address.”

Alexia nodded, mentally repeating the information.

“I... pick you? At eight? I drive... careful.”

You let out a soft laugh, irresistibly drawn to the mix of authority and vulnerability of the captain.

“At eight is fine, Ale.”

Alexia nodded, satisfied. She stepped a little closer, letting her perfume surround you.

“Okay… good. Very good.”

You started walking again.

After a few seconds, she murmured

“I practice more English.”

You looked at her, amused.

“You don’t need to.”

Alexia shook her head softly.

“Yes. I do.”

She made a small pause and then added, almost in a whisper:

“Because when I speak with you… I want say things right.”

And in that moment you understood something.

You weren’t falling in love with her English.

You were falling in love with every pause, every attempt, every carefully chosen word.

With the way Alexia was crossing an entire language…

---

Being 25 and dating Alexia Putellas was a constant adventure. From the beginning, you were both completely clear: no one on the team could find out.

Not because you were doing anything wrong. Not because you had doubts. But because you knew the younger ones far too well. If they found out, it wouldn’t last three days before the entire locker room knew.

Alexia, with all her experience and calmness, had been the one to suggest it.

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” she had told you one night, sitting on the couch in her apartment, the lights low and the distant noise of the city coming through the window. “It’s just that if we tell Claudia or Cata, within an hour Vicky will be making absurd theories out loud and Mapi will be looking at us with that suspicious smile. And I don’t have the energy for that.”

“So… what are we? A secret operation?”

“Exactly,” Alexia had replied, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Operation absolutely secret.”

And for months, it worked.

Long looks no one else noticed. Hands brushing only when you were sure no one was watching. Discreet messages before matches. Leaving the parking lot separately so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The only problem was that Alexia, no matter how much of a captain she was, sometimes forgot she was in public when it came to you.

And there was also the small detail of the sweatshirt.

The famous gray sweatshirt.

Everything fell apart on an ordinary Saturday.

You arrived at the stadium with your headphones on, your hair tied back in a low ponytail, and the oversized sweatshirt covering almost your hands. It was comfortable, warm… and smelled like Alexia.

You didn’t think much of it. It was just clothing.

Until you walked into the locker room.

Mapi was the first to notice.

“Hey,” she said, frowning with exaggerated drama. “Since when do you wear that sweatshirt?”

You froze mid-step.

“What’s wrong with the sweatshirt?”

Claudia looked up from her phone.

“That’s Alexia’s sweatshirt.”

Silence.

A dangerously long silence.

You tried to keep your composure.

“Not every gray sweatshirt belongs to Alexia.”

At that moment, as if the universe had a sense of humor, Alexia walked into the locker room. She stopped for barely a second when she saw you. You. Wearing her sweatshirt.

And she smiled.

Mistake number one.

Because Mapi never forgave that kind of smile.

“Oh,” she said slowly, pointing at both of you as if she had just solved an international crime. “Ohhhhh.”

“Don’t start,” Alexia muttered, trying to sound firm.

“Start what?” Mapi replied, placing a hand on her chest dramatically. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just observing that our captain lost a sweatshirt… and magically it appeared on someone else.”

Vicky was already recording with her phone.

“This is premium content.”

“Don’t record,” Alexia warned, crossing her arms.

You felt your cheeks begin to burn.

“It’s just a sweatshirt, really.”

“Sure,” Claudia replied, holding back laughter. “Just like it’s ‘just’ a coincidence that after every training session you two disappear at exactly the same time.”

Chaos was served.

But the real confirmation came hours later.

Home match. Full stadium. Maximum intensity.

Alexia stayed impeccable, focused, serious. She celebrated your goal with the whole team, hugging everyone equally. Zero mistakes. Zero slips.

It seemed like you had survived the sweatshirt incident.

It seemed.

The problem came afterward.

In the tunnel, when the adrenaline was starting to fade and the stadium was still roaring outside, you began walking a few steps ahead, still smiling because of the goal. Alexia was behind you, talking to the staff.

And it was something minimal.

Tiny.

But definitive.

You stopped to adjust your shin guards, leaning against the wall. Alexia, without thinking too much, stepped closer from behind and placed a hand on your waist.

An automatic gesture.

Intimate.

Natural.

Too natural.

“Did you hurt yourself in the fall?” Alexia asked, lowering her voice, leaning slightly to speak near your ear. “Because if it was from that tackle, I already spoke to the referee and—”

You shook your head, smiling.

“I’m fine. I just got a little scared, but it’s okay now. You don’t have to go into angry captain mode every time someone touches me.”

Alexia didn’t remove her hand.

On the contrary.

Her fingers slid just a few centimeters, making sure you were really okay.

“It’s not captain mode,” she replied softly. “It’s… caring about you mode.”

Silence.

A small, charged silence.

And then, from the back of the tunnel:

“Are we interrupting something or should we keep watching?” Mapi’s voice echoed with unnecessary clarity.

You both turned at the same time.

There they were.

Claudia with her mouth open.

Vicky with a “I knew I wasn’t crazy” expression.

Patri with her arms crossed, enjoying the show.

And worst of all.

Alexia’s hand was still on your waist.

Alexia removed it slowly. Too late.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she tried to say.

“Oh, perfect,” Mapi replied with exaggerated seriousness. “Then explain to us what it looks like. Because from here it looks like our captain has very specific preferences when it comes to checking injuries.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Alexia, on the other hand, took a deep breath. She looked at the group. Then she looked at you.

And something changed.

The strategy was over.

The secret operation was over.

“Alright,” Alexia said, with that firm calm she used in press conferences. “We didn’t want to say anything yet. But yes. We’re together.”

The silence lasted exactly half a second.

Then the tunnel exploded.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I told you the sweatshirt wasn’t a coincidence!”

“How long have you been together?”

“I DEMAND DETAILS!”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or hide behind one of the columns. Your cheeks were burning and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who had just played a full ninety minutes.

Alexia, meanwhile, kept her characteristic calm. She wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… resigned.

She looked at the group with a mix of patience and warning.

“Breathe,” she said firmly but serenely. “We’re not holding a press conference right now.”

“But how long have you been together?” Claudia insisted, unable to contain her excitement.

You hesitated for a second, but Alexia answered first.

“Long enough to know it wasn’t something we wanted to make public yet,” she explained. “Not because we’re ashamed. We just wanted something that was only ours for a while.”

That softened the atmosphere a little.

The teasing didn’t disappear, but it lowered in intensity. It wasn’t an interrogation anymore, it was affectionate curiosity.

And while the group began to scatter, talking among themselves, Alexia looked at you again.

This time without hiding anything.

“I promised we’d last quite a while,” she murmured softly.

You let out a nervous laugh.

“Yes, but we didn’t count on them being so observant.”

“They’re a disaster,” Alexia replied, though there was tenderness in her tone. “And they don’t know how to keep secrets. You were right.”

There was a small silence. Calmer now.

No hidden glances. No hands pulling away at the sound of footsteps.

Alexia took a step closer.

It wasn’t impulsive. It was deliberate. Serene.

She placed a gentle hand on your cheek, her thumb barely brushing the skin still warm from the match.

“Are you okay?” she asked once more, but no longer about the fall.

You nodded, this time without nerves.

“I’m more than okay.”

And then, in front of the distant laughter and the murmurs of teammates pretending not to look, Alexia leaned in just enough.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It wasn’t scandalous.

It was small. Soft. Certain.

A warm brush of lips, calm, like confirming something that no longer needed to be hidden.

When you pulled apart, you were smiling without being able to stop.

“Now,” Alexia said, with that half-smile of hers, “official.”

The bright Barcelona sun pierced through your curtains, dragging you awake in a golden haze that made you regret every last glass of wine from last night.

“I should not have drunk that much,” you groaned, pulling on your favorite sweatpants and a matching zip-up hoodie, both stitched with the tiniest embroidery of your brand’s monogram, SL, on the hem. You slid on oversized sunglasses, gold lettering of your brand glinting faintly on the temple, and padded barefoot toward the door.

The air outside was warm already, scented faintly with the jasmine crawling over the garden walls. Barcelona was supposed to be a short-term escape. Just a place to breathe, to create again, to stop feeling like Paris and your brand were swallowing you whole. You had rented this little house on impulse, enchanted by its courtyard garden. What you hadn’t expected was Eli Putellas next door, waiting with her teapot and smile that could shame the sun.

Eli had welcomed you into her orbit like you were a long-lost niece. Morning tea, shared watering cans, gossip traded over hydrangeas. She told you stories about her daughters with maternal pride and exasperation, and in turn listened as you rambled about disastrous dates, sleepless nights, and half-baked baking experiments.

The best part? She had no idea who you were. To Eli, you weren’t the woman behind Solenne, a brand that graced billboards in New York, Milan, London, Paris. You weren’t a “genius” that glossy magazines liked to profile. You were simply the young neighbor who showed up in sweats with mismatched socks, laughed too loud, and burned toast more often than not. And you loved it.

Today was no different. You found her already on her patio, cup of steaming tea in hand, the stray cat she always fed sprawled lazily on a chair beside her.

“Oh, carinyo, you can’t be serious,” Eli said, shaking her head, dark eyes sparkling as you stood with the hose poised over her rose bush.

“Eli. I swear,” you said, one hand clutching your stomach as you laughed at the memory. “She ordered three raw eggs—of the menu, cracked them into a glass, and just—” you mimed throwing your head back, swallowing. “Like she was in a Rocky montage. At dinner! Our poor waitress was so weirded out.”

Eli nearly spit out her tea. “Ai, Déu meu!” She pressed a hand to her chest, scandalized. “In front of you? In a restaurant? This is barbaric, nena. Not a date.” [Oh, my God]

“It was performance art,” you deadpanned, turning off the hose and sinking into the chair across from her. “I took one look at that protein cocktail and knew I was leaving early. Paid the bill, wished her the best of luck with her cholesterol, and went to a bar with a friend instead.”

Eli leaned forward, eyes wide in horror. “Nena… where are you meeting these women? Honestly. Are you… are you picking them up off the street?”

You burst out laughing. “Not off the street! Just… friends of friends, mostly.” You shrugged, sipping from your mug of herbal tea. Which wasn’t technically a lie. The problem was most of your “friends of friends” existed in circles of money and monotony, the kind of people who thought raw eggs counted as a personality trait.

Eli sighed like a martyr and patted your knee. “I worry about you. Too beautiful, too smart, too funny, and yet you sit across from me telling me stories about egg-guzzling gym rats.”

You groaned dramatically, hiding your face behind your mug. “I’m starting to think Barcelona is cursed.”

“Barcelona is not cursed. Your taste in women is cursed,” Eli corrected primly, before softening with a chuckle.

The conversation lulled for a moment, the sound of cicadas buzzing lazily between you. Eli set her mug down and gave you that motherly tilt of her head.

“How’s work, nena?” she asked warmly.

Your lips curved into a small smile. For once, the answer was easy. Back in Paris, you’d felt smothered by your own success, drained dry of creativity. But here in Barcelona? Here you woke up with sketches dancing behind your eyelids, with a need to touch fabric and sew until your fingers ached.

“It’s been… wonderful,” you admitted softly. “I sent some sketches to the company for feedback before I start sewing.”

Eli beamed. “See? You are happiest when you are creating.”

She didn’t know, of course, that the “company” was yours. That the sketches she thought were shuffled off to some faceless superior were instead passed down to your atelier, your team waiting for your word like scripture. You let her think you were just one of many designers. You downplayed it easily. “Oh, nothing glamorous. I just stitch a few things here and there, send them along, and hope they don’t look like trash bags.”

Eli swatted your arm, scandalized. “Trash bags? Ai, dona, don’t speak about your work like that! If it comes from you, it cannot be ugly.”

Her faith in you made your throat tighten. She really had no idea.

“If you ever need help, nena, I am right here,” she added earnestly.

You smiled into your mug. “I’ll keep that in mind, Eli. Maybe you can help me wrestle a sewing machine when it misbehaves.”

Eli suddenly grew quiet, staring at you over her tea. You felt the weight of the mom-stare and shifted nervously in your chair.

“…What?” you asked warily.

“How old are you, nena?” she asked, squinting slightly like she was lining up puzzle pieces.

“Twenty-seven,” you answered slowly, suspicious. “Why?”

Eli looked up toward the sky as if calculating something, then back at you with a triumphant nod. “That will work.”

“What will work?”

She ignored you, speaking more to herself. “Yes, yes… that will be fine.”

“Eli,” you warned.

She set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Alright. Enough of this nonsense. You have been on a multitude of dates since you arrived in Barcelona and they have all failed—”

“Geez, thanks for sugarcoating it,” you muttered.

“So,” she continued briskly, “I am taking matters into my own hands. My daughter Alexia—”

“Eli…”

“No, no, no, no, no.” She wagged a finger at you. “Let me finish before you say yes.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“She is only three years older than you. You like them older, don’t deny it. She is beautiful, strong, successful. She plays for Barça. You should come to a game with me, nena. It’s in a couple of weeks. Don’t you know someone on the team?”

You hesitated. “Hm… yes. The company sponsors a few players on the women’s side, and some on the men’s.” You tried to make it sound casual, though it wasn’t exactly easy to hide a sponsorship portfolio the size of yours.

“Perfect.” Eli clapped her hands, delighted. “I know Alexia is free next Saturday. You are also free next Saturday. The two of you will go on a date, and then we will go to the game later that week. Perfecto.”

“Eli…” You started, but faltered when she held up her hand like a queen commanding silence.

“Not taking no for an answer,” she said firmly. “You think about it. You have a business trip, no? After you return from your business trip, you give me your answer.”

You bit back a laugh at her sheer determination. “…Fine. But only because it’s you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said smugly, rising to her feet. Then, as if matchmaking her daughter was just a warm-up, she called back over her shoulder: “Now. What bread did you make yesterday?”

You followed her inside, chuckling. “Fresh baguettes. With honey and jam from that market you showed me.”

Eli clasped her hands to her chest like you had just announced world peace. “Ah! This I must try. Move over, I am taking over your kitchen.”

And just like that, your terrifying new reality, going on yet another blind date, was eclipsed by Eli raiding your bread basket.

“Hola, Mami.”

Alexia kissed Eli on the cheek before sliding her gym bag against the wall. Her hair was still damp with sweat from practice, sticking to her temples, and all she wanted was to shower in Eli’s guest bathroom and then devour whatever was simmering on the stove.

“Hi, vida,” Eli said slyly, not turning from the cutting board. Her knife worked in a steady rhythm, onions piling in neat crescents beside her. The smell of sautéing garlic and tomatoes filled the kitchen, warm and inviting.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the tone immediately. “What are you plotting?”

“Me?” Eli raised her brows, slicing into a clove of garlic with exaggerated innocence. “Nothing. Just… good news.”

From the couch, Alba cackled like a crow. “Oh no. You’re in trouble.”

Alexia groaned. “Alba, don’t encourage her.”

But Alba was already pushing herself up, abandoning her reality show. She jogged barefoot to the kitchen, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. “I need front row seats for this.”

“Alba, calla,” Eli scolded, pointing the knife at her like a conductor’s baton. Then she turned back to the pan, sweeping the onions into the sauce with a flourish. “So. I know you said no more dating, Alexia—”

“Ay, Mami…” Alexia leaned heavily against the counter, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Alexia,” Eli said sharply, knife still in hand. “Listen to me. She is lovely. My neighbor, the one I told you about? From Paris. But her Spanish and Catalan, perfect. How rare is that?”

“Mama…”

“Twenty-seven years old,” Eli continued, plowing straight over her daughter’s groans. She began stirring the sauce with gusto, like she was narrating a recipe. “Works for a small fashion brand in France, but she came here for inspiration. Such a sweet girl. Very modest, very polite. Too humble, honestly. Her sketches are beautiful. And the clothes she sews—¡un arte!” [it’s art]

Alexia frowned despite herself, curiosity slipping in. “Fashion?”

“Yes, fashion!” Eli waved the wooden spoon dramatically, nearly splattering sauce across the counter. “Clothes, bags, shoes, you know everything. And she is single.” Eli’s voice dropped conspiratorially, eyes flicking toward Alba as if this was top secret gossip. “She tells me about her disaster dates. The last on ordered raw eggs. In a glass and drank them!”

Alba clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “Perdona? What kind of Rocky Balboa nightmare is that?”

“Exactly!” Eli smacked the spoon against the pot for emphasis.

Alexia covered her mouth, but a laugh still broke through. She shook her head, fighting it down. “That’s… disgusting.”

Eli leaned across the counter, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “So, you will take her out Saturday. I know her favorite restaurant, the French one downtown. It reminds her of home.”

“What?” Alexia blinked. “No. No way.”

“Yes way.” Eli was already bustling to the oven, sliding out a tray of salmon like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb. “And I made the reservation for you.”

Alba clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is better than reality TV.”

“Mama!” Alexia shoved her hands through her hair, pacing now. “You’re setting me up on a blind date without even asking me?”

Eli smiled sweetly, setting the salmon on the counter. “Finally, she understands. Besides, I am your mother. I have the power.”

Alba leaned across the table, stage whispering to Alexia, “You’re doomed.”

“Shut up, Alba.”

Eli carried on as if she hadn’t heard. “She would be here tonight but she is traveling. Business trip in Madrid, I think.”

Alexia squinted. “Madrid?”

You weren’t in Madrid. You had told Eli you were in Milan for meetings with an upcoming brand you wanted to buy. But Eli had latched onto Madrid and, once again, you hadn’t corrected her.

Alexia groaned. “Mami, I’m not interested in dating. I told you. I’m focusing on football right now.”

“Football, football, football!” Eli threw her hands up toward the ceiling. “Is that all you think about? You will shrivel into an old woman with only a ball for company. Live a little!”

Alba snorted, already stealing a piece of bread from the counter. “Imagine her tombstone: Here lies Alexia. Married to football. Boring at parties.”

Alexia smacked her arm. “Alba!”

Eli, unfazed, plated the salmon like a general preparing her troops. “Saturday. No tracksuits. She will probably want to drive herself, so be on time—no, be early. And you will dress nicely, entiendes?”

Alexia groaned, dropping her head into her hands like the world was ending.

Alba patted her back with mock sympathy. “Poor thing. Forced to have dinner with a beautiful, talented woman. What a tragedy.”

Alexia lifted her head just enough to glare at her sister. “I hate you.”

Alba grinned, already buttering her stolen bread. “Love you too.”

And for all her groaning, Alexia couldn’t help the tiniest flicker of intrigue at the edges of her mind. Paris, fashion, sketches, humble, pretty, disaster dates with raw eggs. She shoved the thought down quickly, telling herself it didn’t matter. She was done with dating….Right?

Your Milan apartment was the kind of place people in magazines tried to imagine into existence. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the skyline, the faintest shimmer of sunset draping the Duomo in gold. The air inside smelled faintly of peonies and vanilla, your signature diffuser, and beneath it, the sharper tang of leather and varnish from the prototypes strewn across your glass coffee table.

You stood over them like a curator at a museum, your silk blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers, hair twisted up to keep it off your face. One bag in particular caught your eye with thin sheets of recycled marble dust pressed into supple panels, the surface cool under your fingertips.

“Magnifique,” you whispered before switching into Italian for the pair of twenty-something Milanese sisters perched nervously on the edge of your cream sofa. Your voice carried awe, not performance. You lifted the bag, cradling it like fragile porcelain. “This—this is not accessory. This is a conversation. People will stop in their tracks. They will want to know the story.”

The sisters exchanged a look, one biting her lip, the other blinking fast. Pride warred with disbelief on their faces.

“We… we were not sure anyone would see it that way,” the elder confessed, her Italian lilt strong. “Most people told us it was… troppo strano. Too strange.”

“That is why I am here.” You set the bag back on the table as if it were a relic from another era, reverent. “Fashion without risk is death and being safe is boring. What you two are doing? This is resurrection. This is… future.”

A spark of hope lit their faces. The younger sister leaned forward. “You mean you would use our designs?”

“I don’t just want your designs.” You leaned in, the dim light catching the sheen of your blouse, your tone deliberate. “I want you. Both of you. Your hands, your imaginations, your madness. I don’t buy talent to cage it, I give it a stage. Solenne should not only whisper luxury. It should scream daring. And you—” you gestured to the marble bag, then to the shimmering woven-metal prototype— “you two are daring.”

Silence, thick and weighty, hung for a moment. The sisters sat stunned. Then the younger burst into a shaky laugh, covering her mouth. “Is this real? We thought you were only coming to… look. To be polite.”

Your smile was faint but sharp with certainty, the kind that had charmed venture capitalists and terrified rivals. “I never just look.”

By the time they left, their eyes were bright and their hands trembled as though they were carrying invisible contracts already signed. You could see it, the marble dust and the metal threads woven seamlessly into Solenne’s fall/winter line. The kind of risk that didn’t just make waves, it made history.

Hours later, you stepped out of a taxi into the cool Milan night, the hum of scooters and chatter in the streets below rising like music. Desiree, your assistant, best friend, and unofficial keeper of your sanity, walked beside you in her oversized blazer, phone in hand as always. She was already typing up the outline of the contracts, thumbs flying.

“Des, you’ve been typing since they left,” you said as you tugged your coat tighter.

“That’s because unlike you, I don’t trust lawyers to capture the poetry of ‘marble dust handbags,’” she replied without looking up.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Desiree had been with you since you were eighteen, two wide-eyed girls sharing a cramped dorm room at FIT in New York. You had a sketchbook full of dreams, she had a major in Cosmetic and Fragrance Marketing she wasn’t sure she even liked. Somewhere between 3 a.m. study sessions and scarfing down 7 dollar pizza from the sketchy corner store, she had become your family. When your brand exploded in the middle of your freshman year, Desiree hadn’t hesitated, she jumped ship to join you. “Assistant,” she called herself, though the truth was she ran half of Solenne when you were too exhausted to blink.

As you both entered your Milan headquarters, Desiree finally shoved her phone into her bag and smirked. “So. You were saying Eli set you up?”

You groaned so dramatically it echoed in the marble lobby. “Yes. Oh, she thinks I’m in Madrid, which… I never said. I told her Milan. But she decided Madrid, so now I am apparently in Madrid. Oh how I love that woman.”

Desiree snorted. “Honestly? As she should. I love her. She makes sure you eat, she bosses you around, she calls you nena. She’s like, Mediterranean me and it’s amazing.”

“She also made a reservation at that French place for a blind date,” you muttered, pressing the elevator button. “I told her I wasn’t sure, but she just smiled at me and waved a spoon in my face. It was… terrifying.”

Desiree stopped mid-step, her eyes wide with glee. “Wait. Hold on. Let me guess.” She snapped her fingers. “Alexia Putellas.”

You froze, hand hovering over the elevator panel. “…She did not say the name.”

“She didn’t have to. Who else is she setting you up with? Eli said her eldest daughter, plays for Barça, of course the last name Putellas. Do the math, genius.”

You blinked. “Dating is messy. Especially when it’s with someone else in the public eye. You know how I feel about that.”

The elevator dinged. Desiree shoved you inside and leaned against the rail, arms crossed, eyes glittering. “Babe. You’re telling me you’re too busy to have dinner with one of the hottest, most eligible women in Spain? And Eli already likes you? You realize you already got the Mom approval before the date and you want to blow that up?”

You pressed your palms to your face. “You are supposed to be my assistant. You’re supposed to support me in these situations.”

“I am supporting you. Supporting you to finally get some.” Desiree grinned wickedly. “At least go for the food. Worst case? You eat steak frites and text me an SOS halfway through.”

By the time you sank into your desk chair upstairs, you were half-smiling despite yourself. You scrolled through emails until Desiree plopped onto your office couch, kicked off her heels, and tucked her legs under her.

