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My Cousins Captain

Epilogue Part 1 - 7.5k Words

(I got heavily carried away. This was supposed to be longer but Tumblr wouldn't let me post everything... hence the part 1 & 2)

Two months after leaving Barcelona, Kinsey still wakes up reaching for her phone before she's fully conscious.

At first she doesn't realize she's doing it. The habit forms so naturally that by the time she notices, it's already become part of her routine. Every morning begins the same way. Her alarm goes off, she rolls over beneath the blankets, and before her eyes have even adjusted to the pale gray light filtering through her apartment windows, she's opening whatever messages Alexia sent while she slept.

The six-hour time difference means Alexia is already halfway through her day by the time New York starts waking up. Most mornings there are photos waiting for her. A coffee cup balanced on a training table. An aggressively unflattering selfie accompanied by some complaint about fitness testing. Videos of teammates arguing in the background while Alexia provides entirely unnecessary commentary.

This morning's message is a photograph of Barcelona just after sunrise. The city stretches out beneath a wash of gold and orange light, rooftops glowing beneath the early morning sun. Beneath it, Alexia has written only three words.

Miss this view.

Kinsey smiles despite herself.

She knows exactly what Alexia is doing.

Two months ago every message would have said I miss you. Every phone call would have ended with one of them reluctantly hanging up after neither wanted to be the first person to say goodbye. Eventually they both stopped saying it quite so often, not because the feeling had disappeared, but because it never changed. Missing each other had become a constant. A background noise neither of them needed to acknowledge every five minutes.

Instead, Alexia had started finding other ways to say it.

Kinsey sits up against the headboard and types a reply.

You mean me.

The response arrives less than thirty seconds later.

Don't make this about yourself.

A second message follows immediately.

But yes.

Laughing softly, Kinsey tosses her phone onto the bed and pushes herself upright. Outside her apartment windows Manhattan is already awake. Traffic crawls between skyscrapers below. Horns echo faintly from the street. Somewhere down the block, construction workers have apparently decided seven in the morning is the perfect time to begin making as much noise as possible.

For the first time in a long time, the city doesn't feel overwhelming.

That realization catches her off guard sometimes.

Six months ago New York felt like a cage. Every building reminded her of Morgan. Every restaurant carried memories she'd spent years creating with someone who eventually stopped feeling like home. She'd spent so much time convincing herself that unhappiness was normal that she'd forgotten what it felt like to genuinely look forward to the future.

Now, despite the lawyers, despite the paperwork, despite everything that came with untangling a decade-long relationship, she finds herself smiling more often than not.

Not because life is perfect.

Because it finally feels like hers.

The divorce paperwork is almost finished. The last major meetings are scheduled for next week. Morgan has largely disappeared from her daily life, leaving behind only legal documents and the occasional uncomfortable memory that surfaces when Kinsey least expects it.

The grief still exists.

She suspects it always will.

Ten years doesn't disappear overnight.

But grief is different from regret.

That's something she's only recently learned.

She can mourn the version of her life she thought she was building without wanting to return to it. She can feel sad for Morgan and still know leaving was the right decision. Those truths aren't mutually exclusive no matter how many times she'd once convinced herself they were.

Her phone buzzes again.

Did you fall back asleep?

Kinsey smiles.

No. Some of us have jobs.

Football is a job.

Debatable.

The incoming FaceTime request arrives almost immediately.

Kinsey doesn't even hesitate before answering.

Alexia's face fills the screen, and the familiar rush of warmth that follows catches her exactly as off guard as it did the first time. She looks tired. Training gear still clings to her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun that clearly started the day neater than it currently is.

"Wow," Alexia says. "You look terrible."

Kinsey laughs.

"There she is."

"Someone has to keep you humble."

The conversation drifts naturally after that, moving from football to work to whatever random topic manages to capture their attention next. They've become experts at this over the last two months. Experts at fitting themselves into the spaces between responsibilities and obligations. Experts at turning phone calls into dinner dates and video chats into something that almost feels like sharing the same room.

Almost.

That's the difficult part. Almost. Because no matter how many hours they spend talking, no matter how many times they fall asleep on FaceTime with their phones balanced on nightstands, the distance remains. An ocean still separates them. Sometimes that reality feels manageable. Other times it feels impossible. Kinsey doesn't tell Alexia which kind of day today is. She doesn't have to. Somehow Alexia notices anyway.

Alexia notices before Kinsey says anything.

She always does.

The conversation continues for another ten minutes, drifting between topics the way it always does, but Kinsey can practically see the moment Alexia realizes something is off. It happens when she's halfway through a story about one of her teammates accidentally kicking a ball into a coach's coffee during training. Normally Kinsey would've laughed immediately. Normally she would've asked a dozen follow-up questions just to hear Alexia complain about it in greater detail.

