Unbetitelt

Then, a car finally pulls up.

Your chest tightens immediately.

You move before you even think about it.

The back door opens slowly, and there she is.

Alexia steps carefully onto the curb, one hand gripping a crutch, the other braced against the car door. Her movements are slower than usual, cautious in a way that feels deeply unnatural for her.

For one terrible second, seeing her like that hurts more than it did on the pitch.

Her eyes lift.

The moment she notices you, her entire expression softens.

“You’re here,” she says quietly.

“Of course I am.”

You’re already beside her, reaching for the sports bag hanging awkwardly from her shoulder.

“Hey,” she protests weakly.

“Absolutely not,” you say immediately, taking it from her before she can argue. “You’re not carrying anything.”

A tired smile appears on her face.

“Si, señora.”

You roll your eyes softly. “Still making referee jokes?”

“Still giving me yellow-card energy.”

That finally earns a quiet laugh from you, small and breathless, and for the first time all evening, some of the tension in your chest eases.

You thank the driver, shut the door, then instinctively move closer to her side as she starts toward the building entrance.

Even with the crutches, she tries to move independently.

Of course she does.

But every slight wince she fails to hide twists something inside you.

“Slow down,” you murmur gently.

“I am going slow.”

“You’re competitive about walking now?”

“I’m competitive about everything.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, looking at her. “I know.”

Inside the apartment building, you open every door before she can reach for it.

She notices.

You can tell she does.

But she doesn’t tease you for it this time.

The elevator ride is quiet, warm, intimate in that strange way silence can become when two people know each other well enough.

She leans back slightly against the wall, tiredness finally settling visibly into her features.

“You should’ve gone home,” she says after a moment.

You glance at her immediately. “Not a chance.”

Her eyes meet yours.

There’s something soft there.

“You have training tomorrow,” she points out.

“And you can barely walk.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You’re on crutches, Alexia.”

“One crutch,” she corrects.

You stare at her.

She grins faintly.

And despite yourself, you shake your head with a helpless smile.

-----------

The apartment door clicks open.

Warm light spills into the hallway.

The second she steps inside, you can see the exhaustion hit her properly now that she’s no longer forcing herself through public spaces.

You set her bag down near the entrance and immediately turn back to her.

“Okay,” you say gently, slipping into a softer tone without even realizing it. “Couch.”

“I can make it there myself.”

“I know you can.”

You step closer anyway.

“And I’m still helping.”

For a moment she just looks at you.

Then, quietly:

“Okay.”

The word settles somewhere deep in your chest.

Carefully, you guide her toward the couch, staying close enough that she can lean on you whenever her balance shifts. Her hand brushes your arm once, then stays there.

Not because she has to.

Because she wants to.

When she finally lowers herself onto the couch, she exhales deeply, tension leaving her body all at once.

“There,” you murmur.

You kneel automatically in front of her before she can stop you, helping her lift her injured leg carefully onto the cushions.

Your touch is impossibly gentle.

Like you’re afraid she might break.

Alexia watches you quietly the entire time.

“What?” you ask softly without looking up.

“You’re hovering.”

“I am not.”

“You look one inconvenience away from wrapping me in bubble wrap.”

That pulls a laugh out of you.

A real one this time.

“Can you blame me?”

Her expression softens instantly at the sound.

“No,” she says quietly. “Not really.”

For a second neither of you speaks.

The apartment is calm now. Rain tapping softly against the windows. The distant hum of the city below.

And then you finally look up at her.

Really look at her.

Not across a football pitch.

Not surrounded by cameras and noise and rules.

Just here.

Your hand comes to rest lightly against her knee, careful of the injury.

“That scared me today,” you admit again, barely above a whisper.

This time, she reaches for you first.

Her fingers slide gently into your hair, warm and slow.

“I know,” she murmurs.

You lean into the touch without thinking.

Exhaustion suddenly crashes over you now that the adrenaline is gone.

Alexia notices immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly, her thumb brushing your temple. “Come here.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting upward beside her on the couch.

The moment you sit down, she curls into you carefully, her head resting against your shoulder while your arm wraps instinctively around her waist.

And finally—

Finally—

You allow yourself to hold her the way you wanted to all night.

No whistles.

No distance.

No pretending.

For a long time, neither of you moves.

-----------

The rain continues softly against the windows, the apartment wrapped in a warm kind of quiet that feels completely separate from the chaos of the stadium earlier that night.

Alexia is curled carefully against your side, one arm draped loosely across your waist while your fingers move slowly through her hair.

You can feel her breathing evening out little by little.

The tension leaves her body in waves.

And every time she relaxes more into you, your chest tightens with something unbearably tender.

You press your lips lightly against the top of her head.

“How’s the leg?” you murmur.

“Hurts.”

The honesty in her voice makes you glance down immediately.

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

She gives a sleepy little hum. “You already look ready to fight someone.”

“I am ready to fight someone.”

That earns the faintest laugh from her, warm against your shoulder.

“You know,” she murmurs, “referees usually discourage violence.”

“Tonight I’m off duty.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly to look up at you, amusement flickering in her tired eyes.

“There she is,” she whispers.

“Who?”

“My girlfriend.”

Your expression softens instantly.

You lean down, brushing your nose lightly against hers. “You make it sound like I disappeared.”

“You did a little.” Her voice stays gentle. “Out there.”

Guilt flickers through you immediately, but before you can apologize, her fingers tighten slightly against your side.

“I know why,” she says softly. “And I’m proud of you.”

You close your eyes briefly at that.

Because somehow her saying she’s proud of you matters more than every assessment, every observer, every career milestone you’ve ever had.

Your hand slides carefully along her back.

“I’m still getting you ice and pain killers” you murmur after another moment.

You begin to shift slightly, trying to sit up without disturbing her too much.

Instantly, her arm tightens around you.

“No,” she mumbles.

You blink down at her. “No?”

“Stay.”

“Ale—”

“It can wait two more minutes.”

“You say that now, but tomorrow—”

Before you can finish, she lifts her head just enough to catch your wrist gently.

“Shh.”

Your breath catches a little at the softness of it.

Then she pulls you back down toward her.

The kiss starts slow.

Unhurried.

Warm.

Her lips move against yours with quiet affection, but there’s exhaustion in it too—relief, comfort, something deeper, and neither of you has fully put into words yet.

Your hand immediately finds her waist again as you kiss her back, softer than before, careful without even thinking about it.

But Alexia kisses you like she’s trying to silence every anxious thought, still running through your head.

And slowly, impossibly, it works.

The kiss lingers.

Long enough that the rest of the world disappears completely.

No match.

No injury.

No pressure.

Just her mouth against yours, warm hands tangled gently in your shirt, and the feeling of finally being allowed to love her openly, even if only here, inside these walls.

When she finally pulls back, barely an inch, her forehead rests against yours.

“You worry too much,” she whispers.

You let out the smallest breath of laughter. “You got carried off the pitch.”

“And yet,” she murmurs softly, brushing her thumb against your cheek, “I’m still here.”

Your eyes search hers for a moment.

Just making sure.

Still here.

Still yours.

You kiss her once more, shorter this time, impossibly tender.

Then you stay exactly where she wants you—

Curled around her on the couch while the rain falls outside, and the night slowly softens around the two of you.

The first minutes flow smoothly. Quick passing, high tempo. You move constantly, adjusting your position, keeping the perfect angle.

And still, you’re aware of her every movement.

She drops deep, calls for the ball, turns out of pressure with effortless grace. You know this rhythm. You know her.

“Focus,” you murmur under your breath.

15th minute.

Alexia receives the ball in midfield, turns—an opponent comes in from the side.

Clack.

A hard challenge.

You’re close.

“Play on!” you call immediately, arms raised.

For a brief moment, her eyes meet yours.

Neutral. Calm. But you know her well enough to feel the question behind it.

You swallow.

The decision is right. It has to be.

-----------

The game grows more intense.

More physical.

Alexia is tightly marked now. Barely a second on the ball.

28th minute.

She controls it near the edge of the box, nudges it forward, tries to slip past her marker.

The defender steps in.

Too hard.

Impact.

Whistle!

No hesitation this time.

“Foul!”

You step in, pull out the yellow card. Clear. Firm.

The opponent protests, arms raised.

You stay composed. “Too late. Caution.”

Then you glance, just slightly, toward Alexia.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” she replies.

A faint smile flickers across her face.

And then she’s gone again.

And you force yourself not to watch her leave.

-----------

Second half.

The rain intensifies. The pitch grows heavy, every step sending water spraying.

The match shifts.

Challenges get rougher. Messier.

58th minute.

A long ball arcs forward. Alexia times her run perfectly, slipping between two defenders.

She cushions it with her chest.

Elegant. Controlled.

You run alongside, eyes locked on the play.

A defender charges in from behind.

Too fast.

Too reckless.

You see it happening.

“Don’t—”

Crash.

The hit is brutal.

She’s taken out from behind, her standing leg swept away. Her body lifts slightly before slamming onto the soaked grass.

A dull, sickening sound.

Then silence.

And suddenly—a cry out.

Your heart spikes.

You’re there instantly.

Whistle.

Loud. Cutting through everything.

You drop beside her.

“Alexia?”

No response.

She’s curled slightly, hands gripping her leg, her face twisted in pain.

Something tightens sharply in your chest.

Fear.

But your voice stays steady.

“Medical! Now!”

You stand, turn toward the defender.

Your hand moves to your pocket.

No hesitation.

Red.

You raise the card high.

The player protests, words spilling out.

You barely hear her.

-----------

Your eyes return to Alexia.

The medical team surrounds her, speaking quickly, examining her leg.

You stay where you are.

A few meters away.

You can’t go to her.

You’re the referee.

Not her… partner.

Not here.

Not now.

They carefully lift her onto the stretcher.

Her face is pale. Lips pressed tightly together.

Then—her eyes open.

They find you.

And in that moment, everything shifts.

Not the captain.

Not the icon.

Just Alexia.

Vulnerable.

And something inside you nearly breaks.

You want to go to her.

Take her hand.

Ask if she’s okay.

But you don’t move.

You stay still.

Professional.

Neutral.

You raise your arm, manage the situation, speak to the players, enforce order.

Your voice is calm.

Your body does its job.

But inside—

When they carry her off, your gaze follows every step.

Every meter feels wrong.

Empty.

Finally, you turn away.

Walk back to the center circle.

The whistle feels heavy in your hand.

You take a breath.

Lift it to your lips.

Whistle.

And the game goes on.

Even though, for you, everything has just changed.

The final whistle cuts through the rain like a blade.

Sharp. Decisive.

Barcelona wins.

You see it in the way the players react—arms raised, brief celebrations despite the weather, relief more than anything else. It should feel like closure.

Instead, it feels distant.

Muted.

Because your eyes are already searching.

Instinctively.

But she’s not there.

No captain lifting her arms. No quiet smile. No steady presence in midfield.

Just the empty space she left behind.

-----------

You go through the motions.

Handshake line. Nods. A few words exchanged with players, staff. Professional. Composed.

No one notices anything unusual.

No one ever does.

But your thoughts are nowhere here.

They’re down the tunnel.

Behind closed doors.

With her.

-----------

The corridor is quieter now. The noise of the stadium fades into a dull echo behind concrete walls. Your boots click softly against the floor as you walk toward the referees’ dressing room.

You tell yourself to keep going.

Shower. Report. Routine.

Normal.

Then you pass it.

The treatment room.

The door is slightly ajar.

You slow down.

Just for a second.

Then stop completely.

Your heart beats faster.

You shouldn’t.

You know you shouldn’t.

But your hand is already moving.

You push the door open gently.

-----------

It’s quiet inside.

Soft light. The faint sterile smell of medical supplies.

And there she is.

Alexia Putellas lies on the treatment table, her leg carefully wrapped, slightly elevated. The room is empty—no physios, no staff. Just her.

For a moment, you just stand there.

Taking her in.

She looks… smaller like this.

Still strong. Still her.

But vulnerable in a way almost no one ever sees.

The door clicks softly as you close it behind you.

Her eyes open at the sound.

They find you immediately.

And everything in your chest softens.

“Hey…” you say quietly.

Your voice is different now. Softer. Warmer. No authority. No distance.

Just you.

A small smile forms on her lips. Tired, but real.

“Hey, ref,” she murmurs.

You huff a quiet breath, stepping closer. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” she says, her voice light despite everything.

You reach her side, hesitating for just a fraction of a second—then your hand finds hers.

Carefully.

Gently.

She squeezes back.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything else fades away.

“I wanted to come sooner,” you admit softly, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I just… couldn’t.”

“I know,” she says immediately.

No hesitation. No doubt.

Of course she knows.

Her eyes stay on you, steady and warm.

“You were good,” she adds. “Out there.”

You shake your head slightly, a small, helpless smile slipping through. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“You were,” she insists. “Even when it was hard.”

Your throat tightens a little at that.

Because she saw it.

Of course she did.

“You scared me,” you whisper.

The words come out before you can stop them.

Her expression softens.

“I’m okay,” she says gently.

You glance down at her leg, wrapped and still. “That didn’t look okay.”

She exhales quietly. “It hurts. But it’s not… the worst. I’ll be back.”

There’s that quiet certainty again.

That strength.

But now, you can see the edges of it. The effort it takes.

You step a little closer, your free hand brushing lightly against her arm, careful, grounding.

“I hated standing there,” you admit. “Not being able to—”

“I know,” she interrupts softly.

Her fingers tighten slightly around yours.

“You did what you had to do.”

You meet her eyes.

“And now?” you ask quietly.

A small smile returns to her lips.

“Now you can stop being the referee.”

Something in your chest loosens at that.

Finally.

You lean in just a little, your forehead almost brushing hers, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good. Because I don’t want to be neutral right now.”

She lets out a soft breath that almost turns into a laugh.

“Good,” she murmurs. “I don’t want you to be.”

You press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Careful. Lingering.

And when you pull back, you don’t let go of her hand.

Not this time.

She turned to you fully, eyes soft and wide.

“For us?”

“Just for us,” you confirmed, cheeks flushing in the dim light.

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered, leaning across the console to kiss you.

Slow, grateful, full of awe.

Inside, the fireplace was already laid, matches waiting close by.

There were thick blankets, a fur rug, shelves full of old paperbacks, and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon.

Alexia turned in a slow circle, taking everything in.

“Amor…” Her voice went soft. “It’s perfect.”

You shrugged, trying to pretend you weren’t ridiculously proud.

“I know how much you needed to get away.”

Alexia looked at you — really looked — and you saw something shift.

Something tender.

Something she couldn’t hide.

“You needed it too,” she whispered.

And she was right.

After you unpacked and tossed your coats near the sofa, you built the fire together — Alexia insisting she could do it alone, you insisting she absolutely could not.

It ended in laughter, ashes on fingers, kisses stolen between attempts.

Later, wrapped in blankets, feet tangled together, mugs of hot chocolate warming your hands, Alexia stared at you across the flickering firelight.

“You’re staring,” you teased.

“I’m allowed,” she replied, brushing a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. “You’re mine.”

You leaned forward, kissing her slow — not rushed or desperate like the past months had often been, but steady, deep, full.

Safe.

When you pulled away, she sighed contently and rested her head on your shoulder.

“I never want to leave this cabin.”

“Then don’t.”

She laughed softly and pinched your thigh.

“Amor, I have a job.”

“So do I. But right now our job is… vacation.”

Alexia hummed, half teasing:

“And tonight?”

“Tonight…” You smiled. “There’s something I want to show you.”

A few hours later, you stepped outside together, wrapped in coats and scarves.

The air was clear and cold enough that your breath rose in clouds.

The snow gleamed under the moon, untouched and perfect.

Alexia followed you to the frozen lake.

“Okay,” she whispered, already impressed. “This is beautiful.”

“Look up,” you said gently.

She tipped her head back.

And froze.

Above you, the night sky shimmered with ribbons of green and blue — the northern lights moving slow and impossibly graceful, like the sky was breathing.

Alexia’s lips parted.

Her hand found yours without searching.

“Dios…” she exhaled. “It’s real.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder.

“Told you I had a surprise.”

Alexia looked at you, but you kept your eyes on the sky — you didn’t see the way she was looking.

Like you hung the moon for her

Like the northern lights weren’t half as breathtaking as you.

She stepped behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For still being here. For fighting for your life. For loving me. For bringing me somewhere the world stops.”

You stayed outside until your fingers went numb.

Alexia kept kissing your hand between her palms to warm it — which worked approximately zero but felt nice anyway.

When you finally went back inside, cheeks flushed from cold and happiness, Alexia didn’t go far.

As soon as the door shut, she turned you gently and kissed you again — the kind of kiss that said:

Thank you

I love you

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.

“I want a lifetime with you,” she whispered.

“Good. Because I want that too.”

-----------

You woke before the sun.

Alexia was curled over your chest like a sleepy cat, her arm wrapped completely around your waist, her leg tangled between yours, her face pressed into your neck.

You smiled into the stillness.

She looked so peaceful.

The soft glow from the fireplace embers painted her skin gold.

Her lips were parted slightly, her breath warm against your throat.

You shifted just a little, brushing a hand down her spine.

Alexia grumbled.

“No,” she mumbled sleepily, tightening her hold. “Don’t move.”

You laughed quietly.

She just burrowed even closer.

Eventually, though, you slipped out from under her, earning a tired groan that sounded like betrayal. But then you tucked the blanket around her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and her whole body relaxed again.

Time to start the day. Hopefully a very special day.

The main cabin was chilly, so you lit the big fireplace again and stepped into the little kitchenette.

Outside, dawn was painting the frozen lake in lavender and blue.

Snow dusted the balcony railing.

The world was silent in that way only winter can be.

You made breakfast — soft eggs, toast, fruit, and coffee strong enough to wake a village.

You even found a small jar of berry jam in the cabinet and added that too.

Halfway through plating, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and stared out the window, breathing in a moment that belonged only to you.

Behind you, footsteps padded across the wood floor.

Two warm arms slipped around your waist.

A sleepy kiss landed on your shoulder.

“Morning, hermosa.”

You smiled.

“Look at you. Awake and walking. I’m impressed.”

Alexia hummed into your skin.

“You left me. I had to come find you.”

You leaned back against her.

“The drama, Ale… it’s early.”

She smiled into your neck, voice low and still gravelly from sleep.