“I’m just not sure, Des,” you admitted. “Fall/Winter Fashion Weeks are approaching and for some reason we’re doing all four. Who even approved that schedule?”

“You did,” she said flatly, picking at the hem of her blazer.

You groaned. “Why do I hate myself?”

“Because you’re a control freak.” She leaned forward, her tone suddenly softer. “But listen. You’ve been at this since you were fifteen. Designing, grinding, raising your sister, taking care of your cousins, supporting your grandmother. You’ve been responsible your whole damn life. You’ve never been allowed to just… be twenty-seven. To do stupid things like date. Or fall in love.”

Her words sank into you, quiet but heavy. You stilled, fingers hovering over your desktop keys.

“Babe,” Desiree continued, now standing to take your hands. “You keep going on dates with bums because you know they’re bums. It’s safe. They’ll never stick. Eli didn’t raise a bum. So you’re scared, because what if it’s different this time? What if it’s real?”

Silence stretched, the city humming outside your windows.

Finally, you groaned, letting your forehead drop to the back of your chair. “Fine. Maybe I’m scared of a real relationship.”

Desiree beamed. “And that’s progress.” She smacked your arm. “So go on the damn date. What’s the worst that could happen? You eat good food, flirt a little, and if it’s a disaster, you send me memes about it after. Done.”

You peeked up at her with a reluctant smile. “You are insufferable.”

“And you love me.” She flopped back onto the couch with the dramatic sigh of a woman who had just won a war. “Now, let’s order pasta. Milan men are useless, but their chicken is actually bomb.”

When your plane touched down in Barcelona that Saturday morning, exhaustion tugged at your bones, but you didn’t head home. Instead, you drove straight to Eli’s… which was next door but you get the point. The original two day in Madrid had been longer than expected, endless meetings stacked on top of one another, but somehow your mind was already buzzing with the next project. Still, when it came to Barcelona, Eli was your first stop as always.

You knocked on her door, and within seconds, it swung open.

“¡Nena!” Eli beamed, pulling you into her arms before pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks. Her perfume smelled faintly floral, and her lipstick left the faintest smudge on your cheek.

You laughed, letting her pull you inside. “Buenos días, Eli.”

“How was Madrid?” she asked immediately, guiding you toward the kitchen like you lived there. She set a steaming cup of coffee in front of you before even taking her seat, fussing over the sugar jar and sliding a plate of toast your way. “Come, sit, tell me everything.”

You stirred the coffee, the spoon clinking softly. “It was good. The company absorbed a Milanese small business and then hired the creators to work as designers. Then we are starting the process to launch a fragrance line. So that’s another thing I have to think about. You know, the scent combinations, packaging, mood boards, all of it.”

Eli waved a hand as if dismissing your empire sized worries. “Ai, carinyo, just smell around the garden and something will come to you. The roses, the jasmine, all the herbs, it is all there. You designers make things complicated when it is simple.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “If only the investors thought that way.”

Her lips curved into a sly little smile, one you’d grown to recognize over these past months. Mischief lived in that smile.

You set down your cup slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, feigning innocence far too dramatically to be believable.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Like you’ve just successfully trapped me in one of your schemes.”

Eli pressed her fingers together in mock contemplation before breaking into a grin.

“Tonight at eight, right?” you said before she could open her mouth, already laughing.

She clapped her hands together like a little girl. “¡Sí, nena! At the French restaurant you like. What is the name again?”

“La Vigne Cachée,” you supplied with a sigh.

“¡Eso! Yes, yes,” Eli nodded enthusiastically, shooing you with her hands. “Take the whole day, eh? Get your nails done, buy new makeup, wear that black dress—the one that shows off your cul.” [Ass]

“Eli!” you gasped, your hand flying to your chest before you dissolved into laughter. “You cannot just say that!”

“¿Por qué no? It is true,” she shrugged, sipping her own coffee with perfect composure. “If I had that dress and that cul, I would wear it every day. Even to the bakery.”

You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your shoulders shook. “You are outrageous.”

“I am honest,” she corrected, patting your arm like she was offering sage wisdom. Then she stood suddenly, tugging you up with her. “Go, go, go. No wasting time. This is important!”

“Important?” you echoed, dragged halfway to the door with a piece of toast still in your hand.

“Yes!” she insisted, waving her free hand in the air like a conductor. “Do your hair, paint your nails, spray some of that fancy perfume. Make sure she cannot look away.”

“She?” you repeated, voice tight with amusement.

Eli only smiled knowingly, kissed you on the cheek again, and quite literally shoved you out the door.

As you stumbled onto the front step, still laughing, you called back, “If this goes badly, Eli, I’m blaming you!”

Her voice followed you down the walk, triumphant and teasing. “If it goes badly, it is because you didn’t wear the black dress!”

La Vigne Cachée was the kind of place that whispered exclusivity with its dim golden light, velvet drapes, and tables spread far enough apart that privacy felt like part of the service. The air carried the soft hum of French jazz, the scent of butter and garlic weaving through candle smoke.

Alexia had arrived absurdly early like too early. She had told herself it was because she hated being late, but really, it was because Eli had been insistent, mysterious, even and Alexia hadn’t been on a real date in years. She sat there, fidgeting with the edge of her napkin, shifting her water glass, checking her phone. She had played numerous high stakes games and never felt such anxiety as she did in that moment.

And when those doors open and you walked in, her world stopped and her anxiety flared.

You stepped into the restaurant with an elegance that made heads turn. Your French curl braids flowed over your shoulders, catching the light like threads of silk. The black gown clung to you in the right places, the thigh-high slit daring yet effortless. The fabric looked impossibly smooth, like liquid under the chandeliers, but it was something you had made yourself. It was a prototype spun from hemp, disguised as luxury silk, something you had been working on for quite some time.

Your smile was radiant, the kind that warmed the room instantly, and for Alexia, it felt like someone had just cut the power to everything else. The noise of the restaurant dimmed, the servers blurred, and her chest tightened like she’d just sprinted up the pitch.

You caught sight of her immediately, sitting at a corner table, stiff but striking in her blazer, her hair falling in soft waves. Her eyes were locked on you, wide and unguarded, and it made you bite back a knowing smile. She didn’t recognize you and quite frankly you liked that.

“Alexia?” you said softly as you reached the table.

She stood so quickly her chair almost scraped the floor. “Sí—uh, yes. Hi.”

Your laugh was low, playful, your accent wrapping around the word. “Hi.”

She pulled out your chair, still looking as if she couldn’t believe you were real. You slid into it gracefully, the slit of your gown revealing just enough to make her look away quickly, ears pink.

“So,” you began once she sat back down, tilting your head. “You like to arrive… how do you say? Extremely early?”

Her lips quirked. “I—well, I didn’t want to be late.”

“Mm,” you teased, leaning on your hand. “Or maybe you were nervous.”

Alexia gave a short laugh, looking down at the table as if it could save her. “Maybe.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, your tone gentle, mischievous. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

Her head snapped up at that, eyes widening, and you laughed, enjoying the flush spreading across her cheeks.

From there, the conversation flowed with shocking ease. You didn’t talk about work, neither of you asked the expected questions about careers or accomplishments. Instead, you talked about little things.

Her favorite spots in Barcelona. Your favorite bakeries in Paris. How she preferred the beach at sunrise, while you swore sunsets were superior. The worst dates you’d both been on. Your reenactment of the story of the man who tried to split the bill after ordering three bottles of wine had her wheezing.

The flirting came naturally, slipping into the spaces between laughter.

When the waiter asked if you wanted another glass of wine, Alexia said yes without hesitation, just to stretch the night longer.

When your hand brushed hers reaching for the breadbasket, neither of you moved right away.

When you leaned in to tell her a story, she leaned in too, like she couldn’t bear the thought of space between you.

By the time dessert arrived, Alexia had forgotten every reason she’d sworn off dating. All she knew was that she didn’t want this night to end. And by the way she caught you smiling at her—playful, knowing, and utterly captivating, she suspected you didn’t either.

The dinner stretched on until the candles at your table had burned low, wax pooling at their bases. Neither of you noticed the time until the waiter gently cleared his throat and dropped the bill.

Outside, Barcelona’s night air was warm but crisp, the kind that hummed with weekend energy. The city lights reflected off the cobblestones, laughter spilling from nearby bars. You and Alexia lingered on the steps of La Vigne Cachée, neither moving to leave.

Alexia shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders rolling like she was preparing for a post-match interview. “So…”

“So,” you echoed, smiling. “You survived, didn’t you? My company isn’t that bad?”

Her laugh was soft, genuine, and it made your chest flutter. “Better than I expected.”

You arched a brow. “Expected? You were expecting bad?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head, eyes wide. “Not bad. I just… I didn’t expect this.” Her voice dipped at the last word, like she wasn’t sure she should admit it.

For a moment, you simply looked at her. The way the streetlamp hit her hair. The sharp angles of her jaw softened by the hesitant smile tugging at her lips. You had a rule, always. No kissing on the first date. that ways you were able to keep things clean, controlled, at your pace. But standing here, watching Alexia fight to keep her composure when you could practically feel the gravity pulling the two of you together… it made you reckless.

You stepped closer, close enough that she inhaled sharply. Your fingers brushed her arm, just a whisper of contact, and her eyes flicked to your lips before darting back up.

“Do you always look like you’re thinking too much?” you teased, voice low.

Her throat bobbed. “Probably.”

That was all it took. You leaned in and kissed her, soft but sure, your hand finding the edge of her jaw. Her lips parted in surprise before she melted into it, her body angling instinctively toward yours and her hands finding your waist. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to make the world tilt, the hum of traffic, the chatter from the bar across the street, all of it dimmed until there was only the warmth of her mouth and the rush of your pulse.

You pulled back just slightly, close enough that your breath still mingled with hers. “I don’t usually do that,” you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

Alexia’s lips curved slowly, a little dazed, a little triumphant. “Neither do I.”

You laughed, brushing your thumb against her sleeve before stepping back. “Well… maybe rules are meant to be broken.”

She was still watching you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics, her smile lingering even as you waved, slid into your car, and disappeared into the night.

And for the first time in a long time, Alexia Putellas didn’t think about football.

To say you and Alexia had hit it off was an understatement. It wasn’t fireworks or some chaotic crash of chemistry, but it was something softer, something that hummed underneath your skin like a rhythm you already knew. You truly just… clicked.

Both of you the eldest siblings, both of you carrying the weight of responsibility for younger sisters, both of you working so hard your family could finally breathe. Alexia bought her mom a home and gave Alba a safety net. You worked yourself ragged so your grandmother could retire and your younger sister could dream without limits. It was a bond that required no explanation, you simply understood each other.

Alexia knew you worked in fashion now, of course. But she didn’t recognize you. She thought Solenne was some small but promising label, and you didn’t correct her. She wasn’t the type to scroll endlessly through Instagram or devour fashion magazines, and she couldn’t care less about trends. She posted on social media when her sponsors required it and that was the extent of it.

Oddly enough, you liked that. Because with Alexia, you weren’t the girl who was Karl Lagerfeld’s apprentice at the ripe age of sixteen (he discovered you after a video of the amateur fashion show when viral.) Not the twenty one year old who inherited Chanel’s creative director seat only to be torn apart by critics when you stepped down. Not the woman who built her own multi-million empire before the age of thirty. With Alexia, you weren’t even the genius behind Solenne.

You were just you. The you who drew silly sketches and shoved them under Alexia’s nose, demanding opinions she didn’t know how to give. The you who dragged her unwillingly to Pilates, laughing at her grimaces. The you who stopped to feed every stray cat on your morning walks with Eli. The you who drove like the Formula 1 was your day job, forcing Alexia to clutch the passenger seat like her life depended on it. But Alexia loved every messy, unpolished piece of that you.

No one was happier about the two of you than Eli. Which is how you ended up getting kidnapped into Sunday dinner.

“Nena, enough is enough.” Eli planted herself in the doorway of your sewing room, hands on her hips. Her sharp eyes swept across the organized chaos of fabrics draped over chairs, sketches pinned to the glass board, and journals stacked like teetering towers. “You finally have the day off, Alexia is already at my house, and you can finally meet Alba.”

You didn’t even look up from the machine as you guided a seam through the needle. “Eli, I’m almost finished—”

Eli gasped dramatically and marched right up to you, plucking the thread from between your lips. “Don’t you dare talk with needles in your mouth, and don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Notice what?”

“Did you even eat today?”

You froze and the whir of the machine died as you sheepishly turned to face her, guilty

as a schoolchild.

Eli narrowed her eyes, then sighed, muttering in Catalan. “Ai, these artists. Starving yourselves for ‘the vision.’” She looped her arm through yours and started pulling you away from the table like a misbehaving teenager.

“Eli, I’m still in my these clothes—”

“They are black leggings, nena. Nobody will care. Let’s go.”

You allowed yourself to be dragged through the backyard, the two of you slipping through the little garden gate into her house like you had a hundred times before.

“The next time you do this,” Eli warned, wagging her spatula as you stepped inside, “you don’t want to know what I will do. Entesa?” [Understand?]

“Yes, mademoiselle,” you mumbled, head down like a child caught sneaking sweets.

“Bonita!” Alexia’s voice came from the living room as she immediately got up and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be buried under sketches.”

Before you could answer, Eli whacked the back of Alexia’s head with the spatula.

“Ow—Mama!” Alexia ducked, glaring at her mother.

“And what is wrong with you? You knew she was in that sewing dungeon all day and didn’t drag her out?” Eli whacked her again, making you snort.

“Mama!” Alexia yelped, dancing out of reach.

You clutched your stomach as you laughed harder than you had in weeks, watching Eli chase her grown daughter around the kitchen with a spatula.

“What the fuck?”

The new voice made you turn. A woman stood in the doorway, jaw practically on the floor. You recognized her instantly from Eli’s framed photos, Alba.

Her eyes bulged. “You’re—you’re—you’re—”

“Alba!” Eli smacked her youngest with the spatula now. “Language, niña! Mouth like a sailor.”

Alba stumbled back, pointing at you like she’d seen a ghost. “Mama, do you know who this is? This is the creator of Solenne. The one I dragged you to in Paris. Lagerfeld’s prodigy. Chanel’s golden child. The reason my bank account cried for six months after that handbag.”

You tried to hold back, but laughter exploded out of you again, especially when Alexia tightened her grip on your waist, looking baffled.

“Ugh, you two are impossible,” Alba groaned at her mother and sister’s dumbfounded expression, digging her phone out of her pocket. “Fine. Look. Wikipedia. Here. Read.” She shoved her phone between them.

Alexia leaned over her shoulder. “Wait, what?”

Eli squinted at the screen. “Nena!” She whirled back to you, scandalized. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. “Eli, I did tell you. I told you about my company, my designs, my reasons for moving—”

“You made it sound like you were knitting sweaters for Etsy!” Eli smacked you lightly with the spatula, too.

“Ow—Eli!”

“You need to give yourself more credit. This is incredible. You should be proud.”

Your smile softened. “I am proud. It’s my baby. But sometimes…” You shrugged. “Sometimes it feels safer to keep it small.”

Eli softened, cupping your cheek for just a second before turning back to the stove like nothing had happened. “Bah. Enough. Dinner!”

Dinner was a warm, chaotic blur. Eli served roast chicken with lentil salad, proudly remade from your accidental invention last week. Conversations flowed, effortlessly as you and Alba fell into easy banter. Yes, she fangirled at first, she even snapped a sneaky photo to send to her friends in a group chat, but after five minutes she was roasting you like a sister.

“You’re cooler in person,” she admitted between bites of salad. “Like, not as scary. I thought you’d be… I don’t know. Untouchable.”

“Untouchable?” you laughed. “Alba, you’ve seen me choke on tea at your mother’s table.”

“She’s right,” Eli agreed dryly. “Not untouchable. A disaster.”

Everyone laughed, even Alexia, though she slipped her hand over yours under the table.

Later, when Eli asked about your sister, pride bubbled up in your chest as you told them about Olympe and her basketball dreams, about little Étienne and his big heart.

“Nena, where is your sister? I never asked. She’s in university, right?” Eli handed you the bread basin she had, filled with cut up sliced of the sourdough loaf you gave to her.

You smiled at the thought of your sister. “Olympe? She’s in her first year of uni. She goes to university in America, and she plays for the woman’s basketball team at her school. She wants to go into the WNBA,” you explained with pride.

Eli smiled as well, “That’s very good! When she joins we will all go watch her games.”

You laugh at Eli’s ambition, she was already planning this far ahead.

By the time you and Alexia slipped out into the night, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Déjà vu,” you teased as Alexia walked you home, the moonlight catching in her hair.

She grinned. “What do you mean?”

“Standing outside like this. First date all over again.”

Her laughter was soft, full. She pulled you into her arms the second you unlocked your front door, tumbling onto your couch in a heap of limbs and quiet giggles.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Solenne?” she pouted, tugging playfully at your leggings.

“Chérie, I did tell you,” you laughed, brushing a curl from your face. “You just weren’t listening.”

Her lips brushed your shoulder. “Mama’s right. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I didn’t think ‘too humble’ was a thing until you.”

You exhaled, voice softer. “Sometimes the attention is overwhelming. “I know. I just enjoy the quiet, I’m not sure. Sometimes the attention can be… Comment dit-on cela en espagnol?” [How do you say this in Spanish?]

“Overwhelming?” Alexia offered.

“Yes. Exactly, it’s overwhelming. Like when I stepped down as creative director at Chanel to put my full attention on Solenne after I graduated, and the whole thing was blown out of proportion. All these reporters saying it was the worst decision of my career and my brand would never take off. It got so bad some teachers at my little cousin’s school talked bad about me near him and had him in hysterics. My poor Étienne, he had to change schools which is the last thing he needs. Since then, I guess I realized it’s safer to keep it small, even when it isn’t small at all.”

Alexia only hummed, her hand sliding under your shirt, rubbing circles at your waist. “Well… small or not, I’m proud of you.”

You blinked back a sudden rush of emotion, whispering, “Thank you, mon amour.”

Alexia let the silence sit, but the warmth of her hands dragging up and down across your skin was a reminder she was still here.

“Why did you choose Solenne?” Alexia asked.

“My grandmother’s name. She’s always supported me and when I started it was the only thing I could give to her really, I was only fifteen,” you whispered, the reputation of Alexia’s hands lulling you to sleep. “Besides it sounds elegant and classy, which was all I wanted.”

“How old is your sister and cousin? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

“Olympe is actually seventeen. She graduated a year early so she could go play early. She plays for the University of Connecticut. Étienne is eight going on nine. He’s my baby, I love him so much. He has the sweetest heart, and he’s really into football right now. Olympe is trying to turn him onto basketball. He lives with our mamé because both of his parents travel for work,” you let out a loud yawn. [Grandma]

Alexia kissed your temple, her voice gentle. “Go to sleep, guapa. I’ll be here in the morning.”

And you did wrapped up in her warmth, lulled by the simple, unfamiliar peace of being loved without expectation.

The box felt like it was shrinking around you the longer the match went on. The cheers from the crowd below were deafening, the claps of drums and chants of culers vibrating through the glass. Yet your nerves buzzed louder. You fiddled with your stacked rings, gold, platinum, brushed silver, sliding them up and down your fingers until Eli reached over and gently stilled your hand.

“Nena, what is wrong?” Eli asked when you suddenly folded yourself in half in your seat, hair falling like a curtain around your face. “The game is almost over and you spent most of it worrying and staring at Alexia.”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered against your knees, then lifted your head to groan. It wasn’t your first football game, you knew Jules Koundé and went to many of his games. “This isn’t like cheering for Jules or Aurélien or the French team. This is… different. This is me wearing her jersey. This is me sitting in the family box. This is Alexia.”

“Aww,” Alba cut in with a teasing smirk, her eyes never leaving the pitch as the final whistle blew. “You already got the WAG routine down. Cute outfit, nervous energy, cheering for your girl like the world is ending.”

You sat up straighter and looked at her, scandalized. “It’s technically Alexia and I’s first public outing where people might connect dots. I was already spotted at concessions and you know how I value my privacy, so if one—”

“You’re rambling again,” Alba sing-songed, resting her chin on her fist. “Huge ball of anxiety, but you’ll live. Stop overthinking.”

You blinked at her. Eli blinked at her. The two of you turned in tandem, shocked.

“What?” Alba asked, defensive under your twin gazes.

“That’s actually… good advice,” you said slowly, as if testing the words.

Eli clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “It’s a miracle.”

Alba tossed her hair dramatically. “What can I say? Genius strikes when you least expect it.”

“I can say you finally had a good thought,” Eli muttered into her coffee cup.

“Mama!” Alba gasped.

You laughed so hard you clutched your stomach, rings clinking together, just when the door opened.

“What are we laughing at?” Alexia’s voice floated in, warm and amused. She looked radiant with her sweat slick hair tied up, cheeks flushed, and her jersey clinging to her still burning skin.

“Good game, vida,” Eli said, rising to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

“Yeah, good game, I guess,” Alba mumbled, before Eli smacked her arm and physically nudged her toward the door.

“We are going to the family room,” Eli announced far too quickly, dragging Alba out despite her whining.

“Subtle,” you whispered with a grin.

Alexia stepped closer, and without thinking you were already out of your chair, wrapping your arms around her neck. Her hands immediately found your waist, pulling you flush against her. You gave her a quick peck, murmuring, “Good game, chérie. So proud of you.”

Alexia’s lips curved before she tightened her hold and captured your mouth again, this time slower, lingering, kissing you like she’d been waiting the whole ninety minutes for this exact moment.

“Capi will you make the TikTok—

“What the fu—”

“Capi?”

You both jolted apart, Alexia spinning halfway toward the door where Jana, Bruna, Esmee, and Salma stood in a messy clump. Jana’s jaw had practically hit the floor. Bruna’s eyes were comically wide. Even Esmee, usually reserved, had her mouth parted in shock. Salma, however, was smirking.

“Oh, my God,” Bruna whispered. “You’re kissing someone.”

“Not just someone,” Jana pointed, eyes narrowing as if solving a puzzle. “That’s—wait. That’s—”

“Hi,” you said smoothly, switching into your practiced but genuine smile that you used for investors, journalists, the rare public appearance. You extended your hand like you hadn’t just been caught making out with their captain.

“Uh…” Esmee blinked, still processing.

Bruna elbowed her. “Say something!”

You chuckled lightly, then turned toward Salma, who was already stepping forward. “Salma,” you greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug. “Congratulations again on the contract. I’m so glad we’re working together.”

Salma grinned knowingly. “Gracias. I had a feeling this was coming.”

Alexia stood frozen, her ears red. “Am I… am I the only one who didn’t know about Solenne?” she muttered under her breath.

Jana’s eyes shot open wider. “Wait. Solenne? You’re Solenne?”

“Like… the fashion Solenne?” Bruna’s voice cracked on the word. “The one on Vogue last month?”

“Well, I created it.” You smoothed the skirt of your dress under your Alexia jersey and shrugged delicately. “But tonight I’m just here as Alexia’s date.”

That sent the three of them into a fresh wave of whispering chaos. Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, enough,” she said firmly, shepherding them toward the hall. “Go. Make your TikToks. Leave us alone.”

The four scurried off, still whispering loudly.

When they disappeared, Alexia groaned. “They’re never going to let me live that down.”

“They’ll survive,” you teased, linking your arm through hers as you walked out together.

Outside, your freshly detailed black G-Wagon gleamed under the stadium lights, windows tinted dark enough to bounce back the reflection of the floodlights. Eli and Alba had texted that they’d gone ahead to the restaurant, giving the two of you space.

Alexia opened the passenger door, hand sweeping theatrically. “Get in.”