Instead she'd smiled, nodded, and gone quiet.

Now Alexia narrows her eyes suspiciously through the screen.

"Okay."

Kinsey immediately recognizes that tone.

"What?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Terrible answer."

Kinsey sighs and drops her head back against the couch cushions. Outside her apartment windows the city is beginning to fade into evening. The last traces of sunlight reflect off neighboring skyscrapers, painting the living room in soft shades of orange and gold.

"I just had a long day."

"You always have long days."

"Exactly."

"That's not the issue."

Kinsey closes her eyes briefly. It isn't. The problem isn't work. Or lawyers. Or paperwork.

The problem is that today is one of those days where the distance feels heavier than usual.

It happens without warning. Sometimes she'll go a week feeling perfectly fine. They'll talk constantly. She'll throw herself into work. Life moves forward and everything feels manageable.

Then a random Tuesday arrives and suddenly she misses Alexia so much that it physically hurts.

She misses reaching for her in bed. She misses hearing her laugh from another room. She misses the way Alexia always steals food off her plate despite ordering exactly the same thing. She misses the simple comfort of existing beside someone she loves. Most of all, she misses not having to say goodbye every night. Alexia studies her carefully.

The concern on her face softens into something gentler. Something understanding.

"Oh."

Kinsey laughs weakly.

"Yeah."

For a moment neither of them speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It never is with Alexia. Eventually she shifts slightly in her seat and rests her chin against her hand.

"I miss you too."

The simplicity of the statement nearly wrecks her. Because there isn't anything dramatic attached to it. No grand declaration. No attempt to fix the situation. Just honesty. A simple acknowledgment that they're both carrying the same weight. Kinsey swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat.

"This is harder than I thought it would be."

"I know."

"I hate it."

"I know that too."

The corners of Kinsey's mouth twitch upward.

"You're annoyingly good at this."

Alexia smiles.

"At what?"

"Understanding exactly what I mean."

Something flashes across Alexia's face then.

A softness that still catches Kinsey off guard sometimes. Even after everything. Even after all the months they've spent learning each other. Even after falling hopelessly in love.

"I think that's supposed to be one of the requirements."

"Of what?"

"Being your girlfriend."

Kinsey laughs.

"There are requirements now?"

"Many."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Very."

By the time they hang up an hour later, the heaviness in Kinsey's chest has eased. Not disappeared. Just softened. Enough to let her breathe again. Enough to remind her that distance is temporary. Or at least that's what she tells herself.

The next week passes in a blur.

Work becomes increasingly hectic as summer approaches. Several major stories land in her lap at once, forcing her into a schedule that consists almost entirely of coffee, deadlines, and very questionable sleeping habits.

By Thursday evening she's running purely on caffeine and stubbornness. Her editor notices immediately.

"You look exhausted."

Kinsey doesn't even glance up from her laptop.

"I am exhausted."

"Have you considered sleeping?"

"What a revolutionary concept."

The editor laughs.

Kinsey doesn't.

Mostly because she's serious.

The problem isn't work.

The problem is that she's spending every free moment she has trying to squeeze more time out of the day. If Alexia is awake, Kinsey wants to talk to her. If Alexia is training, Kinsey wants updates. If Alexia sends a picture, Kinsey immediately stops whatever she's doing to look at it.

The relationship has somehow become woven into every part of her daily life despite the Atlantic Ocean separating them.

Not that she's complaining. At least not usually.

By Friday afternoon she's finally able to leave work before sunset for the first time all week.

The moment she steps into her apartment she kicks off her shoes and collapses face-first onto the couch.

She doesn't move for several minutes.

Her phone buzzes.

Alexia.

A smile immediately appears.

It happens every single time.

Kinsey opens the message.

I survived training.

Attached is a photo of Alexia looking dramatically miserable while sitting in an ice bath.

Kinsey laughs out loud.

You look like you're being tortured.

The response arrives almost instantly.

I am being tortured.

This is athlete abuse.

Call the police.

Kinsey is still smiling when she notices a second message.

One she almost misses.

A separate photo.

This one isn't funny.

It's a picture of Barcelona at sunset.

The city glowing beneath streaks of orange and pink.

Beneath it Alexia has written:

Wish you were here.

The smile falters slightly.

Not because it makes her sad.

Because it reminds her how badly she wishes the same thing.

She stares at the picture for longer than she intends to.

Long enough for Alexia to send another message.

Wow. Ignored.

Kinsey rolls her eyes.

I'm literally replying.

Sure you are.

Very rude.

Very ignored.

Laughing softly, Kinsey sets the phone down beside her and looks around the apartment. The silence feels different tonight. Not lonely. Just unfinished. As though someone is missing. As though the space itself knows it wasn't designed for only one person anymore. The thought lingers with her for the rest of the evening. It follows her into bed. It stays with her the next morning.

