#awfc

Over the next few weeks, something gradual starts happening between you and Alexia Putellas, slow inches toward each other, the kind that almost feels accidental until one day you realise it absolutely isn’t.

It starts with little things, coffee appearing beside you before meetings because Alexia remembers exactly how you take it, your phone buzzing late at night with random messages in half English half Spanish, photos of ugly little dogs she sees in the street because apparently they remind her of you somehow.

You still haven’t recovered from that insult, neither has she apologised, then it becomes longer conversations after training, lingering in corridors, walking out together without really discussing it first.

The ease between you grows quietly and the flirting becomes a genuine problem, because once Alexia realises you’ll actually flirt back when she pushes enough she becomes relentless.

One morning you arrive early still half asleep, hoodie pulled up, carrying coffee, Alexia looks up from where she’s sitting immediately, “You look cute tired.”

You nearly walk directly into a wall, “What a horrible thing to say to someone before 9am.”

“But true.” Alexia just smiles into her coffee calmly like she hasn’t completely destabilised your nervous system before breakfast.

Another time you’re stretching after training when she walks past behind you and casually presses her hand against the small of your back to squeeze through a gap that absolutely does not require touching you at all.

You nearly forget how human speech works, Alexia notices and gets smug about it immediately, “You okay?”

You glare at her over your shoulder, “Move along.”

“Interesting reaction.”

“You’re deeply irritating.” Her smile only widens.

Sometimes the flirting is quieter though, more dangerous like the afternoon rain traps you both inside after a meeting, and you end up sitting together by the windows watching water run down the glass while the building empties around you.

You’re talking softly about nothing important when Alexia suddenly says, “You smile more now.”

You glance sideways, “That your professional analysis?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I like it.” Simple and direct, the words settle warm beneath your ribs for hours afterwards.

Then there are the moments that almost feel too intimate too quickly, like sitting beside each other in comfortable silence while she reads something on her phone and your knee stays pressed lightly against hers the entire time without either of you moving away. Or the night she comes over to your apartment because you mentioned missing proper tea and she arrives carrying three different boxes she found at an international supermarket twenty minutes away.

“You drove twenty minutes for Yorkshire Tea?”

Alexia shrugs like it’s obvious, “You looked sad.”

You stare at her for a second too long after that, because nobody’s really ever cared about the small things like that before and maybe the worst part is Alexia doesn’t even seem fully aware how affectionate she’s becoming.

How she reaches for you naturally now, touches your arm when she laughs, fixes your hoodie strings absentmindedly while talking, looks for you automatically when she enters rooms. One evening the two of you are walking slowly through the city after dinner, shoulders brushing every few steps.

The teasing, the tension, the growing closeness something else slowly settles too, trust not fully formed yet, still careful in places, still fragile occasionally, but real. Alexia starts letting you see pieces of herself she keeps hidden from most people, the exhaustion after difficult matches, the pressure, the loneliness that comes with being treated like a symbol more than a person sometimes.

And you give pieces back too, your anxiety, the overthinking, the way you disappear into yourself when things become too loud emotionally. Neither of you ever formally acknowledge what’s happening that would probably make it too real, but one night while sitting together on your apartment balcony, Alexia steals your hoodie because she’s cold despite repeatedly insisting she wasn’t cold five minutes earlier.

You watch her pull the sleeves over her hands slightly, she catches you looking, “What?”

You shake your head softly, “Nothing.”

Alexia studies your face for a second, “You look at me soft sometimes.”

Your stomach flips instantly, you laugh weakly through it, “That sounds fake deep.”

“No.” Her eyes stay on yours steadily, “I mean it.”

The city hums quietly below you both, warm air drifting through the balcony and suddenly neither of you are smiling anymore, just looking at each other. Your pulse starts climbing slowly, because the flirting stopped feeling harmless a while ago and you both know it now.

Alexia keeps yawning intermittently through whatever story you’re half telling her, tiny ones she clearly thinks she’s hiding. You smile into your mug, “You’re clearly tired.”

She looks over immediately, eyes narrowing slightly in offence, “No,” she says, voice rougher now from exhaustion, “You just boring.”

You laugh softly and gently shove her shoulder with yours, “Come on.” Standing, you collect both mugs from the little table beside the balcony chairs, “It’s late,” you say over your shoulder, “We should go to bed.”

A beat of silence, “We?”

You glance back. Alexia’s looking at you carefully now from where she’s curled into the corner of the chair wearing your hoodie, like that isn’t already causing enough internal problems for you. “Yes.” One eyebrow lifts slowly, you point lightly toward her with the hand holding the mugs, “You’re mad if you think I’m letting you drive home that tired.” Alexia opens her mouth, you cut her off immediately, “Nope. Absolutely not.”

Her mouth twitches slightly, “You very bossy suddenly.”

“You yawned like six times in ten minutes.”

“Maybe dramatic yawns.”

“Alexia.” That gets a tiny smile out of her, you shake your head fondly before nodding back toward the apartment, “I’ll grab you something to sleep in.”

For a second she just watches you quietly, the soft balcony lighting catches warm against her face, you become very aware of exactly what you just offered. Alexia sleeping in your apartment and in your clothes, your pulse gives one hard stupid thud.

Apparently hers does too, because her gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“You sure?” she asks softly this time.

The question feels bigger than just staying over somehow, you hold her gaze for a second then smile slightly, “I’ll be a good girl and keep my hands to myself,” you tease lightly, “I can do that, you know.”

Alexia laughs quietly under her breath, cheeks faintly pink now, “I not sure I trust this.”

“You wound me.”

“You survive.”

You grin despite yourself before disappearing back inside the apartment toward your bedroom, the second you’re out of sight you put the mugs carefully onto the kitchen counter and stare at the wall for a full five seconds trying to regain control of your nervous system, because there is a very beautiful woman currently sitting on your balcony wearing your hoodie about to sleep in your apartment.

For a second, Alexia Putellas just sits there staring at you from your balcony chair, you realise maybe two seconds too late what you actually just implied. Sharing a bed with Alexia Putellas, your heartbeat immediately becomes problematic. You clear your throat lightly while turning toward the kitchen before your own nerves can fully catch up with you.

“It’s not a big deal,” you call back casually. “You’re half asleep.”

Behind you there’s movement then Alexia’s voice, softer now, “You trust me very much.”

You pause briefly by the sink, rinsing the mugs out mostly just to give yourself something to do with your hands, “I do.”

The honesty leaves your mouth before you really think about it silence follows for a second, when you glance back toward the balcony doorway, Alexia’s watching you carefully again.

That look she gets sometimes lately, the one that feels like she’s trying to understand every thought in your head all at once. You dry your hands slowly against a towel, “You can take the bed,” you say, “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Alexia immediately frowns, “No.”

“It’s my flat.”

“And?”

“And you’re the guest.”

“And you are idiot if you think I let you sleep on sofa in your own home.”

You laugh softly under your breath, “There she is.”

“What?”

“Bossy Alexia.”

She smiles slightly. “You like bossy Alexia.”

You point toward her warningly as you start down the hallway, “Stay there.”

Alexia lifts both hands innocently from where she’s still sitting, “I behave perfectly.”

“Historically inaccurate.”

That earns a soft laugh behind you as you disappear into your bedroom the second you’re alone, you exhale hard and drag both hands down your face. You’re not entirely sure your nervous system is built to survive this, you tug open drawers looking for spare clothes she can sleep in. An oversized hoodie, a pair of shorts.

You stare at them for a second too long before muttering to yourself quietly, “Get a grip.”

When you walk back out, Alexia’s moved inside now, leaning against your kitchen counter scrolling absently through her phone, she looks up immediately when you approach.

You hold the clothes out toward her, “Peace offering.”

Alexia takes them slowly, then looks down at the hoodie then back at you, a tiny smile appears, “You give me favourite hoodie?”

You blink, “How do you know it’s my favourite?”

“You wear it constantly.”

The fact she noticed sends warmth straight into your chest, you lean lightly against the opposite counter trying to ignore it, “Well.” You shrug slightly, “Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”

Alexia’s eyes stay on you for a second longer than necessary, “You do many nice things for me.”

Your pulse stumbles awkwardly, you look away first, rubbing a hand at the back of your neck, “Bathroom’s through there,” you mumble.

Alexia doesn’t move immediately though, you glance back toward her, she’s still watching you, “You really keep hands to yourself?” she asks.

Your eyebrows lift instantly, “You testing me?”

“Maybe.”

You laugh softly in disbelief, “You are genuinely dangerous.”

A slow smile spreads across her face sleepy around the edges now and that combination nearly kills you outright, “You nervous again,” she says quietly.

You shake your head once, “Alexia.”

“Hm?”

“You’re in my apartment wearing my clothes asking questions like that.”

Her smile only deepens slightly “And?”

You stare at her for a long second before huffing a quiet laugh through your nose, “And I’m trying very hard to behave.”

🔴

You end up changing first, mostly because if you stand in the hallway talking to Alexia any longer while she looks at you like that, you’re fairly certain your nervous system will simply shut down completely.

By the time you come back out in an old Arsenal t-shirt and loose shorts, the apartment has gone quieter, softer somehow, bathroom light still glows faintly down the hallway.