You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. You just played ninety minutes. You’re exhausted. I’ll drive.”

“Carinyo.” Her voice softened, her hand still braced on the door. “Please. Let me spoil you. Besides, you drive like a lunatic.”

Your lips twitched, torn between practicality and the warmth in her eyes. Finally, with a mock sigh, you slid inside.

Alexia shut the door, jogged around, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The car purred to life.

“You better drive safe,” you teased, buckling in.

Alexia smirked, shifting into gear. “Bonita, as long as I don’t drive like you we will be safe.”

You have to admit, the spot right by the balcony had the most perfect lighting. You hadn't really thought of it much when you bought the cosy apartment in Barcelona but it really was the perfect lighting.

The sun beams through the windows as you stare at your laptop screen with a fond smile. A few of your co-stars stare back at you along with an interviewer that you know just introduced themselves but for the life of you, you can't remember the name of.

It's the usual questions. The ones that you've been asked ever since season three ended. The usual 'how are you feeling about being renewed for a fourth and final season?' and 'what was your favourite thing to film?' and, of course, the age old 'how did it feel to eat your co-stars?'

You play along though, well practiced at these exact questions as you and your co-stars trade stories and flash each other secret smiles through the laptop screens.

"And, of course, y/n-"

Your eyes snap back to the screen, momentarily distracted by the way your dog wandered into the room, sniffed the dirty boots by the door and went straight back to her dog bed.

"-I heard you brought a soccer ball to set with you."

You laugh at that, a more genuine smile splitting open your face. "Yeah, I did." You shake your head softly at the memory. "Well, Jenna, who plays Melissa, also plays a bit so between takes we were having a bit of a kick about."

"Because, of course," The interviewer continues," You have history playing soccer, don't you?"

"You did your research," You compliment with a small laugh," I do, yeah. Except, where I'm from, we call it football." Your co-stars on the call all yell out various teasing taunts as you wink at the screen. "But, yeah, I...Hang on, I'll get it."

You duck out of screen very briefly.

Your whole apartment is a shrine to football and the trophy cabinet is no exception. You bypass both Ballon D'ors and the medals that sit there, reaching to the very bottom to the little box that sits alone.

You open the box on screen, fishing out a very old medal that you won what feels a lifetime ago.

"I won the under-twenties World Cup as a kid." You flash the medal at the screen with a grin. "So, you could say I have a bit of history with football." You flash another teasing grin at your screen. "I actually tried to convince the writers to let us have a few flashback scenes of us playing football but I was overruled. Apparently, they didn't want to have to arrange another practice session after someone, not naming names, turned up to our first one in heels."

There's more playful ribbing from your castmates that you take with a sharp grin and a long suffering roll of your eyes.

"I always say this but the only reason I even played well was because I had a crush on a girl on the Spanish team. It was so embarrassing. She probably thought I was so lame."

"I'm sure that's not true," The interviewer says softly.

You don't dispute them. You're actually not sure what your school girl crush thought of you back then. She probably didn't even know who you were until your match against Spain. You weren't the most outgoing teenager. It was a wonder how you even got into acting in the first place with an attitude like that.

You made a fool of yourself in the tunnel before that match, palms already hot and sweaty from the nerves of playing but also from the way your crush caught your eye as she lined up.

You waved like an absolute loser and then proceeded to collide with the wall when she gave you a pleasant smile in return. It was probably in your top ten most embarrassing moments of your life which said a lot considering you once ate shit on the red carpet.

Now though, you smile a little fondly at the memory as the topic moves on. You allow yourself to relax back in your seat, sucking in the last of the warm Barcelona sun as your castmate's voices overlap with stories.

You're kind of lucky, you decide, that you can even be home right now. Most of the time, you're not even in the country, too busy with filming schedules and press junkets but you'd been firm this year.

You had to be home at this time of year. It was your non-negotiable and you were glad that the showrunners were happy to accomodate you.

Your co-worker Sophie is in the middle of telling a story about a funny incident on set when your dog starts barking up a storm. You hope the mic doesn't pick up on it as you lean back in your chair and peer towards the door, where the telltale sound of a key scraping the lock fills your ears.

You roll your ears. Of course that's what set her off. You shake your head fondly and let your eyes drift back to your laptop screen.

The door creaks open and your dog's barking quietens as she runs around the apartment in excitement. You expect a familiar voice to be cooing at her but there's too much noise for that and a soft huff of amusement escapes you.

Sophie's still in the middle of her story and you mute yourself quickly.

"Pina!" You holler when you're sure no one on the screen can hear you," Get the hell out of my cabinets! None of those are for you!"

You hear Pina's familiar groan from all the way in your kitchen and a snicker from Cata, who you assumed was also in there. Those two were never far from each other.

"Kika!" You continue sternly," Stop winding up my dog! And for god's sake, Patri, if you leave your dirty socks in my hall again then I'm banning you from this house!"

You check your screen again. Sophie's still telling her story so you've got a bit more time.

"Vicky, Salma, if you're going to pull out all the dog toys then you better make sure to clear them up again! Clara...You're an angel and I'm happy you're here. There's biscuits in the cabinets for you."

"How's that fair?!" You hear Pina complain but you don't even bother responding to that.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder and you turn your head.

Alexia smiles down at you, the shy smile that she reserves only for you after a long day at training. "I told them to be quiet when we came in," She says in embarrassment, eyes flicking to your screen," But you know what they're like. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, baby," You reply," I take it they're staying for dinner?"

"We'll order in."

"From that sushi place we like?"

"Whatever you want."

Alexia presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and you glance back at your screen, unmuting your mic with a soft smile.

"Sorry about that," You say," My wife and her teammates just got home. It's very loud in here right now."

As if you tempted fate itself, someone shrieks from the lounge. You assume it's either Cata or Vicky and decide you don't want to check what happened. Especially, because you watch on the screen as another person fills the space to your other side.

Patri. Of course it is.

She beams at you in greeting before zeroing in on your laptop. "You're still working?"

"The life of an actress," You deadpan," It's so glamorous." You gesture vaguely to her. "My wife's teammate, Patri. We're hosting some kind of game night, I think, so I've got a full house."

"How exciting," The interviewer says," Remind me, your wife plays soccer professionally, doesn't she?"

"She does." You turn to give Alexia another soft smile. "For Spain and Barcelona. I think she's the greatest player in the world."

Alexia's cheeks grow red at your compliment. You'd been together for years but any kind of praise still made her blush. Patri points at her and nearly dies laughing, drawing the attention of everyone else in your apartment and soon your screen is filled with warring teammates trying to get their faces shown.

"She's working," Alexia hisses, trying to control the chaos," Go! All of you! Away!"

"No fair, Ale!" Vicky complains," We never get to see her work!"

"You've watched everything she's been in," Alexia mutters.

"It's not the same. That's a character. This is y/n. It's different."

"And she's still working," Your wife insists," Go. She'll be done soon. Decide what you want from the sushi place."

Vicky walks off with a grumble, pulling a complaining Cata and Pina with her. Patri smirks as she disappears, giving your call a lazy two finger salute, cuffing Salma around the back of the head to pull her away too. Kika beams at the camera and waves before disappearing into the apartment properly.

Clara's a little shyer with her goodbye, a soft wave and an awkward smile as Alexia gestures for her to disappear too.

Your wife sighs deeply, shaking her head fondly as the chaos disappears deeper into the apartment and the dog starts barking again.

"I won't be long," You promise her softly," Don't let Cata and Pina eat us out of house and home?"

"I'll be my best."

"Thank you, baby."

You kiss her hand gently and let her wander away to control her squabbling teammates.

You glance back at your screen with a smile.

"Y/n's very secretive when it comes to her family," Your castmate Courtney teases and you roll your eyes," We finish filming and she's on the first flight back to them."

i watched as one of her arms extended upwards and the other lay across her stomach. her muscles prominently pressing against her training top as she continued her set. i watched as her face tensed after every movement, with small grunts leaving her lips as she continued. the way her veins popped out across her hands, highlighting her perfect hands whilst drawing attention to her toned arms. 

“i’m not staring” i said, shaking my head as i looked over at cata, tearing my eyes away from the sight clearly sent from heaven. 

“you’re literally drooling” she laughed whilst continuing the exercise i should’ve been paying attention too. 

i quickly ran my hand across my mouth, making sure she was joking.

“not funny, i don’t drool” i said rolling my eyes as we switched positions for me to begin doing the required exercises. 

“hm, you do when you sleep” she said, shaking her head at my dismissal. 

“one time catalina! that was one time!” i defended, raising my voice whilst trying not to gain too much attention. 

i finished my set before switching with cata again. i stood up again, my eyes instantly traveling to alexia. i knew i shouldn’t but couldn’t stop myself, not with the way her sweat glistened in the fluorescent lights. 

and then her eyes met mine. my cheeks instantly flashed a bright red colour as she looked at me with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk. she knew exactly what i was doing, and i wasn’t going to hear the end of it. 

i quickly looked away as i diverted my attention back to cata, “i have a problem” i said, fanning myself with my hand to give me some kind of relief from the heat that was spreading across my body. 

“don’t i know it, it’s like your eyes are permanently glued to her” she said, finishing her set and standing up to join me. 

“no, i’m being serious, ale caught me staring at her, like really caught me, like she looked me dead in the eyes” i whispered, rubbing my hand against my temple. 

she was instantly hunched over laughing, and not quietly, meaning suddenly a lot of eyes were on us. 

“catalina thomas coll lluch, shut the fuck up” i aggressively whispered punching her arm in hopes she’d stop. 

the laughing continued as my face began to develop an even deeper shade of red. 

“i can’t believe she caught you” she managed to get out in between her ridiculously loud laughter. 

i covered both my hands with my face in hopes the embarrassment would disappear. 

“who caught you?” a thick catalan accent appeared behind me, an accent that i knew incredibly well, an accent belonging to the person who just caused me to go as red as possible. 

my hands instantly dropped to my side as i spun round to meet her face.

“no one, she’s just talking about a show we were watching” i explained, lies spilling out of my mouth to somehow hide the embarrassment i was feeling, “she clearly finds it very funny, when it definitely isn’t” i added, giving cata the straightest expression i possibly could. 

“well, if you two are done, could you come spot me?” alexia said, directly a seemingly innocent smile appearing on her face, yet i knew that was a cover for a very cocky grin. i couldn’t believe she was doing this on purpose at this point. 

“oh of course! we just finished” cata said, her laughter instantly disappearing whilst being replaced with an exaggerated smile, as she pushed me closer to alexia by my shoulder. 

“thank you cata, i’ll go easy with her” alexia winked at cata, as she began walking over to her next piece of equipment. 

before joining her i quickly shot cata a strong glare, “i hate you, so so so much” i whispered. 

aggie’s mistimed tackle sent you crashing to the ground, your ankle twisted and pain shooting through you. 

three weeks on the sidelines - two weeks in a boot with gym only training, and a week of 1-1 training that had you dying to play some real football.

and not once did she check in.

-

“aggie, what the fuck.” you hissed, back to the floor as you gripped your ankle. 

“come on pudge, that was so soft.” she rolled her eyes playfully, a small laugh attached to her words, her hand out stretched. yet the use of your childhood nickname only made you angrier. 

“you planted your fucking foot on my ankle,” you fired back, “i can barely move it, you asshole.” 

aggie’s face dropped, realising just how angry you were, yet before either of you could say anything else, the ref and your teammates were surrounding you. 

“medical?” the ref asked, ignoring the calls from the chelsea players that you were time wasting, as if your ankle wasn’t throbbing in your hands.

you gave her a harsh nod, hoping it’d speed up the process, biting back the pain that was vibrating through your entire body.

keira had appeared at the side of aggie, her blue shirt a stark reminder that right now you were no longer on the same team. you watched from the corner of your eye as keira patted aggie on the shoulder, as if she was consoling her for the hurt you were feeling. 

“are you okay?” jana asked, crouching down beside you, her eyes switching from your ankle to the way your face was now buried into the grass. 

“it really hurts jana,” you barely managed, tears brimming at your eyes, “she literally stood on it.” 

medical's assessment was quick. you already knew the outcome by the look on her face as she gently pressed your ankle and you flinched so violently you nearly cried out again.

"you need to come off," she murmured. "we can't risk it."

you let out a shaky breath, teeth gritted as she helped you sit up. the stadium felt impossibly loud now, the thudding in your chest was drowning out the roar of the crowd.

"substitution for barcelona," the stadium announcer echoed, yet you completely zoned out for the rest of the announcement.

as you got to your feet, barely able to put weight on your ankle, aggie moved toward you.

"hey, wait, i’m-" she started, hand brushing your arm as if she had the right.

"don't," you moved your arm away from her touch quickly. you didn’t look at her, you couldn’t. yet your voice cracked anyway, "you don’t get to pretend you haven’t hurt me "

"i didn’t mean to hurt you, pudge-"

"don’t call me that." the words hit deep. you loved when she called you pudge, it was your favourite nickname anyone had ever given you, yet right now it was the last thing you wanted to hear.

the referee stepped between you then, voice low but firm, "thirty three enough. back off, that was a reckless challenge and you know it. you're lucky it's not a card."

aggie just nodded, jaw tight, lips pressed together like she wanted to argue but knew she’d lose.

jana helped you to the edge of the pitch, slinging your arm gently over her shoulder as the physio supported your other side.

“just breathe, we’ve got you.” she said softly, glancing behind you at aggie with narrowed eyes.

patri jogged over, “do you want me to say something to her?” she asked, gaze locked on aggie as she spoke.

you shook your head, “don’t give her the satisfaction.”

aggie stood a few feet away now, arms folded across her chest, face pale. you didn’t give her another glance as you limped toward the tunnel. 

- three weeks later -

beever - hey pudge! i saw your story, i’m glad you’re walking on it nowsuch a speedy recovery queen 😌

you - seriously?

beever - what?

you - you’re literally the reason i’ve been stuck in a boot for 2 weeks and now you’re acting like we’re fine? after ghosting me?

beever - i didn’t mean to ghost you, i just didn’t know what to say

you - could’ve started with “i’m sorry”

beever - i am sorry. i just didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.

you - whatever aggie.

-

you were scheduled to be at camp for about a week and a half before flying out to the euros. there had been a few england camps since the argument between you and aggie, camps where you had been avoiding aggie like she had the plague. 

of course you were still professional, you put every ounce of tension behind you every time you stepped onto the training pitch. you put extra effort into training, every movement was precise, every pass was perfect, you did everything you could to show sarina you were 100% ready for your euros call up. 

and aggie was there. watching your every move, whispering under her breath when you had made a particularly good pass, her eyes never leaving you. yet in all of those camps, the two of you spoke no more than 5 words. 

the same person you grew up sharing a room with at every england camp, your bus buddy, go to person when it came to team games. everyone around you was so used to the two of you being attached at the hip, and now there was all this space between you.

little did you know that everyone was getting tired of it. the entire team hated the distance between you, and of course you did too. but she hurt you, physically and emotionally, and you weren’t ready to move past it. 

but leah and keira were about to push you past it, whether you liked it or not. 

-

you barely stepped into camp, just passing the hotel doors as you were greeted with familiar faces. yet the bliss of being surrounded by some of your favourite people was quickly cut short. 

leah made a beeline to you, “room 214,” she smiled, handing you a keycard.

“wait, isn’t that a room with two beds?” you asked, glancing around at the others dragging their own bags in the complete opposite direction to your room. 

leah didn’t flinch, no hesitation at all, “yep. you and aggie.”

your stomach dropped, “what? you’re joking right.”

she gave you that look, the stupid captain look, “do i look like i’m joking?”

you stared at her, shaking your head slowly “leah, i’m not sharing a room with her.”

“well you did it for years before your senior call up, there’s literally pictures of you two cuddling in bed,” leah stated simply, her eyebrow raising at your challenge, “you two have been walking around like strangers for three camps now. it’s weird, and exhausting for everyone.”

you crossed your arms, “we’re fine.”

“you’ve barely made eye contact.”

“because she stood on my ankle.” yet your reasoning fell on deaf ears.

leah gave a dramatic sigh, “it’s football, she said she didn’t mean to. get over it. go back to how you used to be and start acting like you’re in love again or whatever.” already walking off like she was tired of hearing about it. 

your bag hit the ground with a thud. “we were never-”

“sure,” leah smiled over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand, “tell her yourself, in your shared room. think of it as euros prep.”

you threw your head back dramatically, letting out a huff that you’re sure aggie could hear from your room. 

“enjoy your room, kid!” keira said, patting your back as she walked past, a smug grin clear on her face.

“of course you’re involved in this.” you muttered, watching as she walked away laughing, “asshole.”

“i’m tired of hearing aggie complain that you guys aren’t talking so we took things into our own hands.” she shrugged, turning back to face you briefly, “go find your lover girl.”

“i hate you two so much.” you called out after her.

-

you took a deep breath before pushing the door open. aggie was already there, her suitcase opened on the bed as she slowly moved around the room unpacking her things. you stood there for a moment, door wide open as you waited for her to notice your arrival, yet the headphones covering her ears seemed to be keeping her occupied. 

“aggie.” you half shouted, wanting to catch her attention before making her jump at your appearance. 

she looked up, taking her headphones off her head before her eyes widened slightly, “you’re joking.”

“nope.” you shrugged.

“did you ask to share a room with me?” she hesitantly asked, cautious with her words.

“trust me, this wasn’t my choice,” you snapped, throwing your bag down a little harder than necessary, “apparently leah’s and keira are tired of this being awkward.” 

aggie threw her head back dramatically, “i can’t believe them.” she muttered. 

“yeah well turns out leah’s using those captain powers for ‘good’.” you rolled your eyes as you started copying her movements, unpacking your things into the room you had been forced to put up with. 

silence stretched between the two of you, then she spoke. 

“i know i hurt you,” aggie said, eyes fixed on the floor, “i just didn’t know how to fix it.”

you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure if you were ready to.

aggie could clearly see that, she picked up her headphones and headed towards the door, yet you couldn’t help but notice the second glance she took before reaching for the door and leaving. 

as soon as she shut the door, you felt yourself let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding in. even though she left before you could answer, at least she wasn’t silent anymore.

-

you avoided your room until you physically couldn’t anymore, everyone else had made their way to bed and you weren’t about to sleep in the team room just to be away from aggie. 

slipping into your room quietly, you went about your usual night time routine, completely ignoring the way aggie would look at you from the corner of her eye as she sat on her bed, some kind of movie playing on her ipad. 

there was a silent agreement when she reached to turn off her bedside light. you followed suit, turning to face the wall away from her, hoping you’d forget about her existence entirely. 

then there was a creak.

followed by a crack.

then a very loud snap, before you heard a muffled voice, “what the fuck.”

you bolted upright in your bed, blinking quickly as you reached to turn the light on. across the room, aggie had half-disappeared between the mattress and the broken bedframe, one leg still dangling over the edge.

you didn’t even try to hide your laugh. “do you break everything you touch?”

“oh shut up, ” she tried to climb out of the wreckage, only for the bed to make another snapping noise, “it just fell apart, i didn’t even move!”

“sure.” you nodded, not convinced at all. 

she sat on the floor, cross-legged, glaring at you, “it’s not funny.”

“but it is a little funny.”

“well, unless you want me sleeping on the floor and getting back problems right before the euros, move over.”

your smile faded, “you’re not sleeping in here.”

“there’s nowhere else, but don’t worry, i don’t have captain orders to spoon you.”

you groaned, dragging a pillow over your face, “this is actual hell.”

it wasn’t like you hadn’t shared a bed before. you’d shared dozens, youth camps, tournaments, long hotel stays where there were barely enough rooms to go around. you used to curl into each other like it meant nothing.

but now, it did.

she climbed into the other side, careful not to touch you. the silence was unbearable.

“are we just gonna pretend this is normal?” you muttered after a few minutes.

“that’s your choice.” her casual tone practically made your blood boil, and that’s all it took for everything to come through.

“okay. fine. what the fuck, aggie?” you sat up, facing her in the dark. “you ghost me after you injure me, then act like we’re fine and send emojis to me like we’re still sixteen.”

she looked startled for a second, but recovered quickly, sitting up to match you, “you made it very clear you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“that’s not an excuse to disappear, if anything that’s a reason to try harder.”

“i panicked, alright?” she snapped. “you were hurt, i felt like shit, and every time i thought about texting you or someone told me to text you, it felt like too little too late.”

“well it definitely is now.”

“what do you want me to say now? that i’m sorry? because i am, but that clearly doesn’t mean anything to you.” she sighed, “i miss you pudge, i really fucking miss you.”

you exhaled sharply, the heat still burning in your chest, “could’ve fooled me.”

you laid back down and rolled onto your side, facing away from her.

then there was silence again. 

“i haven’t forgiven you yet.” you sighed.

“i know.” 

then you felt the bed shift as she laid down behind you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the heat of her body.

“i’ll wait,” she whispered.

you didn’t say anything, you didn’t feel you needed to, but you didn’t move away.

-

you were up before your alarm, but the quick realising of aggie so close to you had your body frozen. you felt her stir behind you, her hand draped lightly across your stomach as you felt her breath close on the back of your neck.

“fuck.” you whispered to yourself, internally punching yourself for not waking up as soon as her arm laced around you, yet the two of you being wrapped in each other’s arms was far too normal for you. 

you peeled her arm off from you slowly, making sure not to disturb her in your escape. moving as quick as possible, you changed into a pair of shorts and tank top, lacing your trainers without looking back. 

you grabbed a hoodie, quickly throwing it on as you left the room, slipping out for a run around the quiet edges of st george’s park.

the air was crisp, the early morning sun was rolling over the grass lighting up pitches with a glow. you jogged out into the cool air, needing space for everything that loomed inside the hotel room, and you didn’t stop until your lungs burned just enough to calm your brain.

you were on your way back toward the dorms, hoodie damp with sweat, when the door to your shared room opened and aggie stepped out at the exact wrong moment.

she was in joggers and an england top, head down, clearly not expecting you.

you collided.

“shit!” you stumbled forward, straight into her.

her hands caught your waist, fingers pressing into your sides with a kind of muscle memory that made your whole body freeze.

for a second, neither of you moved.

then you stepped back, heartbeat hammering in your ears, “sorry.” you mumbled.

aggie didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, mouth slightly open like she was going to. but instead you ducked past her and went straight inside.

after a quick shower, your hair still damp, you made your way down to breakfast and slid into the seat next to leah.

keira was across from you, georgia beside her, both already halfway through their plates.

“look who’s glowing,” keira grinned, barely even trying to be subtle, “enjoy your sleep?”

you gave her a look, “don’t start.”

leah raised her eyebrow, pushing her food around on her plate with her fork, “she’s right though, you’ve got that post-run glow.”

you paused mid-bite, “how do you know i went on a run?”

“oh i just saw a certain roommate with her hands all over you this morning .” leah shrugged, yet the smirk on her face was anything but casual.

georgia’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, “wait, what happened?”

keira leaned in like she was about to tell the world’s juiciest secret, “we caught them outside their room. she tripped, aggie caught her by the waist, it was so romantic.”

you buried your face in your hands, “it wasn’t like that.”

“oh no, of course not, you just happened to fall directly into her arms.” leah shrugged casually.

“she grabbed me.”

“sure,” keira nodded, unconvincingly, “and you definitely didn’t stare at each other like you wanted to kiss each other.”

georgia sighed dramatically, “god, i always miss the good parts.”

you grabbed a piece of toast and pointed it at them, “i don’t want to hear it anymore, no more commentary.”

“so if you two fuck before the final, does leah get credits for forcing you back together?” georgia said, as if she was just talking about the weather.