And three days later, when she walks into a conference room to finalize the last pieces of paperwork connecting her to Morgan, the feeling is still there. Only now it's accompanied by something else.

Relief.

The meeting lasts less than an hour. Months of legal work reduced to signatures and formalities. By the end, every document has been completed. Every account separated. Every remaining tie officially severed. When the lawyer slides the final page across the table, Kinsey signs without hesitation.

The pen barely pauses.

And suddenly it's done.

Ten years.

Finished.

She stares at the paperwork for several seconds after everyone else leaves.

Waiting.

For grief.

For devastation.

For some overwhelming emotional reaction.

Instead she feels strangely calm.

Sad, yes.

There will always be sadness.

Morgan mattered.

Their relationship mattered.

The life they'd built together mattered.

But sadness isn't the same thing as regret.

And for the first time since all of this began, Kinsey realizes she doesn't regret leaving.

Not even a little.

Her phone buzzes as she exits the building.

Alexia's name appears on the screen.

Kinsey answers immediately.

"Hey."

The warmth in Alexia's voice settles somewhere deep inside her chest. Without warning, Kinsey smiles. Not because anything extraordinary happened. Not because her problems disappeared. But because for the first time in years, she knows exactly where she wants her future to go. And every version of that future contains the same person.

Alexia.

The realization stays with her all the way home. It follows her through dinner. Through a shower. Through an hour spent reading on the couch. By the time she finally falls asleep that night, one thought keeps repeating itself. She doesn't know what the future looks like. She doesn't know where they'll live. She doesn't know how they'll solve the distance. But she knows she wants to spend the rest of her life figuring it out with her.

Two weeks later, someone knocks on her apartment door.

And everything changes.

The knock comes again before Kinsey has a chance to look up from her laptop.

At first she ignores it.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch with three different documents spread across the coffee table and an article deadline looming over her head. Her editor has already emailed twice asking for an update, which means a third email, significantly less friendly than the first two, is probably only a matter of time.

The knock sounds again.

More insistent this time.

With a sigh, Kinsey saves her work and pushes herself to her feet. She assumes it's a delivery driver. Maybe Jana. Possibly a neighbor. The possibilities are endless.

None of them include Alexia.

Which is why her brain completely stops functioning when she pulls open the door.

For a moment, she genuinely thinks she's imagining things.

There are reasonable explanations for most surprises.

This is not one of them.

Alexia stands in the hallway holding a suitcase in one hand and a backpack slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair is slightly messy from travel, and there are faint shadows beneath her eyes that suggest she hasn’t gotten much sleep. Even so, she’s still the most beautiful thing Kinsey has ever seen.

Neither of them move.

Neither of them speak.

Kinsey just stares.

Because twelve hours ago Alexia had been in Barcelona.

Twenty four hours ago she’d been complaining about training over FaceTime.

Forty eight hours ago they’d been trying to coordinate schedules for another visit that wasn’t supposed to happen for at least three more weeks.

None of this makes any sense.

Alexia is the first one to crack.

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before she shakes her head and laughs softly.

“You’re making this weird.”

The sound breaks whatever spell has settled over the moment.

Kinsey crosses the distance between them before her brain catches up with her body. One second she's standing in the doorway and the next she's throwing her arms around Alexia hard enough that they nearly lose their balance.

Alexia laughs against her shoulder and immediately wraps both arms around her waist.

“Okay,” she says. “Hi to you too.”

Kinsey doesn’t let go.

She can’t.

For two months she’s existed through phone screens and video calls and countdowns. For two months every goodbye has come with a calendar reminder for the next time they’ll see each other. Now Alexia is here, solid and real and warm beneath her hands, and Kinsey suddenly realizes just how much she’s missed physical proximity.

Not even the romantic parts. Just this. Holding her. Feeling her laugh against her shoulder. Knowing she’s actually here.

“What are you doing here?” Kinsey finally asks.

“I flew here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It technically is.”

Kinsey pulls back just enough to glare at her.

Alexia grins.

The grin lasts exactly two seconds before something shifts. The confidence softens. The teasing disappears. Suddenly she looks nervous. Really nervous.

Kinsey notices immediately.

Her stomach drops.

“Alex.”

“Hmm?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s a lie.”

Alexia sighs.

And that’s when Kinsey knows.

Something is coming.

Something important.

Because Alexia only sighs like that when she’s carrying a conversation she’s been rehearsing in her head for weeks.

“Can I come inside first?”

Kinsey blinks.

“Right. Yes. Sorry.”

She steps aside and Alexia rolls her suitcase into the apartment.

The familiar scent of her perfume immediately follows her inside, settling into the space so naturally it almost feels like it belongs there. Kinsey closes the door and turns around to find Alexia standing in the middle of the living room.