“But I get cuddles if I complain, so I’m not stopping.”

You turned in her arms.

Her hair was messy, cheeks still flushed from sleep, eyes half-lidded and soft — and you forgot what sleep ever felt like without this image.

“You’re cute in the mornings,” you murmured.

She smirked.

“I’m cute all the time.”

You kissed her — slow and warm, the kind of kiss that tasted like shared years and shared beds and shared futures.

When you broke apart, she blinked down at the counter.

“You cooked?”

“You say that like it’s surprising.”

Alexia slid into a chair.

“It is. Last time you made breakfast we had to order emergency croissants.”

You gasped.

“That was one time—!”

She was already laughing, covering her mouth.

You put the plate down in front of her and poked her arm.

“Eat.”

She grabbed your wrist and kissed your inner palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Not for the food.

Not really.

For everything.

-----------

When the plates were clean and the coffee was finished, Alexia leaned back, sighing happily.

“I could live here.”

You nodded.

“Three rooms, no neighbors, no paparazzi… tempting.”

She caught your eyes.

“You know what I’d like even more?”

“What?”

Her fingers slid over yours on the table.

“You. Anywhere.”

You froze just a second — because even after everything, she could still undo you with one simple sentence.

“You have me,” you said quietly. “Everywhere.”

Her thumb brushed your knuckles.

“I know.”

Later, wrapped in layers and scarves, you walked hand-in-hand out to the frozen lake.

Breath turning white.

Boots crunching softly in fresh snow.

Alexia stood at the edge of the lake, hands on her hips.

“Okay, this is magical.”

“Told you.”

She took in the snowy horizon, cheeks rosy from the cold, and then she turned to you with that mischievous spark you had learned to recognize.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re thinking something.”

She grinned.

“I’m thinking—”

You didn’t get to hear the rest.

Because suddenly—

SPLAT.

A snowball hit your coat — perfectly aimed, perfectly thrown.

You stared at her.

“Alexia.”

She was already backing away, laughing.

“You can’t prove it was me!”

You bent down slowly, dramatically, gathering snow with great intention.

Alexia yelled:

“NO—do not—”

Too late.

Your snowball hit her square in the chest.

She froze.

Then she looked up with murder in her eyes.

“Oh, now it’s war.”

You squeaked and ran.

The next minute was chaos — laughter echoing across the silent forest, snow flying in every direction, boots slipping, cheeks burning from cold and joy.

At one point she tackled you gently into a snowbank, both of you landing in a laughing heap.

“You’re evil,” she gasped.

“You started it.”

She leaned over you, hands on either side of your head, snowflakes caught in her hair.

“Mala idea?” she teased.

“Amazing idea.”

You kissed her, soft and breathless, snow melting against your warm lips.

Her forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” she whispered.

In the quiet of the winter world, your heart felt full.

“I love you too.”

By the time you made it back inside, noses red and gloves soaked, Alexia wrapped her arms around you from behind again.

“You know,” she murmured into your neck, “if we stay here forever, we’ll need a bigger bed.”

You snorted.

“This one is big.”

“For sleep,” she corrected. “But we don’t always use beds for sleep.”

You bumped her hip.

She kissed your jaw.

“Come on. Shower. Then maybe sauna. Then maybe…”

She trailed off intentionally.

You turned and raised a brow.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” she repeated with a small smirk, “I thank you properly for this trip.”

Your pulse jumped — delightfully.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

Inside, the cabin filled again with warmth, laughter, and the kind of love that survives everything.

-----------

The sky outside the cabin darkened early, as it tended to in winter.

By the time dinner was finished — a simple meal eaten wrapped together in one oversized blanket — the world beyond the windows was already deep indigo, snowy forests glowing faintly under moonlight.

Alexia stretched her arms above her head with a soft sigh.

“So…” she murmured, lazy and playful. “Are we really doing the sauna?”

You grinned.

“Oh, we’re doing the sauna.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest — and something warmer.

You grabbed towels, she grabbed the small bottle of oil provided by the cabin hosts, and together you stepped onto the wooden path leading to the small sauna building by the lake.

Cold air bit at your skin.

Your breath came out in silver clouds.

Alexia reached for your hand halfway there and didn’t let go.

“De verdad,” she murmured softly. “This whole place feels unreal.”

“Good,” you answered. “I wanted it to.”

She leaned over and kissed your temple — not rushed, just grateful.

You both changed into towels in the small prep room, cheeks flushed from the sudden contrast between winter cold and sauna warmth.

Alexia sat first, leaning back against the wooden wall, hair loose and slightly damp around her shoulders.

You took the seat beside her, but she immediately hooked a finger in your towel, tugging you closer.

“No,” she whispered. “Aquí.”

So you moved — hip pressed to hip, her thigh warm against yours.

Steam curled upward in soft waves.

Silence wrapped around you like another blanket.

For a few minutes neither of you spoke.

You simply… existed.

Together.

Breathing in the heat.

Melting into each other.

Alexia’s fingers trailed lazily across your knee.

“I missed this,” she said finally.

“The sauna?”

She shook her head, eyes on yours.

“You. Like this. Relaxed. With me. Not in pain. Not scared.”

The words settled in quiet places inside you.

“I missed it too,” you admitted.

She let her head fall back against the wall, lips parted slightly, breathing slowly as if she could finally exhale the last of the fear she’d been carrying.

The heat deepened, making skin damp and breath shorter.

Alexia shifted closer, thigh pressing firmer against yours, her hand sliding up until it rested on the inside of your hip.

Her voice dropped.

“You know what scared me most?”

“What?”

“That you might never know how much I love you.”

You turned your head slowly toward her — steam blurring the edges of everything except her eyes.

“I know,” you said.

But she wasn’t done.

“No,” she whispered. “Not enough.”

Then she leaned in and kissed you.

Not hungry.

Not rushed.

Just deep — slow — certain.

A kiss that tasted like everything you had survived.

Everything you were still building.

Her hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

Your towel slipped slightly at the shoulder, exposing warm skin, and Alexia’s breath hitched.

She kissed your collarbone — once — slow and reverent.

“You’re everything,” she murmured against your skin.

Heat pooled under your ribs — sauna heat, yes, but also hers.

“You say that like you’re not,” you answered.

She pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I almost lost you. I feel like I have to say everything I didn’t get to.”

You leaned your forehead to hers.

“Then say it,” you whispered.

Her hand slid to the back of your neck.

“I want a future with you. A real one. A home… mornings like this… fights about stupid dishes… nights where we hold each other until the world stops spinning.”

Your pulse fluttered.

“Alexia…”

“I want decades,” she whispered, voice rough and open and devastatingly sincere. “I want all of them. Contigo.”

You swallowed hard — emotions tightening in your chest in the best way.

“Then you’ll have them.”

She kissed you again — deeper now, heat rising where her hands slid along your waist, steam wrapping around you both like a curtain.

Not rushing.

Not needing to.

Just letting want and love breathe in the same air.

-----------

Eventually you both had to step out, skin flushed and hearts fluttering.

You walked out into the frozen air, towels wrapped tight, steam rising from your skin in silver clouds.

Alexia sucked in a breath and let it out in a laugh.

“Dios mío… we are insane.”

You grinned, cheeks red from cold and heat.

“Only a little.”

She pulled you against her, lips brushing your forehead.

The cabin lights were low, only the warm glow of the fireplace flickering across the wood-paneled walls. The heat from the sauna still pulsed beneath your skin, but in here it was softer — comfortable, soothing.

“Come inside,” she murmured. “I’m not done showing you how much I love you.”

Alexia tossed another log into the fireplace, sparks dancing up the chimney, then dusted her hands on her shorts before turning toward you.

You were curled up on the couch in one of the oversized knit blankets provided by the cabin, cheeks flushed from heat and happiness.

She paused just a second — just long enough to take you in — then smiled.

“My favorite view,” she murmured.

You laughed quietly. “I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yes,” she said. “And still my favorite.”

She walked over and slipped onto the couch beside you. Immediate warmth. Immediate closeness. You opened the blanket and she slid inside, wrapping her arms around you and settling your legs over hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

The crackling fire filled the room.

Snow tapped softly at the window.

Your head rested against Alexia’s chest, right over her heartbeat.

You felt her breathing slow — that deep, patient rhythm she only had when she was feeling safe.

Her hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing together.

After a while Alexia spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“You know… I don’t remember the last time I felt this at peace.”

You tilted your head up slightly.

“Really?”

She nodded, thumb brushing your palm.

“Football is amazing. I love it. I’m grateful every day. But…”

Her eyes softened.

“I forget what it feels like to just… breathe. Slow down.”

You shifted closer, curling your body further into hers.

“You deserve that,” you said.

Her hand slid up your back, slow and gentle.

“You give me peace,” she murmured.

Heat bloomed in your chest — not sauna heat, something deeper.

“You do the same for me,” you answered. “Even when I try to pretend I don’t need help.”

Alexia hummed knowingly.

“Oh, I know,” she teased, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “You’re very stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She laughed — a real one, soft and bright — and hugged you tighter.

“Touché.”

Her voice softened again.

“When you were in the hospital…” She paused, breathing out slowly. “I sat there thinking about everything we hadn’t done yet. Places I hadn’t taken you. Things I hadn’t told you.”

Your heart tightened.

“You didn’t have to carry that alone.”

Her nose brushed your cheek.

“I know. But I was scared. I’ve been scared before — injuries, finals, surgeries — but nothing ever hit me like that.”

You turned toward her, hand cupping her cheek.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m staying. You have time to say everything.”

She leaned into your touch — eyes shining just a little in the firelight.

“I know,” she breathed. “But tonight… I wanted to say thank you.”

You blinked, surprised.

“For what?”

“For loving me,” she said simply. “For taking care of me when we barely even knew each other. For choosing me — then and now.”

Emotion caught in your throat.

“I’d choose you a thousand times.”

Her smile went soft and devastating.

“And I’d choose you right back.”

-----------

Morning came slowly — the kind of winter dawn that whispered instead of shouted.

Pale golden light filtered through the curtains of the cabin, painting soft stripes across the room. Alexia was still asleep beside you, one arm heavy over your waist, face relaxed and peaceful in a way you didn’t see often enough.

Normally you would’ve stayed there, wrapped in her warmth, breathing in her steady rhythm…

But today your heart was beating too fast to stay still.

Today was the day.

You carefully slipped out from under her arm, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead so you wouldn’t wake her. She didn’t stir — just nuzzled into the pillow with a tiny sigh.

God.

You loved her so much it hurt.

You stepped quietly into the living room, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet, and only once the bedroom door was closed did you exhale.

Your hands were shaking.

Not from cold.

From the ring box hidden in your pocket.

You set both palms on the counter, trying to steady your breathing.

You were going to propose today.

To Alexia Putellas — the woman who turned your world inside out at a Beyoncé concert, who loved you with her entire heart, who fought for you when you were unconscious in a hospital bed, who held you like you were home.

You swallowed hard.

She deserved this to be perfect.

Outside, snow fell in soft, lazy flakes, the lake covered in dazzling white. In a few hours a horse-drawn sleigh would arrive — one you had secretly arranged months ago.

A quiet ride through the forests…

Ending at a small clearing overlooking the frozen lake…

Fairy-lights already strung between the trees from last night’s secret work with the cabin owners.

The northern lights.

Stars.

Silence.

The two of you… and forever.

Your heart squeezed — equal parts love and terror.

“What if I faint?”

“What if I forget the speech?”

“What if she realizes what’s happening and laughs?”

“What if—”

A soft voice behind you cut through your favorite brand of panic.

“You’re awake early.”

You turned.

Alexia stood in the doorway, wrapped in one of the cabin’s wool blankets, hair messy and still half-asleep — the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

She smiled softly.

“You okay?”

You forced an exhale and a smile.

“Just… enjoying the morning.”

She walked over, eyes still sleepy, and wrapped her arms around your middle from behind.

“Hmm. Strange. Normally I’m the first up.”

You leaned into her, trying not to let her feel how hard your heart was pounding.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Well,” she murmured, kissing your bare shoulder, “I missed you in bed.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

While Alexia started coffee, you stepped outside onto the porch. The air was freezing, your breath turning into clouds instantly, but you needed a second alone.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the small velvet box.

You opened it.

Inside was the ring — simple, elegant, exactly her.

Your fingers shook.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Today… you ask her to be yours forever.”

You inhaled deeply.

“And please don’t screw it up.”

When you stepped back inside, Alexia turned from the counter with two cups of coffee.

She paused — those sharp captain eyes narrowing just slightly.

“You look…”

She tilted her head.

“…nervous.”

Your brain immediately turned to soup.

“Nervous? No. Me? I’m—”

She walked over, eyes softening, and lifted your chin with her finger.

“Hey. You don’t have to pretend with me. Is everything okay?”

You swallowed.

How was she simultaneously the most perceptive woman alive

and completely unaware she was being proposed to in six hours?

You forced a smile and cradled her cheek.

“Everything is perfect. I promise.”

She accepted that — barely — but wrapped her arms around you and kissed your chest, right over your racing heart.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m happy.”

Your eyes stung.

You kissed the top of her head.

“Me too.”

While Alexia showered, you stood in the kitchen frantically checking everything on your phone:

• Sleigh driver confirmed

• Blanket-packed picnic delivered to lake

• Fairy lights still working

• Ring safely in my jacket

Your pulse hammered harder.

This was happening.

Today wasn’t just another chapter—

It was the beginning of the rest of your lives.

And when Alexia called sweetly from the bathroom,

“Bébe, do you have my conditioner out there?”

You nearly lost it laughing — because you were about to ask the woman searching for her hair products to marry you.

-----------

Hours later, bundled in coats and scarves, you stepped outside with Alexia at your side.

She gasped.

A horse-drawn sleigh waited for you in the snow, steam rising gently from the horse, bells glimmering, seats covered in thick fur blankets.

She turned to you slowly, eyes wide, a hand lifted to her mouth.

“What is all this?”

Your heartbeat was a drumroll in your ears.

You laced your fingers with hers.

“A surprise.”

She stared a moment longer — then smiled, soft and disbelieving.

“You’re incredible.”

The sleigh driver helped you climb in, wrapped blankets over your laps, and with a soft click of his tongue, the horse began moving — gliding smoothly through the forest road.

Snowflakes fell gently around you.

The world was silent except for the steady jingle of the harness bells and the crunch of runners over snow.

Alexia leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder.

“This is magical,” she whispered.

Your throat tightened.

You were minutes from asking her to spend forever with you.

The sleigh slowed as the trees opened onto a small clearing overlooking the frozen lake. Snow covered the world in silence, and the early winter sunset cast the sky in gold and pink.

Alexia sat up straighter, taking in the scene — the fairy lights strung between the pine trees, flickering gently in the cold air.

“Mi amor…” she breathed, eyes wide. “This is… wow.”

Your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest.

The sleigh driver halted the horse and gave you a tiny nod — the secret signal that everything was ready.

Alexia didn’t notice.

She was still staring at the view like it was something out of a dream.

You climbed out first and helped her down, her gloved hand warm in yours. The snow was soft under your boots, and your breath came out in clouds.

“This is insane,” Alexia whispered, taking in the frozen lake, the endless forest, the lights sparkling like stars nestled in branches. “You really planned all this?”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“For you? I’d do anything.”

She blushed — actually blushed — and you thought:

Yes. This is the moment.

You guided her toward the center of the lights, where the view of the lake was clear and the snow stretched untouched in every direction. You stopped, turning to face her.

Alexia noticed then that your hands were trembling.

Her expression softened.

“Mi vida,” she sighed gently, “what’s going on? Talk to me. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

A laugh escaped you — soft, breathless, nervous.

“You have no idea.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

The cold air nipped at your face, but your heart was pounding hot inside your chest.

You took her hands.

And suddenly… the world went silent.

No horse bells.

No wind.

Just her.

Just Alexia Putellas, the woman who walked into your life at a Beyoncé concert and never left.

You exhaled shakily.

“Alexia…” you began softly. “There are a thousand reasons I love you, and somehow a thousand don’t feel like enough.”

Her eyes softened instantly.

“I had no idea when we met in that crowd… that everything was about to change,” you began. “I didn’t know that an accidental glance would lead to waking up beside the love of my life. That you’d make every day feel… like home.”

Her lips parted, eyes already shining.

You squeezed her hands.

“You’ve seen me at my strongest and at my weakest. You’ve held me when the world felt impossible.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly.

Your voice barely held together.

“These last years with you… have been the best of my life. Not because everything has been perfect, but because we’ve stood through everything together. Injuries, fear, long nights, kind of long distances and that day in the hospital when I got injured on duty.”

“You’re my favorite good morning. My favorite good night. My favorite everything in between. And there is nothing in this world I want more than to love you for the rest of my life.”

Your voice broke.

Alexia inhaled sharply, tightening her grip on your hands.

“Life is short. Too short. And I don’t want to spend one more day just hoping we have more time.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

“You are my peace. My laughter. My home. And I don’t want to wait anymore to call you my wife.”

Alexia blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.

“I love our mornings,” you said, voice trembling. “The real ones. The sleepy ones. The ones where you bury your face in my neck and refuse to let go. Those morning cuddles are my favorite part of the day. But I also love our hectic days — running around, laughing, surviving chaos together. I love every version of life we live, because it’s with you.”

Her lips parted, breath catching.

“I love your shy smile — the one you pretend you don’t have. The one only I get to see. It still makes my heart stop every single time.”

A tiny, emotional laugh escaped her.

“I love how you care for me,” you whispered. “How you notice every small thing. How you hold me when I’m overwhelmed, how you steady me without even trying.”

Your voice wavered, eyes burning.

“And I love how you care about others. How you give, and give, and give — to your team, to your family, to strangers… to the world. You don’t just play with your heart — you live with it.”

Alexia’s chin trembled; she looked at you like you were rewriting her entire world.

Snow fell quietly around you.

Your chest tightened.

“And your kisses…”

You had to pause, breath unsteady.

“They still give me butterflies. Millions of them. Every single time. From the very first kiss to the ones this morning.”

You reached into your coat pocket — and she froze.

Her other hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh my God…”

Slowly, you sank down onto one knee, snow crunching beneath you. The cold hit your skin, but you barely felt it.

You opened the small velvet box.

The ring sparkled softly in the fairy light.