“georgia!” you practically choked out, eyes wide as the table around you burst out laughing, your cheeks flushed red. 

yet even with georgia’s completely out of pocket comment still hanging in the air, your eyes drifted automatically across the room.

straight to aggie.

she was only a few tables away, seated sideways on the bench with one leg tucked under her, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she spooned yoghurt into her mouth mid-conversation. her hair was tied back into a loose, lazy bun, a few flyaways catching in the morning light, and you couldn’t help but think how effortlessly perfect she looked. which was stupidly typical of her.

your thoughts wandered before you could stop them, to one of your favourite days with her.

it was during the u19s euros. you’d had one rare, beautiful day off in the middle of the tournament. no sessions, no press or media obligations, no rules except “don’t be idiots.”

naturally, you spent it with her.

- flashback -

“aggie, this is 100% not on our nutrition plan.” you stared down at the monstrous stack of pancakes that had just been dropped in front of you, shaking your head through a grin.

aggie had found a local cafe that served pancakes that went viral on tiktok, so naturally it was the first place on your list. 

she already had her fork in hand, “that plan doesn’t include viral tiktok cafes on days off. eat your pancakes, pudge.”

before you could respond, she snapped a picture, one of you smiling at your plate stacked high and covered in chocolate sauce and berries, and you already knew it’d end up buried in her next instagram dump, probably captioned with something ridiculous.

ten minutes later, you were both slumped in your chairs, painfully full with cheesy smiles across your face.

“you were right about this place.” you groaned, pressing a hand to your stomach, briefly considering undoing the top button of your jeans for some kind of relief.

“when am i wrong?” she grinned, sipping her drink, “come on. ready for a walk round the park?”

you snorted, sitting up, “anyone would think you’re taking me on a date.”

something flickered behind her eyes, it was quick, but definitely there before it disappeared completely, she shrugged casually, “something like that.”

you blinked, startled, but she didn’t give you time to react.

“i’ve booked a choir to serenade us while i row us around the lake,” she added, her face flatter than you’d ever seen.

your jaw dropped, “no, you fucking haven’t.”

she kept the act going for a solid two seconds before cracking, full-on laughter spilling from her chest, the kind that had other restaurant goers looking over at the two of you, “of course i haven’t. i earn like ten quid a week. what do you think this is, love island?”

you rolled your eyes, laughing with her, but that flicker of something more stayed with you a little longer than you’d admit. 

that same evening, the two of you ended up wrapped up in each other watching a terrible movie that aggie insisted was ‘comedy gold’, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it to her that you had seen it before and you knew it was terrible.

so instead you let her head rest against your stomach, her fingers tracing patterns across your bare waist, as your hand raked through her hair. the room occasionally filled with soft laughter or her attempts to explain a joke so you would eventually laugh too, just to make her smile a little more. 

“do you think it’s funny too, pudge?” she giggled, her head vibrating against your stomach as a smile lit up her face every time she found something even slightly funny.

you nodded slightly, not that she could see, her gaze too fixed on the tv, yet yours was focused on her, “mhm of course i do aggs.” 

in that moment it didn’t matter what you were, or what you weren’t, you were content and happy so why change anything?

- flashback end -

you weren’t back to normal, not really, but things between you and aggie were easier after that night. it definitely wasn’t fixed, but there was a kind of familiar softness that hadn’t been there for weeks.

a bit more eye contact. less silence. a lack of resentment.

the team bonding night ended up being one of those classic ‘movies and snacks in the common room’ things leah was determined to make a tradition. you didn’t plan to show up together, but you were both late, you were trailing behind after a physio session ran long and aggie had a quick media commitment.

which meant, naturally or completely planned by leah and keria, there were only two seats left on the sofa, next to each other.

and of course it was right next to keira, which had her grinning the moment she clocked it.

“look who finally made it,” she said, patting the seat beside her. “hope you two don’t mind getting cozy, someone stole the beanbags.”

you glanced at aggie, yet she just shrugged like it was just another day before sitting down. 

you dropped into the seat next to her, crossing your arms like a human barrier between you and the weirdness.

the lights dimmed, the movie started and some predictable rom-com georgia picked that made everyone groan filled the room.

and somehow, without meaning to, you and aggie started drifting closer.

it wasn’t intentional, just slowly leaning together. a shoulder bump during a laugh, her knee brushing yours when she adjusted her legs and you completely forgot about the distance.

that’s when your head dropped against her shoulder, like it was routine, and your hand curled loosely around the fabric of her hoodie.

you were asleep.

and aggie was frozen in place.

she looks down at you, your fingers tangled in her hoodie like they used to be on long bus rides to youth tournaments, or like they used to be in hotel rooms, whispering dumb jokes before curfew.

her eyes widened. her whole body locked up. 

keira and leah noticed immediately, leah discreetly pulling her phone out as she snapped a quick photo.

keira leaned over, mouth barely moving as she whispered out of the corner of her lips, “breathe, aggie, this is normal for you guys.”

aggie shot her a death glare, “well it hasn’t been normal for over a month now”, she whispered through gritted teeth.

keira laughed lightly, “relax, you’re not gonna die because she fell asleep on you.”

so aggie stayed still. carefully still.

because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were touching her again, not out of anger or accident, but something familiar and as the film went on, aggie relaxed too. 

her other arm slowly wrapped around your shoulder as her hand drew patterns across your back because in the darkness of the common room, it was just you two in your own bubble.

- 

breakfast the next morning was calm, the kind of calm that only came after a good night of team movie bonding and half the squad sleeping through the end credits.

you wandered into the dining hall, feeling the most rested you had in weeks.

like really well-rested.

you slid into the seat across from keira and georgia, leah on one side of you and aggie on the other, hoodie hood up, head down, like she was trying to hide behind her breakfast.

keira gave you a far too innocent smile, “sleep well?”

you blinked, scrunching your face slightly, “yeah, actually, really well. no idea why.”

aggie choked slightly on her tea.

keira turned to her with the smuggest expression known to mankind, “oh, i might have an idea.”

aggie didn’t even look up, “keira.”

“no, no, i just think it’s lovely,” keira continued, grinning. “you were so still. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you sit through an entire movie without fidgeting like a toddler.”

aggie muttered into her cup, “i didn’t want to wake her.”

georgia looked between the two of you, confused. “wait, whats happened now?”

leah leaned back in her chair like she’d been waiting for this, “little pudge here fell asleep on aggie’s shoulder, proper cuddled up, it was adorable.”

you blinked, “what?”

aggie finally looked at you, a hint of pink rising in her cheeks, “you were tired.”

“i-” you stared at her for a moment before you turned back to leah, “you saw that?”

“everyone saw that,” she laughed. “keira and i clocked it and just gave me this look like, ‘we did it.’”

georgia was practically glowing, “that’s so cute. were you drooling?”

“i wasn’t-” you started, horrified.

“she wasn’t,” aggie cut in quickly, glaring at the girls like they were one comment away from being kicked under the table, “she was just asleep, that’s all.”

keira grinned like she’d just won a medal, “mhm just asleep. definitely not clinging to your hoodie like she used to, definitely not the calmest i’ve seen her since her ankle.”

you kicked keira lightly under the table and aggie ducked her head again, but you couldn’t deny the little smile that was tugging on your lips.

-

later that day, you were lacing up your boots by the pitch when leah strolled over, hands behind her back, whistling as she walked, suspiciously casual.

“morning,” she grinned, rocking back on her heels.

your eyes narrowed, “hello leah.” 

she was silent, giving you a smile that was anything but innocent. you sighed, giving her a tired look, “what do you want?”

“nothing at all,” she shook her head adamantly, “but i’ve told aggie you’re starting drills together today.”

“what? why? there’s no need, we are already talking again.”

she was already walking away, “i’m captain,” she called over her shoulder, not turning around. “i get to make these decisions.”

you sighed, jogging onto the training pitch with a knot in your stomach and leah’s smug face burned into your brain.

keira muttered as she passed you, “play nice, children.”

you rolled your eyes and stepped into place across from aggie, a few metres between you, 

the drill started, simple one-touch passing to begin with. it was fine. a little stiff. no smiles. no jokes. no comments about how her stupid shoelaces never matched her boots or how she always misjudged her first touch when she was thinking too hard.

but the ball moved cleanly between you.

left foot. right foot. receive. return.

your body remembered what you weren’t ready to say. you knew how she weighted a pass when she was distracted. you knew when her shoulders tightened a fraction before she sent a short ball long. you knew the exact spin of her inside-foot touch.

it was just muscle memory. you knew her. you had watched her for years, practically studied her on the days you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. 

she misjudged one, sent it slightly wide.

you chased it down, passed it back sharply, “sloppy.”

she looked up, startled as if she was questioning whether she heard you right, then she paused before laughing slightly, “you’d know.”

you both stared at each other for half a second too long, but this time, there was a flicker of something lighter in the air. a small smile across both of your faces.

the tempo of your passes quickened, instinct taking over. you played tighter, harder, until you were closing distance, closing space, until it felt less like a drill and more like a game you’d both played a hundred times before.

at one point, you flicked the ball behind your leg and watched it roll perfectly into her path.

aggie raised an eyebrow, “show-off.”

you smirked. “you’re welcome.”

she passed it back hard, making you stretch to catch it, “consider us even.”

you left the drill slightly breathless, heart pounding for reasons that had little to do with cardio, and when leah caught your eye from the sideline, she didn’t say a word. just raised an eyebrow, and that stupid smug smile across her face.

-

the session wrapped with a final word from sarina, players peeling off into smaller groups, laughter and water bottles exchanged as the sun started to dip.

you didn’t expect her to follow you, but she did.

she drifted over as you sat down on the grass, dropping beside you without a word, you glanced at her. she raised her eyebrows.

“just coming to stretch.” she smiled.

you tried not to smile, “you’re just going to copy me.”

her smile turned into a smug smirk as she started mirroring your hamstring stretch. a silence settled between the two of you. but in the moment, just the two of you breathing in sync again, it felt calm. 

like when you'd both been kids on the same u15 pitch, crashing onto the grass after drills, arms flopped over each other as you huffed out, boots discarded somewhere else, little laughs filling the space.

then you were quiet.

you switched legs, “you still hate cool downs?”

aggie shrugged, “they’re fine, better with you.”

that stilled you a little, you looked at her. she was staring out across the pitch, but her jaw twitched as if she was waiting impatiently for your response.

yet all you could do was look at the way the sun was lighting up her skin, how her eyes flickered ever so slightly in your direction when you looked at her, the small tattoo hidden behind her ear that the two of you got matching when you went on your first holiday. your heart warmed, yet pushed it all back.

you left the silence for a moment before speaking again, “you were good today.”

she glanced at you, her eyes softer, “so were you, it felt like before.”

you nodded, “yeah, i know.”

she leaned back on her hands, eyes closing against the sun, “i missed it.”

you didn’t say anything at first, but then your voice came out quieter than you meant it to, “i missed you.”

her eyes opened. she looked at you, really looked at you, none of the awkwardness from the last few weeks, none of the tension from barcelona, none of the anger that had sat between you like a wall that didn’t end.

just the aggie that knew you beyond all of this.

“i missed you too pudge.” she smiled softly.

it was quiet again, but it didn’t feel empty anymore. so you stayed there, stretching in sync, shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching.

-

the room was still. only the faint hum of the bathroom light that aggie insisted needed to stay on buzzed beyond the closed door, and the occasional creak of someone walking through the hallway. 

you were laid on your side, facing the wall, one hand curled under your cheek. behind you, aggie mirrored your position, her face just inches from your back. neither of you had spoken for a while, not since lights out. yet all your mind could think of was whether the two of you were okay now, or if there was something more that needed a conversation.

“hey,” she said, clear but quiet.

“hmm?” there was a pause, long enough that you almost thought she changed her mind, yet you still shifted to face her.

“i fancy you.”

you were silent for a moment, “what?”

aggie huffed softly, more nervous than usual, “you heard me, i’ve fancied you for years.”

“i just wanted to make sure you didn’t say, like, ‘i think i forgot my shampoo’ or something.” you laughed nervously.

she let out a quiet laugh, matching yours, “no, i definitely said ‘fancy you.’ checked it with lucy first and everything.”

“wait, you what?” your eyes widened slightly.

“she saw me pacing outside yesterday,” aggie muttered, “made me sit down and talk about my feelings, which was horrific, thanks for asking.”

even in the low light, you could see the faint shape of her, curled slightly toward you, one arm tucked under her pillow.

“and lucy’s advice was?”

aggie grinned, “basically ‘grow up and tell her, you coward.’ but with a lot more eye-rolling.”

you snorted, “god, that’s so lucy.”

silence fell again, but it was a gentler one this time.

“i fancy you too.”

aggie didn’t respond immediately. just exhaled slowly, then reached out, brushing her fingers against your wrist until your hand slid into hers under the covers. her thumb traced your knuckles lightly.

“cool,” she whispered. “cool, cool, cool.”

“you’re so lame.”

“and yet you’re holding my hand.”

“shut up.” you rolled your eyes.

aggie laughed again, quietly, and shifted closer until her arm pressed lightly against yours.

“goodnight pudge.” she murmured.

“goodnight, aggs.”

with your fingers still laced and the space between you disappearing into something warm and steady, you could finally sleep just as you usually would at a camp. wrapped up in her.

-

the next morning you reached for your phone, a message from leah lighting up your lockscreen before you could even check the time. 

leah - lucy told me aggie was confessing how she felt last night, if i don’t tell me exactly what happened i will be showing everyone the picture of you snorting milk out your nose.

nvm keira has already shown everyone, but i still want to know. 

maybe your captains involvement wasn't as terrible as you first thought it was.

You were excellent at what you did, well-respected within the multi-sports club, and you had a solid group of mutual friends that crossed directly over into the footballing world. Specifically Mapi León and Patri Guijarro, who were notorious for bridging the gap between the different sections of the club.

Which was exactly how you found yourself sitting in a dimly lit, high-end cocktail lounge in El Born on a rainy November Thursday night, wrapped in an oversized leather jacket, holding a gin and tonic, and looking directly into the dark hazel eyes of Alexia Putellas.

You had seen her around the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper, of course. Everyone knew who Alexia was. You had seen her in the common medical wings, passing by the recovery rooms, sometimes caught in nothing but her compression shorts and a sports bra while getting her knees iced. You weren't blind; you had noticed the extraordinary, tight curve of her thighs, the powerful slope of her lower back, and that legendary, unyielding posture. But you had always practiced an absolute, professional restraint. You were naturally shy, a bit reserved, and you didn't cross boundaries.

That night, however, the boundaries were heavily blurred by the third round of cocktails and Mapi’s relentless, loud orchestrations.

"y/n is too quiet," Mapi laughed, leaning across the velvet booth, gesturing toward you with her drink. "She looks like a sweet scholar with her glasses on, but I promise you, on the court, she’ll drive into the paint and drop twenty points on your head without breaking a sweat."

Alexia, who was sitting directly across from you, shifted her weight. She was dressed elegantly in a black silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, her hair falling softly around her shoulders. She had been watching you all evening, her gaze steady, intense, and thoroughly predatory in a way that made your pulse do a strange, rapid flutter. Unlike her usual introverted public persona, Alexia was feeling uncharacteristically bold, spurred on by the warm atmosphere and the undeniable, thick chemistry that had been crackling between you two since you sat down.

"I like the quiet ones," Alexia murmured, her voice a low, raspy register that vibrated right through the noise of the lounge. She locked her eyes onto yours, a slow, incredibly confident smile touching her lips. "They usually have the most interesting things to say when you get them alone."

You held her gaze, your cheeks flushing a faint, warm pink, but you didn't look away. You took a slow sip of your drink, your long fingers tapping against the glass. "Maybe I’m just conserving my energy, Putellas. Basketball is a game of pacing."

"Then let’s change the pace," Alexia replied instantly, her confidence striking like a fast break.

An hour later, when the rest of the group went to the bar to order another round, Alexia slid smoothly across the leather booth, her thigh pressing directly against yours. The heat of her body was massive, cutting straight through your denim. She reached out, her hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, her thumb tracing the soft skin behind your ear with a sudden, intense pressure.

"You’ve been looking at my lips all night, guapa," Alexia whispered, her breath warm against your cheek. "Are you going to keep calculating the percentages, or are you going to take the shot?"

Your shyness melted into a clean, focused adrenaline. You turned your head, your long fingers coming up to cup her jaw, feeling the sharp, beautiful line of her bone. "I never miss a clean shot, Alexia."

When your lips met, the world completely flattened. It was a deep, heavy, and thoroughly possessive kiss. Alexia was incredibly forward, her tongue sliding against yours with a demanding, hungry rhythm, her body leaning heavily into your tall frame. You kissed her back with a slow, deep authority, your hands anchoring her waist, but despite how hot the friction became, you kept your promise to yourself. You were a woman of deep respect. You didn't do casual locker-room flings, and you certainly weren't going to tumble into bed with the club’s biggest icon without a proper foundation. That night, after twenty minutes of breathless, heavy making out in the dark corner of the booth, you parted with a lingering, sweet kiss, leaving her completely flushed and wanting more.

The months that followed were a beautiful, torturous exercise in anticipation. The connection deepened rapidly; you began spending all your free time together, navigating long walks along the coast, quiet dinners in your flat, and endless late-night conversations. You officially became girlfriends three months later, a mutual commitment that made Alexia absolutely pillada—completely head over heels in love with you.

But during that entire courting phase, you had maintained a strict, highly disciplined boundary. You kissed her until your lips were swollen, you held her tight against your chest in the dark, but you didn't go beyond the fabric of her clothes. You wanted her to be yours completely before you uncovered the heavy, carnal desire that had been building inside your mind.

And Alexia, realizing your restraint, turned into an absolute, unyielding provocateur.

Once the relationship was official, her phone became a weapon of mass distraction. Because you were a basketball player, you appreciated high-end design, and Alexia took full advantage of that. She began sending you casual, highly devastating text messages throughout the week.

Alexia: [Image: A mirror selfie taken in her luxury room. She is wearing nothing but a premium, emerald-green lace lingerie set that cups her full breasts perfectly, the high-cut briefs accentuating the extraordinary, muscular curve of her hips and the tight, flat plane of her stomach. Her face is slightly obscured by the phone, but her lips are parted in a small, wicked smile.] Alexia: I bought this new set today for our holiday next month, Y/N’ita. I wanted to get the doctor’s opinion on the fabric. Do you think the color suits my skin, or should I try something a bit more... revealing?

You would sit on the training bench at the basketball pavilion, your chest heaving from a practice session, staring at the high-definition image until your throat went completely dry. Your long fingers would tremble as you typed back, your inner top completely waking up.

Y/N: The green looks incredible against your skin, Ale. But the fabric is doing entirely too much work. If you wear that in front of me, I promise you won't be standing up for the rest of the weekend. Put it away before I drive to your house right now.

Alexia: Come and make me put it away, amor. I’m waiting.

The playful, theoretical conversations about sex were a constant current between you. One evening, while lying on her sofa watching a movie, Alexia had casually brought up the topic of toys and preferences, trying to test your limits.

"You're always so calm, Y/N," she had murmured, her fingers tracing the line of your collarbone. "So shy when Mapi makes jokes. But I’ve seen how you look at my body when you think I’m not paying attention. I know you know things. What about toys? Do you like control?"

You had let out a low, incredibly smooth chuckle, your eyes darkening as you looked down at her. You weren't a fool; you were highly experienced, and your naturally dominant, calm energy was merely waiting for the right moment to release. "I’m shy with words, Ale, not with my hands. I know exactly what to do with a woman’s body. And when it comes to toys... I like anything that keeps you completely pinned to the mattress while I take my time with you. Don't mistake my patience for submission."

Alexia had swallowed hard, her pupils dilating instantly at the raw, heavy authority in your voice, her body shivering against yours.

The boiling point arrived on a Tuesday in late January. You had suffered a minor, thoroughly annoying injury during a tactical practice session—a silly hyperextension of your left ankle after landing awkwardly on an opponent's foot. It wasn't severe, but the medical staff had strictly ordered twenty-four hours of absolute rest, icing, and no training.

Because you were grounded, Alexia had insisted you stay at her luxury house in Castelldefels.

It was late afternoon. A heavy winter rain was hitting the glass windows of her bedroom. You were propped up against a mountain of pillows on her massive king-sized bed, your left ankle wrapped in a neat compression bandage, watching a movie on the flat screen. But your brain was completely detached from the plot.

From the adjacent en-suite bathroom, the loud, steady hiss of the shower had been running for twenty minutes.

Your mind was entirely consumed by a series of dirty, intrusive, and highly vivid thoughts. You had seen Alexia semi-naked in the common recovery wings before, but today, knowing she was your girlfriend, knowing she was completely yours, the images were torturing you. You kept picturing the water cascading down her tight, muscular shoulders, tracing the deep, powerful curve of her spine, and pooling over that magnificent, world-class arse that you had been dying to sink your fingers into for months. You were starved, your patience completely exhausted.

Suddenly, the hiss of the water shut off.

A few minutes later, the frosted glass door opened slightly. Alexia poked her head out, her skin glowing pink from the heat, her hair completely wet and slicked back. She looked exceptionally beautiful, water droplets still clinging to her collarbone. She looked at you, a mischievous, thoroughly provocative glint in her hazel eyes.

"Y/N, hey, amor," she called out, her voice dripping with an innocent, slightly exaggerated sweetness. "Can you do me a massive favor? I completely forgot to bring my towel inside. It’s sitting on the rack right next to the bed. Can you reach it for me? I’m absolutely freezing and soaked."

You blinked, your brain doing a quick, analytical calculation. The towel rack was literally three steps from the bathroom door, well within her own reach. She was playing with you. She was testing the injured basketball player, trying to see how much control she could exert over you.

A slow, dangerous smile touched your lips. "Of course, babe."

You carefully slid your long legs out from beneath the duvet, ignoring the slight stiffness in your left ankle. You stood up to your full six-foot-one height, wearing nothing but a pair of grey jersey shorts and a loose black t-shirt. You walked over to the wooden rack, snatching the thick, oversized white towel.

Instead of just handing it through the gap, you pushed the bathroom door open fully.

Alexia stood there, completely naked, her skin glistening with moisture, her full breasts rising and falling with a sudden, caught breath as she looked up at your tall, imposing frame. Before she could utter a single witty remark, you stepped into her space. You snapped the heavy towel open, wrapping it completely around her wet shoulders, your long arms drawing her body directly against yours with an unyielding, massive strength.

"Y-Y/N..." she gasped, her hands coming up to rest against your chest.

You didn't let her speak. You leaned down, your mouth crashing onto hers with a primitive, heavy hunger that had been locked away for months. It wasn't the sweet, polite kiss of a girlfriend; it was a possessive, deep claim. Your tongue slided into her mouth, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and the clean heat of her skin, your fingers digging firmly through the towel to grip the soft flesh of her waist.

Alexia let out a soft, whimpering moan against your lips, her knees instantly going weak against your thighs. You broke the kiss after a long, breathless minute, your eyes dark and completely focused as you stared down at her flushed face.

"There’s your towel, baby," you murmured, your voice a low, commanding growl. "Dry yourself. I’ll be waiting."

You turned around and walked back to the bed, sliding onto the mattress with a calm, predatory leisure that left Alexia completely stunned in the doorway.

Alexia walked out of the bathroom two minutes later, deliberately ignoring your warning. She hadn't put on any clothes. She hadn't even wrapped herself in a robe. She was completely naked, her wet hair slicked back, her skin still radiating a clean, soapy heat. She walked over to her large chest of drawers, her back turned to you, her jaw set with a stubborn, competitive determination.

She was trying to regain control of the match. She began slowly riffling through the drawer, pretending to search for a pair of underwear and something comfortable to wear, her movements highly exaggerated, deliberately flexing the deep, magnificent curve of her lower back and her firm, rounded glutes right in your line of sight.