You climb into bed with your book mostly because you need something to do with your hands besides think, the duvet feels too warm already. You’re only halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time when the bathroom door opens.

Your eyes lift automatically and immediately regret it, Alexia walks out wearing your clothes, your hoodie hangs slightly oversized on her frame, sleeves pushed up messily to her forearms, dark hair still faintly damp from washing her face.

She looks, you physically stop your own thought process there, dangerous that’s what she looks.

Alexia notices your staring instantly of course, a slow sleepy smile appears, “You read same page for long time.”

You blink once looking sharply back down at your book, “I’m reading perfectly fine actually.”

“Hm.”

You hear her moving closer across the room, the mattress dips a second later as she climbs carefully into the other side of the bed. Your entire body immediately becomes hyperaware of another person beside you, heat, movement.

You keep your eyes aggressively fixed on your book, Alexia shifts onto her side beside you, one arm tucked beneath the pillow watching you openly.

You can feel it without even looking, “You always this tense?” she says

“I’m not tense.”

“You holding book like survival equipment.”

You glance over finally, Alexia’s eyes are warm with amusement now, sleepy too, “You are in my bed,” you remind her quietly.

“Yes.”

“In my clothes.”

“Yes.”

“And you keep staring at me.”

“I enjoy this.”

You drop your head back briefly against the headboard with a soft groan, “This is psychological warfare.”

Alexia laughs quietly beside you the sound settles warm through the room, eventually you manage to focus back on the book for at least a few minutes or pretend to.

Beside you, Alexia grows quieter gradually, the kind of tired quiet where movements slow and breathing softens at one point you glance sideways again and find her already looking at you.

Neither of you speak immediately, "What?”

Alexia’s gaze flicks briefly across your face, “You look peaceful here.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly, because peaceful is not a word anybody’s used for you in a long time. You look down at the pages in your hands again, “Don’t spread that around. Ruins my image.”

Alexia smiles faintly, “Too late.”

Silence settles again, intimate in a way that sneaks up on you, after another minute Alexia shifts slightly closer beneath the duvet, not touching just nearer.

Your pulse notices immediately, “You know,” she says softly into the dim room, “when I first meet you I think maybe you arrogant little defender.”

You snort quietly, “That’s harsh.”

“But now…” You glance toward her again, Alexia’s eyes stay on yours steadily, “Now I think maybe you just lonely sometimes.”

The words hit with terrifying accuracy, you swallow once, then try for humour because that’s safer, “You’re getting far too emotionally observant for my liking.”

Alexia only smiles softly and before you can think of something else to say she reaches over slowly and takes the book from your hands.

You blink, “What are you doing?”

“You not reading.”

“I absolutely was.”

“You read same sentence six times.”

“That feels statistically unlikely.”

Alexia places the book carefully onto the bedside table before settling back against the pillow again, then she looks at you calmly, “Sleep.”

You stare at her for a second, then laugh softly under your breath, “You’re very bossy in my home.”

“Yes.”

“And weirdly you keep getting away with it.”

That earns another small sleepy smile, the room falls quieter after that, you turn onto your side eventually, facing away mostly because facing toward her feels like a genuinely terrible idea.

A few minutes pass, softly behind you, “You still trying behave?”

Your eyes close immediately, “Alexia,” you warn weakly.

You hear her laugh quietly into the dark and you fall asleep smiling.

🔴

Morning arrives slowly, soft winter light spills through the gaps in your curtains, pale gold stretching across the sheets and bedroom floor.

For a few seconds you stay half asleep, warm and comfortable, aware only vaguely that something feels different, there's a weight. A slow blink and suddenly your brain catches up all at once, Alexia. Your eyes open immediately, very carefully, you glance downward.

At some point during the night, Alexia Putellas has moved closer in her sleep, much closer, one arm loosely draped across your waist beneath the duvet, face tucked near your shoulder, one leg tangled lightly with yours.

Your nervous system short circuits instantly, because Alexia Putellas is cuddling you unconsciously in your bed wearing your hoodie. You stare at the ceiling for a solid ten seconds trying to regulate your heartbeat before it wakes her up through sheer force alone.

The worst part is you don’t want to move at all, she’s warm, soft, still deeply asleep by the steady rhythm of her breathing against your shoulder. Something frighteningly tender settles low beneath your ribs, you shift slightly purely because your arm is starting to go numb.

Immediately Alexia makes a tiny sleepy noise and tightens her hold around your waist instinctively, your soul leaves your body, you squeeze your eyes shut briefly.

This is absurd, you are a grown woman, an international footballer and yet somehow reduced to complete emotional collapse because a beautiful Spanish midfielder is holding you in her sleep.

A quiet groan muffles softly against your shoulder then Alexia shifts slightly, brows faintly furrowing as she slowly starts waking up. You freeze instantly her breathing changes first slower and more aware.

Then finally her eyes blink open lazily against your shoulder, for a second she just stays there, still wrapped around you then realisation gradually reaches her too. You physically feel the moment it does, Alexia stills completely, neither of you move.

Then slowly, very slowly, Alexia lifts her head slightly to look at you, her hair is messy, sleep creased faintly across one cheek and somehow she still looks unfairly beautiful.

Your throat feels dry immediately, “Morning,” you say softly.

Alexia blinks once, then again, still clearly buffering mentally, “Hola.”

Her voice is rough with sleep, it nearly kills you, then suddenly awareness fully crashes into her expression. Her eyes widen slightly, because yes she is still fully wrapped around you, one arm around your waist bodies tangled together beneath the duvet.

Alexia pulls back slightly almost immediately, “Sorry.”

The apology comes quick and genuinely flustered, you push yourself up onto one elbow slightly, “No no, it’s okay.”

Alexia sits up slowly beside you now, hair falling messily into her face as she rubs tiredly at her eyes, pink slowly creeps into her cheeks. You stare for a second too long before catching yourself.

Your mouth twitches faintly, “You cuddle apparently.”

Alexia groans quietly and drops her face into her hands, “Oh my god.”

You laugh softly beside her, “I didn’t realise you embarrassed this easily.”

“I not embarrassed.”

“You’re literally hiding.”

“I am resting eyes.”

“That excuse feels weak.”

Alexia peeks at you through her fingers finally and the second she sees your smile her own appears automatically too, it was soft sleepy and real, you are in serious trouble.

Then her eyes flick downward briefly, toward your waist, where her hand had been, where your abs are peaking out from where your shirt had been pushed up, your pulse immediately stutters again.

Alexia notices, of course she does, a tiny smile pulls slowly at the corner of her mouth, “You not move away.”

Your ears burn instantly, “Well,” you mutter. “You seemed comfortable.”

“Hm.”

That sound absolutely should not affect you the way it does. You shove a hand through your hair roughly before climbing out of bed mostly because remaining beside her right now feels increasingly dangerous, “I’m making coffee.”

Alexia watches openly as you move toward the bedroom door, still sitting in your bed, still wearing your hoodie and looking entirely too pleased with herself suddenly, “You smile in morning too.”

You pause briefly in the doorway without turning around, “Coffee first, Putellas.” Her laugh follows you down the hallway anyway.

🔴

The evening had been soft comfortable in the way things had slowly become between you and Alexia lately. She’s stretched along one end of your sofa watching some Spanish drama you can barely follow beyond tone and facial expressions.

You’re half curled into the opposite corner scrolling mindlessly through your phone, occasionally glancing up whenever Alexia mutters commentary under her breath at the television.

“Can I ask question?”

You hum absently without looking up, “Sure.”

A small pause, “You tell your friends we spend time together?”

You answer automatically, “No.” Still not looking up from your screen.

The silence that follows feels strange immediately, “That what I afraid of.”

Your brows pull together, you look over properly now, Alexia’s eyes stay fixed on the television but her posture has gone subtly tense. Your phone lowers slowly into your lap, “What?”

Now she looks at you carefully, like she’s trying to gauge your reaction before you’ve even fully had one.

You stare at her for a second, then lock your phone entirely and set it down, “I thought that’s what you’d want to hear,” you say slowly. “After… well, you know. The whole fanfiction thing.”

Alexia’s expression shifts slightly confused almost, “Why you think this?”

You exhale quietly and stand, suddenly too restless to stay sitting down, “I just want you to trust me, Alexia.”

You move toward the kitchen mostly because you need space from the sudden tight feeling in your chest.

“Writing about you is one thing,” you continue, opening the fridge without even knowing what you’re looking for, “but telling people what you say to me in private are two very different things.”

Behind you, the television volume lowers, “This why you no kiss me.”

You turn immediately, abrupt enough your shoulder nearly clips the fridge door, “What?”

The word comes out softer than you intended, Alexia’s watching you steadily from the sofa now, “You think I no trust you.”

A disbelieving laugh leaves you before you can stop it, “Well when you have said those exact words to me,” you reply sharply, “yeah.”

Alexia sits forward slightly, forearms braced on her knees, “I been testing you.”

The room goes very still, your face tightens immediately, “What?”

Her accent thickens slightly as she continues carefully, “I tell you things. Lies sometimes.” She gestures vaguely. “Then somebody ask you later. See if you say.”