Alexia gasped, a sound you would remember for the rest of your life.

You looked up at her — the love of your life, eyes wet, looking at you like you had hung every star in the sky just to see her smile.

“Alexia Putellas Segura…”

Your voice was thick with emotion.

“Et vols casar amb mi? (Will you marry me?) Will you spend this, beautiful, chaotic unpredictable life with me — as my forever?”

Silence.

A streak of light flashed.

Then another.

And another.

Shooting stars — real, bright, impossibly vivid — crossed the winter sky above the clearing, slicing through the early night like the universe itself had been waiting for this moment.

Alexia gasped, turning her tear-filled eyes upward.

“Y/N…” she whispered, voice trembling.

“I swear I didn’t plan those.”

She laughed through her tears — that soft, breathy laugh you loved so much — and then she fell to her knees in the snow in front of you. Hands cupped your face, foreheads pressed together as shooting stars streaked above the pine trees like fireworks written in stardust.

“Yes,” she said again, stronger, steadier. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes to you. A thousand times, yes.”

You slipped the ring onto her shaking finger.

She kissed you immediately — desperate, smiling through tears, her breath mixing with yours in the frozen air. Her hands trembled against your cheeks as the sky continued to spark behind her.

When the kiss finally broke, she rested her forehead against yours

“Beyoncé would be proud, you know,” she whispered, voice trembling but playful. “You really did put a ring on it.”

You laughed — a soft, emotional sound that cracked a little at the end.

She cupped your face, kissing you — soft, desperate, overflowing.

When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, breath shaky.

“You’re crazy,” she whispered, smiling through her tears. “Completely insane.”

You laughed, brushing your thumb over her cheek.

“Crazy about you”

She kissed you again — slow, reverent, grounding.

“I’d marry you today,” she breathed. “Tonight. Right here in the snow. I don’t care. I’m yours.”

Your throat closed.

You slid the ring onto her finger — slowly, reverently, the moment burning itself into memory.

Alexia looked down at her hand — then back up at you, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that could light cities.

“You planned all of this,” she whispered. “Just to ask me a question you already knew the answer to.”

You grinned, wiping her tears with your thumb.

“I needed to give you a memory that matched how you make me feel.”

Alexia exhaled a shaky breath.

You wrapped your arms around her again, holding her as snow drifted softly around you and the lake stretched quiet and endless beneath the sky.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

She leaned into you, one hand on your chest, staring at the ring as though still not convinced it was real.

“You know,” she murmured eventually, “I never believed in love at first sight…”

You smiled softly.

“Then you looked at me at that concert and ruined every belief you ever had?”

She laughed through her tears.

“Exactly that.”

You kissed her — slow, deep, full of everything the words couldn’t hold.

And in that quiet Scandinavian clearing, under fairy lights and falling snow…

Forever finally began.

A list taped to the fridge titled Friendsgiving in bold letters. Another one underneath that simply said Christmas ideas. Candles everywhere. A small bowl of cinnamon sticks and oranges on the table because it felt like autumn, even if it technically wasn’t winter yet.

You stood in the kitchen, phone in hand, scrolling through recipes, humming softly.

“We do not need three desserts,” Alexia said from the couch, amused.

You looked over your shoulder. “We absolutely do. This is Friendsgiving.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re already in Christmas mode, aren’t you?”

You didn’t even deny it. “I can’t help it. It’s my favorite time. And it’s our first Friendsgiving here.”

She watched you for a moment — really watched you — with that soft, almost disbelieving smile she still got sometimes.

“You’re glowing,” she said.

You paused. “From excitement or from the candle obsession?”

“From being in love,” she replied simply.

Your heart did a small, familiar flip.

Warm air carried the scent of roasted vegetables, herbs, and something sweet, simmering slowly on the stove. Music played softly from the speaker — one of Alexia’s playlists, familiar and comforting — while the kitchen counters disappeared under cutting boards, bowls, and handwritten recipe notes.

You stood at the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, completely in your element.

Alexia hovered nearby, pretending to be helpful while mostly being distracting.

“Do you need anything?” she asked innocently, leaning against the counter.

“Yes,” you said without looking up. “For you to stop stealing my ingredients.”

Alexia grinned and popped a piece of roasted pumpkin into her mouth anyway. “Quality control.”

You turned just in time to catch her smile — that one, the soft one, the one that always made your chest tighten.

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “You’re amazing,” she murmured. “Hosting. Cooking. Being this excited.”

You laughed quietly. “You’re supposed to help, not flirt.”

“I am helping,” she said, pressing a kiss to your neck. Then another. Then one just behind your ear. “See?”

You tried to stay focused, but she kept stealing kisses when you least expected it — quick pecks on your cheek, a lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth while you stirred, her fingers brushing your hip as she passed behind you.

Every time you caught her, she just smiled like she’d won something.

At one point, she leaned in, lips barely grazing yours. “I’m very proud of you.”

You smiled back. “For cooking?”

“For everything.”

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

You froze.

Alexia didn’t notice at first, too busy tasting the sauce. You glanced down — one notification, a name you’d saved carefully, discreetly.

Your heart kicked up a notch.

“Everything okay?” Alexia asked, turning toward you.

You swallowed, forcing a smile. “Yeah. I— uh— I just forgot something. I have to go get it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Now? In the middle of Friendsgiving prep?”

“I know, I know,” you said quickly, already wiping your hands on a towel. “I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

She studied you for a second — not suspicious, just curious. “You’re acting weird.”

You leaned in and kissed her — slow enough to distract, sweet enough to feel real. “Just trust me.”

That did it.

She smiled, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “Always.”

You grabbed your jacket, heart racing, and headed for the door.

Behind you, Alexia called, amused, “Don’t take too long, chef!”

You paused for half a second, hand on the handle, smiling to yourself.

If only she knew.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

But soon.

-----------

The table was full before anyone even sat down. Dishes lined every surface: roasted vegetables glistening with olive oil, warm bread wrapped in cloth, bowls of salad, and casseroles still steaming. Candles flickered between plates, their light reflecting off glasses and smiling faces.

Laughter filled the room.

Alexia moved easily among her teammates, greeting everyone with hugs, her hand finding yours whenever she passed — a quiet reminder that this, all of this, was something you’d built together.

Jana arrived last, cheeks flushed from the cold, carrying a bottle of wine like it was precious cargo.

“I hope I’m not late. I got stuck at the airport” she said.

“Perfect timing,” you replied, taking the bottle from her. “We were waiting for you.”

Once everyone was seated, the noise softened into that comfortable hum that only came when people felt safe and welcome. Alexia caught your eye from across the table and smiled — the same smile she’d given you a thousand times before - and the one that still felt brand new.

Plates were filled. Glasses were raised.

Then Jana cleared her throat.

“Okay,” she said, lifting her glass slightly. “I know we didn’t plan speeches, but… just give me a second.”

The table quieted.

Jana looked around — at the food, the faces, the warmth — and then at you and Alexia.

“I’m grateful,” she began, voice steady but soft, “for this dinner. For this table. For friends who feel like family.” She smiled, a little shy. “And especially for you two.”

You felt Alexia’s hand tighten around yours.

“You can feel it,” Jana continued. “The love. The care. The way this place feels like home the moment you walk in.” She laughed lightly. “Honestly, it’s annoying.”

The room chuckled.

“But really,” she said, eyes warm now, “thank you for opening your home. And for reminding us that love like this exists.” She paused, then added quietly, “I hope one day I get to have something like what you have.”

Silence followed — not awkward, just full.

Alexia swallowed, visibly moved. You squeezed her hand, your own chest tight.

“To friends,” Jana finished, lifting her glass higher. “To love. And to being thankful — even when life hasn’t been easy.”

“Cheers,” someone said softly.

“Cheers,” the table echoed.

Dinner slowly dissolved into comfort.

Plates were pushed aside, crumbs brushed away, and chairs shifted closer together. Someone turned the music down, and the apartment settled into that warm, post-meal calm where everything felt softer.

“Okay,” Jana said, standing up and grabbing a plate. “The young ones do the dishes.”

Vicky groaned. “Since when are we the young ones?”

“Since you still have energy,” Irene replied from the couch, already reaching for her wine glass.

Kika laughed and collected cutlery, Sydney following her toward the kitchen with exaggerated determination. Soon, the sink was full, sleeves were rolled up, and the sound of running water mixed with quiet laughter.

You joined them for a moment, drying plates, until Jana waved you away with her glass. “No, no. You cooked. Go sit.”

You didn’t argue.

On the other side of the room, the “elder ones” had claimed the couch and armchairs — Irene, Patri, Marta, Mapi, and Alexia — wine glasses in hand, legs stretched out, conversation already drifting toward football like it always did.

“Germany next,” Patri said, swirling her wine. “They’re physical.”

“And organized,” Marta added. “They don’t give you space.”

Alexia leaned back, thoughtful. “They press high, but they leave gaps if you’re patient.”

Mapi smirked. “So… patience. That’ll be easy.”

Alexia shot her a look. “For me, yes. For you? We’ll see.”

Laughter followed.

From the kitchen, Jana peeked out. “You know we can hear you analyzing tactics from here, right?”

“Good,” Irene called back. “Learn something.”

You sat nearby, watching Alexia as she talked — relaxed, confident, completely in her element. She gestured with her glass, eyes focused, already half in the game.

“Still,” she said, voice calm but firm, “we play our football. We trust it.”

You caught her eye. She smiled at you, softening instantly.

“See?” Mapi said. “She’s already distracted.”

You raised your glass in mock apology.

In the kitchen, the younger ones finished up, laughing over soap bubbles and splashes of water. When they returned, towels were tossed aside, and someone collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

“Survived,” Vicky announced.

“Barely,” Kika added.

Wine was refilled. The conversation drifted again — from tactics to travel, from jokes to quiet moments of reflection.

You looked around the room — at the laughter, the easy closeness, the mix of generations sharing the same space — and felt something settle deep in your chest.

This wasn’t just a dinner.

It was community.

And as Alexia’s hand found yours again, fingers intertwining naturally, you knew: this was exactly where you were meant to be.

-----------

The apartment fell quiet in a way that only happened after everyone left.

The last hugs lingered at the door, soft goodbyes echoing down the stairwell until it was just you and Alexia again — the candles burned low, empty glasses on the table, the faint scent of food and wine still hanging in the air.

You didn’t bother cleaning right away.

Instead, you curled up on the couch and climbed gently onto Alexia’s lap, settling there like it was the most natural place in the world. She wrapped her arms around you instantly, one hand warm and steady against your back.

“Hi,” she murmured, smiling softly up at you.

“Hi,” you replied, resting your forehead against hers.

You stayed like that for a while, rocking slightly, talking about nothing and everything at once — about how good the night had been, about Jana’s speech, about who had eaten the most dessert. Alexia laughed quietly, thumb tracing slow circles along your spine.

“You were amazing tonight,” she said. “I love seeing you like this. Hosting. Taking care of everyone.”

You smiled. “I like taking care of you.”

Her expression softened at that. “You do,” she whispered. “All the time.”

Eventually, she sighed — the kind that meant responsibility was creeping back in. “I should pack.”

You groaned quietly, tightening your arms around her. “Already?”

“I have an early flight tomorrow,” she said gently.

You leaned back just enough to look at her. “I don’t like when you leave.”

“I know,” she said, brushing her nose against yours. “I don’t like leaving.”

She kissed you — slow, lingering, full of reassurance — then carefully shifted you so she could stand. You stayed sitting on the couch, watching her move around the bedroom, pulling out her suitcase, folding clothes with practiced efficiency.

Every so often, she looked back at you, smiling softly.

“Come here,” she said finally.

You joined her on the bed, sitting beside her while she packed. She reached out, lacing her fingers with yours.

“Just a few days,” she promised.

You smiled. “I know.”

The night was calm, full of love and the quiet ache of goodbyes — but also of certainty.

-----------

Morning came too quickly.

Soft light crept through the windows while the city was still half asleep. Alexia moved quietly around the apartment, trying not to rush, trying not to make the goodbye feel heavier than it already was. You followed her to the door, wrapped in a sweater that was very obviously hers.

She set her bag down and turned to you, her hands immediately finding your waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, like she needed to ground herself.

You stepped closer, arms sliding around her neck. “It’s just a few days.”

“I know,” she said. “Still.”

She kissed you — once, then again, and again after that — soft kisses at first, then deeper, slower ones, like she was trying to memorize you. Your hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks as if to reassure her she was real, still here.

“I’ll text you when I land,” she promised against your lips.

“And I’ll be safe at work,” you said softly, meeting her eyes. “Office duty. No heroics.”

She smiled, relieved but still searching your face. “Promise?”

“I promise,” you said, kissing her nose.

At the door, she paused, turning back for just one more kiss — then one more after that, her forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

She finally stepped back, lifting her bag, but she didn’t look away until the door closed gently behind her.

You stood there for a moment longer, hand resting on the handle, feeling the echo of her kisses linger.

Then you smiled to yourself.

A few more weeks, and she would be yours forever. At least you hoped so.

-----------

You’d always said it.

Alexia in a leather jacket was unfair. Criminal, even.

There was something about it — the way it sharpened her already confident presence, the contrast between soft smiles, and that effortlessly cool edge. You loved the look on her, and she knew it. She also knew exactly which leather jacket was your favorite.

Which was why she had promised — very clearly — not to take that one with her.

You were halfway through your coffee break at work when your phone buzzed.

A notification from the federation’s account.

You tapped it absentmindedly.

And froze.

There she was. Stepping off the team bus in Madrid. Sunglasses on. Hair loose. Hands in her pockets.

And wrapped around her shoulders—

“No,” you whispered to absolutely no one.

Your favorite leather jacket.

The one that smelled like her. The one she loved stealing. The one she’d sworn stayed in Barcelona.

You zoomed in. As if that would change reality.

It did not.

You stared at the screen, torn between outrage and appreciation, because — annoyingly — she looked incredible. Confident. Relaxed. Completely unaware (or very aware) of the crime she had just committed.

You and Alexia texted back and forth while she traveled to Madrid. So you decided to have a little fun with her. A little tiny revenge.

When Alexia came back to her hotel room and checked her phone, she was greeted with this:

Alexia froze. She tried calling you immediately. But you didn't pick up.

You send the screenshot.

The photo.

Her.

Stepping off the bus in Madrid.

Wearing the jacket.

A few seconds go by.

Then:

Alexia: …

Another bubble appears. Disappears.

Alexia: Oh.

You can almost hear it. The realization. The “I’ve been caught”.

You: You promised. Very clearly. Looking me in the eyes.

Alexia: I did not think you’d see that so fast.

You: Alexia Putellas Segura.

Alexia: Full name. That’s serious.

You: Is that MY favorite leather jacket?

A pause. Longer this time.

Alexia: Okay, but listen.

You: I am listening.

Alexia: I was cold.

You laugh out loud in the middle of the break room.

You: Madrid is 22 degrees.

Alexia: Emotionally cold. I needed something that smelled like you. It comforts me.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

You: You are impossible.

Alexia: Impossible in love with you.

You: You owe me.

Alexia: I’ll bring it back. I promise. I miss you.

Your teasing softens.

You: I miss you too. And don’t ruin my jacket.

Alexia: I’ll guard it with my life.

Then, a final message before she has to put the phone away again:

Alexia: Still…worth it.

You lock your phone, smiling to yourself.

-----------

Barcelona felt even softer in December — golden lights draped across balconies, a quiet kind of magic lingering in the air. But your flat was something else entirely.

Cozy didn’t even begin to describe it.

Fairy lights wrapped around the windows. A tree in the corner glowing warm and golden, ornaments collected over the years hanging carefully from its branches. Cinnamon candles burned gently on the coffee table. Soft blankets were folded over the couch. Even the dining table had evergreen branches woven through the center.

Alexia had teased you for weeks about starting “too early.”

Now, she was the one standing in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, smiling.

“Okay,” she admitted. “You were right. This is perfect.”

You grinned. “I know.”

The doorbell rang just then — Alba and Eli arrived with wrapped gifts and loud, warm hugs that immediately filled the apartment with even more life.

Eli kissed both your cheeks. “It smells incredible in here.”

Alba spun slowly, taking in the lights. “You two live in a Christmas movie.”

“Exactly the goal,” you replied proudly.

Dinner was loud and full of laughter. Stories from Alexia’s childhood surfaced. Alba exaggerated at least three of them. Eli defended her daughters while secretly adding details that made things worse.

After dinner, you all moved to the living room. The tree lights reflected softly in everyone’s eyes as gifts were passed around.

When it was your turn, you handed Alexia a small box — not big, not heavy.

She frowned slightly. “That’s it?”

“Open it,” you said.

She tore the paper carefully, then opened the box.

Inside was a simple envelope.

She looked up at you, confused but smiling. “Bebé…?”

“Open it.”

She slid the card out — her eyes scanning the printed confirmation.

Her brows lifted.

“A trip?” she read softly.

You nodded, trying (and failing) to hide your excitement. “We‘ll leave tomorrow.”

Alba leaned forward dramatically. “Where are you going?”

You shook your head. “It’s a surprise.”

Alexia stared at you for a second — then her face broke into the softest, most overwhelmed smile.

“You planned this?” she asked quietly.

“After everything, you more than deserve this. Before the new year. Just… us.”

She stood without warning and pulled you up with her, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

“You’re unbelievable,” she murmured into your hair.

Eli smiled warm and knowingly. Alba wiped an imaginary tear.

Alexia pulled back just enough to look at you. “What do I pack?”

You smirked. “Trust me.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “That’s dangerous.”

“Not this time,” you said softly.

The evening settled again after that — wine refilled, desserts shared, Christmas music playing quietly in the background.

Later, when Alba and Eli had gone home and the apartment was quiet again, Alexia stood by the tree, holding your hand.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said gently.

“I wanted to,” you replied.

She kissed you slowly, the tree lights glowing around you.

“Im excited to see where the trip will take us, but the best christmas present, the most valued gift is you mi amor,” she whispered.

And as you stood there together — wrapped in warmth, love, and a secret destination waiting just days away — you knew the real gift wasn’t the trip.

It was the way she looked at you.

Like the first day.

Every time.

“None,” you replied. “I’ve been increasing intensity slowly. Core work, cardio, strength.”

He nodded, satisfied. “That’s exactly what we want to see.”

After one last check, he leaned back against the counter, folding his arms.