Vaya culazo (what an ass), you thought, your vision completely narrow-focused on her body, a heavy, hot ache tightening in your lower abdomen. You were naturally a bit shy, but right now, the quiet shooting guard was entirely gone.

You stood up from the bed, your movements completely silent as you crossed the hardwood floor. You stepped up directly behind her, your massive six-foot-one frame completely casting a shadow over her shorter, compact body. You reached out, your long arms wrapping securely around her waist from behind, pulling her bare back and her firm arse directly against the front of your grey shorts.

Alexia jumped slightly, a small gasp leaving her lips, her hands freezing inside the drawer.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she felt the hard, thick ridge of your arousal pressing right against the cleft of her buttocks. "I’m... I’m trying to find some clothes."

"I think it’s incredibly unfair, Nena, pretty unfair," you murmured softly, your mouth coming down to press a hot, biting kiss against the tense muscle of her shoulder, your hands sliding down to grip her hips with an unyielding pressure.

Alexia tilted her head back against your chest, her eyes fluttering shut as a shiver ran down her spine. "What’s... what’s unfair, amor?"

"You spent months sending me photos, teasing me while I was trying to respect our pace," you whispered, your teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin of her neck, making her let out a sharp, ragged breath. "And now, you stand in front of me completely naked, flexing that gorgeous ass, pretending you're just looking for underwear. You think because I have a wrapped ankle, I can't handle you?"

Alexia let out a breathy, thoroughly wicked chuckle, her inner captain trying to make a final stand. She turned around within your embrace, her front pressing against yours, her hands sliding up to grip the back of your neck. She looked up at you, her hazel eyes heavy with a sudden, dark lust.

"Then handle me, Y/N," she challenged softly, her hips giving a subtle, deliberate forward roll against your crotch. "I’ve been waiting to see what the quiet basketball player can actually do. Show me who commands the court."

That was the absolute end of her control.

You bent your knees slightly, your long, powerful arms hooking directly beneath her thighs. With an effortless, athletic strength, you lifted Alexia completely off the floor. She let out a sharp cry of surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping tightly around your waist, her hands clamping onto your shoulders as you carried her three steps back to the bed, tossing her onto the center of the mattress.

Before she could even adjust her position, you touseled out of your vest and shorts, leaving yourself completely bare, your tall, sculpted body looming over her like a magnificent storm. You crawled between her legs, your knees pinning her thighs wide apart, your large hands coming down to clamp her wrists securely against the pillows above her head.

Alexia looked up at you, her breathing shallow and rapid, her chest heaving. She was the captain, the leader, the one who dictated the rhythm of every game. She wanted to be the top; she had planned to dominate you, to make you whine beneath her. But looking up at the absolute, calm dominance in your dark eyes, she realized she had completely miscalculated the percentages. You were a shooting guard, but today, you were commanding the paint with a lethal, unyielding authority.

"Y/N..." she whimpered, her wrists trying to twist against your grip, but your long fingers were like steel handcuffs.

"Quiet, Ale," you commanded softly, leaning down until your lips were a millimeter from hers. "You wanted the shot. Now you're going to take the whole defense."

You let go of her wrists, but before she could move her arms, your right hand slid down her stomach, your long, agile fingers parting the soft hair between her thighs and sliding directly into her wet, swollen core.

Alexia arched her back off the mattress with a loud, shattered scream, her eyes flying open as your fingers found her completely soaked, dripping, and blazing hot. You didn't waste time with gentle, polite exploration; you knew exactly how a woman’s body worked. You found her clitoris instantly with your thumb, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure while two of your long fingers slided deep inside her tight, slick channel.

"Oh, god! Y/N, por favor!" Alexia wept, her head thrashing against the pillows, her hands reaching down to desperately grip your forearms. She was completely overwhelmed by the sheer, sudden intensity of the friction. You were moving your hand with the precise, high-speed coordination of a professional athlete, your fingers curling inside her, hitting her G-spot with an unyielding, heavy tempo.

"You're so wet for me, Captain," you whispered against her ear, your breath hot and heavy as your thumb increased the speed, completely ruthlessly punishing her center. "Look at you. Completely at my mercy. Where is that smug smile from the texts, mmm? Tell me how much you want it."

"I want you! I want it! Follame, Y/N, por favor!" she begged, her Catalan endearments slipping out in a desperate, ragged stream as her hips began to thrash uncontrollably against your hand. She was completely broken, her pride entirely dismantled by your dominant, heavy rhythm.

You withdrew your fingers with a wet, sucking sound that made her let out a whimpering cry of protest. You didn't leave her waiting. You reached down, aligning the strap (she took out of her drawer and handled it to you) in her soaked entrance, and with one smooth, powerful drive of your hips, you slided completely inside her.

Alexia’s mouth opened in a silent, breathless gasp, her back arching so high her shoulders almost left the bed. The strap was long, thick, and you filled her so completely it felt like an absolute overload to her nervous system. Before she could even process the fullness, you gripped her hips with both hands, anchoring her flesh against the mattress, and began a deep, heavy, and thoroughly primitive thrusting rhythm.

AH! Ah! Oh, god, Y/N! Alexia screamed, her fingers digging so hard into the muscles of your back her nails left white marks.

You were completely overriding her. Every single drive of your hips was deep, hitting the very back of her womb, your athletic core providing a relentless, crushing power that she couldn't fight. She was completely converted into the bottom, her body entirely vibrating under your weight, her head tossing from side to side as you hammered into her with a beautiful, expert precision.

"You like it deep, don't you, Ale?" you panted, your sweat dripping onto her chest, your face completely dark with lust as you looked down at her completely shattered expression. "Look at me. Tell me whose name you're screaming."

"Yours! ! Y/N! Oh, Déu meu, més fort, més fort!" she cried out, her voice breaking completely as your thumb came down to press against her clitoris once more while you continued to drive into her without a single drop of mercy.

The combination was too much. The pure, overwhelming size of the strap, the speed of your thrusts, and the absolute dominance of your position completely pushed her over the edge. Alexia’s walls began to contract violently around you, clamping your shaft in a tight, pulsing vice. She let out a long, high-pitched, and thoroughly shattered scream as she came, her entire body shaking with a massive, historic orgasm that completely drained her strength, her eyes rolling back as she shook beneath you.

Seeing her break down completely exploded your own restraint. You let out a deep, guttural growl, your hips giving three final, incredibly deep, driving thrusts, burying yourself as far as humanly possible inside her slick, pulsing heat as your own orgasm tore through your nervous system, filling her completely as you collapsed heavily against her wet, trembling chest.

The room was silent except for the heavy, ragged sounds of your combined breathing and the steady pattern of the rain against the glass. You lay there for several long minutes, your tall body completely covering hers, your face buried in her neck as the aftershocks of the climax slowly faded away.

Alexia’s hands were resting weakly against your back, her fingers lazily stroking your skin. She let out a long, exhausted, and thoroughly satisfied sigh.

"I take it back," she whispered raspy, her voice completely spent. "The basketball player definitely commands the court. You completely ruined me, Y/N."

You lifted your head, a soft, incredibly tender smile crinkling the corners of your eyes as you looked down at her flushed, sweaty face. You kissed her nose gently. "You provoked the wrong athlete, Ale. I told you I don't miss a clean shot."

"Mmm... it wasn't a clean shot, it was an absolute demolition," she chuckled softly, her hands sliding down to rest over your ass, her fingers giving a playful, slight squeeze.

For ten minutes, you simply lay there, wrapped in the warm afterglow, kissing softly, your long fingers tracing the lines of her face with a sweet, domestic adoration. Alexia was incredibly affectionate and a cuddler, her lips constantly searching for yours, her body clinging to your tall frame like a koala.

But as her breathing settled, you noticed a familiar, dangerous spark igniting within her hazel eyes once more. The captain’s recovery rate was legendary, after all.

"Y/N," she murmured, her leg sliding up the side of your thigh, her knee gently parting your legs once more.

"Mmm? What is it, amor?" you asked, smoothing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

"That was an incredible first half," Alexia whispered, a wicked, thoroughly challenging smirk returning to her lips as her hands slided down your back, her fingers gripping your hips with a sudden, intentional pressure. "But a proper match has two legs. And I think it’s time for the home rotation. Turn over, guapa. Let the captain show you how she plays when she’s behind on the scoreboard."

You let out a loud, bright laugh, completely floored by her competitive spirit. "Alexia, my ankle..."

"Your ankle is perfectly fine for what I’m going to do to you," she interrupted softly, her body shifting with a sudden, fluid athletic grace as she slided out from beneath you, her strong hands wrapping around your waist to guide your tall frame onto your back.

You didn't fight her. You let out a low, satisfied sigh, spreading your long legs wide as Alexia crawled between your thighs. She looked magnificent—her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, her dark eyes completely focused as she loomed over you. She didn't let you speak; she leaned down, her mouth capturing yours with a deep, hungry intensity, her fingers sliding down to find your own wet, aching core.

The second round was a completely different game. Alexia was a force of nature when she wanted to dominate. She used her mouth, her fingers, and her tongue with a fierce, relentless precision that made you lose your calm corporate executive mind completely. She made you whine, she made you arch your long back off the sheets, your long legs wrapping tightly around her shoulders as she drove you over the edge of a spectacular, shattering climax that left you completely breathless and trembling.

And before you could even recover, you grabbed her waist, flipping her beneath you once more, your dominant energy waking up for a final, heavy third round that left the bedsheets completely ruined and both of your bodies entirely spent.

"Okay, I seriously need a proper shower now," Alexia panted an hour later, her voice a complete slurred mess of exhaustion and post-sex bliss. She was lying spread-eagled on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow, her skin completely covered in dried sweat and love juices.

You let out a weak chuckle from beside her, your long limbs stretched out across the mattress. "Go on then, bae. I’ll just stay here and become part of the mattress."

Alexia lifted her head, turning her face to look at you through her messy hair. She let out a soft, thoroughly spoiled pout. "No. Come with me, amor. My muscles are aching, and I want you to wash my back. Please?"

You stared at her dramatic, beautiful face, completely helpless against her soft, vulnerable side. "Fine. But only because I love you."

You both stood up from the bed, your bodies completely naked and unbothered as you walked into the large, modern en-suite bathroom. Alexia turned the handles of the massive walk-in shower, the room instantly filling with a thick, warm cloud of steam.

The shower was a beautiful, state-of-the-art glass enclosure with a premium, high-pressure rainfall showerhead extending from the ceiling. It was designed for a standard-sized football player. It was not, however, perfectly optimized for a six-foot-one basketball shooting guard.

You stepped into the warm spray behind Alexia, the hot water instantly cascading over your shoulders, washing away the residue of the past few hours. You reached for the bottle of premium, vanilla-scented body wash, pouring a generous amount into your large palms, and began a slow, incredibly tender massage across Alexia’s tight shoulders and upper back.

Alexia let out a long, blissful purr, her head tilting forward under the water, her body leaning back completely against your front. "Oh, god... right there, amor. Your hands are literally magic."

"You're incredibly tense, Ale," you murmured softly, your long fingers digging expertly into the knots of her shoulder blades. "You need to relax during the week."

"I am relaxed now," she whispered, turning around within your embrace under the streaming water. Her skin was glistening, her eyes soft as she looked up into your face. She reached up, her hands coming up to cup your jaw, pulling your head down for a sweet, slow, and thoroughly water-logged kiss.

The intimacy was profound, completely filled with a tender, quiet adoration. But as you leaned into the kiss, shifting your weight to accommodate her shorter height, your left foot gave a slight, awkward slip on the wet tile due to your wrapped ankle.

Your reflexes instinctively kicked in. You tried to straighten your tall spine to regain your balance, moving your head upward with a sudden, rapid athletic motion.

THWACK.

Your forehead connected directly with the heavy, solid metallic edge of the rainfall showerhead with a loud, hollow metallic ring.

"Ow! hostia..." you groaned loudly, your hand instantly flying to your forehead as you stumbled back against the glass wall of the shower, your eyes watering from the sudden, sharp impact.

Alexia’s eyes flew open, her face transitioning from pure romantic bliss to a state of absolute, terrified panic in half a second. "Y/N! My god! Are you alright?"

She shut the water off instantly, her small hands coming up to frantically pull your hand away from your forehead to inspect the damage. There was no blood, thank God, but a prominent, bright pink lump was already beginning to form right near your hairline.

You stood there, leaning against the glass, looking completely ridiculous—a six-foot-one elite basketball player defeated by a standard bathroom fixture.

"I forgot... I forgot how low the ceiling is in here," you mumbled, a sheepish, thoroughly embarrassed smile touching your lips as you rubbed the bump.

Alexia stared at the pink lump, then looked at your massive, awkward frame, and completely broke down into a fit of loud, bright, and thoroughly uncontrollable laughter. The sound echoed off the tiles, her head falling against your bare chest as she shook with amusement.

"It’s not funny, Putellas," you pouted playfully, your long arms wrapping around her waist. "I have a concussion now. My basketball career is over because of your shower."

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, amore," Alexia laughed, wiping a tear from her eye as she stood on her tiptoes to press a series of soft, incredibly apologetic kisses directly over the pink bump on your forehead. "You are just too tall for my house. You are a giant. A beautiful, brilliant giant who completely ruined my body but lost a match against the plumbing."

"Shut up," you smiled, leaning down to capture her lips in a deep, warm kiss that silenced her laughter completely.

She wrapped a soft, fluffy towel around your waist, before leading you out of the bathroom like a patient. For the rest of the evening, she refused to let you move a single muscle. She made you lie down on the fresh bedsheets, applied an ice pack to your forehead, and crawled right beside you, her body tucked securely beneath your long arm.

The Castelldefels house was quiet, the winter rain still pattering against the glass, but inside the bedroom, the warmth was absolute. Alexia was tracing soft circles against your chest, her hazel eyes looking up at you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship.

"No more showers for you, giant," she whispered softly, kissing your jaw. "From now on, we stay in bed where it’s safe."

---

The Chelsea locker room after a home defeat feels like a luxury funeral. The air is thick, heavy with the smell of damp grass, sweat, and the bitter taste of helplessness. No one speaks. Only the metallic sound of studs against the floor and the rush of the showers in the background can be heard.

I am sitting on my bench, my head buried in my hands, reliving the final minute of the match. That pass I didn’t make, that fraction of a second in which I hesitated. I feel a stare burning into the back of my neck. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

"If you had stayed with your mark instead of trying that individual play, they wouldn’t have had the space for the cross," Niamh Charles’s voice is cold, precise, almost robotic.

I jump to my feet, my heart still racing. "Not everything is a tactical scheme, Niamh. Sometimes you have to take risks. But of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You’re so perfect you seem plastic."

Niamh doesn’t even blink. She crosses her arms, with that impeccable posture that gets under my skin. "What you call ‘taking risks,’ I call recklessness. There’s a difference between having talent and having discipline."

"That’s enough, both of you!" Millie’s voice booms through the locker room. Millie walks over, pulling off her captain’s armband, and looks at us with a mix of exhaustion and bitter amusement. "It’s exhausting to watch you. Don’t you realize?"

"Realize what, Millie?" we both ask in unison, with the same indignant tone.

Aggie and Lucy exchange a look from the other side of the room. Lucy, who only arrived this season but has already seen everything football has to offer, lets out a short laugh.

"It’s insane," Lucy says, leaning against her locker. "Niamh criticizes Y/N for being impulsive, and Y/N criticizes Niamh for being rigid. But you were both crying in the tunnel over the same mistake. You both have the same obsession with control, you just express it differently."

"We’re nothing alike," I insist, even though doubt begins to sting like salt in an open wound.

"Shut up and go shower," Millie says, pointing toward the exit. "It’s scary how similar you are. It’s like watching two people fighting their own shadow."

Two hours later, the Cobham parking lot is almost empty. The Surrey drizzle has turned into a steady downpour. My car won’t start. The engine makes an agonizing sound and I give up, slamming the steering wheel in frustration.

"Trouble?" Niamh is standing next to her car, a few meters away. She’s wearing her Chelsea hoodie with the hood up and looks like a solitary figure in the dim light.

"I don’t need your help, Charles. Go home and review your passing stats," I say, stepping out of the car and letting myself get soaked by the rain, preferring the cold to her condescension.

But Niamh doesn’t leave. She comes closer. And for the first time, she doesn’t walk with that ironclad confidence. Her shoulders are slumped, the tension of the match still etched into every muscle.

"Stop fighting for one second, Y/N. It’s not starting. Get in mine, I’ll drive you."

The drive is suffocatingly silent. She drives with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, her profile intermittently illuminated by passing headlights. I stare out the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass, reflecting the blurred city lights.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I blurt out suddenly. The question hangs in the air, heavy, like a truth that’s been hidden for far too long.

Niamh tightens her grip on the wheel. Her knuckles turn white. "I don’t hate you, Y/N. You just… make me nervous. You’re so free on the pitch. You do what you feel without thinking about the consequences. I can’t do that. If I make a mistake, I feel like everything collapses. I have to be perfect to feel like I deserve to be here. There’s no room for improvisation."

I turn to look at her. The streetlights filtering through the windshield illuminate her profile and, for the first time, I don’t see the untouchable Chelsea player. I see someone who is terrified of failing, someone with a vulnerability that disarms me.

"I’m the same, Niamh," I confess in a whisper, feeling my voice crack. "All that noise I make, the jokes, the impulsiveness… it’s armor. It’s to hide that I’m terrified of not being good enough. If I follow the rules and fail, the blame is mine. If I take risks and fail, I can blame chaos, ‘bad luck,’ that ‘this is just how I am.’"

Niamh pulls the car over to the side of the road, beneath the faint glow of a solitary streetlamp. She turns off the engine. The silence is no longer tense; it’s revealing, almost reverent. The sound of rain against the roof is the only thing accompanying us.

"Millie is right," she says, with a sad smile I’ve never seen on her before. A smile that is more human than any gesture she’s made before. "We’re the same person in different packaging. I lock myself into discipline and you hide in chaos. But we’re both looking for the same thing: validation. The certainty that we belong."

"And we’re both alone in that," I add, feeling an ache that is no longer about football or the loss, but about the mutual recognition of that loneliness.

Niamh leans toward me. The difference in height in the car seat shortens as our bodies turn to face each other. I can see the shine in her eyes, a mix of exhaustion, understanding, and a connection that scares me more than any defeat.

"Not anymore," she says, and her hand, the one that always seemed so rigid on the pitch, rests with infinite softness over mine on my thigh. Her thumb brushes the back of my hand with unexpected tenderness. "We don’t have to be opposites, Y/N. Maybe we’re just two parts of the same player. Two halves of a whole."

In that moment, under the gray London sky, the anguish transforms. It’s no longer the pain of being misunderstood, but the vertigo of having been discovered, of finally being seen. Niamh looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time, without armor or prejudice. And I realize that what I hated most about her was, in reality, what I most needed to learn about myself.

Her eyes drop to my lips. My breath catches in my throat. There’s a silent question, an invitation. Slowly, Niamh closes the distance between us. Her lips are soft, a light, tender touch, almost a sigh, that steals my breath away. It’s not a passionate kiss, but one of recognition, of acceptance. A silent “I see you” that changes everything.

I pull back just a few centimeters, my heart pounding. "If the girls find out about this, they’re going to lose their minds," I say, trying to break the tension with a bit of my usual humor, even though my voice trembles.

Niamh lets out a real laugh, one that lights up the inside of the car as if the sun had decided to come out just for us. "I don’t think they will anytime soon."

---

The party at Niamh Charles’ house was exactly like all her parties: too much noise, too much food, and too many people trying not to break anything expensive.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, watching the organized chaos with a smile. You’d known Niamh since before professional football became part of her daily routine. To you, she was still the girl who forgot her wallet in the most absurd places, not a Chelsea player.

“Y/N!” she shouted from the living room. “Come here, I need you to meet someone.”

She grabbed your wrist and pulled you through the crowd back into the kitchen, as if it were the center of the universe.

“Aggie, this is Y/N. My favorite person outside of football.”

The girl in front of you had an easy smile and an energy that was impossible to ignore.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Aggie.”

“Y/N.”

“Niamh talks about you a lot,” Aggie added, amused. “Especially about your ability to win ridiculous arguments.”

“That’s a lie,” Niamh cut in. “I win.”

“Sure you do,” you and Aggie replied at the same time.

You looked at each other.

And that’s where it all started.

Niamh disappeared five minutes later to attend to more guests, leaving you talking alone. The conversation flowed with an ease you didn’t expect: music, bad TV shows, shared hatred of cold coffee, and how hard it was to find quiet plans in London.

Football was never mentioned.

And you didn’t ask.

To you, Aggie was simply another friend from Niamh’s circle.

—

Three months later, Aggie was no longer “the girl from the party.”

She was the person who sent you good morning texts with terrible memes. The one who insisted on walking through Battersea Park even when it was raining. The one who pretended not to be competitive until you pulled out a console.

You knew she worked “in sports.”

But she never specified.

And you never pushed.

Until one Sunday, Niamh called you.

“I need moral support. I’ve got two passes for today at Stamford Bridge. You’re coming, no excuses.”

“Who are you playing?”

“City. Big match.”

You accepted without thinking too much about it.

—

The stadium was full. The atmosphere vibrated even in the family and friends section.

You sat next to Niamh, who that day was suspended and couldn’t play. She explained parts of the match to you, and you nodded, pretending to understand.

Until the players walked onto the pitch.

And you saw her.

Number 33.

Hair tied back.

Focused smile.

Aggie Beever-Jones.

Your Aggie.

The world stopped for a second.

“That can’t be…” you murmured.

Aggie looked up toward the stands as if she knew exactly where to look. Her eyes found you in the crowd.

And she smiled.

A small wink.

A kiss blown into the air.

Next to you, Niamh frowned.

“Who is Aggie blowing a kiss to?” she asked, confused. “She’s very happy today.”

You were still in shock.

“Niamh…”

“Yeah?”

“Since when does Aggie play for Chelsea?”

Silence.

She blinked.

“What do you mean since when? Since always. She’s literally my teammate.”

You slowly turned to look at her.

“You never mentioned it.”

“I thought you knew.”

“How would I know?”

Niamh opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Okay… maybe I assumed things.”

—

Chelsea won with a goal from Aggie in the second half.

Of course.

When the match ended, you went down with Niamh toward the area near the tunnel.

The players started coming out.

Aggie was one of the first.

And the moment she saw you, she didn’t hesitate for even half a second.

She ignored cameras.

Ignored interviews.

Ignored Niamh.

She ran toward you and hugged you, lifting you slightly off the ground while hiding her face in your neck.

“Now do you understand why I didn’t tell you much about work?” she whispered, amused.

“You could have mentioned it.”

“I liked that you saw me as Aggie. Not as ‘the footballer.’”

The way she said it disarmed you.

Niamh appeared beside you with a completely betrayed expression.

“Sorry… what is going on here?”

Aggie put her feet back on the ground but didn’t let go of your hand.

“We’re dating.”

“Since when?”

“Three months,” you both answered at the same time.

Niamh looked up at the sky as if searching for divine patience.

“Three months. THREE. And I’ve spent weeks telling Y/N that Aggie is the most annoying one in training.”

“Hey,” Aggie protested.

“And I’ve spent weeks telling Aggie that my best friend would never date someone from the team because ‘that would be too much drama.’”

You crossed your arms.

“Do you know what the worst part is? You introduced us.”

Niamh pointed at herself.

“I did this?”

“You did this,” Aggie confirmed.

From behind, a couple of teammates started laughing as they noticed the scene. Someone whistled. Another shouted something unintelligible that made Aggie shake her head, red up to her ears.

