just us - kika nazareth x reader
a/n: just a short soft fic for a comfort. @kikaps11 i hope you'll feel better soon <3
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧
Another night – another sleepless one. Normally, I couldn't sleep, but now I woke up after my third nightmare of the night. My breathing was rapid, I couldn't breathe, my vision was blurry, as if I'd run at least 5 kilometers without breakfast.
A panic attack. Not the first, and not the last.
It's hard to focus on getting out of that state. It's like something, or someone, is controlling your body and mind, not even giving you a chance to fight. Cold sweat began to run down my face, and my mouth went dry. My hands were unable to hold anything, so I didn't even try to pick up my phone. I clenched them into fists, trying to force myself out of the tension. I learned this at horse camp. A horse can see in a range of about 350 degrees. It has two blind spots – directly in front of its nose and just behind its tail. Any sudden movement in its wide field of peripheral vision immediately triggers a strong impulse to flee. That's why people lead them through narrow corridors to avoid sensory overload. Similarly, in individuals on the autism spectrum, firm, even pressure on large parts of the body triggers a specific neurological response, such as a tight hug. This pressure activates the parasympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for relaxation and rest, while simultaneously inhibiting the sympathetic nervous system.
But I had no one to comfort me.
Kika was in Portugal for the national team camp.
My mother and the entire family stayed in London when I moved to Barcelona.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to count.
My breathing refused to follow.
For the past few weeks, numbers had been my biggest enemy. Every formula, every equation, every practice paper reminded me of the maths exam I still had to pass - the last exam standing between me and finally finishing the year on my university. It haunted me during the day and apparently followed me into and my nightmares at night.
Yet here I was, relying on numbers to save me.
I've always found comfort in counting.
Maybe because numbers don't lie. They don't change their minds. Two plus two will always be four – unless it’s a Olivia Rodrigo song. But there are rules. Patterns. Certainty. Even when everything inside my head feels like chaos, numbers stay exactly where they're supposed to.
I focused on the sound of my own voice in my head, letting each number anchor me to the room instead of whatever nightmare I'd just escaped.
My heartbeat was still too fast.
But I could breathe a little deeper now.
I inhaled slowly, held it for a moment, then exhaled through pursed lips.
The shaking in my hands hadn't stopped, but it wasn't getting worse anymore.
There was something comforting about the predictability of it. No surprises. No impossible questions waiting on the next page. Just the certainty that twenty-seven would always come after twenty-six.
One number at a time. One breath at a time.
Until eventually, they became the same thing.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧
Morning came far too quickly. The soft light filtering through the curtains painted pale streaks across my bedroom walls, but it did nothing to make the room feel warmer. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of Barcelona waking up outside my apartment.
Someone dragging a suitcase over the pavement.
Mine felt completely frozen. I didn't even remember falling asleep again after the panic attack. At some point exhaustion had simply won. Every part of my body ached. Not because I was sick, but because panic attacks were cruel like that. They stole your breath while they happened and your energy long after they were over. My head throbbed faintly, my eyes felt swollen, and even lifting the duvet off my body seemed like more effort than it should've been. I turned my head toward the other side of the bed.
Kika had only been gone for four days.
Four days shouldn't have felt like forever.
I wasn't someone who needed constant attention. I liked my own space. I enjoyed quiet mornings and evenings spent reading while she watched football clips for the hundredth time. We could spend hours in the same room without speaking, completely comfortable in the silence. Her presence filled more than any kind of words. No word swould replace the way she holds her book while sipping her tea and staying focused to not make a mess. No words would describe the way she comes back from the training and smiles at me as if i was the only girl on the whole world. No words would ever compare to the soft touches she gives me; the way she plays with my hair and draws on my back. I never ask for any of it. She just knows.
Nights were different though.
Nights reminded me why I hated sleeping alone.
One from my university reminding me about today's maths exam.
Another from my mum asking how revision was going.
The last one was from Kika.
Bom dia, meu amor 💜 you'll smash your exam today. I know how hard you've worked. Call me after, okay? I love you 💜
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth despite everything.
Even while away with Portugal, surrounded by teammates, interviews and training sessions, she somehow always remembered the tiny things.
Mm goodmorning. Good luck at training. I love you too 🤍
I stared at the screen for a while.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Instead, I sent the same boring reply I'd sent every other morning she'd been away.
It was easier that way. I hated worrying people - especially Kika. She had enough on her plate already.
The phone landed back on my bedside table with a soft thud. I stayed there for another ten minutes before forcing myself out of bed.
The apartment was painfully quiet.
Usually, by now, Kika would've been making coffee while singing Portuguese songs horribly off-key. She insisted she sounded amazing.
I'd tease her every single morning anyway.
There would've been cereal left open on the kitchen counter because she never remembered to close the box. Her boots would've been abandoned somewhere in the hallway despite the shoe rack being less than a metre away.
Things I'd do anything to complain about again.
Instead, I made breakfast for one.