“You’ve healed remarkably well,” he said. “Your body has adapted, your strength is back, and there are no signs of complications.”

You felt your breath catch, just slightly.

“I’m clearing you for all physical activity,” he continued. “No restrictions. You can train and live exactly as you did before the injury.”

The words landed slowly — then all at once.

“Really?” you asked, a small smile breaking through despite yourself.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Just keep listening to your body. But medically speaking? You’re in the clear.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you.”

Outside, the air felt lighter. You stepped into the sunlight and finally pulled out your phone.

You: Cleared. Full training. No restrictions.

You: I’m okay. Completely.

It didn’t take long.

Alexia: ¿De verdad? I knew it. I knew you’d be okay. I’m so proud of you.

You smiled, pressing the phone briefly to your chest before typing back.

You: Come home safe. I’ll be waiting.

That afternoon, the living room was filled with soft afternoon light, and the curtains pulled halfway open. Music pulsed through your headphones, steady and grounding, blocking out everything but your breathing and the rhythm of your body.

You lay on the mat in the middle of the room, knees bent, hands behind your head.

Up.

Down.

Controlled.

No sharp pain.

No warning twinge.

Just muscle, movement, and strength slowly reclaiming its place.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Alexia slipped inside, training bag over her shoulder, cheeks flushed from her rushing up to the apartment. She stopped short the second she saw you on the floor.

She didn’t interrupt.

She leaned quietly against the wall instead, crossing her arms, eyes tracking every movement — the way your core engaged, the smooth control, the calm confidence in your body.

Admiration softened her features.

And something warmer flickered beneath it.

You finished the set, breathing evenly, and finally sat up — pulling your headphones off just as you noticed her reflection in the window.

“Hey,” you said, surprised. “When did you get home?”

Alexia smiled slowly, eyes dark and affectionate.

“Just now,” she replied. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

She stepped closer, dropping her bag, crouching in front of you. Her fingers brushed lightly along your side — careful, respectful — right where your injury had been.

“No pain?” she asked softly.

You shook your head. “None.”

Her smile widened — proud, relieved.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “You’re strong again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Again?”

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Always,” she corrected. “But now I can see it.”

Her gaze lingered — openly, unapologetically — tracing the line of your arms, your stomach, the focus still written across your face.

“You know,” she added, voice lower, playful, “watching you train is very distracting.”

You laughed, reaching for her wrist.

“Good,” you said. “Because I like being admired.”

Alexia chuckled, pulling you up carefully and into her arms.

“I admire you all the time,” she whispered into your hair. “This is just a bonus.”

You laughed softly, leaning into her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek.

Alexia tilted her head slightly, a familiar spark lighting her eyes — playful, tender, unmistakably hers.

“You know,” she said casually, fingers tracing slow circles at your waist, “after my long flight and… admiring you working out, I could really use a shower.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You just want a shower?”

She grinned, impossibly innocent. “Well… I thought maybe we could save water.”

You snorted, but she was already tugging you gently toward the bathroom, pressing a quick kiss to your lips on the way.

The shower was warm and quiet, steam slowly filling the space. Alexia stayed close, still careful with you without making it obvious — hands steady at your hips, forehead resting against yours, water running down your backs. It wasn’t rushed. Just shared space. Shared breath.

“You’re really okay?” she asked softly, brushing wet hair from your face.

You nodded. “I am. I promise. The doctor cleard me for all physical activities.”

She kissed your temple, lingering. “Good. I like having you like this.”

The water kept running, warm and steady, steam curling around the small space until the world beyond the glass walls disappeared. Alexia’s hands moved slowly, deliberately — learning your body again in this new chapter of healing, tracing instead of gripping, holding instead of taking.

She pressed her forehead to yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

“You scared me,” she admitted quietly, almost swallowed by the sound of the water. “Seeing you hurt… not being able to fix it.”

You lifted one hand to her cheek, thumb brushing away a drop of water that might’ve been spray — or something else.

“I know,” you said softly. “But you did fix it. Every day.”

Her breath hitched just slightly.

Alexia’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your bodies fit together like they always had — familiar, grounding, safe. The warmth of her skin, the solid reassurance of her presence, made something loosen in your chest.

She kissed you then. Slow. Unhurried. Not the kind of kiss that demanded anything — the kind that promised everything.

Her lips moved against yours like she was relearning a language she already knew by heart. When she pulled back, just barely, her nose brushed yours.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” she murmured.

You smiled faintly. “Nothing does.”

That was all the permission she needed.

Alexia kissed along your jaw, down your neck, her touch reverent. Water traced the same paths her lips followed, heat building softly — not rushed, not urgent, but inevitable. You leaned into her, hands resting against her shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength you loved so much.

For a moment, there was nothing but sensation — warmth, breath, the quiet intimacy of being held like you mattered more than anything else.

Alexia rested her forehead against your shoulder afterward, arms still wrapped around you, both of you breathing slowly as the water poured down.

“I missed this,” she confessed.

You kissed her hair, damp and familiar.

“Me too.”

When you finally turned the water off, she reached for a towel and wrapped it around you before herself, fussing gently, as if you might break — even though she knew better.

“You’re glowing,” she said, smiling softly.

You laughed under your breath. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, pulling you close again. “But I’m also very right.”

Wrapped in towels, steam fading, you stood there for another moment — not wanting to leave the warmth, or each other.

Recovery hadn’t just given you strength back.

It had reminded you both how deeply, quietly, fiercely you loved.

And that was something no injury could ever take away.

-----------

Wrapped in towels afterward, you drifted back into the kitchen together, still damp, still smiling.

“Tonight,” Alexia announced, tying an apron around her waist, “we cook something proper.”

You laughed. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re taking charge.”

“Obviously,” she said, handing you a tomato. “We’re doing escalivada. Very Catalan. Very us.”

The kitchen filled with warmth — the oven humming, olive oil sizzling softly, the scent of roasted vegetables and garlic in the air. Alexia chopped while you prepared the bread, stealing glances at each other every few seconds.

She came up behind you more than once, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she teased.

“I am absolutely not,” you replied, smiling as she kissed your neck anyway.

You bumped hips gently, exchanged tastes from wooden spoons, laughed when she smeared a bit of olive oil on your nose just to kiss it away.

By the time dinner was ready, you were both a little flushed — not from effort, but from eachother.

You sat together at the table, knees touching, hands finding each other between bites.

“This,” Alexia said softly, squeezing your fingers, “is my favorite part.”

“Cooking?” you teased.

“No,” she smiled, eyes warm. “Being home. With you.”

You leaned across the table and kissed her — slow, familiar, full of everything you’d survived together.

The conversation drifted naturally — like it always did — toward football.

You rested your chin in your hand, watching her. “By the way,” you said casually, “that free kick against Sweden?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

You smiled. “One of the most beautiful goals I’ve ever seen. The way it curled… I replayed it at least ten times.”

Her expression softened, something shy and proud crossing her face at the same time. She looked down at your joined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I scored that for you,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “Ale…”

She glanced up, eyes steady. “I thought about you standing there. About everything we’ve been through. I needed it to go in. Ets el meu amulet de la sort (you are my lucky charm)”

You smiled at her for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle between you.

“For me?” you repeated softly, like you wanted to be sure you’d heard her right.

Alexia nodded, still tracing lazy circles on your hand. “For you,” she said again. “I was standing over the ball and everything else went quiet. No crowd. No noise. Just… you. And I thought, if I hit this right, maybe you’ll feel how much I love you, even from far away.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “That’s unfair. How am I supposed to watch your games normally now?”

She smiled, that shy smile she only ever showed you. “Good. I like knowing you’re watching.”

You squeezed her fingers. “I always am. Even when you don’t score. Even when you’re frustrated. I see you.”

Her gaze held yours, serious now. “That means more than any goal.”

There was a comfortable pause, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery. Alexia leaned back slightly, studying you again — the way you looked stronger now, steadier.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “having you in the stands next week… it feels different this time.”

“How?” you asked.

Alexia smiled, softer now. “Like I can finally play without that knot in my chest,” she said. “Knowing you’re healthy again. Knowing you’re really okay.” She brushed her thumb over your hand. “It changes everything.”

You exhaled, emotion warming your chest. “You carried that with you.”

“Of course I did,” she replied simply. “You’re my person.”

You laughed gently. “So no pressure, then?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not pressure. Freedom.”

You stood and moved closer, settling sideways into her lap, arms looping around her shoulders. She held you instantly, familiar and sure, like her body had been waiting for yours.

“No matter what happens next week,” you said quietly, “I’m already proud of you.”

Alexia kissed your forehead, slow and lingering. “And no matter what happens,” she murmured, “I’ll play knowing you’re safe… and I’ll come find you after.”

The promise didn’t need anything more.

-----------

The next week you arrived with that familiar, electric feeling — the kind that lived just under your skin.

You stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer than necessary, pulling on the new home kit Alexia had given you the night before. The fabric felt different somehow. Heavier. Meaningful. You ran your fingers over her name on the back once more before grabbing your jacket.

At the stadium, the air buzzed with excitement. Fans streamed in wearing blaugrana, voices overlapping, laughter and chants echoing through the concrete corridors.

You spotted them almost immediately.

“Cariño!”

You turned to see Eli waving enthusiastically, her scarf already wrapped twice around her neck, Alba beside her, grinning wide.

“There you are,” Alba said, pulling you into a careful hug. “Look at you. Back on your feet.”

Eli’s eyes scanned you head to toe — mothers never missed a thing. “How are you really?” she asked softly, her hand warm on your arm.

You smiled, genuine. “I’m good. I promise. Healing, training again… I’m okay.”

Eli nodded, relieved but still emotional. “Alexia told me. I’m proud of you.”

Alba nudged you playfully. “Also,” she added, pointing at your jersey, “excellent fashion choice.”

You laughed. “I had insider help.”

You took your seats together, the stadium filling fast now. When the teams walked out, the roar was deafening. And then you saw her.

Alexia stepped onto the pitch, focused, confident — but when she lifted her head, she found you instantly.

She smiled.

Not the public one.

The private one.

The one meant only for you.

She tapped her chest once… twice.

Eli squeezed your hand. “She’s playing for you today.”

The match kicked off fast. Barcelona dominated possession, pressing high, moving with purpose. You followed every touch Alexia made, every pass, every movement — heart pounding like you were the one on the pitch.

Then it happened.

A quick build-up through midfield.

A perfectly timed run.

The ball rolled into space at the edge of the box.

Alexia took one touch.

And then she struck.

The net rippled.

The stadium exploded.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, shouting her name, hands shaking, heart racing. Alba screamed beside you, Eli laughing and clapping.

On the pitch, Alexia turned toward the stands.

Toward you.

She pointed directly at you.

Then brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them — lifting her hand toward you like a promise sent across the noise and chaos.

Your chest flooded with emotion so intense it almost hurt.

“That one,” Alba shouted over the noise, “was definitely for you!”

Eli wrapped an arm around your shoulders, voice thick. “She loves you so much.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving Alexia as she jogged back into position, a small smile still playing on her lips.

And in that moment — surrounded by family, love, and the roar of thousands — you knew something deep and unshakable:

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

After the final whistle, the stadium slowly began to empty, the roar fading into a satisfied hum. Barcelona had won convincingly, but Alexia barely celebrated on the pitch. Her eyes were already searching the stands.

You didn’t even have time to move.

She spotted you — instantly — and her face lit up in that unmistakable way, like the rest of the world had softened at the edges. She jogged straight toward the tunnel, ignoring the cameras, the chants, everything.

Back in the mixed zone, you waited near the barrier with Eli and Alba when familiar voices started calling out.

“¡Eh! Look who’s back!”

“Madre mía, you look alive again!”

The girls gathered around you one by one — smiles wide, hugs careful but warm.

Mapi squeezed you gently. “We’re really glad you’re okay,” she said, voice sincere. “We missed you.”

Aitana nodded beside her. “Alexia was unbearable when you were hurt.”

You laughed. “I believe that.”

“She still is,” Patri added, grinning.

Then Alexia appeared.

Still in her kit, hair damp, cheeks flushed, eyes shining — and the moment she saw you surrounded by her teammates, she slowed, suddenly shy. For about half a second.

Then she pushed through them and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close without a single care for who was watching.

She smiled, that private smile again, and kissed your cheek quickly — sweet, innocent, but unmistakably hers.

“Did you see the goal?” she asked, trying to sound casual and failing completely.

“I did,” you teased. “Very subtle dedication.”

She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “It just… happened.”

The team groaned collectively.

“Please,” Mapi said dramatically. “She pointed at you for five whole seconds.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but her ears turned pink. She reached for your hand anyway, fingers intertwining naturally.

“I played well because you were there,” she said quietly. “I always do.”

Your chest tightened.

Eli watched the two of you with a soft smile, shaking her head. “Honestly,” she said, “you make it impossible not to believe in love.”

Alexia laughed and tucked herself closer to you, protective without even thinking about it.

As you all walked toward the exit — teammates chatting, Alba joking, Eli beaming — Alexia leaned in and whispered:

“You looked really good in my jersey.”

You smirked. “I know.”

She bumped your hip gently. “Mine.”

You squeezed her hand, smiling up at her.

“Always.”

Eventually, it was just the two of you walking side by side toward the parking lot, Alexia’s fingers still laced firmly with yours like she might lose you if she let go.

She squeezed your hand once. Then again.

“You were quiet just now,” she said softly.

You glanced at her, catching the crease between her brows — the one that appeared when something was already worrying her, even before she gave it a name.

“I was thinking,” you admitted.

“That’s never a good sign,” she teased weakly, but her eyes searched your face.

You stopped walking. She stopped with you.

“I got a call this morning,” you said. “From work.”

Her shoulders tensed instantly.

Alexia didn’t interrupt. She just waited.

“They want me back,” you continued. “Not on the streets. Not yet. Just office duty. Paperwork, reports, coordination.

She looked away for a second, jaw tightening.

“And?” she asked quietly.

“And I think I’m ready.”

Silence stretched between you.

Alexia exhaled slowly, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand, grounding herself. “I know it’s who you are. I just… I almost lost you.”

You stepped closer, lifting her hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss into her palm.

“I know,” you murmured. “And I would never go back if I wasn’t ready. Or if it put me at risk like that again.”

She met your eyes now, vulnerability bare. “Promise me,” she said. “If it ever feels wrong… if something isn’t safe—”

“I’ll stop,” you said immediately. “No hesitation. I promise.”

Her shoulders finally dropped.

Alexia leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours, breathing you in. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “For healing. For being brave. For knowing when to fight and when to wait.”

You smiled softly. “You’re the reason I know the difference.”

She laughed under her breath, emotional but trying not to show it. “You know,” she said, “I score goals and everyone thinks I’m fearless.”

You brushed your thumb under her eye. “You are. But you are also just… human.”

She nodded, eyes shining. “So are you.”

A car horn sounded somewhere nearby, pulling you both back into the moment. Alexia squeezed your hand again, firmer now — not fearful, but steady.

“Office duty,” she said. “I can live with that.”

-----------

The next Morning arrived gently.

Sunlight spilled into the kitchen in soft stripes, catching on the steam rising from the coffee machine and the quiet hum of the city outside. You stood barefoot by the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl while bread warmed in the pan.

Behind you, Alexia leaned against the doorway in one of your hoodies.

“Bon dia bebé,” she murmured walking over and wrapping her arms around your waist from behind. She rested her chin on your shoulder, careful of your side. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you said honestly. “A little sore from the workout yesterday.”

She pressed a kiss just below your ear. “I like that answer.”

You plated the food and the two of you sat at the small kitchen table — toast, fruit, eggs, coffee. Normal. Precious.

Alexia stirred her coffee absently, then looked up. “So… office duty,” she said, softer now. “When would you start?”

“Next week,” you replied. “A few hours a day at first. No rush.”

Alexia’s smile softened, turning a little wistful. She stirred her coffee slowly, then looked up at you. “I’m going to miss you being home all the time,” she admitted. “Coming back from training and knowing you’re here… it’s been my favorite part of the day.”

Your chest warmed at that. You reached across the table and brushed your thumb over her knuckles.“I’ll still be here,” you said gently. “Just not every minute.”

She nodded, then huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. Still. I got used to stealing kisses in the middle of the day.”

“Who says that has to stop?” you teased.

That earned you a grin.

After breakfast, neither of you rushed to get dressed. Alexia carried the plates to the sink while you wiped the table, moving around each other with that easy rhythm that only came from living together. At one point she bumped into you on purpose, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before grabbing the sponge.

You ended up washing dishes together — you rinsing, her drying — water splashing, music playing softly from her phone. When a song you both liked came on, Alexia swayed a little, tugging you closer with a wet hand.

“Careful,” you laughed. “I’ll drop the plate.”

“Worth it,” she said, resting her forehead against yours for a second before letting you go.

Later, you folded laundry on the couch, sitting close enough that your knees touched. Alexia insisted on pairing socks with military precision, while you teased her for being too serious about it.

“These are clearly different,” she said, holding up two nearly identical socks.

“They’re soulmates,” you argued. “Let them be.”

She laughed, shaking her head, then leaned over to kiss you anyway.

By the time everything was done, the apartment felt especially warm — lived in, cared for. Alexia flopped down beside you, pulling your legs over her lap.

“This,” she murmured, tracing lazy circles on your calf, “is what I’ll miss. Doing the normal stuff together.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, breathing her in.

“Then we’ll just make sure we keep it,” you said. “Even when life gets loud again.”

She kissed the top of your head, holding you a little tighter, like she was memorizing the moment.

“Deal,” she whispered.

-----------

The building felt familiar the moment you stepped inside.

Same glass doors. Same muted hum of voices and ringing phones. Same faint smell of coffee and paper that had once been the background of your everyday life. Only now, your badge felt heavier in your hand — not because of fear, but because of what it represented.

You were back.

Not in uniform on the streets. Not with a radio crackling at your shoulder. Just you, a desk, a computer, and four hours of office duty.

Still, it mattered. At least to you.

At the reception, a few heads turned. There were quiet smiles. Small nods. Someone murmured your name like they weren’t sure you were real.

“Good to see you,” one colleague said softly as you passed.

You answered with a smile that felt earned.

Your desk had been moved slightly — closer to the window now. Sunlight spilled across the surface, illuminating neatly stacked folders and a fresh notepad with your name written on it in black marker. Someone had cared enough to prepare it.