Niamh kept looking at both of you as if she were trying to solve an impossible puzzle.

“I don’t know whether to feel betrayed or impressed,” she finally muttered.

“Impressed sounds better,” Aggie replied without letting go of your hand.

You smiled, leaning slightly toward Niamh.

“And relax. Your star teammate is actually pretty charming when she’s not scoring goals in derbies.”

Aggie let out a soft laugh.

“Thanks, I think.”

Niamh pointed at Aggie.

“Okay, but just so it’s clear, on Monday at training I don’t want a single complaint about ‘oh, I’m tired.’ Now I know exactly why you smile so much at your phone.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Aggie protested.

“That’s being a good friend,” Niamh shot back.

Aggie wrapped an arm naturally around your waist, no longer hiding anything, resting her forehead briefly against your temple.

“So… did you like the goal?”

“It was good,” you said, pretending to analyze seriously. “But I liked the wink before the match more.”

She smiled sideways.

“I knew you were watching.”

Niamh shook her head, still incredulous.

“I’m going to need another party to process that my best friend and my teammate have been dating for three months without me knowing.”

“Technically,” Aggie intervened, “thanks to you, we’re here.”

“That’s what hurts the most.”

The three of you ended up laughing.

And while the cameras kept capturing celebrations for the victory, you only thought about how simple everything had been at the beginning: a crowded kitchen, a casual conversation, and a smile that promised nothing…

Aggie stood in front of her apartment door. She knew that you wouldn't be greeting her at the door like usual. Aggie knew exactly where you would be. Aggie unlocked the door and stepped inside her apartment, and you were in fact not at the door or calling her name in a singing voice.

“Babe?” Aggie yelled from the hallway, dropping her bag on the ground of the hallway. You didn't answer because you sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, surrounded by Topps packs from the Euros. “Babe!” Aggie’s voice came again, this time closer to you. Aggie’s footsteps moved from the end of the hallway to the living room. She stopped at the open doorframe, leaning against it with an amused smile.

“C’mon!” You grumbled in frustration, throwing the cards you just packed in the air. Aggie’s eyes followed the cards that flew in the air, seeing them gently fall all around you. Aggie shook her head, a small smile dugging at her lips, as you dramatically let yourself fall on the ground. “How is it even possible?” You grunted with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest. “I have opened 300 packs, but no Aggie! Really?” You muttered, closing your eyes, the pout still on your lips. 

You opened your eyes, but instead of looking at the ceiling, Aggie hovered over you, a smug smile on her lips. “Aggie!” You shot up, almost bumping your head against hers. “Hello.” Aggie smiled and took a seat next to you, once you had sat up properly. “How was training?” You asked, wrapping your arms around her neck, brushing your nose against hers.

Aggie let out a sigh, her arms wrapping around your waist, and you let your head rest on her shoulder. “Oh, you know the usual,” Aggie said with a smile, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Passing balls, scoring goals, and getting tackled.” You let out a snort, lifting your head so you could meet Aggie’s eyes once more. “You smell nice, though.” You said with a smile, as you took in the scent of Aggie’s shampoo.

“Good, because this is your shampoo.” You froze and sniffed again, and it was indeed your shampoo. “Aggie, that shampoo is expensive!” You whined. Aggie let out a laugh, kissing you softly. “I’ll buy you a new one, after you explain what the hell all of this is?” Aggie said and pulled back, gesturing to the mess that was still lying on the ground. 

You looked at the ground, the sticker book, and stickers with players from different countries lying scattered around on the floor. “Aggie, you don't know what these are?” You uttered in disbelief, earning an eyebrow raise from Aggie, who indeed didn't know what those stickers meant. “No.” Aggie said hesitantly, while you picked a few stickers up from the ground.

You shoved a few stickers in Aggie’s hand so she could look at the stickers you had picked up. Aggie looked at the stickers one by one. “Babe, why do you have 4 Aitana stickers and 3 Alexia stickers?” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I know!” You snapped, louder than you intended. Aggie held her arms up in defence that she didn't mean it in the wrong way.

“I got them double.” You muttered, dropping down and starting to pick up the other stickers. “I have everyone in this stupid book.” You muttered and held up the sticker book. “Everyone, except you.” Aggie shot her head up, raising an eyebrow at you. “So, let me get this right,” Aggie cleared her throat, handing you the rest of the stickers.

“You have been buying these because you want mine?” You nodded, and Aggie bit her lower lip to stiffen a laugh. “Don’t worry, you still have 5 boxes of those sticker packs to go.” You groaned when you looked at all those boxes, before walking into your girlfriend's arms, and Aggie couldn't hold back the laugh she had been trying to hold.

-------------

A week had passed, and Aggie had come home every day with you, surrounded by stickers. Aggie was just done with training and sat in her cubby in the locker room, her brows knitted together. “Aggie, what’s with the frown?” Wieke asked, taking a seat next to Aggie on the bench. “Nothing.” Aggie muttered, pulling on her sweater, after putting her hair in a loose bun.

“Aggie.” Wieke said, dragging out the name. “Fine, fine. y/n is obsessed with these, what are they called, topps stickers?” Aggie stated, not really knowing if she remembered it right. “Oh, those.” Aggie raised an eyebrow at Wieke. “Seriously, am I the only one who doesn’t know about these stickers?” Aggie groaned, letting her back rest against the wall.

“And y/n is trying to get me out of one of those packs, but no success so far.” Aggie said with a sigh, hearing Wieke laugh next to her. “I have your sticker for her.” Wieke reassured Aggie, who sat up straight. “Y-you do?” Aggie asked, turning her head to Wieke. “Wieke, I’m begging you, can I have that sticker?” Aggie begged, because she wanted her clingy and lovely girlfriend back to normal. “I think I have it in my bag, hold on.” Wieke thought out loud.

Wieke went through her bag, and after a few minutes, she took out a pack of stickers neatly stacked on top of each other. “And, here is your sticker.” Wieke handed Aggie her own sticker. “Wieke, I owe you!” Aggie practically yelled. She took her bag and ran out of the changing room. “What’s up with her?” Millie asked, after Aggie ran past her without a goodbye. Wieke shrugged with a laugh. “She’s going to make her girlfriend very happy.” Wieke stated, and Millie just nodded, not wanting to be in the middle of teenage love. 

----------

Aggie entered her home and ran into the living room, seeing you again sitting on the floor with stickers. “Babe!” Aggie panted and walked toward you, but you were too busy with your packs. “y/n!” Aggie now yelled, and she finally got your attention. “Aggie!” You yelped, your hand on your chest.

“I have a surprise.” You raised an eyebrow, seeing the mischievous look in your girlfriend's eyes. “Okay?” You said hesitantly, turning to face her. “Close your eyes.” Aggie hurried you. “Aggie-” You tried to say, but Aggie gave you a look that said that it wasn’t a question. You sighed in defeat, closing your eyes reluctantly, hearing Aggie’s footsteps retreat into the house.

“Hands open.” Aggie declared. You eventually held your palms open and felt Aggie putting something in your hands. “Okay, open them.” You slowly opened your eyes, and they landed on the card in your hand. 

“Surprise!” Aggie said with a smile, but you didn't smile. Aggie’s smile faltered, seeing that you didn’t look happy. “Are you okay?” Aggie asked, because this wasn’t the reaction that she wanted. “What is wrong with you?” Aggie took a step back, confused and startled at your reaction. “But that’s what you wanted.” Aggie said, her brows knitting in confusion.

“You’re unbelievable. ” You muttered, crumbling Aggie’s sticker and throwing it on the ground. “W-what-” Aggie shook her head, because she was really confused. “I thought you wanted my sticker?” You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Yes! But ‘I’ wanted to pack you!” You said in frustration, because that was the fun in it all. “Why does that matter?” You couldn’t believe that Aggie wasn’t getting the importance of it.

“You know what? You don’t get.” Aggie’s eyes looked for yours. Without saying a word, you walked out of the living room, leaving Aggie there, confused and in shock. “y/n!” Aggie finally moved, but your answer was the slam of the bedroom door. Aggie sighed heavily before falling back on the couch, dragging her hands down her face. “What did I do wrong?” Aggie asked out loud, staring at the ceiling.

Later, when it was starting to get late. Aggie started to make dinner. She was too busy at the stove, not noticing your footsteps behind her. Aggie tasted to pasta sauce, but then felt your arms wrap around her from behind, your chin resting on her shoulder. “Hey.” Aggie murmured, a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Baby,” You hummed softly, placing a kiss on Aggie’s neck. “I was cleaning up the stickers and found under the couch a closed pack. You must have missed it because of all the mess.” You pulled back slightly and saw the pack lying on the counter. You let go of Aggie’s waist and walked to the side of the counter where the package had been placed.

You didn't think much of it because Aggie would probably not be in it. You ripped it open. You had an Italian player, a Swedish player, a Welsh player, a Dutch and a Polish player. You groaned, but then you saw another card move behind the Polish one. You laid the other five cards down, and now in your hand was a special card with Aggie on it. 

“Aggie!” You yelled and quickly moved to her side again. “What?” Aggie asked, as she turned her attention to you. “I have you! I got you!” You shrieked and kissed Aggie, who almost knocked the pan off the stove. “Really?” Aggie asked, her eyes wide.

“Look!” You said, holding out Aggie’s card. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry about how I acted earlier!” You apologized, kissing Aggie again. “Can you forgive me? I’m so sorry!” Aggie smiled before picking you up from the ground and spinning you in the middle of the kitchen. “You’re forgiven.” Aggie said with a smile and kissed you again, while placing you back on the ground.

It was the second match of the EUROs for your team. You won your first match with a 4-0 win, but this game was more difficult. It was more physical, with higher pressure from the opponent, and you had to defend more than in the last game. The game started rough. Your opponent, England, was fast with their passes and their turns.

You defended like you always did. Blocking shots, making perfect tackles inside of your penalty area. Your team was the ‘underdog’ in this group. But that did not mean that your team would bow that easily for the harder opponents. The first half ended with 0-0, so there was still a chance for your team to win, and you would do anything to try and win tonight.

England made a substitute at the beginning of the second half. You looked at the sideline and saw an English player, around your age, standing there. Her ponytail swung when she jumped in the air, her white jersey shining because of the sun that landed on it. You had heard of the player. Aggie Beever-Jones, Chelsea’s youngster and top striker, is coming in for Lauren James. You had seen Aggie play before. She could get out of the most difficult places, and her passing was good, just as good as her shooting.

When England made the substitution and both teams were ready, the referee blew the whistle, and the second half was underway. You kept your eyes on the ball, and you noticed that Aggie’s teammates always tried to find her because Aggie read the game like an open book.

The first time Aggie came through was after a sloppy ball from the midfield, so Aggie intercepted the pass immediately. She only needed to turn once, and she had the midfield all for herself. Aggie ran straight at you, so you did what you always did: move up and slide towards the ball. You made contact with the ball, and it rolled to one of your teammates.

Aggie tumbled forward and fell over you, clutching her leg, hoping that the referee saw it as a foul, but the referee let the game continue. You looked at her for a quick second, but she only gave you an angry look before picking herself up from the ground. The second time Aggie came close to your box was when a high ball got shot over your defense. You quickly started to run back, and you were now shoulder to shoulder with the English striker, who tried to keep the ball at her feet.

Aggie tapped the ball too far, giving you the opportunity to slide in front of the ball and stop the attack again. “Ref!” Aggie yelled when she was on the ground, her arms wide and looking at the referee, who only gave Aggie the sign to stand up again. Aggie scoffed in disbelief before walking out of the offside position she was in after your tackle. You were proud of yourself that you managed to stop the Chelsea striker for the second time, and you would do that every time.

The match continued; both teams had scored, and England was starting to press more. You knew that your team was getting slower and couldn’t get off your own half. Minutes passed on, and then, after another sloppy ball from one of your teammates, Aggie had the ball again and all the space to move forward. The midfielders were too slow to catch up with her, so she ran straight at you again.

You held your ground and kept looking at the ball. Aggie tried to move past you with a nutmeg, but you tapped the ball away, and this time you felt yourself hitting the shin of the English striker. Aggie fell to the ground and held her shin. The whistle blew, and you couldn’t believe that the referee would blow for a foul. “No, no, no! It was on the ball!” You yelled at the referee while Aggie stood up and bumped your shoulder, and you lost your balance at the contact.

Before you could even stop yourself, you shoved Aggie back, but she was in your face within seconds. “Get your hands off me!” Aggie yelled, her hands pushing yours away. “That was a clear foul!” Aggie yelled again, and you let out a scoff, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t!” You shot back, your eyes never leaving hers. “If you can’t handle the contact, maybe try a different sport!” Aggie narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, both of you got pulled back. Aggie by her captain, and you by your own.

“Aggie, stop!” You heard the English captain say, still holding Aggie back. “What? That’s the third foul she made on me! I’m not standing by and letting her get away with it!” Aggie argued back; her patience was boiling over. “I know, but screaming in her face is not going to change anything.” Leah's voice was calmer now, her hands resting on Aggie's shoulders. Aggie's chest rose and fell, but her breathing calmed. “Just get into position for the free kick.” Leah said with a sigh.

Aggie glared at you for a beat, then turned on her heel and walked back into position. “y/n!” You snapped your head back, meeting the eyes of your own captain. “That was reckless and not necessary!” Amber yelled, and you frowned because it was necessary. “It was a one-on-one situation. What should I have done? Let her pass me?” Amber shook her head with a heavy sigh. “No. But you are a smart defender and not some reckless one, so you knew what to do in the situation.” You closed your eyes briefly and opened them again before nodding.

You walked into position, and the only free opponent was Aggie. You stood behind her, nudging her every now and then, just trying to get her out of focus. The match ended in a narrow defeat for you. The final score was 3-2 for England, with Aggie scoring a last-minute banger in the corner of the goal. The two of you didn’t shake hands at the end, and you didn’t bother to glance at her. You have hated a lot of people in your life, but Aggie was on another level of hate.

The quick elimination of your team at EURO’s was a big pill to swallow for you. Everyone had hoped that you would get further than the group stages, but after the match with England, your team lost the other two matches. But there was one thing that came out of it. You got an offer from one of the best football clubs, Chelsea. They found your defending amazing and how you commanded your defenders.

So here you were. Your first day at Chelsea. You had done everything that you needed to do, but now you were going to meet your new teammates. You moved through the hallways in your blue training kit for Chelsea. You reached the common room, and there were already a few players. You scanned the room, and your eyes landed on Aggie, who was talking with another blonde player, Wieke, if you remembered correctly. You knew what you signed up for when you signed for Chelsea.

You would be teammates with Aggie from now on, and the two of you needed to find a way to have a good relationship with each other. If not for your and Aggie’s sake, then for the team’s. You moved further into the room, not looking at Aggie the whole time, but Aggie would glance at you every now and then, a bit longer than necessary, but you did not notice. Aggie didn’t know what it was, but you looked more friendly off the field than on the field.

Months passed, and you settled great in North London. You and Aggie didn’t exchange words much off the field, but the tension that was at EURO’s wasn’t there. It hadn’t disappeared either, but it was calmer. Your first few trainings went well; you did what Chelsea brought you to do. Defend like you did at the EURO’s and command your teammates where necessary.

The silent truce between you and Aggie didn’t last long; during a 5v5, you made a clean tackle on the ball, not caring how Aggie would land. You quickly stood up and concentrated back on the exercise, but Aggie stayed on the ground, furious at how reckless you were. Aggie quickly stood up and ran towards you when you had the ball. You were about to pass the ball, but Aggie blocked the ball from behind you, and her studs landed on your foot.

You winced and fell on the ground, your hand clutching your foot. You furiously looked up to meet Aggie, but she was already chasing the ball. Sonia looked from the sidelines and looked worried every time you and Aggie interacted, and not in a teammate interaction kind of way. The training continued; you and Aggie had a few more tackles against each other, and every time, you would glance angrily at Aggie when she would tackle you, and Aggie did the same to you.

After training was done, you sat in the locker room. You had showered, and you were putting the last things in your bag. You heard the faucet in the shower turning off and the bare feet on the wet tiles. You didn’t need to look up; you knew that it was Aggie, who was done showering. You stood up and turned your back to her, but your eyes landed on her through the mirror.

Your eyes couldn’t move away; they stayed locked on the bare back of Aggie. You saw her muscled shoulders and how she slowly dried her back with the towel before wrapping it around herself. You had been staring at Aggie for the last couple of months, as much as you hated to admit it, but Aggie is hot. You hated yourself even more when you always stared at her, but you didn’t know that she would stare at you as well when you weren’t looking. You didn’t know what changed.

Maybe it was how Aggie laughed so brightly? Maybe it was her blue eyes that were clear, like a summer sky, or it was the way she moved and always knew what to do. You, on the other hand, were so confused; months ago, Aggie was on your most hated list, but now you didn’t know what list you needed to put her. You looked back into the mirror and saw Aggie taking off the towel, and for a split second, your eyes met, and you felt your cheeks go bright red, and you turned your head quickly away.

Aggie took a seat on the bench, fully naked, and starts to dry her legs and feet. You feel your heart hammer in your chest and see from the corner of your eye Aggie smirking, clearly satisfied that she caught you staring. “Jesus, you are practically drooling.” The cocky voice of Aggie filled the room, and you felt your cheeks go red. “I-I wasn’t—” You couldn’t get your words out, your brain short-circuiting a little.

“Sure, you weren’t. I could see you dress me and take my clothes off again with your eyes.” You opened your mouth but closed it again, not knowing how to respond to that. You still had your back to Aggie, but then you heard her footsteps closing in on you. Your eyes looked at the mirror and saw Aggie walking slowly towards you, like a lion sneaking up on its prey. Within seconds, you feel Aggie's presence behind you. Your back was still turned to her, but Aggie spins you around gently and corners you against the wall next to the mirror, her hands at either side of your head.

Your faces are inches apart; you could almost feel the smirk on Aggie's lips on your jaw. Without thinking, you looked at her arms, tracing the purple veins up to her shoulders. You looked away, but Aggie turned your head with two fingers on your jaw, forcing you to meet her eyes again. “Uh-uh, no looking away when I’m literally standing inches away from you.” Aggie murmured, her lips brushing your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

You heard the soft growl leaving Aggie's throat; she was loving that she had this effect on you. Aggie leans in; you part your lips in anticipation, and your noses brush. But then Aggie pulls back, still the same smirk on her lips. “Maybe next time,” Aggie whispered, her lips against your ear. “I will kiss you.” You froze, and Aggie walked away, leaving you completely speechless against the wall, and you heard Aggie's footsteps fading into the distance.

It has been a week since your moment with Aggie in the locker room, and you haven’t been thinking straight ever since. You sat in the booth of a bar; the team was celebrating a win over Arsenal. The bar was buzzing, with chatter all around you, music blaring out of the boxes, and people drinking beer. You had a drink in your hand, but it was still full.

“Are you drinking that or what?” You heard Niamh yell in your ear, earning a chuckle from you, and you took a small sip from your drink. Your eyes scanned the bar. Teammates were scattered around the bar. Some participated in a drinking game, others were darting, and others were just talking with a beer in their hands. “Aggie is at it again!” You frowned when Sam said that; your eyes followed the gaze of everyone else.

Aggie was sitting there, just a few inches away from a girl at the bar. Aggie put her hand on the girl's hip and leaned closer. Your jaw clenched, your fingers tightened on the beer in your hand, and your knuckles turned white. Everyone else at the booth let out whistles and ‘oeh’s’ when Aggie leaned in once again.

You scoffed before muttering, “She can barely hold her position on the field, let alone keep a girl.” Everyone at the table went quiet and turned their head to you, but you just shrugged your shoulders. “What? She always moves to the midfield, even if she is a striker.” You stated, taking another sip from your drink, your eyes darting to Aggie.

The night continued, and after a while, Aggie walked to your booth, hand in hand with the girl she was so close to at the bar. Before Aggie could pass the booth, you took her wrist under the table, quiet but firm. Aggie looks at you, knowing full well what she has been doing. “Really?” You muttered, and Aggie gave you a look, meaning she didn’t know what you were talking about.

“We’re doing this now?” Aggie just shrugged her shoulders before leaning down, her mouth near your ear. “You started this. By staring at me in the locker room, remember?” Your body froze, and Aggie pulled her wrist back from your hold and left with the girl to the dance floor. You still sat in the booth, your eyes on Aggie, who was dancing close to a girl, and they were whispering things to one another. Aggie's eyes met yours; your jaw was tight when Aggie kept looking at you, her hands moving from the girl's waist to her ass.

You looked away and chugged your beer down. Aggie smirked at you before she placed kisses on the girl's neck. “Anyone want a new beer?” You offered the girls near you, and they handed their empty glasses to you before you left the booth for the bar. Aggie, her eyes found you, moving slowly through the busy bar. Aggie smiled proudly because she had wrapped you around her fingers, right where she wanted you.

When you returned and set the beers on the table, you caught a glimpse of Aggie leaving alone to the restroom, and you didn’t hesitate. You offered quick ‘you’re welcomes’ to your teammates before heading to the restroom. You move quickly through the crowd and eventually reach the restroom door. You walked in and saw Aggie casually leaning against the wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest and staring at the floor, like she already knew that you would follow her.

“Took you long enough.” Aggie hummed, not bothering to look up, already knowing it was you who barged in. You didn’t speak, your hands fisted at your sides, while Aggie moved to the sink and leaned back against it. “You didn’t like seeing me with her?” Aggie asked innocently, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Don’t start.” You said, almost in a growl, and you stared her down. “You knew I was watching. You wanted me to see.” Your voice was low, and your eyes narrowed, Aggie, who was still leaning against the sink.

“I do have to admit,” Aggie started as she was looking at her nails. “Jealousy looks pretty good on you.” Aggie dropped her hand and looked straight into your eyes. Aggie still had the mischievous look in her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.” Your voice was low again, and you took a step forward, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re looking at me like you want to slam me into a wall.” You stopped walking, and the two of you stood face-to-face, both feeling the tension in the small space between your bodies.

 “What? No sna—” Before Aggie could get the rest of the sentence out, your lips crashed onto hers, a low groan leaving your throat. Aggie moaned in the kiss and leaned into your body, forcing you to take a few steps back. The kiss never breaks as Aggie presses you against the wall across from the sink, her teeth biting on your lower lip. Your back hit the wall with a thud, and Aggie's mouth moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving you breathing heavily, your hands on her shoulders.

“I really wish I hated you.” You breathed out and felt Aggie smirk against your neck. She moved her head up, your eyes meeting again. “We both know,” Aggie started, her voice husky, and kissed the corner of your mouth. “that we never hated each other.” You huffed, and Aggie kissed you again, softer and slower, like she was savoring the taste of your lips. “God, you are so sure of yourself.” You hummed but quickly moaned when Aggie bit your lip and eased the sting with her tongue.

It was late in the evening when you woke up. The outside of the house was still dark. You quietly picked up your phone from the nightstand to check the time. You dimmed the brightness and looked at the time. It was 2:45 to be exact. You let out a yawn and looked to your left. There was a brunette woman.

She was still asleep, the covers barely covering anything. You smiled to yourself. It was a good night. You went to a bar, got at least six free beers from different women (but declined them all), and you got laid. What a wonderful day to be alive. You silently slipped out of the bed and searched for your clothes. They were scattered all around the floor. You smiled to yourself; you were so eager to get the woman out of her clothes that you didn't care where your or her clothes landed.

You pulled your sweater over your head. You gave one last look over your shoulder at the woman. You let out a sigh. You hated to admit it, but the woman was pretty, but you never really settled down. In your opinion, relationships were messy. You always tell the women that you sleep with that it's just for fun, no strings attached. You just want to have a good night, nothing more and nothing less. You slowly opened the bedroom door and slipped through, closing it behind you with the softest click ever. 