You stare at her, actually stare waiting for the punchline that never comes, your whole face scrunches in disbelief, “That’s completely and utterly fucked up.”

Alexia flinches slightly at your tone, “No”

“No, Alexia, seriously what the fuck?”

“I need know if I trust”

“You tested me?” Your voice rises sharply now despite yourself.

Alexia stands immediately too, “Y/N—”

“You got people to interrogate to me about you to see if I'd gossip?”

“It not interrogation”

“Then what exactly was it?”

Alexia’s frustration starts bleeding through now too, “You not understand how difficult this is for me!”

You laugh harshly, “Oh I understand perfectly actually.”

“No”

“You thought I was going to run around telling people private things about you?”

“You write stories online!” The sentence lands hard you physically recoil slightly like she slapped you, Alexia realises immediately her face shifts, “Not what I mean”

“Then explain it better.”

“I try!”

“No, you’re trying to justify something insane!”

Alexia throws a frustrated hand through her hair, “You no understand because you not me!”

“And you don’t understand because you never gave me a fucking chance!”

Your voice cracks loudly through the apartment, Alexia visibly startles, “Y/N no shout,” she says quickly, accent suddenly thicker again. “I no understand when you shout.”

But you’re too hurt now to stop immediately, “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to make sure you felt safe with me?”

Alexia’s brows pull together trying to follow your faster English, you drag both hands through your hair roughly, pacing now.

“I’ve been so fucking careful with you because I knew the fanfiction thing complicated everything and the whole time you’re setting little traps to see if I fail them?”

“I not trap you”

“You literally lied to me to test me!”

“I was scared!”

“So was I!”

That finally quiets the room the words echo between you both Alexia stills completely, your chest rises hard with breathing now.

You shake your head once slowly, “I let you into my life,” you say quieter now, voice rough, “Into my home.”

Alexia’s expression softens instantly, “Y/N…”

“And all this time you’re sitting there wondering if I’m secretly using you for notes on tumblr”

“No.” She steps forward slightly, “Not using.”

“Then what?”

She struggles for the words now, you can see it happening in real time, the frustration, the panic, the language barrier crashing directly into emotion. “I think…” She presses a hand briefly against her chest searching desperately for English. “I think maybe you know how make people feel safe. And maybe…” Her eyes lift to yours finally. “Maybe that dangerous for me.”

Your anger falters slightly at that only slightly, because underneath everything else, you can hear the honesty in it.

Alexia swallows hard, “I start trust you too much too soon maybe.”

The apartment goes quiet again, you stare at her for a long second at the tension in her shoulders. The genuine fear sitting underneath all of this and somehow that almost makes it worse, because she didn’t do this to hurt you.

You laugh once softly through your nose, humourless, “In trying to see if you could trust me,” you say quietly, “you broke my trust in you.”

The sentence visibly lands hard, Alexia’s face falls immediately, Alexia’s face falls so visibly it almost hurts to look at, but right now you’re too angry to soften toward it.

You shake your head slowly, pacing once across the living room before stopping beside the kitchen counter, “Just when I thought I could make a home here,” you say quietly, voice unsteady now despite your efforts to control it, “be happy…” Alexia stays completely still across from you, you laugh once bitterly through your nose, “I find out you’ve all just been laughing at me behind my back.”

“No”

“I’ve told you things,” you cut across sharply, “that I don’t tell just anyone.” Your chest aches suddenly, because that’s the real wound underneath all of it the fact you’d started letting yourself feel safe with her. “I trusted you.”

Alexia’s eyes shine immediately, “We not laugh at you.”

You shake your head again, “How am I supposed to know that?”

“I promise”

“You got people involved, Alexia.” Her face tightens instantly at that because she knows you’re right.

You rub both hands hard across your face before turning abruptly toward the hallway, you need air anything that isn’t this apartment suddenly feeling ruined around you.

You snatch your keys from the little table near the door, behind you Alexia’s voice comes quick and panicked now, “Where you going?”

“Out.”

“But this your place?”

You let out another hollow laugh while yanking the door open, “Yeah,” you say tightly. “Well that’s how angry I am.”

“Y/N wait—” But you’re already gone. The apartment door slams hard enough behind you to rattle the hallway walls.

🔴

Barcelona at night blurs around you in streaks of orange and white, you drive with no real destination, just movement, hands clenched too tightly around the steering wheel.

The anger keeps shifting shape every few minutes, fury, then hurt, then something uglier underneath both, because the worst part is you understand why she did it. You understand what it must’ve felt like finding out somebody had written about you for years online.

Understand why trust wouldn’t come easy after that, but god, not like this, not testing you. Not setting traps while looking you in the eyes and pretending things were real.

Your jaw tightens painfully, the city eventually thins around you as you drive further out along the coast road, dark sea stretching beside you beneath the night sky.

You pull over abruptly near a quiet overlook and kill the engine silence crashes into the car immediately, only distant waves somewhere below.

Your forehead drops briefly against the steering wheel and the anger fractures enough for the grief underneath it to surface properly, because you really had started building something here. Not just at the club, but you thought with her also.

You’d let yourself believe maybe this city could become home instead of just somewhere Arsenal sent you to disappear.

You’d let yourself want things again, soft things, dangerous things, your phone buzzes against the passenger seat. You already know who it is before looking, Alexia, another buzz immediately after, then another.

You stare at the screen lighting up in the darkness.

Alexia: please answer

Alexia: i sorry

Alexia: i not mean hurt you

You lock the phone without replying and lean back heavily into the seat instead, staring blankly out toward the black water, for the first time since arriving in Barcelona you feel lonely again.

You don’t even notice someone approaching the car at first, too busy staring blankly out toward the sea, too deep inside your own head. The knock against the driver’s side window startles you enough your shoulders tense immediately.

Your head turns sharply, an older woman stands outside beside the car, expression gentle beneath the glow of the streetlamp overhead.

You lower the window slightly, exhaustion already sitting too heavily in your chest to really deal with being recognised right now, “Hola…” she says softly. “Y/N, right?”

You nod once cautiously, not rude. the woman’s face softens immediately like she recognises something in your expression.

Then she places a hand lightly against her chest, “Eli Segura,” she says warmly. “Alexia’s mami.”

Your stomach drops instantly, oh, that’s why she looked familiar, you can see Alexia in her now, especially around the eyes. For one horrible second you wonder if Alexia called her had told her all about you, "Everything okay, my dear?”

You look away toward the dark water briefly, not answering.

Eli studies you for a second longer before speaking again, softer this time, “Home sick?”

Something in the question nearly undoes you unexpectedly but you still, you don’t answer, Eli doesn’t push.

Instead she points lightly over her shoulder toward the quiet little street behind her, “I live just over road,” she says. “Do you want cup of tea?”

You probably should say no. You absolutely should say no. Instead somehow a few minutes later you’re following Alexia Putellas’ mother across the road and into her house.

The home is modest, warm in feeling, nothing remotely extravagant despite her daughter being arguably the biggest name in women’s football.

Family photos line shelves and walls, little bits of Barcelona scattered naturally through the space without feeling staged.

It smells faintly of olive oil and something baked earlier in the evening, Eli chatters softly while leading you toward the kitchen, “Alexia talks about you,” she says casually over her shoulder, “She tells me what good player you are.”

Your chest tightens slightly, you don’t know what to do with that information right now. You glance around quietly while following her, there’s something grounding about the house, something deeply normal.

Eli starts opening cupboards in the kitchen with increasing determination, “Now where did I put them…” she mutters.

You hover awkwardly near the little wooden table before eventually sitting down, a red and white checkered tablecloth covers it, tiny plants sit on the windowsill above the sink.

It feels like somebody’s actual home in a way footballers’ houses sometimes don’t, Eli continues rummaging through cupboards, “Keira used to come over with Lucy,” she says suddenly, then glances back toward you. “Kiera Walsh and Lucy Bronze,” she clarifies helpfully.

You nod faintly with a small polite smile.

“I buy tea for them.” She continues searching, “English tea. Strong tea.” She points vaguely into a cupboard, “Somewhere.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches slightly.

Eli notices immediately, “Ah!” She points triumphantly, “You smile little now.”

You huff quietly through your nose, “That’s generous.”

Eli finally locates the tea bags with visible satisfaction, “It shame it not work out between them,” she says conversationally while filling the kettle.

You lean back slightly in the chair, “Yeah.”

The kitchen settles into quiet for a minute just the sound of the kettle filling, then Eli turns toward you again, gentleness settling into her expression.

“Sugar?”

You nod faintly, “Yes please.”

“Good.” She points at you with the spoon, “English people always want sugar. Alexia drinks coffee like little villain. Very dark. No joy.”

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it, Eli smiles immediately like she’s won something, she slides the mug toward you before sitting opposite at the little table.

The tea is genuinely proper English tea, strong enough to fix emotional damage. You wrap both hands around the mug automatically, letting the warmth settle into your palms.

For a while the conversation stays comfortably random, Eli asks about Barcelona, about whether you’ve found a supermarket you like yet.

You admit you got hopelessly lost walking home from training last week and accidentally ended up near the beach for an hour.