Looking around. Taking everything in. This apartment has existed entirely through phone screens until now. Alexia has seen every room.

The couch.

The kitchen.

The bedroom.

But only virtually.

Now she slowly turns in a circle, studying the space in person.

“It’s bigger than I expected.”

“Alexia.”

“I’m serious.”

“Alexia.”

“Fine.”

She laughs softly before setting her backpack down near the couch.

The nervousness returns almost immediately afterward.

Kinsey folds her arms.

“Talk.”

“Very aggressive.”

“Talk.”

“I haven’t even sat down yet.”

“Talk.”

That finally earns a genuine laugh. For a moment the tension eases. Then Alexia reaches into her backpack and pulls out a folder. A completely ordinary folder. Nothing special about it. Nothing remarkable. And yet the second Kinsey sees it, every instinct she possesses begins screaming that this is important.

Alexia holds it out.

“Open it.”

Kinsey takes it slowly.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

Her heart begins beating faster.

The folder feels heavier than it should.

She glances up one last time.

Alexia looks terrified.

Not upset.

Not sad.

Terrified.

Which somehow makes this even more confusing.

Carefully, Kinsey opens the folder. The first thing she notices is the logo. The second thing she notices is the team name. The third thing she notices is the contract. For several seconds she simply stares at the page.

Reading.

Re-reading.

Trying to make sure she isn’t misunderstanding what’s in front of her.

The words refuse to change.

Gotham FC.

Professional contract.

New York.

Signed.

Official.

Her eyes lift slowly.

Alexia is watching her so carefully it almost hurts.

“Well?”

Kinsey blinks.

Then blinks again.

Then looks back down at the contract.

Then back up.

“You signed with Gotham?”

Alexia nods.

A small smile appears.

“You signed with Gotham.”

Another nod.

The smile grows slightly.

Kinsey’s brain is still struggling to catch up.

“You’re leaving Barcelona?”

This time Alexia takes a breath before answering.

“Yes.”

The room goes completely silent.

Because suddenly the full meaning of those words crashes into her all at once.

Leaving Barcelona.

Leaving the club.

Leaving the city.

Leaving the life she built there.

For New York.

For Gotham.

For them.

“You’re moving here.”

Alexia’s eyes immediately fill with emotion.

“Yes.”

And just like that, Kinsey starts crying. Not dramatic tears. Not sobbing. Just immediate, unstoppable emotion. Because she spent the last two months teaching herself how to live with distance. Teaching herself patience. Teaching herself that love could survive an ocean. She had accepted it. Accepted the flights. Accepted the time zones. Accepted the waiting. And now Alexia is standing in her apartment telling her she doesn’t have to anymore.

The laugh that escapes her sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

“You’re moving here.”

Alexia starts crying too.

“Yeah.”

“You’re actually moving here.”

“Kinsey.”

“Oh my God.”

The folder falls forgotten onto the couch. A second later Kinsey is across the room again. This time neither of them bothers pretending they’re okay. Alexia’s arms lock around her instantly. Kinsey buries her face against her shoulder. And for the first time in months, there’s no screen between them.

No countdown.

No departure date.

No goodbye waiting around the corner.

Just possibility.

And for the first time since boarding that flight back to New York two months ago, the future suddenly feels close enough to touch.

For a long time neither of them moves.

The contract remains abandoned on the couch, forgotten beneath a throw blanket, while Kinsey keeps her arms wrapped around Alexia as though letting go might somehow make the entire thing disappear. She can feel Alexia laughing softly against her shoulder every time she tightens her grip again, but neither of them seems particularly interested in pointing out how ridiculous they're being.

Eventually Alexia leans back just enough to look at her.

"You know," she says, brushing a strand of hair away from Kinsey's face, "most people usually say congratulations before crushing someone's ribs."

Kinsey immediately tightens her arms.

Alexia groans dramatically.

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."

"You moved across an ocean."

"I did."

"For me."

A smile spreads slowly across Alexia's face.

"For us."

The correction settles somewhere deep inside Kinsey's chest. Because that's the thing neither of them has said out loud yet. Not really. They've talked endlessly about long distance. About flights and schedules and future visits. They've spent hours discussing what comes next without ever having an actual answer.

Now suddenly there is one.

Not a complete answer.

Not a perfect answer.

But a real one.

For the first time since this relationship began, they're moving toward the same place instead of constantly pulling in opposite directions.

Kinsey finally releases her enough for them to sit down on the couch, although she immediately pulls Alexia right back against her side the second they're seated.

"How long have you known?"

Alexia winces.

That reaction alone is suspicious.

"Alexia."

"A little while."

"Define a little while."

The wince deepens.

"Alexia."

"Several weeks."

Kinsey stares at her.

Several weeks.

Several.

Weeks.