You logged in, fingers steady.

The work came easily. Reports from the last months. Statements to review. Timelines to reconstruct. It was methodical, grounding — the kind of work that asked for focus, not adrenaline.

Every so often, you caught yourself checking in with your body.

Breath steady.

Core engaged.

No pain.

At the two-hour mark, you stood up slowly, stretching near the window. Outside, the city moved on as it always had — people crossing streets, cars inching forward, life unfolding in small, ordinary ways.

Your phone buzzed.

Alexia: How’s my favorite police officer doing?

You smiled.

You: Still standing. No dramatic incidents. Paperwork survived.

A moment later:

Alexia: Proud of you.

You laughed quietly and slipped the phone back into your pocket.

The last two hours passed faster. A supervisor checked in, careful not to hover.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Good,” you said honestly. “Ready.”

She nodded, satisfied. “We’ll build from here.”

When the clock finally ticked to the hour, you shut down the computer and gathered your things. There was no rush — no sirens, no urgency — just the quiet accomplishment of having shown up and held your ground.

As you stepped back outside, sunlight hit your face, warm and real.

You took a deep breath.

You weren’t just healing anymore.

You were living again.

The afternoon sun was already lower in the sky when you parked outside the training grounds.

You leaned back in the driver’s seat for a moment, letting the engine idle, feeling the quiet satisfaction settle in your chest. Four hours. You’d done it. No pain, no doubt — just work, focus, and the steady reminder that you were capable again.

The gate opened and a small group of players spilled out, laughter and tired voices carrying across the lot. You watched them absently until you spotted her.

Alexia walked out with her training bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp, cheeks flushed, posture loose in that way that only came after a good session. She scanned the lot — and then her face lit up the second she saw you.

She changed direction instantly.

“Hey,” she said, opening the passenger door and dropping into the seat beside you.

She leaned over without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to your lips — warm, familiar, grounding. “How was work?”

“Good,” you replied. “I survived.”

She laughed softly, buckling her seatbelt. “I never doubted you.”

You pulled out of the lot slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily on her thigh. She covered it with hers, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You look tired,” you said.

“Good tired,” she answered. “Productive tired.”

She turned to you, studying your face like she always did when she hadn’t seen you all day. “You look… lighter.”

You shrugged. “I feel like myself again.”

Her smile softened. “That makes me very happy.”

The city blurred past as you drove home together, windows cracked open, air warm. Alexia rested her head back against the seat, eyes closed for a moment, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Thank you for picking me up,” she murmured.

“Anytime.”

She glanced at you, eyes full and gentle. “I like this version of us,” she said quietly. “Coming home together.”

You squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

Alexia tightened her hold around you, pulling you even closer, burying her nose in your hair. You smelled like home… like safety… like everything she had almost lost.

She kissed the top of your head gently.

“Mmm,” you murmured against her, not fully awake. “Morning… already?”

She smiled softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Unfortunately, sí. I have training in an hour.”

Your fingers curled into her shirt as if your body refused the idea.

“Skip,” you mumbled.

Alexia huffed a quiet laugh. You didn’t even open your eyes when you said it — you just clung a little tighter.

“I can’t skip,” she whispered, brushing a thumb along your shoulder. “But I want to.”

Silence settled again — warm, heavy, safe.

Usually, you were the one who slipped out of bed first with a disciplined mind and focused habits.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered into your hair.

Your eyes opened slowly at that — soft, still sleepy, but clear enough to look up at her.

“You won’t,” you murmured, your fingers sliding to cup her jaw. “It’s just training. You’ll come back to me.”

Alexia blinked — and there it was again, the sting behind her eyes she hadn’t let fall in front of anyone.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’ll come back.”

You shifted slightly, kissing her collarbone — the gentlest, slowest touch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “I promise.”

Alexia let out a shaky breath and leaned down, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then your lips — tender and slow, like she had all the time in the world.

When she finally pulled back, she brushed her knuckles along your cheek.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” she said softly. “You stay here and rest.”

You smiled faintly. “Bossy.”

She smirked. “Capitana.”

You laughed — a sound she had been dying to hear.

As she sat up, she paused, looking down at you once more — messy hair on the pillow, sleepy eyes, wrapped in the duvet she tucked around you the night before.

Beautiful.

Alive.

Home.

She leaned down again, unable to help herself, and kissed your temple.

Then she slid out of bed slowly, reluctant, and padded toward the bathroom. Halfway there, she looked back — and there you were, watching her with the softest expression.

Alexia’s heart squeezed.

“What?” she asked, a tiny smile forming.

You shook your head gently.

“Nothing… just happy you’re mine.”

Her smile deepened — and she disappeared into the bathroom before she could melt completely.

-----------

When she stepped back into the bedroom, steam curling from her hair, she froze in place.

You weren’t curled in bed like she’d left you.

Instead, you were in the kitchen — slowly, carefully, moving around the counter in one of her oversized Barça shirts, making her pre-training breakfast exactly the way she liked it.

Toast browning in the toaster. Banana slices lined up beside a protein shake. Even her supplements set out neatly.

Alexia’s heart softened and then completely melted.

“Bébe…” she said gently, walking toward you. “You should be resting.”

You looked over your shoulder and smiled — tired, but glowing in that quiet morning way.

“I am resting,” you said. “Just horizontally later.”

She huffed a laugh despite herself.

You turned back to the toast, but before you could reach the plate, a pair of familiar arms slid around your waist from behind — warm, strong, grounding.

Alexia rested her damp forehead between your shoulder blades.

“You almost died,” she murmured into your skin, voice still hoarse with leftover fear. “And now you’re acting like you just had a sprained ankle.”

You reached down and laced your fingers over hers. “Someone has to make sure you eat before you go.”

She didn’t answer — not with words.

Instead, she lowered her head and pressed a long, slow kiss to your neck.

Your breath caught instantly.

Her arms tightened just a little, holding you against her.

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered between soft kisses along the curve of your throat. “I should be taking care of you… not the other way around.”

You tipped your head slightly so she could kiss more easily.

“And you are taking care of me,” you murmured. “Just by being here.”

She stilled at that — her hands flattening gently against your stomach, her chest pressing into your back as she breathed you in.

“I almost lost you,” she whispered again.

You turned in her arms, lifting your hands to cup her jaw.

“But you didn’t,” you reminded her softly. “I’m right here, Ale. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes flicked between yours.

Relief.

Love.

Longing.

She leaned in and kissed you — slow and deep, tasting of mint and warm shower steam. One of those kisses that said more than words ever could.

When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.

“T’estimo.” Alexia whisperd. “Jo també t’estimo,” you whispered back.

The toast popped up behind you, and Alexia reluctantly let you turn back to finish her plate — though her arms stayed loosely around your waist, refusing to lose contact.

She watched you spread almond butter and slice fruit with careful, slow movements.

“You know mi máma is going to kill me if she finds out you’re on your feet this soon,” she said.

You shrugged. “I’ll not tell her, prometo.”

Alexia laughed again — the sound soft and happy in the quiet kitchen.

She kissed your shoulder, then rested her chin there as she watched you.

When you finished her breakfast, you turned, kissed her quickly, and handed her the plate.

She leaned in one last time, kissing your temple.

“I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

And somehow, in that moment — the kitchen warm, the toast scent filling the air, her hand brushing yours — life felt perfectly, beautifully normal again.

-----------

The locker room was its usual morning mixture of chatter, boots thudding onto the floor, and music playing faintly from someone’s speaker. But Alexia barely heard any of it.

She sat in front of her locker, lacing up her boots — slowly, too slowly for someone who’d done it a thousand times. Her phone rested beside her thigh, screen dark, but she still looked at it every few seconds, as though expecting it to buzz with bad news.

Mapi finished tying her hair and glanced over.

“You okay?” she asked quietly — not teasing, not smirking, just… a friend concerned.

Alexia exhaled through her nose.

“She was making me toast when I left. I know she’s fine, I just…” She shook her head lightly. “It just feels strange. Not being with her.”

Mapi nodded. She understood.

-----------

For warm-up, they slipped into rondos. Normally, Alexia was sharp — eyes everywhere, the ball gone before the opponent even blinked.

But today?

Her mind was somewhere else.

When Patri sent a cheeky nutmeg through her legs, Alexia didn’t even react until she heard the faint ooooh from a couple of teammates nearby.

Even then, it wasn’t embarrassment that hit her — it was frustration with herself.

Get it together, she told herself.

She jogged after the ball, jaw tightening.

Mapi jogged up beside her.

“Just a bad moment,” she said gently, bumping her shoulder. “Nobody expects you to be perfect today.”

Alexia swallowed. “Yeah.”

Before Mapi could say more, Alexia’s tracksuit pocket — sitting beside the water bottles — vibrated twice.

She froze.

Mapi saw it, too.

“Go check,” she said quietly.

Alexia didn’t need to be told twice. She jogged over to the sideline, pulled out her phone, and saw your name on the screen.

Her chest loosened.

**“Couch. Blanket. Hydrated. Nurse-approved rest I’m good. I promise. Now go be brilliant. And stop worrying, mi amor. ”**

A tiny laugh escaped her — tired but genuine.

Her thumbs moved quickly:

**“I’m trying. But it’s still weird not beeing near you.” **

A few seconds passed.

Then another buzz:

**“I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I just got magic boo-boo stickers from Bella, so I’m definitely fine 😏”**

Alexia shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Mapi walked up beside her, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Good news?”

Alexia showed her the screen.

Mapi nodded once, satisfied.

“She’s fine, Ale. And she’s tougher than half this team.”

Alexia’s eyes softened.

“Too tough sometimes.”

“Probably why she’s perfect for you.”

Alexia let out a slow breath — the first one that actually felt like relief since the hosptial.

“Come on,” Mapi said, gently nudging her back toward the pitch. “Let’s finish, and then you can go home to her.”

Alexia rejoined the rondo — and this time, she was focused.

-----------

Five Minutes earlier in your apartment:

A soft knock pulled you from your half-nap.

You frowned, pushing yourself upright slowly — carefully — mindful of the stitches along your side.

Another knock. And then a very small, very excited voice squeaked:

“Tíaaaa! Open!”

You couldn’t help but smile.

You shuffled to the door and cracked it open.

Bella burst in immediately — a tiny whirlwind, curls, and enthusiasm — but Clara reacted in time, catching her daughter by her hood like a puppy.

“Bella!” Clara hissed. “Gentle. Remember? Y/N is hurt.”

Bella froze mid-run, eyes wide, then tiptoed dramatically toward you like a cartoon character sneaking.

“Tía,” she whispered, arms stretched up.

You bent down just enough to meet her — carefully — and she hugged your legs with surprising gentleness.

You smiled down at her. “Hola, mi amor.”

Clara stepped inside holding a paper bag so fragrant it nearly made you moan.

“I brought breakfast,” she said. “Still warm.”

You took the bag and inhaled deeply — fresh bread, honey, and peaches.

Your favorites from the farmers market. She must have gone early.

“Clara… this is too much.”

She shook her head. “After everything? It’s nothing.”

Bella climbed onto the couch, kicking her feet excitedly. “Bread! Honey! Bread! Honey!”

She chanted it like a spell.

You laughed and set everything on the coffee table.

Clara helped Bella out of her jacket, then knelt beside her and touched her cheek.

“Bella, remember what we said? No jumping, no climbing, and no squishing Tía.”

Bella nodded solemnly. “No squish.”

She held up her pinky. You linked yours with hers. “Deal,” she whispered.

Bella hummed softly as she bit into one of the peaches, legs swinging off of the edge of the couch. Clara sat at the far end, eyes drifting to you now as if checking your breathing.

“You know…” Clara began, voice low, almost unsure. “I actually came here with something I needed to say.”

You turned your head toward her, curious. When she finally looked up, her eyes were bright — not with tears, but with emotion she’d been holding tightly.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” she said softly, “for saving my life.”

You blinked — because you hadn’t expected that. Not at all.

“Clara—”

“No.” She shook her head, firm but gentle. “Let me say this.”

Her voice wavered, just once.

“That day… everything happened so fast. I didn’t even see him until he was right on us. And you—” She stopped, breathing out shakily. “You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You just shoved me out of the way.”

Your chest tightened. The memory flashed behind your eyes.

“It was nothing,” you whispered.

“It was everything,” Clara corrected softly. “If you hadn’t reacted, if you hadn’t pushed me…” Her jaw clenched. Bella looked up for a moment, sensing the shift, but Clara smoothed a hand over her daughter’s hair to keep her calm.

“You saved my life,” she said again, this time with more strength. “You saved me. You saved my little girl from growing up without a mom.”

Bella, unaware of the weight of the words, leaned against her mother’s arm, eating happily. You swallowed hard.

“I would do it again,” you said quietly. “Without thinking.”

Clara’s lips trembled into a small, grateful smile.

“I know,” she whispered. “And that’s exactly why you’re me best friend.”

She reached across the couch and placed her hand gently over yours — warm, steady, firm.

“I owe you everything,” she said.

You squeezed her hand back.

“I’m just glad we’re both okay,” you whispered.

Clara nodded, eyes softening.

“Me too.”

Clara smiled and stood — just as her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen… and her expression fell immediately.

“Dios…” she muttered. “They’re understaffed. They need me ASAP.”

Your face softened. “Go.”

Clara hesitated, looking between you and her daughter. “I don’t want to leave you alone with her. You’re just out of the hospital, and she’s… well, she’s three.”

“It’s fine. We’ll be okay. She’s an angel.”

Clara snorted. “She can be.”

Then, worried: “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, Clara. I’d love to spend time with Bella.”

Bella perked up like a puppy hearing the word “walk.”

Clara sighed, still unsure. “If she gets too much—”

“I’ll call you,” you promised. “But we’ll be fine.”

Bella scooted to your side and grabbed your hand. “I stay wif Tía,” she declared.

You smiled. “See? She agrees.”

Clara exhaled, finally giving in. She crouched down and kissed Bella’s forehead. “Mamá will be back soon, okay?”

Bella nodded and pointed at the bread. “Can we eat bread wif honey now?”

Clara rolled her eyes affectionately and stood. “Text me if anything happens. And please—please—don’t lift her.”

“I won’t.”

She squeezed your arm softly — careful of your wounds — giving you a warm, grateful look.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Really.”

You waved as she left, you closed the door behind her.

A quiet settled over the apartment…just for a few seconds…

“Tía, come! Sit. We eat bread wif honey.”

You sat down slowly, and she scooted right into your side — gentle, as promised — handing you a piece of still-warm bread with sticky fingers.

You laughed softly.

“Okay, peque,” you said. “Bread with honey time.”

Bella sat on the couch, her tiny legs dangling, a piece of bread dripping with honey in her hand. You watched her take an exaggerated bite, cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.

Out of nowhere, her big brown eyes lifted to you — curious, soft, observant in that way little kids often are.

“Tía?” she asked around the mouthful.

“Yes, cariño?”

She leaned closer, peering at your torso with the seriousness of a doctor in a drama. “Does it hurt?”

You froze for a moment, unsure how simple or gentle to make it. But Bella solved that by lightly poking your thigh — far away from your stitches — with her honey-sticky finger.

“Here?” she asked.

You laughed. “No, not there.”

She considered that, then pointed a little higher. “Here?”

“Nope.”

Then her eyes widened and she pointed very dramatically at your ribs. “There?!”

You softened. “Yes… kind of there. But very gentle, okay?”

Bella nodded with grave importance, like you had entrusted her with state secrets.

“Is it a boo-boo?” she asked quietly.

“A big one,” you admitted. “But I’m okay.”

She stared at you for several seconds, thinking deeply — a very Bella thing to do — before whispering:

“Did you cry?”

You hesitated, then nodded honestly. “A little.”

She reached out, her tiny palm resting against your arm with careful tenderness.

“It’s okay,” she said in perfect, earnest sincerity. “Mamá says crying makes the boo-boos come out.”

You bit back a smile. “That’s very wise.”

Bella brightened at the compliment, then took another honey-dripping bite of bread.

You reached for a napkin and gently dabbed her chin before the honey could go everywhere.

She blinked at you. “Tía?”

“Yes?”

“If it hurts again…” Bella scooted closer, placing her small hand on your knee. “I can sit with you so it goes away.”

Your heart melted clean out of your chest.

“That would help a lot,” you whispered.

Bella nodded firmly — then offered you her half-eaten bread in a dramatic gesture of comfort.

“For you. So you feel better.”

You took it, pretending it was the most gourmet thing you’d ever seen. “Thank you, mi amor.”

She grinned, proud of herself, and leaned against your uninjured side, humming while swinging her feet.

A quiet moment passed — warm, honey-sweet, soft.

Then Bella whispered:

“Tía… when you get all fixed… can we play tag?”

You smiled, brushing a curl from her face.

“Yes. When I’m all healed.”

She gasped excitedly and clapped her sticky hands, leaving little honey dots on your sweatpants.

“Tía’s gonna run again!” she cheered.

You laughed — really laughed, the sound echoing through the apartment.

Your laugh broke off instantly, a sharp wince slicing through it.

Your hand flew to your ribs, breath hitching.

Bella froze mid–sticky clap.

Her eyes widened — huge, worried, impossibly gentle.

“Tía…?” she whispered, voice suddenly tiny.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, forcing a smile you didn’t quite feel. “Just moved wrong.”

Bella stared one more second — then, without warning, sprinted off the couch.

Her little socks slid on the hardwood as she ran to her backpack, nearly tipping over in her urgency.

She dug through it with the seriousness of a surgeon searching for a life-saving tool.

Crayons flew.

A tiny stuffed unicorn flew.

At one point she threw out a shoe.

And then —

“¡Aha!”

Bella turned around triumphantly holding… a sheet of bright, glittery Superstickers.

She marched back to you with the solemn determination of a hero.

“Tía,” she said, climbing onto the couch and kneeling beside you. “These are magic.”

She peeled off a big sparkly star — purple and shiny — and placed it carefully, very carefully, on your shirt right above where your bandages were hidden underneath.

Then another one.

A rainbow.

Then a smiling sun.

She tapped the last one twice with her little finger.

“There,” she declared. “Now your boo-boo will go away faster.”

Your throat tightened — the good kind, the emotional kind.

“Bella…” you breathed, touched beyond words. “Thank you, mi cielo.”