Eli laughs loudly at that, “You have no Barcelona survival instincts yet.”

“Clearly.”

“You need old lady GPS.”

You smile into your tea, “I think that’s just called a mother.”

Eli points at you immediately, “Exactly.”

The kitchen settles warmly around you both, a football match playing quietly somewhere from another room. You find yourself relaxing despite everything, just slightly.

Eli talks easily, about neighbours, about how terrible Barcelona traffic becomes during tourist season.

About how when Alexia was little she used to refuse naps because she thought sleeping meant she’d miss something important.

“That checks out actually,” you mumble into your mug.

Eli laughs, “She still terrible sleeper.”

You nod before you can stop yourself, “I know.”

The words slip out naturally, both of you pause slightly afterward, Eli’s expression softens around the edges, but she doesn’t mention it.

Instead she leans back slightly in her chair, “You know,” she says conversationally, “when Alexia first go away for football…” She gestures vaguely, “Big football. Not little girl football.” A tiny smile, “She cry every night first month.”

Your brows lift immediately, “No way.”

Eli nods seriously, “Every night.” Then she points at you, “Very stubborn even then though. She call me pretending she not crying.” Eli deepens her voice theatrically. “‘Hola Mami. Everything perfect.’” She rolls her eyes affectionately, “Meanwhile sounding like tiny sad pirate.”

You laugh properly at that warm and surprised out of you, you shake your head softly into your tea, “She doesn’t seem like someone who’d admit struggling.”

“No.” Eli’s expression turns knowing. “She likes carry things alone.”

Something about the sentence presses quietly against your chest, because you know that already, you’ve seen it. The way Alexia keeps herself tightly controlled even emotionally, the way vulnerability seems to physically cost her something.

Eli studies you over the rim of her mug for a second, “You do same thing.”

You blink caught off guard, “I don’t think so.”

Eli gives you a look that says she absolutely disagrees, “My dear,” she says softly, “you drove alone at night to sit by sea looking like world ending.”

You glance down at your tea with a faint grimace, “When you say it out loud it sounds dramatic.”

“It was dramatic.” Eli waves a biscuit at you, “Very footballer.”

You snort quietly, “I think I’m just tired.”

Eli’s face softens immediately again, “Yes.” She says it so gently it nearly hurts, “I think maybe you are very tired.”

The lump in your throat arrives suddenly enough you have to look away toward the little kitchen window, because that’s exactly it.

You are tired, tired of proving yourself, of losing homes, of trying to hold yourself together through every change like football hasn’t been slowly pulling pieces out of you for months now.

Eli pretends not to notice your eyes getting suspiciously bright, instead she reaches over and pushes the plate of biscuits closer to you, “Eat,” she orders lightly. “You too skinny for this much emotional suffering.”

A startled laugh breaks out of you, across the table, Eli smiles softly into her tea like that was exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's troubling you so much"

You stare down into your tea instead of at her, for a second you consider brushing it off entirely. Saying it’s nothing, that you’re just tired, but something about this kitchen makes honesty feel easier somehow, maybe because Eli has the same quiet steadiness Alexia has underneath all the sharp edges.

You exhale slowly, “I probably shouldn’t…” You rub your thumb along the side of the mug. “It’s um…” A small grimace pulls at your mouth. “Something with Alexia.”

Eli leans back slightly in her chair, “She hurt you?”

The directness catches you off guard slightly, you hesitate, then nod once, Eli’s face immediately tightens, not angry exactly, “Mhm.”

You look away quickly, “It’s complicated.”

“Everything with my daughter complicated.” That earns the smallest huff of laughter from you, Eli points at you instantly, “See? Already true.”

Your smile fades again after a second though, because the ache is still sitting there heavily underneath everything. “She…” You pause, trying to figure out how to explain something that even sounds ridiculous aloud, “She didn’t trust me.”

Eli goes still quietly across from you.

You continue before you lose the nerve, “She was testing me.”

A crease forms between Eli’s brows, “Testing?”

You nod slowly, “She told me tonight she’d been making up little lies sometimes. Then getting people to ask me about them later to see if I repeated things.”

Eli stares at you for a second, then mutters something sharp and disapproving in Catalan under her breath.

You don’t understand the words, the tone says enough, “She thought because of the fanfiction thing maybe…” Your throat tightens slightly. “Maybe I couldn’t separate private things from fiction.”

Eli exhales heavily through her nose and leans back in her chair, “Oh, Alexia.” Not defensive, more tired like this is an old flaw she recognises immediately.

“She says she was scared,” you admit quietly, “And honestly… I understand why she would be.” Your shoulders lift weakly, “But it still hurt.”

“Of course hurt.”

You finally look up at her then, “She made me feel like every conversation we’ve had was secretly being judged afterward.” Eli nods slowly, listening carefully. You swallow hard, “I’ve spent months trying to make sure she felt safe around me.” Your eyes drop back to the mug again. “And the whole time she was waiting for me to fail some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”

Eli sighs softly, “My daughter…” She shakes her head slightly. “She trust very deeply.” A pause, “But very slowly.”

You huff quietly, “I gathered that.”

Eli smiles faintly for a second before it fades again, “When Alexia loves people…” She taps lightly against the table. “She becomes afraid.” Your chest tightens immediately at the word loves, Eli notices your reaction instantly, “Not only romantic,” she says gently, sparing you slightly, “People she lets close. She lose her father very young,” Eli says quietly after a moment. “After that…” She shrugs faintly. “Trust becomes complicated for her. She likes certainty,” Eli continues. “Control. Knowing things before they hurt her.”

Your jaw tightens because yes, that sounds exactly like Alexia.

“And when she cannot control feelings…” Eli gives you a meaningful little look. “She becomes little stupid sometimes.”

That drags another reluctant smile from you, “She definitely managed the stupid part.”

Eli laughs softly into her tea, “Yes. Then her expression gentles again, “But hurting you was not her intention.”

“I know.”

“And that maybe make it worse.”

You look at her sharply because that’s exactly it, if Alexia had been cruel deliberately, maybe this would feel cleaner somehow.

Instead it just feels sad and messy, Eli watches you carefully for a second before speaking again, “You know what Alexia biggest problem is?” You raise an eyebrow slightly. “She thinks trust is something you prove once.” Eli taps lightly against the table again. “Like passing exam.” She shakes her head. “But trust is choosing somebody again and again.”

The sentence settles heavily into the quiet kitchen, you stare down at your tea for a long moment afterward, “I really liked her.”

Eli’s face softens immediately, “Oh, my dear.”

You sigh quietly and stare down into your tea again, the warmth has started fading from the mug now, “But I’m doubting if any of it was even real.”

Eli’s brows pull together softly, “What mean?”

You swallow once. “How do I know the person I feel for was… her?” Your fingers tighten slightly around the mug. “The things she’d tell me… was that actually her or part of the test?”

The words sound worse once they’re out loud, Eli goes very still across from you.

You shake your head faintly before continuing, “She’d ask me things sometimes. Tell me things.” Your eyes stay fixed downward, “And now I’m sitting here wondering if every vulnerable conversation was actually calculated.” The lump in your throat thickens painfully. “Like was she genuinely opening up to me…” You laugh softly through your nose, humourless. “Or was she just seeing what I’d do with the information?”

Eli watches you carefully for a long moment, slowly she reaches across the little table and places her hand gently over yours, “My dear,” she says softly, “Alexia not smart enough for this much manipulation.”

That startles a laugh out of you unexpectedly Eli squeezes your hand lightly.

“She complicated, yes. Defensive, yes. But fake?” She shakes her head immediately. “No.”

You look down again, “She made me feel stupid tonight.”

“No.” Eli’s voice firms slightly. “She make mistake tonight. Big difference.”

You stare silently at the tablecloth, Eli leans back slightly again, studying you with that same calm gentleness.

“You know how I know feelings real?”

You glance up tiredly, “How?”

“She bring you to me without even knowing.”

Your brows knit slightly, “What?”

Eli gestures vaguely toward the window, toward the street outside, “She drive past here all the time when upset.” A small shrug, “Since she was girl.” Her eyes soften. “Tonight you come here too.”

Something shifts painfully in your chest at that, because you hadn’t even realised or knew this was where her mother live, you just drove and ended up here somehow.

“When Alexia likes somebody…” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “Whole family knows.”

You huff quietly, “I’m not sure that’s reassuring.”

“It should be. We all know about you”

You lean back slightly in the chair, exhaustion suddenly sitting heavily in your bones again. “She looked genuinely upset,” you admit quietly after a moment, “And that’s what’s annoying.”

Eli smiles knowingly, “Yes. Easier if she asshole.”

“Exactly.”

“But unfortunately…” Eli lifts one shoulder lightly. “My daughter is idiot. Not asshole.”

That gets another reluctant laugh from you, you rub tiredly at your face afterward, “I just…” Your voice softens. “I finally started feeling settled here.” The vulnerability in the sentence makes your chest ache immediately afterward, because it’s bigger than Alexia and one fight.

It’s Arsenal. London. Losing a home once already. You don’t think you could survive losing another one this quickly, Eli seems to understand that without you explaining, “You afraid this means you not belong here.”