Neither tasted like much.
I sat at the kitchen island with my revision notes spread out in front of me, reading the same page over and over without taking in a single word.
Numbers blurred together until they became meaningless symbols.
Pass this, and you will be done.
Don't think about failing.
I rubbed my temples, trying to ignore the tightness building in my chest again.
A sudden knock echoed through the apartment.
No one was supposed to come over.
Followed by the unmistakable sound of someone unlocking the front door.
My stomach dropped. For one terrifying second, every worst-case scenario flashed through my mind.
My head snapped towards the hallway.
I stood so quickly the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Then she appeared around the corner wearing Portugal training gear, a backpack slung over one shoulder and her suitcase rolling behind her.
Her curls were slightly flattened from travelling, and she looked just as surprised to see me frozen in the kitchen as I was to see her standing there.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
"You..." My voice cracked. "You're supposed to be in Portugal."
"I was." She let go of the suitcase and opened her arms instinctively. "But you have a crazy girlfriend who is totally obsessed with you"
I didn't hear another word.
I crossed the kitchen in seconds.
The second her arms wrapped around me, everything I'd been holding together since the middle of the night came crashing down. I buried my face in her shoulder, gripping the back of her hoodie as if letting go would make her disappear again.
She stumbled back half a step from the force of the hug before laughing softly.
Then she stopped laughing.
The way I refused to loosen my grip.
Her arms tightened around me immediately.
One hand slid into my hair while the other rubbed slow circles against my back.
"My love..." her voice was barely above a whisper.
I felt her hand continue its slow path through my hair, her fingers gently untangling the strands before settling at the back of my neck. The other never stopped rubbing circles against my back, steady and unhurried, as if she was silently reminding me that she wasn't going anywhere.
"It's okay," she murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I've got you."
I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell her I was fine, that it wasn't a big deal.
Instead, another sob escaped me "I'm sorry," I choked out.
"No." She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands immediately cupping my face. Her thumbs brushed away tears I hadn't even realised were falling.
"Don't." Her forehead rested against mine. "You never have to apologise for this. For feeling"
I closed my eyes. "I tried to deal with it myself."
"I didn't want to worry you while you were away."
"I had another panic attack."
The words caught me off guard.
She gave me the smallest, saddest smile. "I didn't know for certain." Her thumb stroked my cheek. "But your message this morning wasn't you."
I frowned. "It was only three words."
A soft laugh escaped her. "Also normally you'd say ''Mm'' before ''goodmorning''"
Despite myself, I smiled weakly.
"You tell me my hair looked ridiculous when we called the night before."
"You remind me to eat breakfast."
"You complain that I steal your hoodies."
She smiled when she heard the tiny laugh that followed.
My smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
"I didn't want you thinking about me instead of training."
She sighed softly before pulling me back against her chest. "I was already thinking about you. I always do, amor"
I wrapped my arms around her waist again, this time without desperation - just relief.
"I felt so alone." The admission came out so quietly I wasn't even sure she'd heard it.
"I kept wishing you were here."
She rocked us gently from side to side, barely moving, just enough for the motion to be soothing. It reminded me of being a child, of someone silently promising that the world wasn't ending. "You don't have to be strong all the time," she whispered.
"You don't have to hide the bad nights from me."
I swallowed hard "I just... I hate feeling like a burden."
She leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes "you could never be a burden."
"No." She shook her head firmly. "Listen to me."
Her hands found mine, intertwining our fingers.
"When I score a goal, you're the first person I want to tell."
"When I have a bad training session, you're the one I call."
"When I'm frustrated, scared, homesick... you sit with me through all of it."
"You've never once made me feel like I was too much."
A tear rolled down my cheek.
"So why do you think you could ever be too much for me?"
I didn't have an answer. Because fear isn't logical. Because somewhere along the way I'd convinced myself that loving someone meant protecting them from every ugly part of me.
Kika seemed to understand without me saying a word.
She lifted one of my hands and kissed my knuckles.
Her lips lingered against my skin.
"And especially the version of you that thinks she has to go through everything alone."
The lump in my throat returned.
"You don't have to earn being loved."
Fresh tears spilled down my face, but they felt different now. Lighter.
"I love you," I whispered.
She smiled, brushing her nose against mine.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
We simply stood in the middle of the kitchen, wrapped up in each other, the forgotten coffee growing cold on the counter and my revision notes scattered across the table.
For the first time in days, the apartment didn't feel empty. For the first time since waking from that nightmare, my breathing came easily.
Kika noticed before I did.
"There it is," she whispered with a smile.
She rested a hand lightly against my ribs. "It's slow again."
I took one deliberate breath in.
She counted them with me, not out loud, just by matching the rise and fall of my chest with her own, until our breathing settled into the same gentle rhythm.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧
The drive to campus was quieter than most mornings.