The realization hits her like a freight train.

"You have been keeping this from me for several weeks?"

"I was waiting until everything was finalized."

"You knew you were potentially moving to New York and didn't tell me?"

"It wasn't finalized."

"You still could've mentioned it."

Alexia's expression becomes increasingly guilty.

Which answers the question.

"Oh my God."

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It is a surprise."

"See?"

"That's not a defense."

Alexia starts laughing.

Unfortunately, the sound is infectious.

Within seconds Kinsey is laughing too.

Mostly because she knows exactly how difficult this must have been for her.

Alexia is terrible at keeping good news to herself.

Absolutely terrible.

She's the type of person who buys a present and immediately starts dropping hints because she's too excited to wait.

The fact that she managed to keep this secret for weeks is honestly impressive.

"You almost told me, didn't you?"

Alexia immediately looks away.

"Alexia."

"There were moments."

"How many moments?"

"Several."

Kinsey groans.

"You're unbelievable."

"There was one FaceTime call where I almost accidentally said 'when I move there' instead of 'when I visit.'"

Kinsey immediately starts laughing again.

Alexia covers her face with one hand.

"It was very stressful."

"I can imagine."

"There was also the time you spent forty-five minutes complaining about New York rent."

"What about it?"

"I already knew I'd be paying it."

That nearly kills Kinsey.

She doubles over laughing while Alexia sits beside her looking entirely too pleased with herself.

For a few minutes the conversation drifts into details. Gotham had reached out months earlier. At first Alexia hadn't taken it seriously. Then the discussions became more concrete. Meetings turned into negotiations. Negotiations turned into offers.

And somewhere along the way, what initially seemed impossible started becoming real.

"I kept thinking it would fall apart," Alexia admits quietly.

The laughter fades immediately.

Kinsey looks over.

Alexia is staring down at her hands now.

The vulnerability in her voice catches her off guard.

"Why?"

Alexia shrugs.

"It felt too perfect."

Kinsey's heart aches.

Because she understands exactly what she means.

When you've spent enough time waiting for things to go wrong, eventually good news starts feeling suspicious.

You begin expecting disappointment before it arrives.

You prepare yourself for loss before anything has actually been lost.

"I know that feeling."

Alexia glances toward her.

For a moment neither of them speaks.

Then Kinsey reaches across the couch and takes her hand.

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think we're both getting better at that."

A small smile appears.

"At what?"

"Believing good things can happen."

The smile grows.

This time it stays.

The evening passes in a blur after that.

They order takeout because neither of them has any interest in cooking. The food arrives almost an hour later, mostly because both of them forget they ordered it in the first place. By the time the delivery driver knocks on the door, they're sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by contract paperwork and apartment listings.

"Look at this one."

Alexia hands her phone over.

Kinsey studies the listing.

Then immediately bursts out laughing.

"Absolutely not."

"What?"

"That rent should be illegal."

"It's Manhattan."

"It's robbery."

"It's Manhattan."

Kinsey points accusingly at the screen.

"This apartment is the size of a shoebox."

"It's a luxury shoebox."

"That's not helping."

Alexia laughs so hard she nearly falls over.

God.

Kinsey missed this.

Not the big moments.

Not the dramatic declarations.

This.

The easy conversations.

The effortless laughter.

The feeling that spending time together requires absolutely no work whatsoever.

The realization settles over her sometime after midnight.

They're sitting on opposite ends of the couch now, both exhausted from talking. The television is playing quietly in the background. Neither of them is actually watching it. Alexia's feet are stretched across Kinsey's lap. Kinsey is absentmindedly rubbing circles against her ankle. And suddenly she realizes something. This feels normal. Not exciting. Not overwhelming. Not temporary. Normal. As though Alexia belongs here. As though she always has. The thought should probably be terrifying.

Instead it feels strangely comforting.

Outside the apartment windows, New York glows against the darkness. Traffic continues moving below. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. The city never really sleeps.

Neither of them speaks for several minutes.

Then Alexia quietly says, "I was scared."

Kinsey looks up immediately.

"What about?"

A thoughtful silence follows.

Alexia's eyes remain fixed on the city beyond the glass.

"That you'd think I was doing this because of you."

The statement catches Kinsey completely off guard.

"What?"

Alexia shrugs lightly.

"I didn't want you feeling responsible."

The words settle heavily between them.

Because suddenly Kinsey understands.

Leaving Barcelona isn't a small decision.

It's not just a transfer.

It's not just football.

It's home.

Friends.

Memories.

A life.

Everything Alexia has spent years building.

"You know I don't think that, right?"

Alexia smiles faintly.

"I know."

"No, seriously."

"I know."

Kinsey shifts closer.

"Alex."

This finally gets her attention.

"I would've supported whatever decision made you happiest."

Emotion flashes briefly across Alexia's face.