You blink at her, then nod once silently.

Eli’s expression gentles even further somehow, “My dear,” she says softly, “one difficult night with emotionally constipated footballer does not mean Barcelona stop being home for you.”

A startled laugh escapes you, “Emotionally constipated?”

Eli waves one hand dismissively, “She get it from father.” Then she points toward you. “And maybe you a little too.”

You open your mouth to deny it then close it again, because unfortunately she’s right.

Eli smiles triumphantly into her tea, “Ah. See? Honest now.”

The quiet kitchen settles again for a moment then headlights sweep briefly across the little kitchen window. A second later a car door shuts outside.

Eli glances automatically toward the front of the house, “That be Alexia.”

Your stomach drops instantly, of course it is, you let out a quiet breath through your nose and lean back slightly in the chair, “Well,” you mutter dryly, “me being here doesn’t really help my case.”

Eli looks back at you with faint confusion, “What case?”

“The whole not being obsessed with your daughter for private information thing.”

That earns a full laugh from Eli, “Oh my god,” she says, still laughing slightly. “You young people are exhausting.”

You smile tiredly into your mug, “She already thinks I’m emotionally dangerous apparently.”

Eli waves a dismissive hand, “She thinks everybody emotionally dangerous.”

You suddenly become hyper aware of yourself sitting in Alexia Putellas’ childhood kitchen at nearly midnight drinking tea with her mother after storming out of an argument.

Objectively its an insane situation.

Your pulse starts climbing again automatically, “I should probably go.”

Before you can answer, keys rattle faintly near the front door, then footsteps the familiar sound of someone dropping them on the table near the entrance.

Your chest tightens involuntarily at the recognition of it, Eli watches your face carefully for a second before speaking softly.

“She been driving around too, I think.”

The sentence lands quietly between you somehow that hurts more than if Alexia had just gone home angry. You hear muffled movement in the hallway then Alexia’s tired voice faintly from another room, “Mami?”

Eli answers casually without taking her eyes off you, “In kitchen.”

Footsteps approach, your pulse is suddenly deafening and a second later Alexia Putellas appears in the kitchen doorway.

She stops dead, still in your clothes from earlier, hair slightly messy from repeatedly dragging her hands through it her eyes immediately finding yours, shock flashes across her face first.

Then relief so raw and visible it nearly knocks the breath out of you, “Y/N.”

The way she says your name makes you look away first, because suddenly seeing her upset too makes maintaining your anger significantly harder than it was twenty minutes ago.

Eli stands calmly from the table, “I make more tea,” she announces to absolutely nobody.

Then very deliberately disappears from the kitchen and the kitchen falls painfully quiet after Eli disappears again.

You keep your eyes fixed stubbornly on your mug, Alexia stays near the doorway for a second too long, like she isn’t entirely sure she’s allowed any closer. Neither of you speaks.

The tension sits thick and awkward between you now just sad you can feel Alexia looking at you though. Like she’s trying to figure out whether you’re about to leave again.

A cupboard opens somewhere just outside the kitchen, “Madre de dios…”

The frustrated mutter makes you glance up instinctively.

Eli appears again a second later carrying a packet of biscuits she apparently fought the cupboard for personally, “I swear this kitchen rearrange itself at night,” she complains dramatically while setting them down.

Neither you nor Alexia respond, Eli pauses looks between you both then sighs loudly, “Oh, this terrible.”

Your mouth twitches despite yourself, Alexia finally moves further into the kitchen quietly, leaning against the counter opposite you, still giving you space.

Eli points immediately between you both, “You two act like divorced people in bad television drama.”

“Mami,” Alexia warns softly.

“No, no.” Eli waves a hand dismissively, “I fix atmosphere.”

You stare into your tea to hide the faint smile threatening, Eli notices anyway, “Aha,” she says triumphantly, “English defender still alive.”

Alexia’s eyes flick toward you immediately at that, something softer enters her expression seeing the almost smile.

Eli starts bustling around the kitchen unnecessarily now purely to fill the silence, “You know,” she says conversationally while opening the fridge, “Alexia once cry because fish die.”

Alexia straightens instantly, “Mami.”

“She have funeral.”

You choke slightly on your tea, Alexia closes her eyes briefly in visible suffering, “I was six.”

“She make little speech.”

“Oh my god.”

Eli points toward her daughter with complete delight, “Very emotional speech.”

You’re fully smiling now, Alexia notices immediately, for the first time since the argument, the tension around her shoulders eases slightly too.

“She also used to bite people,” Eli continues helpfully.

“Mami!”

“When angry.”

You laugh quietly, “Honestly that one I believe.”

Alexia points accusingly toward you, “You are supposed support me here.”

“I’m gathering valuable character references.”

“That sound exactly like fanfiction writer thing to say.”

The second the words leave her mouth the room stills immediately and Alexia’s face falls.

Your smile disappears again automatically and across the kitchen Eli closes her eyes briefly like someone witnessing a small car accident in real time.

“Fantastic,” she mutters softly in Spanish.

Alexia pushes away from the counter instantly, “No. I not mean”

“It’s fine.” But your voice closes up again anyway.

You stare back down at the mug in your hands, the hurt rushing back so quickly it almost embarrasses you.

Alexia looks devastated immediately, “Y/N…”

Eli intervenes before either of you can spiral again, “So,” she announces loudly. “Who hungry?” Neither of you answers, Eli points sharply, “No. I refuse this sadness in my kitchen.” She opens a cupboard aggressively, “I make tortilla.”

“Mami, it midnight.”

“And?” Eli shrugs, “Painful emotional conversations need potatoes.”

The kitchen slowly fills with the smell of olive oil and potatoes. Eli moves around with the confidence of somebody who’s cooked the same dish a thousand times before, muttering softly to herself in Catalan while cracking eggs into a bowl.

You sit quietly at the table, Alexia leans against the counter nearby, still too tense and glancing toward you every few seconds like she’s checking you haven’t disappeared again.

Eli notices all of it, “You know,” she says while whisking eggs aggressively, “both of you are exhausting.”

Neither of you respond, Eli points the whisk toward Alexia first.

“You.” Her eyebrows lift sharply, “Very stupid.”

“Mami…”

“No.” She points again, “You do not test people like FBI investigation.”

Alexia exhales quietly through her nose, “I was trying protect myself.”

“And instead hurt somebody.” Alexia goes silent, Eli softens slightly but not much, “You cannot ask honesty from person while secretly checking if they fail.”

You glance down at the table automatically, because hearing somebody else say it so plainly makes the ache flare all over again.

Eli notices that too, immediately her attention swings toward you now, “And you.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, “You run away.”

You blink, “What?”

“You hear something painful and immediately leave.” She gestures with the whisk dramatically, “Very footballer behaviour.”

“I was angry.”

“Yes.” Eli nods firmly, “And hurt. But still.” She points toward the front door, “You disappear.”

You open your mouth then close it again, because annoyingly she’s not wrong either.

Eli resumes cooking with the energy of a woman fully committed to emotionally rehabilitating two deeply avoidant athletes against their will.

“You both do same thing,” she continues. “When scared, you close.” She folds her arms briefly, “Alexia becomes suspicious. You become distant.”

Neither of you argue again because unfortunately its true.

Eli sighs heavily, “Honestly it miracle either of you tell feelings at all.”

Alexia mutters something in Catalan under her breath.

Eli immediately points the spatula at her, “I hear that.” That almost gets a smile out of you again, “You like each other very much,” she says matter of factly.

Your entire body immediately stiffens.

“Mami.”

“No, enough.” Eli shakes her head. “I am old. I see things.”

Alexia rubs tiredly at her forehead, you stare very hard at the tablecloth.

Eli continues completely undeterred, “One of you writes emotional football romance on internet.” She points vaguely toward you. “Other one drives around city crying and testing loyalty like medieval knight.” Then she throws her hands into the air. “And somehow neither capable of simple conversation.”

You choke softly on air, Alexia groans in visible humiliation, “Mami please.”

Eli ignores her completely, “You know what problem is?” she asks while sliding potatoes into the pan.

Neither of you answer.

“You both think trust means never getting hurt.” She shakes her head, “Impossible.”

The sizzling pan fills the brief silence afterward.

Then more quietly, “Trust means believing somebody care even when they hurt you.”

Alexia looks down immediately, your chest tightens painfully, because despite everything you do believe Alexia cares. That’s what makes this so hard.

Eli glances between you both and sighs dramatically again, “Also,” she adds, “you both terrible communicators.”

Alexia looks mildly offended, “I communicate.”

“You absolutely do not,” Eli replies instantly.

You snort unexpectedly into your tea, Alexia points accusingly at you, “Do not encourage her.”

Eli beams immediately, “Ah, there. Better.” Eli flips the tortilla expertly before looking between you both one final time, “No more secret tests,” she tells Alexia firmly.

Alexia nods quietly.

Then Eli looks toward you, “And no more dramatic nighttime ocean exile.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, “No promises.”

Eli points the spatula at you warningly, “English sarcasm not save you here.”

Eli still points the spatula directly at you from across the kitchen, “You Barça,” she says firmly. “You family now. I take no back chat.”