You walked through the hallway and walked into the kitchen. You took a paper and a pen and wrote a message for the woman, like you always did. You may sleep around a lot, but you weren't someone who never let them hear from you again. You wrote your usual message, "I had a lot of fun, thanks for the night." You placed the paper on the counter and headed for the door. You slipped on your jacket. You took a quick look in the mirror to check if you could walk on the street after the night, not that anybody would be up around now.

You let out a heavy sigh. Today was going to be a long day. You played for Arsenal; it is your second season with the Gunners, and they are still in the running for the league title, the FA Cup, the Subway cup, and the Champions League. In a few days, you and Arsenal needed to play the second half of the quarter-finals against Chelsea. Arsenal had won the first leg 3-1 at home, so in the second leg, they just needed to defend, and the job would be done to go through to the semi-finals against either Lyon or Wolfsburg.

You walked through the empty streets of London. You figured that nobody would be out tonight, and you had made it later than usual. Usually, you would call a cab, but your apartment was only a few blocks away, so that would be a waste of money. 

You arrived at your apartment 15 minutes later. You unlocked the front door and let it close behind you. You shrugged off your jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. You kicked off your shoes and placed them next to the other shoes. You looked at the clock, and it was 5:00 AM. You let out a sound that was half a groan and half a sigh.

It was no use going to bed; you needed to be up at 6:00 AM, anyway, so you just walked to the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of coffee. An hour had passed, and you were now making a bag ready for the day. Eventually, you heard the footsteps of your roommate. "Good morning." You turned around, and there stood your best friend, vice captain of Arsenal, and captain of the Lionesses. "Morning," you said, yawn, while stretching. Leah looked at the coffee cup on the coffee table, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Who was it this time? The flower girl?" Leah asked as she walked to the kitchen counter and began making herself some tea. "Nah, she has found her soulmate," You said, making brackets in the air at the word 'soulmate'. You didn't believe in that shit. That the universe had ensured that everyone would eventually find love; that's fucking crap, in your opinion. 

"Okay, if it's not the flower girl, then who was it?" Leah asked, pouring hot water into her mug. "I don't know," You said. You rubbed the back of your neck because Leah had taken you under her wings when you transferred from the Netherlands, and she had never liked that you slept around. Still, she also knew that you were an adult (questionable) and could make your own decisions (also questionable).

Leah just shook her head, blowing into her mug. "I just hope that you will behave, I don't ever want to walk in on you making out in the kitchen with one of the media persons of today. I still can't get that image out of my head from last year." You winced at the memory. It had been your first season, and after the media day, you got along with one of the journalists, and one thing led to another, like usual.

You had just sat the woman down on the counter when Leah walked in, and she literally screamed, her hands covering her face. "I promise, I'll behave." Leah eyed you for a full 5 seconds before muttering something under her breath and disappearing into her room again. You shook your head and turned your attention back to packing your bag. 

An hour later, your bag was packed, and you were now waiting at the door. Leah had to grab something real quick. The two of you have always driven together ever since you moved in. "Leah!" You yelled from the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through your phone. "Yeah, yeah!" Leah yelled back. A few seconds passed, but then Leah finally walked into the hallway, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Finally," You said, and pushed yourself off the wall, and pretended that you had aged a lot, just to tease Leah that she took so long. "Don't be dramatic," Leah muttered and opened the door. You quickly followed, closing and locking the door behind you. You followed Leah out of the building and to her car. You could tell that Leah wanted to ask questions. She has practically become your mother ever since you joined Arsenal, and she acted like it as well.

She was always telling you to pack your bag the night before, and as a stubborn teenager, you never listened, so you always had to hurry in the mornings, which made you forget things Leah needed to remind you to take. "Leah, if you want to ask questions, just do it," you said with a sigh as you dropped yourself into the passenger seat. "What makes you think I want to ask you about how you spent your wild nights?" Leah fired back. Her voice wasn't angry or anything, but you could tell she wasn't happy with how you spent your nights so late. 

"My wild nights? They aren't even wild, I just-" You tried to say, but Leah cut you off with a scoff. "Not- not wild nights? y/n, you come home late almost every night of the week, except for the nights before a match, that's not something everyone your age does," Leah said. You wanted to say something in your defense, but Leah wasn't done. "I've been trying to be okay with it, but-" Leah cut herself off by taking a deep breath.

"But, what?" You asked. "But I worry every night. I know I always scold you like a child, but you're my friend as well, and I worry about what my friends do," Leah confessed, her voice much more like her usual voice. Your eyes softened, and a small smile formed on your lips. "I know, and I love that you worry about me, but you also have to let me live my life, okay?" You said, turning your head to face Leah. Leah let out a soft chuckle and started the engine.

"I'll do my best," Leah eventually muttered and put the car in reverse, and drove out of the parking lot. "Can we stop by a coffee shop?" You asked once you were on the road. "Why? If this is because you need to catch up with one of the girls you sleep around with-" Leah started, warning you that she will not stop at a coffee shop for that. You shook your head immediately. 

"No, it's not that, I promise. I just need coffee in my system," You said and typed in the address of your favorite coffee shop on Google Maps. "Oh, sure, y/n, of course we can go to your favorite coffee shop, how thoughtful of you to wait for my reply," Leah said sarcastically, because she hadn't even said yes yet, but you had already typed in the address. You gave her a cheeky smile and leaned back into your seat.

After 10 minutes, Leah parked the car and shut off the engine. "Let's go!" You said and jumped out of the car. Leah followed, shutting her door and locking the car. The two of you walked into the coffee shop, the smell of coffee hitting you immediately. The two of you waited in line just like the other customers. You were scrolling absently through your phone when Leah nudged you. You looked up, giving Leah a confused frown.

"What?" You muttered as you put your phone in the pocket of your track pants. "The woman behind the counter has been eyeing you ever since you walked in," Leah muttered. You subtly turned your head so that you could get a clear look at the woman Leah mentioned. "Do you know her?" Leah asked, but she already knew the answer. You closed your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. 

"Know is a strong word," You muttered as you rubbed the back of your neck, glancing once more at the woman behind the register. Leah raised an eyebrow, silently telling you to elaborate on that. "Fine, I slept with her," You muttered again, facing Leah fully now. "I swear, she isn't the reason that I wanted to come here," You told Leah. "I didn't even know she worked here," You continued. Leah was always a hard person to read, but you saw the look in her eyes, the look that meant that she didn't fully believe you.

Leah let out a sigh while she shook her head. The line moved, so you and Leah walked forward. "Good morning, what-" The woman behind the register stopped herself when her eyes landed on you. You winced lightly when you saw the look in the woman's eyes. It was pure anger and disgust toward you. Leah stayed silent, observing you and the woman.

"Look who it is? The woman who left in the middle of the night after we slept together, and the one I told about how my previous partner left me, only to leave me the same way," The woman hummed, it wasn't an amused hum, not in the slightest. Leah cleared her throat and just ordered your coffee and hers, and once the two of you got your order, you quickly left the shop.

"Is there anyone you haven't slept with and pissed off?" Leah asked once the two of you got back to the car. You sat again in the passenger seat. You closed your eyes, letting your head rest against the headrest of your seat. "It isn't like that," You muttered eventually, tracing the edge of your cup with your thumb. "I met her in a bar a few weeks back. She had had a shitty week," You explained, looking down into your coffee. Leah didn't interrupt; she just started the car and drove off.

"She approached me, we talked, had a few drinks, and at the end of the night, she invited me to her home, and- I think you can fill the rest in for yourself," You whispered, as you brought the cup to your lips. "What did she mean about her previous partner?" Leah eventually asked. She had one hand on the steering wheel, and, with the other, she was drinking her coffee. Leah had an automatic car, so she technically only needed one hand to drive.

"That night at the bar, she had told me that her partner had left without a word, and she never heard of them again. So, she stalked her ex-partner's socials, only to find out that he had left her for another woman." Leah let out an impressed whistle, which earned an unimpressed look from you.  

You fell into a silence. You looked out the window, watching the city pass by. The radio was playing some old music. "What do you need to do today? Like, media-wise?" You asked after a few minutes of silence, and you turned your head to look at Leah. "Just some interviews, nothing exciting," Leah replied as she turned to wheel to take a left. "How about you?" You shrugged lightly. You also had some interviews, but nothing really exciting.

After a few minutes, Leah drove up to the parking lot of the training ground. The parking lot was already full of cars from teammates. Yep, it was definitely media day. Leah parked the car, shut off the engine, and stepped out. You grabbed your bag from the backseat. You waited for Leah, who was on her phone, typing something. "Who are you texting?" You asked. Leah looked up, giving you a small smile.

"Some of my English teammates are throwing a party. You should tag along," Leah suggested. You shook your head because last time you checked, you didn't play for the Lionesses. "Eumh, why?" You asked in confusion, because you planned just to go out by yourself and see if you could have some fun tonight. 

"Why not? It's fun. You'll get to meet new people, and I can keep an eye on you," Leah stated. For her, this was a win-win situation. "You just want to make sure that I end up being laid tonight," You muttered, as you started to walk to the building. Leah walked next to you, letting out a sigh. "C'mon, y/n. Just come, and if you really don't like it, you can leave, I promise," Leah told you. You searched Leah's face for any other emotion, but there wasn't one.

"Fine, I'll come," You eventually said with a sigh. "Yesss!" Leah yelled, fist bumping the air. "You won't regret it," Leah said cheerfully, wrapping her arm around your neck. "I'm regretting it already," You muttered, pushing Leah's arm off of your shoulder. The two of you walked into the building where all the media days were held. Most of your teammates who were already there had their jerseys on.

"Uh oh," Chloe said when she got a good look at your face. "Looks like you had a late night." You gave Chloe a flat look because it was pretty clear. She didn't need to point it out. "It looks like you had only two hours of sleep," Chloe said in a teasing tone. 

"More like, no sleep at all," Leah muttered beside you, earning a glare from you. Chloe eyed the two of you, suspicion already bubbling. "Don't," You said, glaring at Chloe now. "I'm not saying anything," Chloe said, the high pitch in her tone, giving her away that she was definitely about to say something. "I'm going to change," You muttered and turned around, and could clearly hear Chloe giggle behind you. "So," Chloe said when she was sure you were out of earshot.

"What?" Leah asked, letting out a heavy sigh. It was the kind of sigh that came from someone whose patience had been pushed to the limit. "You look like you have aged 20 years," Chloe stated simply, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. "It's just- it's y/n," Leah muttered, dragging her hands down her face. "That much I gathered." Leah gave Chloe a look that could cut through glass. "It's just- every night, except for nights before matchdays, y/n comes home late, like, really, really late," Leah explained.

"Aahh," Chloe only said, nodding in understanding. "I just don't get it," Leah eventually said, earning a confused look from Chloe. "Get what?" Leah sighed again. "Why y/n doesn't just get in a relationship?" Leah said, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Leah, some people just don't want to, and you can't force them," Chloe reasoned, patting Leah's shoulder and walking away.

Media days had two sides, well, at least for you. You always hated the interviews. They always had the same questions, and you needed to hear them for six hours straight. It was so exhausting. But on the other side, you would meet interesting women who get flustered far too easily, but not today. You had promised Leah you would behave and stay on her good side because you still needed to be around her tonight.

You had regretted agreeing to come with her to a party when she had brought it up, and now, after a whole day being interviewed, you still regretted it, but there was nothing you could do about it. You sat in the locker room. You had changed into the outfit you were going to wear for the dinner. You were putting the last things in your bag when Leah entered. "So, are you ready?" Leah asked with a smile. You turned around to look at Leah, giving her your fakest smile you could ever imagine.

"Let me see, going to a party where I don't know most of the people? Yeah, I'm ready," You said sarcastically. Leah tried to keep herself from laughing, but failed miserably. "Y/n, I assure you, you will be just fine, don't worry," Leah reassured you. "Somehow, I'd doubt that," you muttered, and took your bag from the bench. 

"Okay, let's go. You can mope in the car," Leah said and headed to the door. "I'm not moping," You said defensively and followed Leah out of the room. Leah only laughed at your response. "Who is going to be at the party?" You asked as you walked next to Leah. "Oh, just a few of the English girls, you'll get along with them, don't worry," Leah reassured you. You shook your head with a smile and followed Leah to the car.

"Whose party is it anyway?" You asked, taking a seat in the passenger seat. "Aggie, she turned 23 a few days back, and wanted to throw a party to celebrate it," Leah explained as she drove off the parking lot and onto the quiet streets of North London. "Will there be at least a few of the Arsenal girls as well?" You asked, because if not, it would be a very awkward night for you. You had heard of Aggie and had played against her on multiple occasions, but you had never really exchanged words.

"Oh yeah, some Arsenal girls will be there," Leah told you as she drove. You let out a heavy sigh. This was going to be one hell of a night. The rest of the drive was like usual, you looking out the window, while Leah was driving with both hands on the wheel. 

"And we're here," Leah announced as she parked the car. You stretched yourself with a yawn. You looked at the house. It looks cozy. You assumed that Aggie lived with a few teammates because living in a house in London by yourself is completely different from living in an apartment. You looked at the house. You could see the silhouettes of people in the house through the window. The music wasn't loud, but you could hear the light thump of music from where you were standing.

You opened the car door and stepped out, the cool evening air hitting your face. It helped make you aware not to fall asleep right there on the pavement. At this moment, you really regret not having slept at all the night before, but all the caffeine you had throughout the day, luckily, kept you standing and functioning.

Leah rounded the car so she was standing in front of you. "Remember," Leah said, pointing a finger at you as she locked the car. "Behave." You placed a hand over your heart, mocking sincerity written all over your face. "I always behave." Leah let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "That's what worries me." You stuck your tongue out at her and followed her to the house. 

The two of you walked the short distance from the parking spot to the front door. Leah couldn't even knock. Her hand was halfway to the door when it swung open. You assumed that someone had seen the two of you arrive just now. "Leah!" Grace Clinton cheered, pulling Leah into a hug. You just greeted Grace with a slight nod when Grace looked at you. You stood there in the hallway. Hands in your pockets and your eyes going over the room.

Near the wall, a few people were playing darts; on the couch, others were playing cards; and scattered around the room, groups were just talking. You spotted a few of your Arsenal teammates around the room, just as Leah said they would be. Your eyes wandered to the kitchen, and you completely stilled. The noise from the other people faded into the background when your eyes landed on a blonde woman in the kitchen, preparing snacks, you assumed.

You knew that was Aggie. Just because you never really had a conversation with her doesn't mean you didn't know who she was. You tilted your head a little when Aggie laughed at something that someone next to her said. You felt something form in your stomach, something you had never felt before. Sure, you had met hot women before—a lot of them. You had flirted, charmed, left, repeated. But this–felt like something you had never felt, but you couldn't quite place what that feeling was. 

You didn't even realize you were staring until Leah's voice cut through your thoughts. "Don't." You blinked, turning your head to her. "Don't what?" Leah followed what your eyes were staring at and immediately sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she already knew what was going through your mind. "Her," Leah said, her voice changed, it was firm and sure. "Not her." You frowned slightly, your eyes wandering to Aggie again. "What?" Leah hesitated, searching for the right words.

"She is–she's not like the others," You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "You say that like I'm hunting them." Leah didn't laugh; her face turned dead serious. That was your first clue that this was going to be different. "I'm serious y/n," Leah said, her voice lower, but still even and grounded. "Aggie is–she's kind. She actually cares. And she doesn't deserve to be just another one of your 'good nights' and not be looked at after." The words weren't harsh, but they stung anyway.

You looked at Aggie again. She looked so different then when she's on the football field—running at defenders, scoring goals. You were seeing her in a whole new light, and every time you looked at her, your stomach did the weird thing, a feeling that you had never felt before.

"I wasn't planning anything," You eventually muttered, quieter now. Leah raised an eyebrow. "You're looking at her like you have already planned out three different scenarios." You shook your head and let out a scoff, but didn't respond. Because, annoyingly enough, she wasn't wrong. Leah let out a sigh, resting her hand on your arm briefly. "Just.. don't mess things up before they even start." You frowned at that, but before you could ask what it was supposed to mean, Leah got dragged by someone further into the room, pulling her into another conversation.

And just like that, you were alone again, your eyes drifting to Aggie once more. She was now laughing with a drink in hand. You looked happy when you saw that Aggie was talking to Wieke, your teammate on the Dutch national team. You observed them for a few more seconds, but then Wieke left, leaving Aggie alone in the kitchen. Bingo. You walked normally to the kitchen.

You were behaving. You were just going to wish the birthday girl a happy birthday. The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, the music more muffled, replaced by the soft clatter of plates and the sound of bags of snacks being opened. It felt like stepping out of the chaos, like a match was at half-time. 

As you entered the kitchen, you leaned against the doorframe when you got a good view of the blonde standing behind the counter. Aggie had pushed her sleeves lightly up, a small frown between her brows. She was so focused, like she was about to take a penalty and throw the keeper off their game.

Aggie took another plate from the stack and put some fruit on it. Eventually, you cleared your throat and took a step closer into the kitchen until you stood across from Aggie on the opposite side of the counter. You had done this a hundred times before. Spotting someone alone in a bar, approach them, give them your usual smile, say something flirty, and if Leah was right, then you should have this one in the bag with how Aggie is.

"Bit of a shame, you know," You finally said, your voice low, a small smile on your lips. Aggie looked up immediately, a bit startled at first, but then recognition settled. "Hmm?" Aggie hummed softly. You nodded lightly to the living room. "Throwing a party in the living room, while the host is hiding in the kitchen? Not very host-like." You teased. You smiled sheepishly and lowered your voice even more. This was usually it; people would blush or start stuttering over their words. 

But Aggie was apparently different; she just gave you a small smile, easy and unbothered, and wasn't affected by your words at all. "Someone has to make sure people actually eat something, because only drinking alcohol the whole night on an empty stomach is a no-go." You let out a chuckle, shaking your head lightly. You walked around the counter until you stood next to Aggie.

You leaned with your hip against the counter, a little closer to Aggie than necessary. "And here I thought you just needed a break from all the attention," You stated, your voice still low. You almost whispered it in Aggie's ear. What Aggie did next was something you didn't expect. She just turned around and opened a cabinet to get more bowls. You were stunned. This was new. Aggie shrugged lightly, putting the bowl down on the counter. "I don't mind it. I just… like doing it." You tilted your head a little, studying her for a second. Most people would've bounced off on it.

Flirt back, tease back, but Aggie–she either doesn't give in or it goes right over her head that you are flirting (trying) with her. "Happy birthday, by the way," You said. Aggie's face softened, giving you a small smile. "Thanks. Could you maybe take this to the living room?" You looked at the filled plate and nodded. "Yeah, of course," You said and walked out of the kitchen. Aggie completely threw you off your game. You just shook your head and walked further to the living room. 

The shift from the kitchen to the living room was immediate. The music got louder, and the conversations came from all different directions. You balanced the plates in your arms, but before you could walk further, Leah's voice was behind you. "Oh, my god." You froze, slowly turned around, and were met by Leah. She was standing a few steps away, her arms crossed, a drink in her hand, and she looked at you like you had committed a crime in broad daylight.

"What?" You said, a bit too defensively. Leah didn't answer immediately; she just took a sip from the drink in her hand, stretching the moment, just to make it worse. "Why," She eventually said, her eyes leaving yours to look at the plates in your hands, "are you holding snacks?" She tilted her head lightly, a frown between her brows. You glanced down at your hands, as if you had completely forgotten to have plates in your hands. Right, the plates, fuck.

"They're–snacks," You said, nodding once, like that would explain everything. "Brilliant observation," Leah deadpanned without blinking. "Care to explain why you are holding them?" You shifted your weight lightly; you felt like prey trapped. "Aggie asked me to bring them out; she was still busy with the other snacks." It was technically not a lie, just not the full truth. Leah's eyes narrowed slightly, and for a second, she just looked at you. It was extremely uncomfortable because you knew that Leah knew that you were lying. 

You cleared your throat, trying to look as casual as possible. "What? I can't help out?" Leah took another sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the glass. "Of course you can," She said slowly, "It's just…fascinating." You frowned at that. "Fascinating?" You repeated. "Mhm." She nodded lightly. "Because the entire time I've known you, I've never seen you carry anything voluntarily that didn't directly benefit you." You scoffed lightly because you were really offended by that.

"That's not true," You said, too fast and far too defensively. Leah only needed to raise an eyebrow. "Okay… maybe a little," You admitted softly, looking down at the plates in your hands. Leah hummed in satisfaction, like she had proven she was right all along in an argument. Her gaze flickered quickly to the kitchen, then back at you. "How long were you in there?" She asked.

You shrugged as best as you could with your shoulders, because you were afraid to drop all the plates. "I don't know. Maybe a few minutes." Leah took a few steps closer, so you were now more at a conversation distance. "And how did that go?" Your grip tightened on the plates just lightly because Leah was using that tone, that tone you never liked she used. She usually used it on the field and not off it. 

"Fine," you said a little too quickly. "It was just a normal conversation." Leah didn't respond, which was worse because silence meant that Leah didn't believe for a second what you were saying. Leah's eyes narrowed just slightly, like the final puzzle piece finally made sense. "Oh, my god," Leah muttered, almost to herself. You frowned and met Leah's eyes, giving her a confused look.

"What?" Leah's expression shifted, the suspicion melting into something far more dangerous. Amusement. You placed the plates at the nearest table, and a few people immediately took some snacks. You tried to look at them for the longest time, hoping that Leah would somehow disappear into thin air. But, of course, that wouldn't happen; that kind of wishing only happened in movies, and this wasn't a movie. "No, way," Leah said, a grin started to pull at her lips.

"You did not." You crossed your arms defensively. "Did not what?" Leah let out a short laugh, shaking her head like she couldn't quite believe what she was witnessing. "You flirted with her." It wasn't a question; she was simply stating a fact. You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Leah's grin widened just slightly. You scoffed immediately. "I didn't-" 

"You did," Leah cut in, pointing at you like she just solved a mystery. "And Aggie didn't get flustered or anything, did she?" Your silence that followed was enough, which only made Leah's grin go wider and wider. "No," You said finally, trying to recover, to the harsh truth Leah had just figured out. "That's not- she just-" before you could even say anything else, Leah's laugh cut you off. "Oh, my," Leah laughed, fully now, the sound bright and unrestrained. Leah wasn't even trying at this point. "Aggie shut you down." Leah couldn't stop laughing.

"She did not shut me down," You snapped, crossing your arms tighter in front of your chest. You let out a huff, looking away. "She just didn't pick up on the flirting." Leah blinked once, twice. And then burst out with laughter once again. You shot her an unimpressed look. "Glad you're enjoying this." Leah gave you the fakest, most sincere look there was. "I'm not, I feel so bad for you." You just gave Leah another hard glare.

"I told you, Aggie isn't like the other women you sleep around with." And with that, Leah walked away laughing. You could tell from just watching her back that Leah was wiping the tears from her eyes. You let out a sigh, glancing at the kitchen, but couldn't see Aggie from where you were standing.

For the rest of the night, you stood where you had been standing after Leah had practically laughed in your face. You were leaning against the wall, a glass of water in your hand. Your eyes scanned the room. Leah got pulled to the couch, where people were still playing cards. You let out a sigh, and your eyes drifted automatically to the kitchen. Aggie had been going in and out of the kitchen the whole night.

She hosted her own birthday party and also made sure the guests had snacks. You felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest when Aggie came into view. You were still a bit baffled at how she reacted when you flirted with her. It was, in your opinion, very obvious that you were flirting with her. Ask anyone who had seen, and they would tell you that you were definitely flirting with her. But the person who needed to notice was the girl you were actually flirting with, but Aggie didn't show anything.