The kind she usually hides.

The kind she only lets Kinsey see.

"I know that too."

"Then what's the problem?"

Alexia laughs softly.

"Nothing."

The smile she gives her afterward feels different.

Warmer.

Relieved.

Like she's finally allowing herself to stop carrying something heavy.

And as Kinsey watches her settle more comfortably against the couch cushions, she realizes they're both doing the exact same thing.

For the first time in months, neither of them is counting down to the next goodbye.

Because for the first time in months, there isn't one.

--

The next few weeks pass faster than either of them expects.

At first, Kinsey blames the paperwork.

There seems to be an endless amount of it. Contracts. Housing documents. Immigration appointments. Meetings with Gotham representatives. Endless emails arriving at all hours of the day that require signatures, confirmations, or information neither of them realized they needed. For someone who claims to enjoy organization, Alexia handles the entire process with surprising levels of frustration.

One Tuesday afternoon, Kinsey walks into the kitchen to find her sitting at the counter glaring at a stack of documents as though they're personally responsible for ruining her day.

"What did the paperwork do to you?"

Alexia doesn't even look up.

"It exists."

"Fair."

"It's been existing for six straight hours."

Kinsey laughs and sets her coffee down beside her. The apartment has slowly begun changing over the last few weeks. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Instead, Alexia appears to be taking over the space through a series of small invasions. A hoodie draped over a dining room chair. Training shoes abandoned beside the front door. Hair ties appearing on every available surface. Somehow, despite not officially moving in yet, evidence of her existence is already everywhere. Kinsey secretly loves it. She doesn't mention that part. Mostly because Alexia would become unbearably smug.

"I need a break," Alexia announces.

"You've been staring at those papers for twenty minutes."

"Exactly."

"That's not a long time."

"It felt like years."

Kinsey rolls her eyes before sliding into the chair beside her. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows catches the side of Alexia's face, illuminating the faint smile threatening to appear despite her complaints. For a moment, Kinsey finds herself staring. Not intentionally. At least not at first. It's just one of those moments that sneaks up on her. The realization that this is real. That Alexia is actually here. Not on a screen. Not thousands of miles away. Here. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Close enough that Kinsey can reach over and steal the pen from her hand just to annoy her.

Alexia immediately glares.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The look."

Kinsey attempts innocence.

"What look?"

"The one where you stop listening because you're staring at me."

"I listen."

"No you don't."

"I absolutely do."

Alexia points toward the paperwork.

"What did I just say?"

Kinsey pauses.

"...something about documents."

The triumphant expression on Alexia's face is immediate.

"Exactly."

"That counts."

"It does not."

Despite herself, Kinsey starts laughing.

God.

She missed this.

Not just Alexia herself.

The constant presence.

The effortless rhythm they've always somehow managed to find together.

Even during the affair.

Even during the chaos.

There had always been something strangely easy about them.

Something that felt natural.

Now, without secrecy hanging over everything, the feeling has only grown stronger.

Life isn't perfect.

They still have problems.

Still have decisions to make.

Still have careers pulling them in different directions.

But for the first time, all of those challenges belong to the same future instead of competing futures.

And that changes everything.

By the time Alexia officially reports to Gotham, media attention has become impossible to ignore.

Kinsey knew it was coming.

Everyone did.

A player of Alexia's caliber doesn't quietly transfer halfway across the world without attracting attention. The coverage begins weeks before her first training session and somehow only grows from there.

Every sports network seems determined to discuss it.

Every football analyst has an opinion.

Every reporter wants an interview.

Alexia handles the attention with the same mixture of confidence and irritation she applies to most things.

One evening, Kinsey finds her sprawled across the couch watching a panel discussion about her transfer.

The commentators spend nearly fifteen minutes debating whether the move is primarily football-related or personal.

Alexia lasts approximately thirty seconds.

Then she turns the television off.

"Nope."

Kinsey laughs.

"You don't want to hear strangers speculate about your life?"

"Shockingly, no."

"They seem very invested."

"They need hobbies."

Kinsey settles beside her, immediately finding herself pulled against Alexia's side. The gesture is automatic now. Unconscious. Neither of them thinks about it anymore. The realization still catches Kinsey off guard sometimes. How quickly physical closeness has become normal. How naturally they've slipped into sharing space. For so long, every touch carried urgency. A countdown. The awareness that one of them would eventually leave. Now there are entire evenings where they simply exist together. Reading. Watching television. Working side by side. Nothing dramatic. Nothing urgent. Just life. And somehow that feels more intimate than anything that came before.

"You know they're eventually going to figure it out."

The words leave Kinsey's mouth before she fully thinks them through.

Alexia glances over.

"Figure what out?"

"Us."