You blink at her, then laugh softly in disbelief, “That’s how this works?”

“Yes.”

“She’s recruited you,” Alexia mutters under her breath from beside the counter.

Eli ignores her instantly, “You come into my house sad, I feed you,” She shrugs one shoulder like this is legally binding. “Family.”

Something in your chest catches unexpectedly hard at the word family, you look down quickly before either of them notices how much that affects you.

Unfortunately Eli notices absolutely everything her expression softens immediately, “There,” she says quietly, pointing the spatula again. “That face. That why you no allowed disappear alone tonight.”

You huff quietly through your nose, “This is emotional blackmail.”

“Yes.”

“At least she’s honest,” Alexia murmurs.

Eli gasps dramatically, “Excuse me? You say this after secret psychological experiments?”

Alexia drags a hand over her face in suffering, “Mami, please stop calling it that.”

“What else I call it?” Eli demands. “You run loyalty test like CIA agent.”

Your shoulders shake with another reluctant laugh, Alexia points toward you accusingly, “You enjoying this far too much now.”

“A little bit.”

She narrows her eyes slightly, “You very annoying when relaxed.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Eli beams between you both like she’s personally repaired international relations, “Much better.”

The tortilla finishes cooking a minute later and Eli starts cutting slices onto plates like feeding the two of you is now a sacred maternal mission.

You accept yours quietly when she places it down in front of you, “Thank you.”

Eli pats your shoulder as she passes, “You too skinny.”

Alexia immediately nods, “Yes.”

You stare at her in betrayal, “Oh, suddenly you agree with her?”

“You are impossible to get to eat properly,” Alexia replies without hesitation.

“You’ve known me like three months.”

“And already stressful.”

Eli laughs loudly while sitting down herself finally, Alexia quietly nudges her knee against yours beneath the table as she sits down, but you don’t move away.

Alexia stays quieter than usual beside you, you notice it immediately.

She answers when Eli speaks to her, occasionally adds something dry under her breath toward you, but mostly she seems content just listening and watching. Probably still trying to figure out exactly how angry you are.

Eli, meanwhile, decides entirely on her own that tonight is apparently about learning everything possible about you.

“So,” she says while cutting another piece of tortilla onto your plate despite your protests, “tell me family.”

You sigh softly, “What about them?”

“How many siblings?”

“One older brother.”

“Close?”

You nod slightly, “Yeah. He lives back in England.”

“Mhm.” Eli settles her chin into her hand. “And mami?”

Your expression softens automatically, “Very close.”

“Ah.” Eli points immediately like she’s solved something, “That why you understand my cooking superior.”

Alexia snorts quietly beside you.

You smile faintly into your drink, “She’s coping surprisingly well with the move actually,” you admit, “Probably because she’s more emotional stable than me.”

Alexia glances sideways at you immediately at that, you ignore it.

Eli continues happily interrogating your life, by the time you’re explaining your niece, you’re relaxed enough not to realise how much you’ve softened until Alexia quietly says, “You smile different talking about her.”

Your eyes flick toward her briefly and she’s already looking at you, the tension in your chest loosens slightly, “She’s three,” you say softly. “Bit obsessed with football already.”

“Because auntie famous footballer.”

“No,” you deadpan, “Because her parents have created a monster.”

Eli laughs warmly, “You have photo?”

You hesitate a second before unlocking your phone, “Better,” you mumble. “Video.” You scroll briefly before finding it, “She calls me Aunty Grumpy,” you explain while handing the phone over.

Eli gasps dramatically, “I have no idea why.”

Alexia actually smiles properly beside you for the first time all evening, Eli slides her glasses on carefully before taking the phone.

The second the video starts, her entire expression melts, on screen, your tiny niece stands in the middle of a living room wearing a Barcelona kit far too big for her, little socks pulled up unevenly, hair half falling out its ponytail grinning directly into the camera.

Behind it, your brother’s wife laughs softly, “Lily,” she says, “what’s the song we sing for Aunty Grumpy now she’s in Barcelona?”

Tiny feet start bouncing immediately, “Barcelona!” Lily shouts excitedly. “With Alexia! Patri! Pina!”

Alexia visibly freezes beside you hearing her own name, Eli looks delighted, “Yeah,” your sister in law laughs behind the camera, “What song do they sing?”

And then your niece starts clapping wildly with absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, “Oh força Barça Aleeeee!” Again but louder. “OH FORÇA BARÇA ALEEEEE!” Bounce bounce bounce, tiny hands smacking together off beat.

Alexia fully covers her mouth trying unsuccessfully not to smile, Eli is openly emotional already, “Ay dios mío…”

Your niece keeps going relentlessly, “FORÇA BARÇA ALEEEEE!”

By now even you’re laughing softly into your hand, “She did this for twenty minutes apparently,” you explain.

“She very committed,” Alexia murmurs beside you, eyes still fixed on the screen.

The video ends with your niece falling sideways into the sofa still chanting, silence settles softly around the kitchen afterward, Eli hands the phone back carefully like it’s something precious, “She beautiful.”

Your chest warms immediately, “Yeah,” you say quietly. “She is.”

Alexia’s still smiling faintly when she looks toward you again, not the careful guarded smile from earlier, “She look just like you,” she says gently.

You glance down at the phone in your hands, then nod once, “Yeah.”

your girlfriend, alessia, name on the back of your shirt and then the next the people were recognising you before they even recognised the players walking past,

it was subtle at first. a double take here. a whisper there.

then-

"y/n? oh my god, hi.. can i get a photo please?"

you blinked at the young girl, startled, instinctively glancing over your shoulder like they must be talking to someone else. but no, the young girls' phones was already halfway raised with a hopeful smile waiting.

"yeah.. yeah, of course," you said, a little shy as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, stepping forwards a little. you were kind of unsure what to do. you'd watched alessia have hundred of times be stopped by people for photos but never yourself.

it should've felt strange and it did the first couple of times it happened. but the thing was, people weren't treating you like a celebrity. they were treating you like... part of it. like you belonged.

—

match days were sacred. they always had been.

you had your routine down to muscle memory at this point: same coffee order, same walk toward the stadium, same seat as you sat in the box with alessia's family with the same quiet buzz settling in your chest as the floodlights came into view.

but there was always a moment, the moment, that made everything else fade.

warm-ups. because that's when alessia would come out.

and without fail, without hesitation, her eyes would lift straight to the stands. straight to you.

it didn't matter how many people were there. whether she was playing in wembley or meadow park, how loud it was, how chaotic, how overwhelming. alessia always found you.

and every single time, you felt it. that tiny, invisible thread pulling between the two of you.

sometimes alessia would give a little wave, subtle and quick. sometimes it was just a look, soft and grounding but enough to say 'i see you'.

and you would smile back, heart already full before the match had even started.

—

the internet, however, had other ideas. it started with edits. then tweets. then entire compilations.

you reacting to goals. you clapping from the stands. you wrapped in an oversized jacket which people knew deep down would be alessia's, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes never leaning the pitch.

people noticed the way you watched alessia. watched her like nothing else existed.

'the way y/n looks at alessia... yeah, that's love.'

'i don't even watch football anymore, i just watch y/n watching football.'

and then, the joke. the one that refused to die and was commented on every one of alessia's posts.

'alessia russo? oh you mean y/n's girlfriend?"

'y/n's girlfriend is playing good atm!'

you discovered that one lying across alessia's chest one evening. alessia sprawled across the couch half watching the tv, half watching you scroll through your phone as you sat between her legs.

you let out a soft snort, reading all the different versions of the comment. alessia glanced down immediately, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sleeve, "what?"

you tilted the phone slightly so alessia could see a little better. then there was a pause, she was reading them. "..that's rude-"

you grinned, shifting so your chin rested properly against alessia's shoulder, "i think it's quite accurate, personally."

"of course you do," alessia huffed, while trying and failing to not smile, "i'm the one who scores the goals for a living."

"and yet," you say start teasingly, eyes sparkling before kissing the corner of her mouth, "you're still only just my girlfriend."

alessia shook her head, but her hand slip up, fingers curling gently at the back of your neck, tugging you just a little closer.

"unbelievable," she murmured but her voice had softened, fond in a way that gave her away completely.

you just tilted your head, brushing a slow kiss along her jaw. "jealous?"

alessia didn't even hesitate. "mhm a little bit."that earned you a quiet laugh, warm and soft, the kind that lingered between them. "you're ridiculous," you whispered.

"yeah, maybe," alessia said, turning her head just enough to catch your lips lightly. "but i'm your ridiculous."

the words barely had time to settle before you kissed her properly this time. deeper, slower. it wasn't rushed or teasing anymore, but something steadier, more certain.

alessia leaned into it instantly, her grip tightening at the back of your neck as she pulled you closer, like she couldn't quite get enough.

you hummed softly against her lips, one hand sliding to alessia's waist, anchoring her there as the kiss lingered—unhurried, warm, familiar in the way only they were.

when the two of you finally pulled back, it wasn't by much. your foreheads brushed, breaths mingling, both of them smiling in that quiet, content way.