She nodded importantly. “I’m a doctor,” she announced.

You bit back a smile. “You are?”

“Sí. A superdoctor.”

She leaned forward and blew a soft puff of air onto the sticker-covered spot, like she’d seen her mother do for scraped knees.

Then she took your hand in both of hers — sticky, warm, tiny.

“Does it feel better now?” she asked hopefully.

You looked at her, at the glittery stickers on your shirt, at her earnest little eyes.

“It does,” you whispered. “It really does.”

Bella grinned — that full, gap-toothed, sunshine smile — and snuggled back into your side, taking another bite of her honey bread like she’d just saved your life.

-----------

The apartment was quiet, Bella was colering with her crayons. At one point, she wandered back over to you in typical toddler fashion, with sticky fingers and heavy eyelids.

“Can you read me a story?” she had asked, already climbing onto your lap before you could answer.

You read exactly five pages.

Bella lasted three.

Now she was fully sprawled across you — small, warm, breathing slow, one hand tucked under her cheek and the other lightly gripping your hoodie like a baby koala. Her little curls tickled your chin. You didn’t dare move.

Your ribs ached, but there was something soothing in the weight of her trust.

You brushed a hand over her back, slow and steady.

The front door clicked.

Keys.

Footsteps.

A familiar sigh — tired, but already searching for you.

“Mi amor?” Alexia called softly. “I’m—”

She stepped into the living room and froze.

Her eyes landed on you.

On the stickers.

On the glitter on your shirt.

On the crumb-covered blanket.

On Bella, fast asleep across your chest, clutching you like you were her personal pillow.

Alexia’s expression melted instantly — from surprise to warmth to something deep and tender.

“Dios…” she whispered, hand over her heart. “Mira eso.”

You smiled carefully, whispering, “Shhh.”

Alexia nodded, tiptoeing closer like she was approaching a wild deer.

She knelt in front of the couch, eyes soft as sunlight, brushing a gentle strand of hair from your face.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I’m good.”

Her gaze flicked to the stickers across your torso.

She raised an amused eyebrow.

“Bella cured me,” you mouthed.

Alexia bit her lip to hold back the laugh — the soft, adoring kind — then reached out and touched one of the glittery stars with her fingertip.

“Muy bien doctora Bella,” she murmured.

You watched her — the tenderness in her eyes, the unguarded softness she rarely showed outside these four walls.

She leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

“I missed you,” she whispered against your skin.

Your hand slid into her hair, stroking lightly. “I missed you too.”

Bella shifted in her sleep and Alexia instantly stilled, eyes widening like she’d stepped on a landmine. But the little one just sighed and burrowed deeper into your sweater.

Alexia exhaled in relief.

“Clara?” she whispered.

“Got called in. Short-staffed. I said I’d watch Bella until she’s done.”

Alexia nodded, her expression shifting — mixture of admiration and affection.

“Of course you did,” she murmured.

Then, quieter, “You always take care of everyone.”

You felt her words settle over you warmly.

Alexia reached up and kissed the back of your hand — slow, tender.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Before you could answer, Bella snored softly, making both of you smile.

Alexia leaned her forehead against your knee, still kneeling at your feet like the moment had wrapped her completely.

“Mi amor,” she whispered, “you look perfect like this.”

You whispered back, “Sticky and covered in glitter?”

She lifted her eyes, full of love.

“Beautiful,” she corrected. “Like a Mamá.”

Alexia’s thumb brushed softly along your knee as she looked up at you from the floor. Her eyes — warm, steady, full of something she wasn’t trying to hide anymore — held yours for a long, quiet moment.

Then she said it.

Soft.

Sure.

Almost reverent.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Like a mamá. It suits you.”

The words drifted between you like something sacred.

Your breath caught.

Not because it was unexpected — Alexia had always been gentle with children, always melted a little around Bella, always smiled when she saw you interact with her — but because of how she said it.

Not a joke.

Not teasing.

Not hypothetical.

It was admiration. Affection. A truth she’d been holding quietly and had finally let slip.

You blinked at her, a surprised little exhale leaving your lips as you instinctively rested your free hand over the small curve of Bella’s back — protective, careful.

“Alexia…” you whispered, heart thudding in your throat.

She rose slowly from her knees, sliding onto the couch beside you with careful movements so she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping toddler. One hand came to rest on your thigh, the other smoothing gently over Bella’s hair.

She pressed a kiss to your temple — a slow, deliberate one — before whispering,

“I mean it.”

You swallowed hard, emotion tightening your chest more than the healing wounds ever could.

“It’s just…” Alexia’s voice softened further, “seeing you like this… seeing how she trusts you, how you take care of her even like this—” her hand brushed carefully over the bandage at your side, “—it does something to me.”

You looked at her, really looked at her.

Her flushed cheeks from training.

Her slightly messy ponytail.

Her training jacket half-zipped, still smelling faintly of cold air and the turf.

And her eyes — open, overflowing with love she wasn’t even trying to hide.

You whispered, “It does?”

Alexia’s smile was small but devastating.

“Sí, amor.” She leaned her forehead against yours. “It makes me imagine things.”

Your heart tripped.

“Like what?” you breathed.

Her eyes darkened in the softest way.

“Like coming home to this more often.” Her thumb stroked your thigh gently. “Like little hands reaching for you.” She shifted closer, her voice barely audible. “Like us… someday… having a family.”

Your fingers tightened around hers instinctively.

For a moment neither of you spoke, the room filled only with Bella’s tiny breaths and the quiet thrum of your hearts matching each other’s rhythms.

You finally whispered, “Ale…”

She met your gaze — steady, hopeful, vulnerable.

“You’d be an amazing mamá,” she said. “I already know it.”

Emotion squeezed your throat painfully sweet, and you blinked fast.

Then Bella mumbled in her sleep, shifting slightly, her small hand patting weakly at your chest as though checking you were still there.

Alexia melted.

Her hand cupped your cheek.

“Sí,” she murmured again, voice wrapping around you like a soft blanket. “It suits you.”

You let out a shaky breath — half-laugh, half-sob — and leaned into her touch.

“And you…” you whispered back, “you look pretty good as a mamá too.”

Alexia’s smile looked like something breaking open and healing at the same time.

She kissed you — not on the lips, too risky with Bella asleep — but softly on your cheekbone, lingering there, breathing you in.

When she pulled back, her voice was hushed.

“Someday,” she said. “If you want it.”

You nodded against her shoulder, wrapping your fingers around hers.

“Someday,” you whispered. “I absolutly want it. But only with you.”

Alexia exhaled — a soft, trembling, unbelieving sound — and rested her head gently against yours, her hand covering both yours and Bella’s tiny one.

Together.

A picture that felt like the quiet beginning of a future neither of you were afraid to dream about.

-----------

30 Minutes later Bella stirred — a tiny shift of weight on your chest, then a soft groan, then a dramatic toddler stretch that made her little legs kick out and her arms fly above her head.

You froze, instinctively tightening your hold so she wouldn’t slide off.

Alexia, still tucked close beside you, smiled the second she noticed the movement.

Bella blinked up at you blearily — eyes big, brown, slightly confused like all freshly woken toddlers — and then she spotted Alexia over your shoulder.

Instant transformation.

Her whole face lit up like Christmas morning.

“¡ALE!” she squealed.

The shout was so sudden and so loud that you winced at the impact against your ribs — and Alexia startled, laughing softly, hands immediately reaching out to steady the energetic little human climbing off of you.

“Hola, peque,” Alexia cooed, her tone turning warm and playful in a heartbeat. “You were taking a good nap, eh?”

Bella flung her arms around Alexia’s neck with surprising force.

Alexia caught her with ease, laughing as Bella pressed a very sticky bread-and-honey kiss to her cheek.

“Dios mío,” Alexia murmured, holding Bella close.

“You have honey on your cheek now,” you teased.

Alexia glanced at you, deadpan.

“And glitter.”

Bella nodded proudly, patting Alexia’s face with both tiny hands like she was confirming the evidence.

Alexia melted again — utterly, hopelessly.

She wiped a smudge of honey off Bella’s forehead and murmured, “You are trouble, eh?” Then softer, “La más dulce del mundo.”

Bella wiggled in her arms, twisting to look back at you.

“You awake now,” she declared.

You smiled. “I am.”

She seemed satisfied by that answer, then tapped Alexia’s chest insistently.

“Ale, mira!” she pointed toward her drawing supplies on the floor. “I made sunshine!”

Alexia widened her eyes dramatically. “¿De verdad? ¿Para quién?”

“For tia,” Bella said shyly, pointing at you.

Alexia’s eyes flicked to yours, softening even more.

Bella tugged on Alexia’s sleeve. “Come see! Come see!”

Alexia stood carefully, balancing Bella on her hip like she’d been doing it all her life.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “Vamos.”

But before she followed Bella’s enthusiastic pointing, she leaned toward you — close enough that her forehead grazed yours.

“You look good like this,” she whispered. Her thumb brushed your jaw. “With her. With… everything.”

Your heart did that warm, painful squeeze again.

Bella tugged harder. “ALE! Sunshine!”

“Voy, voy,” Alexia laughed, and kissed your temple before joining Bella on the living room floor.

You watched them — Bella proudly showing her drawing, Alexia praising every wobbly line like it was a masterpiece — and something deep inside you ached in the best way.

Future.

Family.

Love that felt soft and certain.

Alexia looked over her shoulder at you, her smile impossibly gentle.

“Mi amor,” she called softly, “come sit with us.”

And for a moment it didn’t matter that you were still healing, or that life had scared both of you.

Right now, you were home.

-----------

After lunch — Alexia’s famous pa amb tomàquet, which Bella devoured enthusiastically and messily — the little girl perked up with sudden, explosive energy.

“Park!” Bella announced, pointing toward the window with both hands. “¡Fútbol con Ale!”

Alexia blinked, mid-bite, surprised. “¿Conmigo?”

Bella nodded so hard her curls bounced. “You play with me!”

You smiled over your cup of tea. “I think you’ve been summoned.”

Alexia looked at you — checking, always checking — the worry still buried somewhere behind her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go outside?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not running anywhere,” you laughed, brushing her hand. “But I can sit on a bench and watch my two favorite girls play.”

That settled it.

Within minutes, Bella was grabbing her tiny shoes, her tiny jacket, her tiny ball — all while chanting “Ale! Ale! Ale!” like a miniature fan section.

Alexia put her own jacket on, then carefully helped you into yours, smoothing the zipper with soft fingers.

“You tell me if it hurts,” she murmured.

“It won’t.” You kissed her knuckles.

“And if it does, you’ll be too busy getting nutmegged by a toddler to notice.”

Alexia gasped dramatically, hand to her chest. “¿Perdona? Never.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Bella’s fast.”

Bella stomped her foot impatiently. “GOOOOO!”

You both burst out laughing.

The park near your building was nearly empty — just a few dogs, a jogger, and now, one determined three-year-old with a ball almost as big as her torso.

You settled on a bench — Alexia insisted — while she and Bella stepped onto the grass.

“Okay, peque,” Alexia said, tossing the ball lightly. “Let’s see your skills.”

Bella chased it with surprising speed, squealing with joy. Alexia laughed and jogged after her — slow, careful, making sure Bella felt like she was winning.

Bella stopped suddenly, placed the ball at her feet, took two adorably clumsy steps back, and then—

“KICK!”

She launched it straight between Alexia’s legs.

Alexia froze.

You burst out laughing so hard you had to grab your ribs.

Bella threw her hands into the air. “GOOOOOOLLLLLLL!”

She ran in circles, chanting.

Alexia stared at you in horror. “You did this,” she accused playfully.

“I said she was fast,” you grinned.

Bella tackled Alexia’s legs next, clearly thrilled by her own greatness.

Alexia scooped her up, spinning her gently. “Okay, you little superstar,” she laughed, “one more goal, and you’re going to Barça Academy.”

Bella gasped.

“I be on TV!”

Alexia winked.

“Claro.”

She jogged again — and Bella sprinted, giggling uncontrollably.

You watched them with a fullness in your chest that was almost overwhelming.

Alexia — tall, strong, beautiful — chasing a toddler through the park like it was the highlight of her week. Bella — tiny, fearless, pure joy — following Alexia like she was the coolest person on earth.

And you —

Sitting on that bench, healing slowly, heart mending faster, realizing that this right here…

This could be your futur.

lexia glanced over at you mid-chase.

Her smile softened instantly.

“Mi amor,” she called, breathless, “are you comfortable?”

“Perfect,” you said.

And you meant it.

Bella scored another chaotic “goal,” Alexia pretended to faint dramatically, and you laughed until your ribs ached — in the good way.

Bella had been doing her victory laps — tiny feet stomping proudly across the grass — when she spotted the ice cream truck parked at the edge of the park. Her eyes lit up instantly.

“ALE! HELADO!” she squealed.

Alexia laughed and brushed your shoulder. “I’ll get us something. Don’t move from this bench.”

You gave her a playfully indignant look. “Yes, mamá.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. “Behave,” she murmured, kissing your temple before jogging toward the truck.

You watched her go, smiling… until Bella tried copying Alexia’s run.

She took a big, excited leap over a small dip in the grass—

—and her foot caught.

Everything happened too fast.

Bella stumbled. Then fell — a tiny, startled cry cutting through the quiet park.

Your heart lurched violently.

“Bella!”

You were on your feet in an instant.

Your ribs screamed in protest — sharp enough to steal your breath — but you didn’t care, didn’t even think about it. All you saw was the little girl on the ground, startled, sitting up with wide eyes and trembling lips.

You ran.

Faster than your body was ready for.

Pain firing through your side like lightning. Still — you ran.

You dropped to your knees beside her, ignoring the stab of pain.

“Hey, hey, peque, I’ve got you,” you soothed, scooping her into your arms.

Bella clung to you immediately, arms wrapped around your neck, face pressed into your shoulder as she sobbed — more scared than hurt.

“It’s okay… it’s okay, you’re safe,” you whispered, rocking back despite the pain tightening your breath. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

She hiccupped against your collarbone, tiny fingers gripping your shirt.

“Me caí…” she sobbed. I fell.

“I know, baby,” you murmured, kissing the top of her curls. “It happens. You’re alright.”

You checked her gently — no serious injury, just a scraped knee and more fear than anything.

Relief washed through you so hard it made your eyes sting.

But your ribs—

God, they ached.

Still, you held her tighter.

Across the park, Alexia turned from the ice cream truck — two cones in hand — and froze.

She sprinted toward you, cones forgotten, falling into the grass behind her.

“¿Qué pasó? What happened?” Her hands hovered, terrified to touch either of you too quickly.

“She tripped,” you said, voice low but steady. “Just a fall. She’s okay, Ale. Just scared.”

Bella lifted her head from your shoulder and reached for Alexia with both arms.

“Ale…” she sobbed.

Alexia gathered her gently onto her lap, kissing her hair again and again.

“Shh, peque, I’m here. You’re okay. You scared me, eh?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Then Alexia looked at you.

Really looked.

And her expression changed instantly.

Her eyes narrowed with worry.

“Bebé… you’re hurting.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

“You are not fine,” Alexia said firmly, sliding a supportive arm around your back while still holding Bella. “You shouldn’t have run.”

“I didn’t think,” you murmured. “She fell — I just moved.”

Alexia’s eyes softened.

“That’s why I love you,” she whispered.

Behind her, Bella sniffled and reached one tiny hand toward you.

“Sorry, tia…” she mumbled, lip wobbling.

You pressed a gentle kiss to her little fingers.

“You never have to be sorry,” you whispered. “Not ever.”

Alexia exhaled shakily, shifting to sit between you both, one arm around each of you — protective, grounding.

“Let’s get you both home,” she murmured.

The doctor laughed, closing the chart. “She’ll be fine. Just make sure she takes it easy.”

Alexia nodded seriously, already forming a mental checklist of rules. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the doctor left, you looked up at her with an amused smirk. “You’re already in full nurse mode, aren’t you?”

“Full bodyguard mode,” Alexia corrected, handing you a jacket. “I’m not taking any chances. You’re sitting in the car, you’re not carrying anything, and you’re resting once we’re home.”

You laughed, wincing slightly but shaking your head. “You do realize I’m a police officer, right? I’ve handled worse than a few stitches.”

Alexia gave you a look — that mix of exasperation and adoration that only she could pull off. “Not on my watch, amor.”

-----------

Alexia carefully guided you outside, one arm protectively around your waist.

Not because you needed that much help anymore — but because she needed to feel you close.

When you reached the car, Alexia opened the passenger door first, helping you sit down like you were made of something rare and precious.

“Comfortable?” she asked, crouching beside you.

You nodded, smiling softly. “Bébe, I’ve been stabbed, not turned to glass.”

Alexia huffed a small laugh — the kind that came out breathy, tired, full of leftover adrenaline.

She reached up, brushing her fingers over your cheek.

“Don’t joke about it,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She leaned in and peckt your lips, then she stood, shut the door gently, and walked around to the drivers side.

When the engine started, the car filled with a familiar song — quiet, warm, something both of you listened to dozens of times at home.

She pulled out of the parking space slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other searching across the center console until it found yours.

Her fingers laced with yours immediately.

Like it was where her hand belonged.

You watched her in the golden light filtering through the windshield — tired eyes, jaw clenched with emotions she still hadn’t let out, but beautiful in that way someone looks when they’ve spent hours worrying and loving with their whole heart.

You turned your hand and lifted hers gently, brushing your lips against her palm.

Alexia inhaled sharply, eyes still on the road.

But you didn’t miss how her shoulders loosened, how a tiny tremor of relief ran through her.

“That good, huh?” you whispered teasingly.

Her voice came out low, raw, entirely honest.

“You’re alive and coming home with me,” she said. “Everything feels… rosier today.”

You smiled, leaning your head against the seat.

For a moment the world was quiet — just the hum of the engine and the warmth of her hand against yours.

After a few minutes you turned your hand again, kissing the inside of her wrist this time — slow, affectionate, a thank-you without words.

Alexia exhaled shakily.

“Cariño,” she warned gently, a soft whine slipping in. “If you keep doing that, I’m pulling over.”

You grinned. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

Her laugh — real, warm, beautiful — filled the car, and you closed your eyes, letting the sound wash over you.

For the first time since the sirens, since the blood, since the terror — everything felt right again.