A quiet silence follows. Neither of them has discussed it much. Not because they're hiding. Not really. But because they've both spent so long protecting this relationship that public visibility still feels unfamiliar. Alexia studies her for a moment. Then shrugs lightly.

"They probably already suspect."

"True."

"Do you care?"

The question hangs between them. Kinsey thinks about it honestly. Three months ago her answer would've been different. Three months ago she still carried pieces of fear she'd spent years collecting. Fear of judgment. Fear of scrutiny. Fear of making the wrong decision.

Now?

Now she just feels tired.

Tired of hiding things that make her happy. Tired of pretending. Tired of shrinking parts of her life to make other people comfortable.

"No," she admits softly.

A smile appears.

Not on her face.

On Alexia's.

Small.

Warm.

Proud.

The kind that immediately makes Kinsey's chest ache.

"Good."

Three months later, Gotham's home stadium is louder than Kinsey expected. The noise begins before kickoff and somehow never stops. Music blasts through speakers. Fans fill the stands. Children race through the aisles wearing jerseys that nearly reach their knees. The atmosphere feels different from the matches she attended in Barcelona. Different energy. Different culture. Different city. Yet somehow the same excitement. The same love for the game. The same anticipation hanging in the air before the players take the field. Kinsey sits beside Jana near the middle of the lower bowl. Neither of them has stopped smiling since arriving. Jana, unfortunately, has spent most of that time making fun of her.

"You've checked your phone six times."

"I was answering messages."

"You were checking to see if Alexia texted."

Kinsey opens her mouth.

Then closes it.

Jana immediately points.

"Exactly."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Unfortunately, she's right.

Jana leans back in her seat looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"You're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You're absolutely nervous."

Kinsey sighs.

Because once again, Jana is right. Not nervous for football reasons. Alexia doesn't need her worrying about performance. The woman has won practically everything there is to win.

No.

This feels different. Because today isn't about watching Alexia play. It's about seeing her here. In New York. In the life they've spent months building. The stadium erupts suddenly. Players emerge from the tunnel.

The crowd rises.

And Kinsey's breath catches.

There she is.

Alexia jogs onto the field alongside her new teammates, looking completely composed despite the thousands of people screaming around her.

The Gotham jersey still feels slightly surreal.

Even after months.

Even after seeing it hanging in their apartment.

Even after attending training.

Part of Kinsey still expects to see Barcelona colors.

Old habits die hard.

As the teams line up before kickoff, Alexia scans the crowd.

It happens quickly.

A brief glance.

Nothing obvious.

Nothing dramatic.

But then her eyes find Kinsey.

And she smiles.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

The kind of smile nobody else would notice.

The kind that exists entirely for one person.

Jana immediately groans.

"Oh my God."

Kinsey doesn't look away.

"What?"

"That was disgusting."

The smile on Kinsey's face grows.

Somewhere below them, the referee blows the whistle.

The match begins.

And for the first time since all of this started, everything feels exactly where it's supposed to be.

--

The match itself becomes a blur almost immediately.

Later, if someone asks Kinsey to describe specific moments, she knows she'll struggle. She'll remember pieces of it. Fragments. A perfectly timed tackle. A dangerous run down the wing. The collective roar of the crowd every time Gotham pushes forward. But the details feel secondary compared to the overwhelming realization that keeps hitting her every time she looks down at the field.

Alexia is here.

Not visiting.

Not counting down the days until she has to leave.

Not boarding a plane back to Barcelona at the end of the week.

Here.

The thought continues catching her off guard, even months later.

Maybe because for so long, every version of their relationship came with an expiration date attached to it. Every trip ended at an airport. Every goodbye came with another period of waiting. They became experts at squeezing entire relationships into borrowed time.

Now there is no countdown.

No departure gate.

No frantic attempts to memorize each other's faces before another flight.

There is only tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And every ordinary day stretching beyond it.

The realization settles over her sometime during the second half.

Gotham is pressing high up the field. The crowd is on its feet. Alexia receives the ball near midfield and immediately turns away from a defender with the kind of casual brilliance that still makes absolutely no sense to Kinsey.

She creates space where none exists.

Finds passing lanes no one else sees.

Makes difficult things look effortless.

The stadium erupts when Gotham scores minutes later.

Alexia isn't the goal scorer.

She doesn't need to be.

The entire sequence starts with her.

The crowd knows it.

Her teammates know it.

And judging by the grin on Alexia's face as she's immediately swallowed by celebrating teammates, she knows it too.

Kinsey laughs before she even realizes she's doing it.

Beside her, Jana shakes her head dramatically.

"You have that look again."

"What look?"

"The one."

"Very descriptive."

"The one where you look like somebody just handed you a winning lottery ticket."

Kinsey rolls her eyes.

But she doesn't deny it.

Because honestly?

Jana isn't wrong.