"still only just your girlfriend, yeah?" alessia murmured, voice softer now.

you smiled, nudging your nose gently against hers. "for now."

—

after matches, you never rushed off. you waited. always. no matter the weather, rain or shine. you'd wait. even as fans started to recognise you more, gathering near the barriers with hopeful smiles, you'd still wait.

'y/n! could we—just one picture? please!'

'y/n, you looked so nervous during that last corner—'

"oh i wasn't nervous," you'd laugh, even though you absolutely had been. you never said no.

even when it got overwhelming. even when there were more people than you expected. you stayed soft, patient, present—like you couldn't quite believe anyone wanted a piece of your time in the first place.

but the whole time, your eyes flicked back to the tunnel. waiting. looking.

alessia noticed that too. of course she did. she noticed everything about you.

the way you shifted your weight when you were tired. the way you smiled a little too politely when you didn't want to disappoint anyone. the way your fingers curled into the sleeves of whatever you were wearing when the crowd got a little too loud.

so she made it a habit.

no matter what; win, lose, exhausted, buzzing.. she went to you first.

the first time it properly clicked for everyone was after a late winner.

the stadium was still roaring, teammates pulling alessia in every direction but she broke away, scanning the stands with a kind of urgency that didn't go unnoticed.

and then. there. you. hands over her mouth, eyes shining, already halfway leaning over the barrier of meadow park.

alessia didn't slow down. didn't hesitate. she jogged straight over, grin breaking across her face in a way that cameras definitely caught, reaching up to take your hands for just a second.

just long enough.

"you saw that?" alessia laughed, breathless. you shook your head, smiling like you couldn't quite believe it either. "such a show off."

alessia squeezed your fingers. "only for you love."

and then she was gone again pulled back into the chaos but the moment stuck. online, it exploded.

'she scored and immediately went to y/n... yeah i'm unwell.'

'no because why is that so intimate???'

'y/n isn't just a WAG, that's her PERSON.'

'alessia russo: professional footballer, part-time y/n enthusiast.'

later that night, you were curled into alessia's side again, legs tangled, the quiet of your flat wrapping around the two of you.

alessia was scrolling, frowning slightly. you peeked over slightly. "what now?"

"...they've made another edit."

"let me guess," you said, already smiling, ready to joke on. "i'm the main character again."

alessia turned the phone toward you. it was a compilation—you in the stands, you laughing, you reaching out for alessia, all set to soft music.

and right at the end: alessia, looking up at you like you hung the stars. your smile faded into something softer.

"oh."

alessia locked her phone and tossed it aside like it suddenly didn't matter anymore."they don't get it," alessia said quietly.

you frowned slightly. "get what?"

alessia shifted, propping herself up on her elbow, her free hand brushing gently along your cheek. slow, deliberate, like she was memorising you all over again.

"that it's not..." alessia hesitated, searching for the right words. "it's not just you supporting me." your expression softened as you listened to the way she spoke.

"it's you," alessia continued, voice low, steady. "it's always been you. before the noise, before any of this. you show up every single time like it's the most important thing in the world."

you swallowed slightly, her hand coming up to rest over alessia's wrist. "because it is," you said softly.

something in alessia's expression cracked. just a little, just enough to let the affection spill through completely unguarded.

"no one," alessia murmured, leaning in until their foreheads touched, "no one takes top fan from me, yeah?"

you smiled, breath warm where it mingled with hers. "bit possessive, no?"

"very," alessia admitted with a slight smirk. and then she kissed you. not rushed. not playful. just slow, warm, certain like something steady and unshakeable.

you melted into it almost instantly, your hand coming up to rest lightly against alessia's jaw, thumb brushing there in a soft, absent rhythm.

alessia leaned closer without thinking, deepening it just slightly, her other hand sliding from your neck to your shoulder, holding you there like she didn't plan on letting go any time soon.

it was the kind of kiss that lingered. no urgency, no need to prove anything. just the quiet reassurance, built in the way your lips moved together, familiar and easy. you tilted your head, chasing it when alessia shifted slightly, a quiet hum slipping between you both as you smiled into the kiss.

alessia felt it, of course. she always did and it made her soften even more, if that was possible. her thumb traced small, absent patterns against your hip, grounding herself in the moment, in you.

when you both finally pulled back, it was barely an inch close enough that your noses brushed, breaths still shared.

alessia didn't say anything straight away. she just looked at you, eyes softer than before, like the kiss had said everything she'd meant to.

you smiled first, quieter now. “i love you” alessia huffed a small laugh, nudging their noses together again. “i love you so much more."

—

the next match, same routine. same glance up to the stands. same smile. but this time, when alessia scored. she didn’t do her usual jump in the air and then run straight to her teammates.

she tapped the badge on her chest, then pointed straight at you.

clear and intentional. yours.

obviously later on, post match, the internet went wild again.

"y/n’s girlfriend strikes again." plastered across the caption of fan page posting about alessia’s goal

alessia reposted it to her main story, this time with a small photo in the corner which no one else but her had, a sweet photo of you mid-laugh, slightly blurred but completely perfect.

writing a small note underneath it, ‘always her person’

•

yourusername

liked by bethmead and 291,387 others

yourusername don’t mind me just doing my wag duties x

—

user stop guys mother has posted.

user god i wish i could be like y/n’s girlfriend

user but she’s only famous because she’s alessia’s girlfriend?

user who is alessia? i only know y/n’s girlfriend?

alessia love you my girl🩷

yourusername my one and only x

user ugh my parents fr

user ok but like her match fits are to die for

kyracooneycross yeah our little wag😝

---

The idea was Beth Mead's. That should have been your first, second, and third red flag. When Beth has free time, a twisted sense of humor, and a professional makeup kit, the result is never world peace.

“You don’t dare, Y/N. You’re too afraid of the Cap,” Beth said, sitting on a gym stool, twirling a blending brush between her fingers with the smile of an absolute villain.

“It’s not fear, Beth. It’s respect for my physical integrity,” you replied, though you were already letting yourself be convinced. “Leah has that protective instinct that is scary sometimes. If she thinks someone has touched me, she won’t ask for a name; she’ll ask for the nearest hospital.”

“Exactly! That’s the best part,” Beth insisted, leaning toward your face with an eyeshadow palette. “Besides, I want to see if this concealer is as good as they say. Stay still.”

For twenty minutes, Beth worked with the concentration of a surgeon. She mixed deep purples, greenish-yellows for a "healing" effect, and a touch of clear gloss to simulate recent swelling. The result was terrifying. When you looked in the mirror, you let out a gasp.

It looked real.

Too real.

“Does it hurt?” Beth asked dramatically.

“It’s going to hurt when Leah sees this.”

“It’s perfect. Now, get in there, look like the world is ending, and don’t say a word.”

The Arsenal locker room was a chaos of laughter, background music, and the sound of boots hitting the floor. Leah was in the center, one leg resting on the bench, reviewing tactical notes with Kim Little and Katie McCabe.

She was the picture of calm and leadership. You walked in with your shoulders slumped. You didn't look at anyone. You went straight to your locker, which happened to be two meters away from Leah, and began rummaging through your backpack with slow, clumsy movements.

The silence wasn't immediate, but it spread like a virus. First Katie went quiet. Then Kim. And finally, Leah looked up.

“Y/N? We’ve been waiting for you to...”

The sentence froze in mid-air. You saw the color drain from Leah’s face in a second, replaced by a deathly paleness. She dropped the papers on the floor without even noticing.

“Look at me,” Leah said, approaching where you were.

You turned slowly, letting the overhead light highlight the reddish glow and deep purple of your eye. She took a step toward you, her breathing becoming heavy. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to reach for your face, but she stopped before touching you, as if she were afraid to break you.

“Who was it?” Her voice was low, a husky whisper that carried more danger than a scream.

“Leah, really, I’m fine, it was just an incident in the...”

“I said: who... was it?” This time the locker room trembled. Leah turned toward the rest of the players, who were watching the scene with wide eyes.

Beth, who at first was in the back holding back a laugh, stopped smiling when she saw that Leah’s jaw was so tight it looked like it was going to shatter.

“Does anyone want to explain to me why my girlfriend walks into the locker room like this?”

There was absolute silence.

A bottle fell to the floor somewhere.

Leah took another step toward the center of the locker room. “If someone touched her, we’re settling this right now.”

You started to enter real panic. Not because of the makeup. Because of the look in Leah’s eyes. It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't exaggerated. She was ready to fight.

Kim, with the calm of someone who has seen a thousand battles, approached you. She took you by the chin firmly and forced you to look toward the light. She frowned. She dampened her thumb with her water bottle and, before you could react, rubbed it hard against your cheekbone.

“Kim, what are you doing? It hurts her!” Leah shouted, ready to pounce.

Kim held up her thumb. It was stained with a bright purple color that didn't look like blood, but cosmetic.

“Leah,” Kim said, throwing a tired look at Beth, who was now trying to make herself small behind a pile of towels. “Unless Y/N bleeds glitter, I think you should review your combat priorities.”

The silence returned, but this time it was interrupted by a nervous, explosive laugh from Beth. “It’s long-lasting! The manufacturer wasn't lying!” Beth shouted from her hiding place.