Her thumb stroked over your knuckles.

“Let me get you home,” she said, voice almost a whisper. “Where I can take care of you properly.”

You stayed like that the entire ride:

Her hand in yours.

Your lips occasionally brushing her palm.

The city rolling past unnoticed — because the only thing that mattered was that you were going home together.

-----------

When you reached the apartment, the late afternoon sun bathed everything in soft amber light. It felt almost surreal — the same space you’d left that morning of the accident, but calmer now. The air smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser, and on the kitchen counter sat a small vase of fresh flowers that Eli had dropped off earlier.

“Home,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips as you stepped inside.

Alexia followed right behind you, carrying your overnight bag and keeping one hand hovering just in case you stumbled. “Careful,” she warned softly.

“I’m fine,” you protested gently.

“I know,” Alexia said, setting the bag down. “But you’re still sitting down before you do anything else.”

You grinned but let her guide you to the couch. The cushions sank comfortably beneath you, and you let out a quiet sigh. Alexia immediately started fluffing pillows and tucking a blanket around you, fussing like someone twice her age.

“You hungry? Thirsty? Cold? Warm?” Alexia asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

You chuckled. “You forgot ‘do you need your phone, remote, or emotional support cat.”

Alexia returned a second later, holding a mug of tea. “We don’t have a cat, but you’ve got me — I’m softer anyway.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “Bebé your fussing.”

“I’m just giving you the same treatment that I got when I tore my ACL.”

Flashback

You had just finished a late shift when your phone rang — the screen lighting up with Alexia 💜.

You smiled immediately. You only been seeing each other exclusivly for a few weeks, but the sight of her name already made you heart jump.

“Hey, cariño,” you answered, leaning against your car. “You’re calling early. Done with training?”

But instead of the usual warmth, all you heard was silence — a shaky breath, then a voice so small it made your heart stop.

“Y/N…” Alexia’s tone was cracked, fragile. “It’s bad.”

You froze. The background noise — muffled voices, footsteps, the echo of a gym — barely registered. Your instincts kicked in instantly. “Ale, what happened?”

“My knee,” Alexia whispered. “It’s… I heard it pop.

For a moment, the world around you blurred — the hum of the city, the glow of the streetlights, everything fading except the sound of Alexia’s voice.

“Where are you?” you asked quietly, your tone firm but soft.

“At the training ground… they’re sending me to the hospital.”

“I’m coming,” you said immediately, already sliding into your car. “Stay calm. I’ll meet you there.”

When you arrived, the parking lot was full — staff, teammates, a few fans lingering by the gates.

Inside, you found Alexia in the corridor outside the scan room, wearing a hoodie and a dazed expression.

Her eyes were red, though she was trying to hide it.

Your heart twisted. You crossed the space quickly, crouched down in front of her, and took her hands.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I’m here.”

Alexia blinked rapidly, as if surprised you’d come. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” you interrupted gently. “What did the doctors say?”

Alexia tried to smile, but it trembled. “They said it might be a tear… maybe worse. I’ll know after the MRI.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching. You brushed a strand of hair away from Alexia’s face. “Then we deal with it. Together. You’re not alone in this.”

Alexia’s lip quivered. “The Euros, y/n… I—”

You shook your head gently. “Not now. We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we focus on you, okay?”

Alexia nodded faintly, and you pressed a kiss to her forehead before standing up to help wheel her to the back door.

The days after the diagnosis were brutal.

A torn ACL — surgery, months of recovery, and the death of a dream: the Euros.

For someone like Alexia, who had built her entire life around football, it was more than an injury. It was heartbreak.

The first night you came by, Alexia was sitting on the couch in the dark, leg elevated, TV on mute. She looked up, startled.

“Y/N, you really don’t have to—”

“I brought food,” you said, holding up a paper bag. “And tea. And ice packs, just in case.”

Alexia blinked at you, and something in her expression softened. “You’re… unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” you said, grinning, and sat down beside her.

You didn’t talk about football that night. Instead, you made her eat, teased her until she smiled again, and stayed until Alexia finally drifted off to sleep.

You were there for every step — even when you barely had time between night shifts and day patrols. You’d come straight from work, hair still pulled back, uniform creased, carrying coffee and that soft, grounding calm Alexia needed most.

“Hey, soldier,” you’d whisper when Alexia’s frustration bubbled over. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

Alexia would try to smile, but her eyes would shimmer. “You don’t have to be here every time, y/n. You work too much already.”

You would just shrug, settling beside her on the couch. “Then I’ll sleep here. Problem solved.”

And you did — more than once. You’d make breakfast in the mornings, wrap ice packs around Alexia’s knee, keep her company through endless rehab sessions. On the worst days, when Alexia’s frustration turned into tears she tried to hide, you simply sat beside her, hand in hers, saying nothing — just being there.

One night, after a particularly hard session, Alexia broke down completely. “I was supposed to lead them,” she said, her voice trembling. “All the way to Wembley. I can’t even walk right now.”

You cupped her face, her thumb brushing away tears. “You’re still their leader, Ale. You’re still the heart of that team. An injury doesn’t take that from you.”

Alexia’s jaw clenched. “It feels like it does.”

You leaned closer, your voice gentle but firm. “Then we’ll fight it together. One step at a time.”

Alexia met your gaze, eyes full of something raw and grateful. “You shouldn’t have to do all this,” she whispered. “You’ve got enough to handle.”

“You’re supposed to be out living your life,” Alexia murmured. “Not babysitting a broken footballer.”

“Maybe I like broken footballers, a very special footballer in particular ” you teased gently, brushing you thumb along Alexia’s hand.

Alexia laughed — the first genuine laugh in days — and tilted her head to look up at you. The air between you softened.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You smiled. “For what?”

“For staying,” Alexia said. “Even when I am being an ass and so frustrated.”

You smiled softly. “Maybe. But loving you isn’t something I have to do. It’s something I want to do — especially now.”

Alexia couldn’t speak for a moment. She leaned forward instead, pressing her forehead to yours. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Always,” you murmured.

Weeks passed. Your schedule never got easier, but you refused to let Alexia feel alone. You’d leave sticky notes on the fridge before work like — Eat something today or you’re still my superhero. — and texts throughout the day:

- How’s my favorite knee doing?

- Don’t forget your exercises, Captain.

- Your comeback’s going to break hearts.

When Alexia finally managed to take her first unsteady step without crutches, you were right there — hands out, ready to catch her if she fell.

Alexia wobbled, then steadied, eyes wide. “I did it,” she whispered.

You grinned. “I told you. Strongest woman I know.”

Alexia laughed, a little breathless, and then she reached out, pulling you close. “You know I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You could’ve,” you said, smiling softly. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Alexia kissed you then — slow and grateful. “Someday, I’ll be the one taking care of you.”

-----------

Alexia sat beside you, legs tucked up, she brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “You really scared me,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, stripped of all the teasing.

You reached for her hand, fingers tracing the calluses on her palm. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Ale. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t.” Alexia leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just… when I saw that police car pull up at training, I thought—” Her voice faltered, emotion tightening in her throat.

You squeezed her hand gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m okay. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Alexia gave a small, watery laugh. “Too late. I already promised Clara and the whole team I’d keep you in one piece.”

You chuckled. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Not great so far,” Alexia admitted with a grin, leaning back. “But we’ll get there.”

-----------

They spent the rest of the afternoon cocooned in quiet. The city outside hummed with life, but inside the apartment, it was all warmth and peace. Alexia insisted on cooking dinner — or attempting to — while you watched from the couch, stifling laughter as the football star fumbled with your favorite dish.

When Alexia brought over two plates, you tilted your head. “This smells amazing.”

“It should. I called my mother three times,” Alexia said, settling beside you.

You ate in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing, the kind of closeness that didn’t need filling. After dinner, you leaned back against Alexia’s chest, your head resting just under her chin. The steady rhythm of Alexia’s heartbeat was the only sound you wanted to hear.

“You’re stuck with me now,” you murmured sleepily.

“I was stuck with you the moment we met,” Alexia whispered back, tightening her arms around you.

You smiled, your voice fading into a content sigh. “You make it sound like a promise.”

“It is,” Alexia said softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I promise you forever.”

Your eyes fluttered shot, your fingers curling around Alexia’s wrist. “Forever sounds perfect.”

And for the first time in days, Alexia finally believed it — the quiet, ordinary kind of perfect that meant everything.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. “She’s stable. We managed to stop the bleeding. It seems there was a smaller internal injury we missed during the first operation. It started again a few hours ago, but we caught it in time.”

Alexia froze. Her mind stumbled over the words — missed, bleeding, caught it in time.

Eli reached over and squeezed her hand.

The doctor continued softly, “We repaired everything, and she responded well. She’s strong. Very strong. She’ll be in recovery for a few more hours, but if everything stays stable, she should wake up soon.”

For a moment, Alexia didn’t breathe. Then, slowly, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky exhale. “So she’s going to be okay?”

“That’s what we expect,” the doctor said. “It’ll be a long recovery, but yes — she’s out of the woods.”

The words hit her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Out of the woods.

She pressed her palms over her face and breathed in deep, tears stinging behind her eyes but refusing to fall.

Eli stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. “She’s going to wake up, cariño,” she whispered. “She’s too stubborn not to.”

That made Alexia laugh — a broken, quiet laugh that felt like breathing again after drowning. “Yeah,” she whispered. “She is.”

-----------

Alexia hadn’t moved from the chair beside the bed. She sat with her elbows on her knees, hands loosely clasped, her eyes fixed on your face. There were new lines of exhaustion etched beneath Alexia’s eyes, her hair tied back loosely now.

Eli had gone to get coffee, promising she’d be right back. When the door clicked shut, Alexia finally reached for her phone — the screen lighting up with a dozen unread messages.

Mapi: How’s she doing?

Pina: We’re all thinking about her. And you.

Patri: If you need anything, anything at all, just say the word.

Irene: Don’t try to be strong alone, Ale. We’re here.

The words blurred for a second as Alexia scrolled through them — messages from teammates, coaches, even a few from staff.

She typed slowly, thumbs trembling slightly: She made it through the second surgery. She’s stable now. They think she’ll wake up soon. Thank you all.

A new message popped up immediately.

Mapi: Tell her we’re saving her a spot for the next girl night out.

Alexia smiled softly, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. For a brief moment, the familiar warmth of her team filled the sterile room — that sisterhood she’d built over years.

She set the phone down and exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight had shifted again, creeping across the floor and brushing your face with a gentle glow.

Alexia reached out and took your hand, thumb tracing slow circles across your skin. “You’ve got a whole team waiting for you, you know,” she whispered. “They all love you almost as much as I do.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn’t care.

Your fingers twitched — small, barely there, but enough to make Alexia freeze. Her heart kicked in her chest. She leaned forward, her grip tightening.

“Y/N?” she whispered, her voice trembling for the first time in hours. “Hey, cariño, can you hear me?”

Another twitch. A small sound — a soft sigh — escaped your lips. Your eyelids fluttered once, twice, then slowly lifted.

Alexia’s breath caught.

Your eyes met hers — dazed at first, unfocused, but alive. Alive.

For a moment neither spoke. you blinked against the light, confusion flickering into recognition. “Ale…?” Your voice was dry, barely a whisper.

Alexia laughed — a sound somewhere between a sob and a smile. She leaned in, brushing her fingers across your cheek. “Yeah, mi amor. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You swallowed, your lips parting as if to speak again, but your body was still weak. Alexia hushed her softly. “Don’t talk yet. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Alexia’s eyes, but she blinked them away, still holding that steady smile. “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered, her thumb stroking gently over your knuckles. “But you did it. You came back to me.”

You tried to smile, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. “I’m stubborn.”

Alexia laughed again, this time through a rush of relief. “Yeah, you are. The most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

The sound of her laughter filled the room — soft, broken, beautiful.

Your eyelids fluttered again, tiredness pulling at you, but your fingers curled weakly around Alexia’s hand. You took a slow, shaky breath before whispering, “Lo siento.”

Alexia leaned closer, brushing her thumb gently over your skin. “Hey… no, don’t apologize.”

You blinked, your voice fragile but steady enough to carry the guilt you felt. “I scared you,” you murmured, your words catching between breaths. “You hate hospitals… I know you do.”

Alexia’s throat tightened. She let out a trembling laugh — the kind that came from both relief and pain. “Yeah,” she admitted softly. “I hate them. But I’d sleep in one forever if it meant being with you.”

Her fingers laced more firmly with yours, as if anchoring her there, refusing to let go. “You’re safe now. And alive. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a faint, tired smile. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“You always make me worry,” Alexia whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “That’s what loving you does.”

Your eyelids fluttered again, heavy but fighting to stay open. Your fingers tightened weakly around Alexia’s, grounding yourself through the warmth of her touch. You looked up at her, a tired little smile tugging at your lips.

“Bebé?” Your voice was soft, rough around the edges.

Alexia leaned closer instantly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, mi amor?”

Your gaze wandered over Alexia’s face, taking her in — the tired eyes, the messy hair, the faint redness around her nose from hours without rest. “You look beautiful,” you whispered.

Alexia let out a quiet laugh, half relief, half disbelief. “You’ve been unconscious for a day, and that’s what you say to me?”

“‘S true,” you murmured, your eyelids drooping again. “Always beautiful… even when you’re worried.”

Alexia’s chest ached with love, the kind that burnes deep. She pressed her forehead against yours for a heartbeat. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me right now.”

Your lips curved faintly, the smallest flicker of your old teasing self shining through. “Maybe… but I am.”

Alexia smiled softly, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “Rest now. You need to get your strength back.”

You hesitated, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Before I do… can I have a besito? It helps me heal.”

That made Alexia laugh, quiet and full of warmth. She leaned in slowly, careful not to disturb the wires or the IV, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips — gentle, lingering, full of everything she hadn’t said in the hours of fear before this.

When she pulled back, your smile was faint but peaceful. “See?” you whispered. “Told you.”

The door opened softly, the sound of footsteps breaking the fragile stillness of the room.

Eli stepped in first, two paper cups of coffee in hand. Her eyes went wide the second she saw you awake. The relief was instant, washing over her face like sunlight after days of rain.

“Dios mío,” she breathed, setting the cups aside. “You’re awake.”

A moment later, the doctor appeared behind her, his white coat rustling as he crossed the room. Alexia pulled back slightly but kept hold of your hand, her thumb still moving in slow circles over the back of it — grounding you both.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring smile. “Well,” he said softly, checking the monitors, “it’s good to see those eyes open.”

You tried to focus on him, your voice still hoarse. “Guess I didn’t make it easy for you.”

He chuckled quietly, glancing at the readings. “You made us work for it, that’s for sure. But your vitals are strong now. Breathing on your own, no more bleeding. You did the hardest part.”

Alexia exhaled — that tight, silent kind of exhale that carried hours of held breath. She didn’t speak, just pressed her lips to your hand in quiet gratitude.

Eli moved closer, resting a gentle hand on Alexia’s shoulder. Her voice trembled softly. “She looks so much better.”

Alexia nodded, her eyes never leaving you. “Yeah… she does.”

The doctor finished his checks and looked between them. “She’ll need rest. No excitement, no strain. Just sleep, fluids, and time.” He smiled again. “You both could use some of that, I think.”

When he left, the room fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy — it was peace.

You blinked slowly, your eyes moving from Eli to Alexia. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

Alexia shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Didn’t want to miss you waking up.”

Your hand moved weakly, brushing against Alexia’s wrist. “You’re stubborn too, you know.”

“Guess we’re a good match then.”

You shared a small smile — fragile, exhausted, but real.

Eli stood quietly nearby, watching you with something soft in her eyes. She’d seen her daughter fight through championships, injuries, heartbreak — but this was different. This was love stripped to its core: unguarded, raw, utterly human.

When your eyelids began to droop again, Alexia whispered, “It’s okay. Sleep. I’ll be right here.”

You nodded faintly, your grip on Alexia’s hand loosening as you drifted off.

Alexia sat back, her fingers still intertwined with yours, the rhythmic beep of the monitor filling the silence.

Eli placed a soft kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. “You did good, cariño.”

Alexia leaned into the touch for just a second before whispering, “She’s really going to be okay, isn’t she?”

Eli smiled gently. “Yes, mija. She’s stronger than you think.”

Alexia’s gaze softened as she looked back at you — pale but peaceful, breathing steadily beneath the soft hospital light.

“She’s the strongest person I know,” she said quietly.

She reached out and brushed her fingers lightly along your hand. It was warm — alive — and that was enough to let her breathe again.

“You scared me mi amore, but you have to promise something. You have to pull through the night, okay?” she whispered. “You have to fight… I can’t… I can’t loose you, not now… not ever. I can’t imagine a life without you.”

Alexia’s voice trembled on the last words. The room answered only with the low hum of the ventilator and the soft, even rhythm of your breathing.

She sank into the chair beside the bed, your hands still linked, her thumb tracing the faint pulse beneath your skin. For the first time since Clara told her that you were hurt, she let herself exhale all the way.

The minutes blurred into hours. A nurse came in, checked the monitors, adjusted a drip, and left with a sympathetic nod. The steady beeping filled the silence again, a fragile kind of music that Alexia clung to.

She thought of the time you meet. A smile apearing on her face. “Did you know that I almost didn’t give you my number. Even though I was fascinated by you. You looked beautiful and care free. Until that night I didn’t believe in the myth of love at first sight… but when I saw you at Estadi Olímpic when Beyoncé was singing to Halo… it just… happend“ Alexia chuckled.

Flashback

Alexia had come with a few of her Barça teammates. Music wasn’t usually her escape — the pitch was. But tonight felt different. No matches, no press, no expectations. Just lights, music, and the feeling of being one small heartbeat in a sea of thousands.

She adjusted the hat pulled low over her forehead and followed Mapi through the crush of people. “Come on, Ale, loosen up!” Mapi laughed, shouting over the crowd. “Even you can’t be serious when Beyoncé starts Drunk in Love”

Alexia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m relaxed,” she said — though she clearly wasn’t. She wasn’t used to this kind of energy, this chaos of joy.

Then, as they squeezed into their section, someone bumped hard into her shoulder.

“Oh, perdona me!” a voice said, warm, quick, and laced with a laugh.

Alexia turned.