You let out a frustrated groan as you let your head fall back against the wall. "Get a grip," You muttered to yourself, tightening the grip on your glass. You had never done this. When a person didn't engage with your flirting, you would find a new person within seconds, but with Aggie, you got stuck on her. You never get stuck on someone; if they weren't interested, you would accept it. 

It was your routine, but Aggie, it felt like she had spoiled your routine that you had written on paper. Your life was perfectly fine; you didn't need the complications of a so-called crush crushing your well-organized life. You looked around the room, and someone across from you smiled at you. You waited for that cockly feeling to set in your body.

You wanted for your body to straighten and give the woman across from you your knowing smirk, but nothing, absolutely nothing. Your stomach didn't do the stupid flip thing it did when you were looking at Aggie. You just gave the woman a nod—something you would never do. The woman across from you was attractive, no doubt about it, but she wasn't Aggie. The only name that you could remember is Aggie, Aggie, Aggie.

It was getting annoying at this point. What was so special about Aggie? She was pretty, with a lovely smile, a bright appearance, and an aura that drew everyone in. God, it feels like you have just run into a brick wall after running so long away from relationships, girlfriends, or commitment. Or all of them combined. A brick wall that didn't want to go down, even though you tried so hard to break it down. It felt like no matter what route you took, you ended up in front of the same wall named after Aggie. 

Your eyes drifted again, against your better judgment, to the kitchen. Aggie was still there, but finishing the last things on the plates. It felt like your world had only eyes for the blonde striker in the kitchen. "Nope, absolutely not," You muttered to yourself. Your mind went to the one thing you had ignored for most of your adult life. To the what-ifs. What if you finally let yourself commit? What if you let yourself have a girlfriend? What if you let go of your routine? What if you step out of your comfort zone?

It was all ifs you had never dared to think about, but again, ever since you stumbled on the brick wall named Aggie, those ifs came rushing to the surface, like a person finally getting up for air after being underwater for way too long. You leaned more against the wall, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the white wall behind you. You were getting frustrated with yourself at this point. You could step further into the room, and people would come up to you, but now, you just didn't or didn't want to; it was all the same for you at this point. 

You wondered sometimes how people managed to give up control so easily. You had seen so many couples, you always wondered how they did it. How did they manage to keep it all together? You shook your head, no. You weren't going to think about that. You may have stumbled upon an obstacle, but that doesn't mean you need to go over it; you can also find other solutions to get past it without climbing it.

You looked down at the glass of water in your hand. It is probably warm by now. You looked up immediately when Aggie appeared from the kitchen. A small smile formed on her lips. She didn't look at you. That was no surprise. If Aggie didn't pick up on the flirting you did, she wouldn't notice you standing in the same spot you have been all night. With Aggie out of the kitchen, you had the opportunity to refill your glass of water. Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the wall and headed for the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, it felt like you could finally breathe. But the universe had different plans, because you could still smell the lingering perfume of Aggie in the air. You let out a groan, dragging your hand down your face. You knew the room probably smelled like Aggie, but god, this was getting annoying. You walked to the counter where the faucet was. You turned it on and refilled your glass, and drank it down in one go. You would've never thought that a girl at a party would let you doubt all your morals, how ironic.

Aggie walked out of the kitchen, a drink in her hand. She glanced at you quickly, frowning a little because you were standing at the same spot you had been standing for most of the night. Aggie had been observing you ever since you talked to her in the kitchen. Aggie didn't really know what to think of you. You looked nice, but something told her that there was more to you, but she couldn't quite place what. Aggie walked further into the living room.

She smiled brightly when she saw that everyone was having fun and had something to eat. Aggie walked to the couch. Leah was still sitting there, talking to Lotte and Lucy. "Birthday girl!" Lucy yelled and gave Aggie a hug when she was close enough. "Hi," Aggie said with a smile, patting Lucy on the back. "Are you guys having fun?" All three of them nodded, giving Aggie big smiles. Aggie took a deep breath and turned her attention to Leah, who was already watching. "Would you guys give Leah and me a few seconds? I need to talk to her." Lucy and Lotte nodded, and both walked off, joining a group of people across the room.

"What's up? What did I do?" Aggie laughed softly, shaking her slightly. "You did nothing," Aggie said, but frowned immediately at what Leah said. "Wait, did  you do something?" Leah shook her head immediately. Aggie eyed her England captain for a full second before deciding to drop it. 

"It's about-" Aggie started, but stopped, just to look over Leah's shoulder and see you standing near the wall with a drink in your hand. "It's about y/n." Leah raised her eyebrows in surprise, but pressed her lips together, just to prevent herself from laughing. Aggie noticed that as well, but decided not to ask about that. "What did y/n do?" Leah asked, dragging Aggie from her thoughts. Aggie shook her head, "y/n didn't do anything," Aggie said with an awkward laugh.

"But she did something," Leah stated, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "No, no." Leah just nodded and leaned back against the couch. "It's just–she was in the kitchen with me just now, and she was acting strange. Like she didn't know what to do with herself." Leah nodded, taking in the formation she was being told about. Aggie frowned when she saw the expression change on Leah's face. "What's with the face?" Leah let out a sigh, shaking her head lightly.

"What frown?" Aggie tilted her head lightly, like she was a dog hearing a new sound for the very first time. "You're making a face. The same face you use when someone stole your last biscuit," Aggie stated with a smirk, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. "For someone so young, you're very observant." Aggie smiled proudly. Leah was clearly impressed by Aggie's observation skills. 

"I'm a very skillful person," Aggie teased, giving Leah a wink. "But we're going off track here," Aggie said, backtracking to the conversation she actually wanted to have with Leah. "So, what's the deal with y/n?" Leah let out a sigh, dragging her hands down her face. "Why do you want to know?" Leah asked. Aggie could see the seriousness on Leah's face. "Eumh, just how she usually is, because how she acted back there," Aggie started, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen, "isn't how any normal person would act." Leah nodded with her head, searching the crowd over Aggie's shoulder, and spotted you near a wall, still.

"She was talking about one thing, but then didn't follow through, and she was staring at me, like she was waiting for me to say one particular thing." Leah nodded, trying very hard not to laugh, but failed, and a laugh slipped past her lips. Aggie frowned in confusion. There was definitely something, but it feels like she was the only person being left out, and she hated that. "Why are you laughing?" Aggie asked in genuine confusion, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

"It's just, y/n never acts like that when she's talking to someone." Aggie's frown deepened. "y/n has a reputation," Leah clarified. "What kind of reputation?" Aggie now asked, uncrossing her arms. "It's just…y/n can easily talk to anyone, charm them, give them one smile, and they're head over heels for her." Aggie nodded, trying to understand where Leah was going with this.

"Long story short, y/n flirts with people, goes home with them, has a good night, and leaves in the end. No strings attached, just two people have a good time in bed for the night." Aggie stood frozen, because this wasn't what she expected. "Oh…oh, she was flirting with me," Aggie muttered when realization kicked in. "And it went right over my head." Leah nodded, giving Aggie an impressed look. "It sure did, and I think you broke y/n, because this has never happened to her before," Leah stated. Aggie looked back over her shoulder, seeing you still standing there, very much deep in thought.

"If you do want to talk to her again, just be careful, because not everyone is into the 'no strings attached' thing, alright?" Aggie let Leah's words land. Aggie didn't say anything else; she just walked back to the kitchen. Aggie just needed to do something. 

The days after the party were a blur. Life continued, football continued, but it felt like you were stuck, stuck at that party. Stuck in the kitchen with a blonde striker who you tried to flirt with, but she didn't react to it at all. You dragged yourself into the kitchen, where Leah was already sitting. She raised an eyebrow. She had never seen you in this state. You're 25, and you usually carried yourself in the room as if you owned it.

"Morning," You muttered, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. "You look like hell." You turned around to meet Leah, who sat behind the counter. "Couldn't sleep," You muttered and took a sip from your coffee. You pushed a chair back and plopped down, letting your head rest on the counter. "Okay, what's going on?" You lifted your head. Leah's eyes were filled with concern and slight amusement. "Nothing is going on, I'm just tired," You muttered, taking a sip from your coffee.

"This isn't nothing. I have seen you take a ball straight to the face and look better than you do right now," Leah stated. She wasn't being sarcastic; she was simply stating a fact. Leah took a sip from her tea, watching you over the rim of her cup, narrowing her eyes lightly. "Okay," Leah said, setting her mug down, "tell me what's going on." You let out a heavy sigh, setting your mug down as well. You let your shoulders drop just lightly as you stared at the counter. 

"It's nothing," You eventually said, not meeting Leah's eyes once. Leah raised an eyebrow. "You haven't slept properly ever since Aggie's birthday party, so you haven't slept properly for at least three days, that's not-nothing." You dragged a hand down your face, already feeling the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. Your mind felt like a mess, like someone had taken everything you usually had in control but had shaken it, and that someone was Aggie.

"It's just-" You started, but stopped, shaking your head. Leah didn't interrupt, and at this point, you hoped she would, but she didn't. You exhaled sharply. "My mind is just a complete mess right now." You said, staring down at your mug, tracing your finger over the rim. "Because of a certain blonde," You muttered under your breath, quieter now. You hoped that Leah didn't hear you, but she did, of course, she did. Leah was silent for exactly one second before she burst out in laughter. You looked up immediately, shooting Leah a glare.

"Don't." But that only made it worse. Leah covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to silence her laughter, but failed. "I'm sorry–" Leah tried, failing miserably as she was still covering her mouth, still laughing. "I just– I've never–" Leah shook her head, trying to find the right words as she leaned back against her seat. 

"I've never seen you like this," Leah admitted, still grinning like she just won the Champions League, again. You rolled your eyes, turning away from her, gripping your mug tighter. "Glad I could be your morning entertainment," You muttered, bringing your mug to your lips. "Oh, you have no idea," Leah said, still looking far too amused. "This is a historic event. You? Completely errored? That's worth more than gold," Leah said, her grin widening as every second passed.

You huffed lightly, standing up and leaning against the counter now, looking at the wall like it held all the answers to your problems. "I just don't get it," you eventually said, turning back to Leah. "I had plenty of women before, I have slept with them and moved on, no problem with that. But this–" You muttered, gesture vaguely with your hand. A bit frustrated.

"--has never happened." Leah tilted her head lightly, studying you more out of curiosity than teasing. "What exactly is 'this'?" She asked. You hesitated. Even you didn't have an answer to that. "I just don't get it!" You said, frustrated, pushing yourself off the counter, and started pacing in the middle of the kitchen. "I mean, she didn't even react in the slightest, not even a little." Leah stayed silent, but a small grin formed on her lips. 

"Y/n." You ignored her and continued pacing, muttering under your breath, and gesturing with your hands in the air. "Honestly, everyone who would watch that interaction could tell I was flirting with her." Leah shook her head and stood up. "y/n!" You stopped dead in your tracks, your head snapping up to look at Leah. "Maybe, you have fallen for her." You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. "I-I don't do that, you know that!" You argued, but there was no bite in your tone.

"I know, that's why this," Leah said as she gestured at you, "looks exactly like you have fallen for her." Leah pushed off the counter. "Aggie didn't react to your flirting, and you have been stuck on that ever since, so maybe you should think about why you care that she didn't react." That took you off guard. "You have fallen for her, but you don't want to admit it." You opened your mouth to argue, but Leah didn't even give you a chance.

"Maybe stop hiding behind the rule you have, that whole 'I don't do relationships' and stop hiding behind it, and take a leap," Leah finished. Before you could react, Leah was gone. You were left in the kitchen, more uncertain than you have ever been in your life. Was Leah right? Have you been hiding behind your own 'rule'?

The bell above the door chimed when you stepped into the coffee shop. It has been hell of a few days for you. You still barely slept. Now, not only was Aggie on your mind, but also the words Leah had told you were there, too. It helped that you could throw yourself into training, just to forget about the complications that had stumbled into your perfectly organized life.

You waited in line while scrolling through your phone. It was going to be a busy week for you and Arsenal. In two days, you had the first leg of the Champions League semi-final, and on the weekend, you needed to play the semi-final of the FA Cup. Arsenal's season had been smooth sailing for the past few weeks. You have been in top form with three goals and four assists in your last three matches. You moved forward as the line moved.

You just needed coffee. You still have been sleeping like crap, because either Aggie kept you awake or Leah's words had been echoing in your mind like a broken record. You tightened your hold on your phone, letting out a frustrated groan. "Maybe you have fallen for her." You shook your head like that could shake the words out of your mind. You tucked your phone back into your pocket. Nothing could ease your mind right now. 

"Next," The barista behind the counter said, dragging you out of your thoughts. You smiled at the woman and looked at the choices on the board. "A latte, please." The bartender nodded and got to work. You stepped aside so the next person could order. "Aggie, fancy seeing you here." You stopped everything you were doing and snapped your head up. No, this couldn't be happening. What are the chances? You hoped that it was a different Aggie, but no, when you looked up, there stood the one and only person who had clouded your mind for the last few days.

Aggie was still the same: same friendly smile, same bright look in her eyes, same friendliness to everything and everyone. "There is nothing fancy about this, you know this is the best coffee shop in London!" Aggie said cheerfully, resting her hands on the counter. "Alright, alright, you want the usual?" Aggie nodded, already stepping aside. You should've moved, should've given Aggie a place to stand, but you didn't, so not seconds later, Aggie collided with you. "Ooff," Aggie muttered, looking up to see who she bumped into.

Your eyes met, and recognition settled in Aggie's eyes. "y/n." Aggie's voice was surprised, but not unwelcoming. "Hi," you said with a smile, finally taking a few steps back to create space. "Sorry, didn't see you there." Aggie apologized. "Ouch, am I that hard to miss?" You teased, placing a hand on your heart as if you've been visibly hurt by it. 

"What-no, no, that's not what I meant," Aggie quickly said, panic written all over her face. You shook your head lightly, a laugh slipping past your lips. "Aggie, I was messing with you," You quickly reassured her. Aggie's shoulder sagged in relief. "That was not funny," Aggie said with a pout. Your stomach did the stupid flip again with Aggie looking like that. Maybe you have fallen for her. You shook your head. No, you weren't going there right now, because that person was standing right in front of you.

"Y/n and Aggie? Your coffees are ready," The barista said, placing the coffees on the counter. You and Aggie reached for the coffee at the same time, so your hands collided with each other before either of you could take your coffee. "Sorry," Aggie muttered, pulling her hand back, her fingers brushing yours. You quickly took both coffees and held out Aggie's to her. "Here," You said with a smile. Aggie took her cup, her fingers brushing yours again, and this time lingering for a second too long.

Aggie pulled back, but you let your pinky brush her hand for a second. What was that? You had never done that. All you knew was that Aggie wasn't someone you just wanted to sleep with and move on from. I have fallen for her. The thought didn't vanish like usual; it stayed, because it was your thought and not Leah's voice. You had admitted it yourself. 

Okay, this is new for you, but you got this, right? "Do you-" You started when Aggie was turning around to leave. "Do you maybe, I don't know…walk around the city together?" Aggie turned back around to face you and tilted her head a little, studying thoroughly. She gathered that you were nervous. You were carefully fidgeting with the cup in your hand, your eyes never staying too long on Aggie's.

This was the real you. The you that wasn't hiding behind her own made-up 'rule', the one who did something, who decided to stop running. The you that wanted to know Aggie better, the you that wouldn't hang out and leave after. This was the you that wanted to stay. "Of course-" You quickly added, because Aggie had stayed completely silent, "you don't have to, but–" You just stopped in general, this was a dumb idea, but then– "I would love to."

You lifted your head, the fear leaving your body. You let out a relieved sigh, your shoulders dropping. "Okay," You said with a smile. The two of you left the coffee shop and walked down the street. Your shoulders brushed occasionally, which made your heart beat faster. You got this. Don't mess this up.

The city felt different when you weren't rushing through it. You usually rushed to training, a match, the bar, or the person you met to their house. You have never walked through it calmly. Always rushing to something or someone. You always walked with purpose, but now? Now you matched the woman's pace next to you. The street noise blurred into the background.

The only sound that filled your ears was the steady, even footsteps from you and Aggie. For a while, neither of you said anything. You just let the noises of the city around you fill the silence like music in an elevator. It wasn't an awkward silence, just quiet. The back of your hand brushed against Aggie's. You felt your pulse spike, but when you glanced at Aggie from the corner of your eye, Aggie hadn't reacted, of course not. You pulled your hand back.

Not that Aggie would notice. You didn't yank it away; you just removed it slowly. This was a whole new territory for you. The whole 'how do you act on the first date' thing. You blinked at the thought. No, this wasn't a date, was it? Just two people getting to know each other, spending some quality time together. You figured it was clear that this wasn't a date. You already assumed that Leah had told Aggie that you didn't do the whole dating thing. 

As you walked further, your hands brushed Aggie's occasionally. Aggie didn't react to it. She kept walking. She didn't look down or pull her hand away. Your chest warmed at it. That Aggie wasn't uncomfortable. Which meant you were doing so far a good job, but you dreaded that at any moment, you would say something that would make Aggie walk away. So, you decided just to stay quiet. "You've been thinking a lot," Aggie said after a while, glancing at you. You let out a huff, a smile playing at your lips.

"Is it that obvious?" You asked in a teasing tone, meeting Aggie's eyes. "A little," Aggie replied. You glanced at her briefly. "It's that bad, huh?" A small laugh escaped Aggie's lips as she shook her head. "Not bad, just…different." Different. You didn't want to act differently, but around Aggie? You somehow acted weirdly constantly. You looked ahead again, your jaw tightening, just to relax again. "Yeah," You muttered, "that seems to be a theme lately." The two of you fell into a silence again. It wasn't heavy, just silence.

God, how do normal people function in situations like this? Because you certainly didn't know how to act, and you would love to get some advice right about now. "Can I ask you something?" Aggie now asked, her voice quieter, a bit hesitant. You gestured with your hand for her to continue. 

"Why don't you do like…relationships?" You stopped dead in your tracks. Aggie turned to you, regret written all over her face. You blinked a few times. Aggie asked it so casually, but why did it feel like you were being held at gunpoint and needed to answer the question? You let out a quiet huff of air, your gaze dropping to the ground. "Straight to the point, huh?" You said lightly, somehow a smile forming on your lips.

"You–you don't need to answer if you're not comfortable," Aggie reassured you. You shook your head. "It's fine." You just didn't know what the answer to that question was anymore. You had told so many people that you didn't do relationships because they were always complicated. That people got too attached to one person. "I just…" You started, then paused, searching for something that didn't sound like you had said it a million times before.

"I don't like the mess that comes with it." You assumed that Aggie would say something, but she didn't; she didn't interrupt. "Expectations, people getting hurt if it doesn't work." You continued, shrugging lightly with your shoulders. "It's just easier not to get into them in the first place." You glanced at Aggie, expecting to see judgment written all over her face, but you didn't see any. 

"Does it work?" Aggie asked, her voice soft. You let out a huff. "It did," You said. You felt your hand brush against Aggie's again. You didn't look down, but you felt Aggie move her fingers lightly against yours. Aggie tilted her head like a curious dog. "And now?" You hesitated. The answer was right there, the answer you didn't want to say aloud. "Now I'm not sure," You whispered. The words felt strange on your tongue. You had always been sure of everything, but now with Aggie? You're not sure of anything at this point.

The words felt strange on your tongue, like they didn't quite belong to you. You glanced down, but quickly looked ahead again. Your hand had brushed against Aggie's once more. Your heart rate picked up, which had nothing to do with running or training. At the next step, your hands brushed against each other again. You swallowed the lump in your throat and moved your hand closer to Aggie's. Not grabbing, just a silent invitation.

Aggie noticed the slight change. She adjusted her hand as well. placing her hand in yours, her fingers slipping through yours. She didn't interlace them fully, but she didn't need to, because you did it for her. This was scary, but you did, but what in the fuck came next?

After a few hours walking around in the city, you had walked Aggie home. You stopped on the porch, your hands in your pockets like a teenager walking their date back home, and you actually felt like that right now. Aggie didn't go inside right away; she stayed with you on the porch. You leaned back against the fence, completely drawn to how Aggie looked right now.

The light above shone on Aggie in a certain way that made her even more beautiful than you thought she was. You could see the wrinkle of her nose when she laughed, the small dimples in her cheeks when she was fully smiling. You were so far away right now that you didn't realize that Aggie was watching you back. She tilted her head lightly. She could tell that you were completely mesmerized by her, which you were. Aggie didn't say anything. She was too amazed by the fact that she could see that you had let your guard down. Your shoulders weren't tensed, your face was natural, no teasing smirk that you usually wore.

You were warm, calm, but still very charming, but now you weren't trying so hard to impress someone. "You're staring," Aggie finally said, her voice soft and warm. "Mhh," You hummed, blinking with your eyes to focus on Aggie. "We have been standing here for what? Like five minutes, but you haven't stopped staring at me," Aggie said. There was a teasing edge to her tone, a smirk playing on her lips. 

You stayed quiet at that. Because you hadn't even noticed that you were staring until Aggie had called you out. You let out a sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You don't know what you needed to do now. This isn't how your nights usually go. You usually go home with someone, have sex, and then leave. That's simple. But this? This was a whole new territory, but you didn't want to screw it up, you really didn't.

"I just–" You started, but stopped with a shake of your head. "Don't know what to do right now," You muttered, not meeting Aggie's eyes once. "What would you do with your usual nights?" The question caught you off guard. You looked at Aggie. Was this a trick question? Or did Aggie really want an answer to that? "You want an honest answer to that?" You then asked, rubbing your neck. "I only want an honest answer." You let out a huff. Yeah, that tracks.

"Usually, I would enter the house, have sex with the person–" Aggie raised a curious eyebrow when you stopped. "And then?" You let out a sigh, dropping your eyes to the wooden floor of the porch like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Y/n," Aggie said, her tone even. "I would leave, mostly in the middle of the night. I did always leave a note," You muttered under your breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

"I know that's not how you flow, so, just–if you don't want this–" You said and gestured vaguely between the two of you, "if you don't want to continue this, I get, you just tell me, and I'll go," You whispered. You were already dreading Aggie's answer. You had never given anyone the option to run because you always ran first, but now you had played the ball to Aggie in front of an open goal; it was up to her whether she wanted to score.

"Hey, hey, stop," Aggie said, stepping closer to you, not giving you any chance to say more. You turned your head away, but Aggie cupped your face in both hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. "I know this is something big for you. I wouldn't just turn you down, because I know that this is you stepping out of your comfort zone," Aggie said, her tone sweet, but very clear. All of a sudden, you were very aware of how close the two of you were standing right now. Your noses almost brushed. You looked down at Aggie's lips before locking eyes with her again. You hesitantly placed your hands on Aggie's waist, pulling her slightly closer, your noses brushing fully against each other now. 

You felt your heart in your throat. You tightened your hold on Aggie's waist before letting go again, but not fully. You let your forehead rest against Aggie's. You closed your eyes. This situation was terrifying, but you didn't want to run away anymore. You moved forward a little, your lips grazing Aggie's. You didn't kiss her. You allowed her to pull back or lean into it.

You only needed to wait exactly one second before Aggie's lips met yours. You smiled into the kiss, pulling Aggie just a little closer. Aggie giggled softly, giving you one final kiss before pulling back. "Wow," Was all Aggie could say. You couldn't see it really well, but you could see the slight blush on Aggie's cheeks. You gave her a small smirk. Aggie buried her face in your neck, clearly embarrassed. "C'mon," Aggie eventually said, pulling back and holding out her hand, and with the other hand, she unlocked the house.