Barcelona drifted past outside the passenger window in slow-moving fragments. Cafés setting out chairs onto the pavement. Cyclists weaving through traffic with the kind of confidence I'd never understand. A florist arranging buckets of fresh flowers outside the shop, bright colours glowing beneath the morning sun. Life carried on as though today wasn't the most important day in the world. I wished I could borrow some of that certainty.
The gentle hum of Kika's car settled into a steady rhythm beneath us. The air conditioning chased away the growing warmth outside, filling the car with cool air that smelled faintly of her vanilla air freshener mixed with the coffee she'd insisted on buying me on the way. Sunlight spilled through the windshield whenever we stopped at traffic lights, washing over the dashboard before climbing slowly across Kika's face. It caught the curve of her cheekbone, warmed the bridge of her nose, and painted golden highlights through the curls escaping her ponytail.
She looked impossibly calm.
One hand rested loosely at the top of the steering wheel, fingers tapping absent-mindedly against the leather every time the song on the radio changed. The other hand was resting on my thigh.
Not trying to distract me.
Her thumb brushed a slow line back and forth through the fabric of my jeans every few moments, almost absentmindedly, like breathing. It wasn't enough to pull my attention away from the anxious thoughts circling my head. It was enough to remind me I wasn't facing them alone. I looked down at her hand. Football had left tiny reminders everywhere. Faint scars across her knuckles and calluses at the base of her fingers. Short nails she'd forever apologised for whenever she accidentally scratched me.
I slipped my hand over hers without really thinking. She smiled immediately not looking away from the road. Just turned her hand beneath mine until our fingers intertwined.
"You've gone very quiet."
She hummed knowingly. Outside, traffic slowed as another red light appeared ahead. Kika eased to a stop, the engine idling softly beneath us.
"You know," she said after a moment, still looking ahead, "when I had my driving test..."
"The woman who parallel parks first time every single time?"
A laugh escaped before I managed to stop it.
"There she is," she murmured.
"I've been waiting for that."
Heat crept into my cheeks.
"I wasn't trying not to."
She squeezed my hand gently.
"I just missed hearing it."
The traffic began moving again.
She shifted gears smoothly, steering us through another roundabout with the same effortless confidence she seemed to do everything with.
"I nearly failed my first theory test too."
"You're making things up."
"You literally just admitted to stalling three times."
"That doesn't help your case."
"I was convinced everyone else knew something I didn't," she continued after a few seconds. "That everyone walked into those tests calm while I was trying to remember how breathing worked."
"And suddenly I can't remember anything."
"You know more than you think."
She glanced at me briefly before looking back to the road.
"What if my mind goes blank?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she guided the car around another corner before speaking. "Then we come home."
I frowned. "...That's it?"
She looked at me as though the answer were obvious. "Of course."
She shrugged one shoulder.
"We order the greasiest takeaway Barcelona has to offer."
Despite myself, I smiled.
She lifted our joined hands briefly before resting them back on my thigh.
"Then tomorrow we'll figure out what comes next."
"So failing doesn't change anything?"
"It changes an exam result."
She glanced at me again, her expression impossibly gentle.
"It doesn't change you. Doesn't define you"
The words settled somewhere deep inside me. I hadn't realised how tightly I'd been measuring my worth against a single piece of paper until that moment. As though every late night, every panic attack, every hour spent staring at equations somehow became meaningless if one exam didn't go perfectly.
Kika had never seen it that way. To her... I was still me.
Whether I passed. Whether I failed. Whether I remembered every formula or forgot them all halfway through the first question.
The university buildings appeared in the distance. My stomach immediately twisted.
"I don't want to get out."
She pulled into a parking space beneath a line of trees, switching off the engine. The sudden silence felt enormous. Students wandered past the car in small groups, laughing over coffees and backpacks slung over one shoulder. Some looked just as nervous as I felt. Others somehow looked excited.
Neither of us moved. Kika unbuckled her seatbelt first before turning slightly towards me.
I leaned across the centre console without hesitation. She met me halfway. One hand cupped the side of my face while the other remained where it had been for most of the journey, resting lightly against my thigh.
"You remember what I told you this morning?"
"'One question at a time.'"
"You don't have to be perfect."
Emotion tightened my throat.
"You just have to keep going."
She brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear before pressing a slow kiss against my forehead. It lingered there for a second longer than usual. As though she could press courage into my skin. When she pulled away, she smiled.
I snorted. "Bit optimistic."
"The woman who somehow knows every football fact ever invented that i don't even know"
She nudged my shoulder gently.
"Now go show those maths questions who's boss."
"I'm fairly certain they'll be the ones showing me."
"I'll be waiting right here afterwards."
"You don't have training?"
She reached for my hand one last time.
"No pretending you're okay if you're not."
"And no walking out alone wondering how it went."
Her thumb brushed across my knuckles.
"You come straight back to me."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Only then did I open the car door. The heat wrapped around me immediately. I adjusted my backpack, closed the door, and looked back through the window.
She was still watching me.
Still exactly where she'd promised she'd be.
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