The woman standing in front of her was wearing a faded Beyoncé tour shirt and denim shorts, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. Her eyes — wide, alive, and full of that pre-show excitement — met Alexia’s for just a second too long.

“No worries,” Alexia managed, shaking her head, though the bump had sent her heart into a sprint.

“I swear I wasn’t tackling you,” the stranger said, grinning. “Just trying to keep up with my friend who thinks she can push through the entire crowd in heels.”

Alexia laughed — a real one. “That’s ambitious.”

“I’m Y/N,” the woman said, offering her hand, still laughing.

“Alexia.”

Recognition flickered across your face — not the kind that came from fame, but from curiosity. “Alexia… like, that Alexia?”

Alexia sighed lightly, used to it. “The football one, yeah.”

“Well, the dancing one tonight,” you replied. “No excuses — Beyoncé’s rules.”

Before Alexia could answer, the lights dropped, the first chords hit, and the crowd roared like thunder. your grin widened. “Ready?”

Alexia didn’t get to answer before the music swallowed you whole.

Through the first half of the concert, you found yourselves dancing side by side. The crowd pressed close, bodies moving in rhythm. Alexia had tried to keep it cool, but you danced like the music lived inside you — free, wild, utterly unselfconscious.

When “Halo” started, something shifted. The stage bathed in white light, voices all around lifted into the night sky, and Alexia glanced sideways. You had your eyes closed, singing softly, the glow from the stage catching the faint line of your jaw.

It was in that quiet beat — between lyrics, between heartbeats — that Alexia knew she was lost.

You opened your eyes and caught her staring. Instead of teasing, you just smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alexia nodded, but she wasn’t looking at the stage anymore.

After the show, the city was alive. Crowds spilled into the streets, everyone buzzing with post-concert adrenaline. Alexia and her teammates started toward the car park, but she hung back, glancing over her shoulder.

You were there — standing by the barrier, phone in hand, like you weren’t quite ready to let the night end either.

Alexia hesitated for half a heartbeat, then walked back. “Hey.”

You looked up, surprised, then smiled. “Hey yourself. Survived the crowd?”

“Barely.” Alexia’s lips curved. “You heading home?”

You nodded toward the metro entrance. “Eventually. You?”

Alexia rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly nervous in a way she never was on the field. “We’re grabbing food, but… if you’re hungry?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out, football star?”

“Maybe.”

Your grin widened. “Then yeah, I’m starving.”

You ended up in a tiny tapas bar near Plaça Espanya — one of those late-night places that always smelled like olive oil and laughter. You shared patatas bravas, too many croquetas, and a bottle of Rioja. Conversation flowed easily — about music, family, your favorite corners of Barcelona.

When you found out one of Alexia’s favorite artist was Beyoncé, you laughed. “You’ve got good taste, then.”

“And dangerous taste,” Alexia said, smiling. “Apparently she brings trouble.”

“Hey,” you teased, pretending to be offended. “You bumped into me too.”

“Pretty sure you tackled me.”

You laughed, and something about the sound felt like the start of a story neither of you had realized you were already in.

When you finally were about to leave, the city was quiet again. You stood by the curb for a long second that stretched like forever.

“Text me when you get home?” Alexia asked.

“I will, but only if you do the same” you smiled, then leaned in and kissed her cheek — light, warm, and quick. “Thanks for the food.”

Alexia watched you go, the city lights flickering against your retreating figure. When she finally turned back toward her teammates, she caught herself smiling — the kind of smile you can’t fight off no matter how hard you try.

-----------

By the time soft light began to spill between the blinds, her body ached from sitting still so long. She rubbed her face with both hands, then looked up as a quiet knock came at the door.

“Hola, cariño.”

Her mother’s voice.

Eli stood there, wrapped in her long coat, hair slightly disheveled from the early-morning rush. Mapi must have called her. The sight of her mother’s familiar face cracked something open in Alexia’s chest.

“Mamá…”

Eli crossed the room and folded her into a hug without a word. For a moment Alexia just stayed there, forehead pressed to her mother’s shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume. The world outside the embrace didn’t matter.

When she finally pulled back, Eli brushed a hand over her cheek. “You’ve been here all night.”

“I couldn’t leave.”

“I know,” Eli said softly. “But you need to eat something. At least drink some water.”

Alexia shook her head. “Later. I just—” She glanced at you. “I just need her to wake up.”

Eli sat down in the chair beside her. “She will, she is strong.”

“Yeah.” Alexia’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I can’t lose her Mamá. She’s… she is my home, my safe place.”

For a long while they spoke quietly, words weaving through the hum of the machines. Eli told her about the morning traffic, about the messages pouring in from teammates and friends, about how proud her father would be of the way she always took care of the people she loved.

At one point, Alexia leaned back and stared at your still form. “She saved someone,” she said suddenly. “One of her colleagues. Clara. It was supposed to be a routine call, and then—”

Her voice broke off. Eli reached over and took her hand.

“Shh, you don’t have to finish that, cariño.”

“She’s always the one who wants to help others first,” Alexia said, shaking her head. “It’s who she is. But I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her throat tight.

Eli’s hand squeezed hers. “She’s strong. And she’s a fighter.”

The words settled over them, soft but firm. Outside, the morning brightened. Nurses exchanged quiet greetings in the corridor. For a few moments the world felt almost calm again.

Then something changed.

A faint, broken sound slipped through the steady rhythm of the monitors. Alexia froze. She leaned forward, eyes locked on your face.

Your lips moved — just barely. A breath, a whisper. “...Ale…”

Alexia’s heart jumped. “Y/N? I’m here, mi amor, I’m right here.” She squeezed the hand in hers, desperate for another sign.

But before R could form another word, the monitor’s rhythm stuttered. One sharp tone cut through the air, then another, louder. The calm hum turned into a harsh, frantic beeping.

“Doctor!” a nurse shouted from the hallway.

Everything happened at once—the rush of footsteps, the door swinging open, the lights flaring bright. A doctor and two nurses hurried inside. Alexia instinctively stood, backing away from the bed as equipment clattered into place.

“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice trembling, but no one answered; they were already working. Eli was suddenly beside her, one arm around her shoulders, pulling her a step farther back.

“Let them do their job, cariño,” Eli murmured.

Alexia’s gaze stayed locked on you. She saw the faint movement of your chest, the blur of hands, the nurses speaking in quick, focused tones. The sound of the monitors filled the room—louder, faster, chaotic.

Then the doctor called something Alexia couldn’t catch, and the bed began to move. The team wheeled you toward the door, machines trailing behind.

“Please—” Alexia started forward, but Eli held her.

One of the nurses turned briefly, her eyes kind but firm. “We have to take her back to the ER. She’s in good hands, I promise.”

And then they were gone—through the double doors, down the corridor, the sound of the wheels fading into the distance.

Alexia stood frozen in the sudden silence, the echo of alarms still ringing in her ears. The space beside her felt enormous, empty in a way she hadn’t known possible.

Eli guided her to the nearest chair. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Outside the window, the city was waking, sunlight glinting off passing cars, ordinary life carrying on.

Alexia inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm. Her body wanted to shake, but she wouldn’t let it. “Which hospital?”

“Sant Joan de Déu.”

“Take me there.”

Minutes later, she was in the passenger seat of Clara’s patrol car, the siren wailing again as the city rushed by in streaks of blue and grey.

Alexia stared out the window, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. Every corner, every turn felt endless. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop. She kept seeing your smile that morning, your laugh, the way you had kissed her goodbye.

The smell of coffee. The warmth of your hand. The promise — You will.

Now it echoed like a whisper she couldn’t hold onto.

When they finally reached the hospital, Alexia didn’t wait for permission. She jumped out before the car stopped completely, running through the sliding doors, her chest tight, her breath short. The bright white lights felt too harsh, too clean.

“I’m looking for— for Officer Y/N,” she stammered at the front desk.

The nurse looked up, recognizing the panic in her eyes, then gave a small nod. “Second floor. Emergency ward.”

Alexia took the stairs two at a time. Her legs were shaking, but she didn’t stop until she reached the corridor lined with pale walls and soft beeping sounds. Clara caught up a moment later, breathless, and guided her to a waiting area where two other officers stood.

Alexia froze when she saw them — the tension in their faces, the silence heavy in the air.

One of them stepped forward slowly. “She’s in surgery. But she’s still alive.”

Alive.

Alexia’s jaw clenched. She gave a single nod, crossing her arms over her chest, grounding herself. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

She took a seat in the corner of the waiting area, her back straight, eyes fixed on the door at the end of the hall. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just listened — to the faint hum of machines, the echo of footsteps, the sound of her own heartbeat pressing against her ribs.

About half an hour later, the doors opened again — this time not with a doctor, but with someone else.

“Alexia!”

It was Mapi. Still in training gear, hair pulled up in a messy bun, breathing hard from running. She must have come straight from the pitch.

She crossed the room quickly and dropped into the seat beside her. For a moment, neither said anything. Then Mapi placed a hand on Alexia’s shoulder — firm, steady, wordless.

Alexia didn’t look at her, just exhaled slowly through her nose. “She’s in surgery,” she said quietly.

“Okay,” Mapi’s voice was calm, but there was a tightness underneath.

The two of them sat in silence, side by side. Mapi didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to fill the quiet. She just stayed there — a solid presence, the kind of support that didn’t need words.

Alexia’s gaze stayed on the door ahead. Her posture never wavered, but the muscle in her jaw twitched every few seconds, the only sign of the storm inside her.

After a long while, Mapi spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s tough, you know. If anyone can pull through this… it’s her.”

Alexia nodded once, still staring straight ahead. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

Clara stood near the window, still in her uniform, radio clipped to her shoulder, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her vest, still with those faint stains Alexia couldn’t stop noticing.

“What happened?”

Clara hesitated.“It was supposed to be simple,” she began quietly. “A call about a disturbance in an apartment block near the Rambla — shouting, a neighbour reported something odd. We’d answered a hundred of those calls before. We went up the stairs together,” Clara continued. “Y/N was calm — she always is. We could hear arguing inside, so she knocked, made ourself known as police officers, then…” Clara’s breath hitched slightly. “The situation just turned. The door opened, and someone came at us — unpredictable. Everything happened in seconds.”

She paused, “ he was just a kid. But he had a kitchen knife of some sorts in his hands and came right at us. I froze. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Y/N reacted before I could. She pushed me back, got between me and…” Her voice trailed off.

“We got him to he ground and detained him… but he must have gotten her somehow. All of a sudden there was blood on the floor, so I checked him. He was fine, not a scratch. But when I looked up to ask Y/N where the blood was coming from I…”

Her voice cracked. “But she stayed focused — she made sure I was fine first. Even when she was down, she was giving orders, keeping control until backup came. ”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the space between them.

“She saved my life,” Clara said finally, her voice trembling. “And it’s… it’s my fault. Alexia I’m so sor-”

Right that moment the door at the end of the corridor finally opened. A doctor stepped out, removing his mask. He looked tired but calm.

“Family of Officer Y/N?” he asked.

Alexia stood instantly. “I’m her partner.”

He nodded. “She’s stable for now. She made it through surgery. She’s breathing on her own, that’s a good sign, but the next twentyour hours are critical. We’ll be monitoring her closely.

The world swayed for a moment, then steadied. Alexia exhaled slowly through her nose — controlled, quiet, holding herself together.

“Can I see her?”

You chuckled softly and kissed her forehead again. “Okay. Five more minutes.”

Alexia sighed in contentment, and within seconds, her breathing steadied again. You watched her for a moment — the relaxed face, the faint curve of her lips, the way a few strands of hair fell over her eyes — you kiss her birthmark on the right side of her mouth before slipping quietly out of bed.

By the time the sun rose, you were already gone.

When Alexia finally woke at eight, she reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed — but it was cold. She sighed, then smiled faintly. Mornings without you always felt a little too quiet.

She stretched lazily beneath the sheets, a soft sigh escaping her lips. The scent of you still lingered — faint traces of your perfume and shampoo clinging to the pillow. As Alexia turns onto her side, her fingertips brush a tender spot just below her collarbone.

A light mark bloomed there, small and pink. She smiled.

The memory came back in soft fragments — laughter muffled against skin, the way your breath had deepened when Alexia whispered your name. The night had been unhurried, filled with warmth and small moments of intimacy that said more than words ever could.

Your hands had been gentle, your voice low and teasing, your kiss lingering a little longer each time. Alexia remembered how the world had seemed to fall away, leaving just the both of you — the sound of your hearts, the taste of closeness, the feeling of being completely seen.

The memory made her chest ache in the sweetest way.

Smiling to herself, Alexia got up and padded into the bathroom. The tiles were cold under her bare feet, and the mirror reflected the soft mess of her hair — and that faint mark, a quiet reminder of last night’s affection. She touches it lightly, still smiling.

She was halfway through brushing her teeth when the doorbell rings.

She rinsed quickly and went to open the door — and froze for a moment.

There you were.

You stood on the doorstep, dressed in your police uniform, dark blue fabric pressed to perfection, badge gleaming in the soft morning light. In your hand, a steaming paper cup.

“Bon dia mi amor,” you said, smiling that familiar, calm smile. “I thought you might need this.”

Alexia took the coffee, your fingers brushing for just a second. “You have no idea how much,” she says, her lips curving into a grin. Her gaze lingered — the holster at your hip, the rolled-up sleeves, the confident stance. “Also... have I ever told you how insanely sexy you look in that uniform?”

You laughed, a soft blush touching your cheeks. “Bébe, don’t say that, I really have to go, and if you say things like that you’re making it harder to leave.”

Alexia titled her head. “I didn’t say you couldn’t be sexy and on time.”

You shook your head, amused, stepping closer until you two were only a breath apart. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Alexia whispered, “you’re still here.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then you leaned in and kissed her — soft at first, then with the familiar warmth that makes Alexia’s knees weaken. It was quick, fleeting, but enough to make time slow for just a moment.

When you finally pull away, your voice was low. “I’ll be late if I stay any longer.”

Alexia traced a finger over the edge of your collar. “Then at least promise me I’ll get another one of those later.”

“You will,” you said, smiling. Before you turned, you kissed Alexia again and whispered “T’estimo.” “Jo també t’estimo”, Alexia whispered back.

Alexia stood in the doorway, coffee warming her hands, watching you cross the street toward the patrol car. Before getting in you turn back and wave, your smile bright even from afar.

Alexia lingered there a moment longer, the taste of coffee and a kiss still on her lips. The day had barely begun — but somehow, it already felt perfect.

-----------

The locker room buzzed with the usual noise — laughter, the sound of cleats clattering against tile, the thud of locker doors. Alexia sat at her spot, tying her shoelaces, a quiet smile playing on her lips.

“Alright, what’s with you today?” Patri asked, grinning as she pulled her training shirt over her head. “You’ve been smiling since you walked in.”

Alexia shrugged, though her cheeks flushed a little. “Nothing. I’m just… happy.”

“Oh, come on,” Mapi teased from across the room. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

The whole room erupted in playful laughter. Alexia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the grin spreading wider across her face. “Maybe,” she admitted. “She brought me coffee this morning before her shift.”

“Ohhh,” Pina cooed dramatically. “Someone’s in love!”

“Yeah,” Alexia said softly, almost to herself. “I really am.”

“Someone’s spoiling you,” Patri teased.

“Yeah,” Alexia said, still smiling, her voice turning quieter. “She really is.”

The teasing went on for a while, but Alexia didn’t mind. It was the good kind of teasing — the kind that came from friends who were happy for her, who had watched her fall in love and who had seen how much softer she’d become since you had entered her life.

As the laughter faded and the noise settled, Alexia’s mind drifted back to the night before — your anniversary. Three years with the love of her life.

You’d spent it at home, just the two of you. No fancy dinner or restaurant reservations, just your shared apartment — candles flickering on the dining table, soft music playing in the background, the scent of something warm cooking in the kitchen.

You had insisted on making dinner yourself, shooing Alexia out of the kitchen whenever she tried to help. “You may be la capitána of Barça,” you had teased, “but tonight, I’m the one in charge.”

The food had been perfect, but it wasn’t the meal that made the night unforgettable — it was everything in between. The laughter, the gentle teasing, the way you kept stealing glances at her like you couldn’t quite believe this was real even after three years of being girlfriends.

After dinner, you’d danced in the living room — barefoot, in the dim light — Alexia’s head resting against your shoulder, you humming quietly against her hair. It was slow and easy, like you had all the time in the world.

Now, in the locker room, surrounded by her teammates’ laughter, Alexia could still feel the echo of that peace. The kind of happiness that settled deep, that made even the smallest moments — a shared coffee, a goodbye kiss — feel like everything.

-----------

A few hours later, the team was deep into training. The air was warm, the sun bright above the pitch. Passes, shouts, laughter — everything felt light and easy.

Then, faint at first, came the sound of sirens.

Alexia’s touch faltered on the ball. Her head lifted instinctively, heart skipping. Police sirens weren’t uncommon in Barcelona, but every time she heard one, she thought of you.

The wail grew louder. Closer.

Her chest tightened.

A few of her teammates glanced toward the gates, curious. The sirens cut abruptly, replaced by the crunch of tires on gravel. A patrol car came to a stop just beyond the fence.

Alexia frowned.

Before anyone could say a word, the car door opened, and an officer jumped out — young, out of breath, her uniform streaked with something dark. She ran straight toward the field.

Alexia’s stomach turned to ice. She recognized her.

Clara.

One of your colleagues. A good friend.

Something was wrong.

The coach jogged toward the gate as Clara spoke quickly, her voice low and tense. A few players slowed, exchanging uneasy looks. The laughter that had filled the air moments ago vanished.

Alexia’s pulse was pounding in her ears. A strange heaviness settled in her chest — like her body already knew before her mind did.

Then she heard her name.

“Alexia,” the coach called, his tone careful, too careful. “Come here a second.”

She jogged toward them, her boots thudding softly against the grass. Clara turned to face her, and that was when Alexia saw it — the small, rust-colored stains on Clara’s sleeve.

Blood.

Her breath caught. “What’s going on?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Clara’s lips trembled. “It’s Y/N,” she said, her eyes glistening. “She’s been hurt.”

The world seemed to tilt. The noise of the field faded, replaced by the faint ringing in Alexia’s ears. Her throat tightened as she stared at Clara, trying to make sense of the words — she’s been hurt.

For a moment Alexia couldn’t move.