After the match, the stadium slowly empties while families linger near the barriers hoping for photographs and autographs. The evening air has cooled considerably, carrying the lingering energy of the crowd long after the final whistle.

Kinsey waits near one of the designated family sections while players complete media obligations. She learns quickly that professional football apparently involves an endless amount of standing around after games.

Interviews.

Press conferences.

Club obligations.

More interviews.

By the time Alexia finally appears, nearly forty-five minutes have passed. She's still in training gear. Her hair is damp from a post-match shower. And despite looking exhausted, the second she spots Kinsey, her entire face lights up. The effect never gets easier to handle. Not even after all this time. Alexia weaves through a small group of staff members before stopping directly in front of her.

"You waited."

Kinsey stares.

"That's your opening line?"

"What?"

"You played ninety minutes."

"And?"

"You had an incredible game."

Alexia shrugs.

A completely unbothered shrug.

The kind that immediately drives Kinsey insane.

"And?"

Kinsey narrows her eyes.

"You know exactly what you're doing."

The smile that follows is shameless.

Alexia takes one step closer.

Close enough that nobody else would notice anything unusual, but close enough that Kinsey can feel her presence.

"You came."

The simplicity of the statement catches her off guard.

Because beneath it sits something bigger.

Something neither of them says out loud.

You came.

You stayed.

You're here.

The same way Alexia is.

The same way they've both chosen to be every day since she moved.

Kinsey smiles.

"Of course I came."

For a second they simply look at each other.

Then a teammate somewhere behind Alexia whistles loudly.

"Oh, that's disgusting."

Alexia immediately groans.

Kinsey starts laughing.

Several Gotham players walk past wearing matching expressions of amusement.

Emily Sonnett points directly at Alexia.

"You've become soft."

"Leave."

"You smile way too much now." says Rose Lavelle

"Go away."

Esther walks around the corner "Don't listen to them" she walks up and leans in to Alexia to whisper in her ear "This kind of happiness looks good on you, we all know it"

Lilly Reale walks by "Alexia and Kinsey sitting in a tree!" making kissy noises at her while laughing as she walks away

Kinsey watches Alexia become increasingly horrified while her teammates continue exposing every embarrassing detail they can think of. Apparently this has become a regular occurrence. Which is objectively hilarious. By the time they finally escape toward the parking garage, Alexia looks ready to transfer clubs again.

"I'm never speaking to any of them."

"You absolutely are."

"They betrayed me."

"They seemed very nice."

"They're dead to me."

Kinsey laughs the entire walk to the car.

Life settles after that.

Not immediately.

Not perfectly.

But gradually.

The way most good things do.

Days become weeks.

Weeks become months.

The routines they'd spent so long imagining begin taking shape naturally.

Kinsey works.

Alexia trains.

Dinner happens together most nights.

Laundry somehow multiplies despite there only being two people in the apartment. Football boots continue appearing in places football boots should never be. One evening Kinsey finds a pair in the kitchen. Another appears beside the couch. A third somehow materializes in the bathroom. By the fourth incident, she decides an intervention is necessary.

"Explain."

Alexia glances up from her phone.

"Explain what?"

Kinsey points dramatically.

The boots sit directly beside the refrigerator.

Alexia follows her finger.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I was looking for those."

Kinsey stares at her.

"They were in the kitchen."

"Right."

"The kitchen."

"Correct."

"Why?"

Alexia considers this seriously.

Actually seriously.

As though there might be a logical explanation.

Finally she shrugs.

"I don't know."

The answer is so genuinely unhelpful that Kinsey immediately starts laughing. Alexia joins her seconds later. And that's the thing nobody talks about enough. The ordinary moments. The moments that never make it into love stories. Not the declarations. Not the dramatic reunions. Not the milestones. The random Tuesday evenings spent arguing about misplaced football boots. The grocery store trips. The shared morning coffees. The way Alexia always steals food from Kinsey's plate despite ordering exactly the same meal. Those become her favorite memories. Those become the moments that matter.

Because they're real.

Because they're theirs.

Because for the first time in her life, loving someone doesn't feel like work.

It feels like peace.

One rainy evening in late autumn, Kinsey arrives home to find Alexia asleep on the couch. The television is still on. A blanket has fallen halfway onto the floor. An open book rests against her chest.

For several seconds Kinsey simply stands in the doorway looking at her. Something warm settles in her chest. The kind of feeling that's almost impossible to describe. Not excitement. Not passion. Not the overwhelming rush she felt when all of this began.

Something steadier.

Something deeper.

Home.

The realization arrives so suddenly it nearly steals her breath. Because for years she thought home was a place.

A city.

An apartment.

A future she'd carefully planned.

Now she understands something she didn't before.

Home isn't where she lives.

It's who she's building a life with.

Alexia stirs slightly in her sleep.

The movement breaks the moment.