Leah stood frozen. She looked at Kim’s finger, then looked at your face where there was now a blurry smudge revealing your intact skin. The air seemed to leave her lungs all at once. She covered her face with her hands and leaned against the locker, letting out a groan of frustration and relief.

“I’m going to kill you,” Leah muttered under her breath. “Both of you. I swear I’m going to kill you.”

Ten minutes later, the locker room was still a hotbed of teasing. “Watch out, here comes Mike Tyson,” Katie told Leah, while the others reenacted the scene of her breakdown.

When the locker room finally began to empty, Leah approached you with a wet wipe and began to clean off the rest of the makeup with extreme gentleness, even though she was still pretending to be angry.

“That wasn't funny, Y/N,” she whispered, avoiding your gaze. “For a moment... I felt like my heart stopped. I thought someone had actually hurt you and you couldn't defend yourself.”

“I’m sorry, really,” you said, taking her hand. “Beth started with the dares and... well, you know how she is.”

“I know. She’s walking chaos. But you should have more common sense.” Leah finally looked you in the eye, and the fury had dissipated, leaving only an immense tenderness. “I almost committed a crime for you today.”

“That’s a bit romantic, don’t you think?” You gave her a quick kiss on the nose. “My knight in shining armor... or Arsenal tracksuit.”

Leah let out a short laugh and wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close. “Don't get used to it. The next time Beth offers you a makeover, tell her you'd rather keep your girlfriend out of jail.”

“I promise,” you laughed, relaxing against her chest. “No more war paint for a while.”

-----

The elevator doors close, and you press the button to go to the bottom level of your apartment building. It was time for your son to go to sleep, but he wasn’t having it, so you thought maybe a walk around the neighbourhood would help. When you get downstairs the elevator dings to let you know it arrived before the door opens. 

The doors open and you’re about to push the stroller out when you notice that your neighbour Leah is waiting to go up with her suitcase. “Hi!” She says with a bright smile, you return a tired one that doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “Hey, how was your holiday?”

“Very nice, and much needed. I don’t want to hold you and little Leo up.” She says looking at the cooing baby in the stroller. “Oh this little guy, I’m just going on a walk to hopefully get him to take his afternoon nap.” 

“Alright, you go do that, the little one needs his sleep. Do you want to come over for a tea later? A little way to thank you for taking care of my apartment while I was gone.” You try to tell her that’s not necessary, but she insists. “And bring the rest of your family too!” She calls after you as the elevator doors are about to close.

Later that afternoon Leah hears a knock on the door while she is on the phone. She quickly makes her way over to the door while keeping her phone conversation going. Her smile grows when she sees you standing on the other side of the door with Leo in your arms. She opens the door wider to invite you in and mouths a quick ‘sorry’ as she steps aside.

You take a seat on the couch while Leah walks to the kitchen with her phone still at her ear. Taking a moment to set up the baby blanket for Leo, so he lay down and wiggle around.

“Hey, sorry for that, work.” She said motioning to her phone before she pockets the device. “Oh you're fine.” You're quick to reassure her. 

“Should I wait for Jess to make some tea?” Leah instantly clocks the change in your expression and posture. How you immediately tensed up, and a sad look took over your features. “Oh no, what happened?” She takes a seat next to you right away.

“She left.” A tear escapes, and you quickly wipe it away. “Two weeks ago, she announced that she didn’t want a kid after all and left us.” 

Leah stares at you in disbelief, “That's horrible, I'm so sorry she did that, and I'm sorry for bringing it up.” You shake your head and wipe away the next tear. “You're fine.” She puts her hand on your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze, “Alright, tea for two coming up.” 

She walks back in with two cups of tea, and sits down next to you again. “Are you alright?” Leah asks when she sees the look on your face. “Yeah, just thinking of how I’m going to be able to do this all on my own when I have to go back to work in two weeks.” 

“I know it’s not the same, but you’re not alone. My offer to watch him on my days off still stands. I’m always just a call away, and often even next door if you need anything.” Her expression was serious, wanting to make sure that you knew she really meant what she said. 

Leah stayed true to her word. The first time you asked her to watch Leo was when you had an appointment at your job, just an hour and a half trip to pick up the stuff that you would need for your first day back, and to catch up with some of your coworkers. When you came back to your place, you found Leo sound asleep on Leah’s chest. The sight warmed your heart, he seemingly enjoyed her company, and you started to think that maybe everything would turn out alright with a little help.

Raising a baby as a single parent was way more expensive than you had anticipated, but Leo deserves the best, so you keep spending most of your income on him and rent, leaving very little for yourself. You keep telling yourself it’s fine though, he needed it to grow. However, your energy levels were getting lower and lower. Maybe that is why you hadn’t noticed that every time Leah had watched Leo, his diapers were restocked, a new baby formula pot would be behind the open one, or the pile of baby clothes in your living room was neatly folded while you thought you still needed to do that. 

Leah had left for England camp this morning, so she wouldn’t be able to help you out for the next couple of weeks. She had given you the phone numbers of her mum and some of her closest friends that would be able to help you if anything would come up, which you were really grateful for. She even came by to say bye to Leo and you before she left.

Maybe an hour or so after she left, she called you. “Hey, so I just got a notification that my groceries are going to be delivered in twenty minutes, I completely forgot to cancel the order. Would you maybe be able to receive the order at my place?” You were still home, so you said that wouldn’t be a problem. “That’s great, thank you so much. Oh, and you can also take the groceries to your place, since they would just go bad at mine. No reason to let perfectly good food go to waste.” You were tearing up at the thought of having a fully stocked fridge, and before you could thank her, you heard huffled voices on the other side of the line before Leah told you she had to go.

When the groceries arrived, all you had to do was sign for them. You took them back to your place to sort out, anything that wouldn’t go bad, you would bring back to Leah’s place later. Just the things that wouldn’t be good by the time she got back you would take.

As you started to unpack, you realised that she had ordered a bunch of things you enjoyed to eat. Not just dinner, but also snacks you loved but had convinced yourself you couldn’t splurge on anymore now that you had to take care of Leo. You thought it was just a coincidence though, Leah probably liked them herself too.

But then you saw it, she had ordered formula, diapers, wipes, baby food, and even some rash creams. That’s when it all started to click. Those random extra packs of wipes that would randomly appear in your diaper bag, or the formula being full when you thought it was almost empty. Leah had been helping you without your knowledge for months. 

The day Leah would get back, you went to the grocery store with the money you had been able to save thanks to her generosity with getting you groceries for the time she was away. It wasn’t a lot, but you wanted to make something to thank her for what she had done for your family.

So, that evening you set up Leo’s high chair in Leah’s apartment and started cooking in her kitchen after you had watered her plants one last time. You knew Leah would come back any moment now, as she had texted to ask if she could come by once she was settled to say hi to Leo, that thought alone warmed your heart. Over these past few months Leah hadn’t just helped the two of you, she genuinely cared for Leo.

The smell of cooking instantly reached Leah as she rolled her suitcase into her apartment. She heads straight to the kitchen, “What’s all this?” She is still surprised to find you cooking in her kitchen. You turn around and smile, “It’s not much, but I wanted to do something to show you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done to help us.” 

You turn the heat down and walk her way to give her a hug, “Thank you.” She tightly hugs you back while making silly faces at Leo, which makes him giggle. You step away and wipe a fallen tear of your cheek. “It smells amazing. Thank you for doing this, I’m starving.”

After sharing a delicious meal, and feeding Leo, you clean up the kitchen together with some Baby Shark playing in the background put on as entertainment for Leo, but the two of you were clearly enjoying it as well.

“Want to stay and watch a movie?” Leah asks when the kitchen is all cleaned up again. “Yeah, I’d love to. Might have to put Leo to bed mid-movie though.” She smiles, “Sounds good, we can adapt along the way.”

Leo reaches out for Leah as soon as you sit down on the couch, and she gladly takes him from you. He settles against her chest instantly, his bright blue eyes staring up at her, as you’re setting up the movie on the TV.

It doesn’t take long before Leo falls asleep in Leah’s arms. You offer to take him from her and bring him to his crib, but Leah says he’s fine to sleep in her arms for however long needed, if that was okay with you too. You couldn’t say no to that offer after seeing the content look on your son’s face.

About halfway to the movie, your eyes start to fall shut. Once your eyes fully fall shut, your head lands softly onto Leah’s shoulder. She smiles while looking between you and Leo, in that moment everything felt so right.

-----

God, these were the longest five minutes of your life. Their bus had already pulled in, they just hadn’t come out yet and just seeing that they were already there didn’t help the nerves.

You really weren’t supposed to do this tour. 

Sure you knew the exhibition, had done the reading, spent lunch breaks standing in its galleries with a brand new notebook in hand, memorising dates and names and the careful phrasing of placards. But it wasn’t your world. 

Your world was in a much older part of the building, in rooms filled with things far older still and much deader ones, where the air felt heavier. 

Not this. Not football. Not living people with living legacies who could look at you and know, instantly, whether you belonged here or not.

However, these exact people were just getting out of their red and white bus. 

Arsenal Women, dressed in dark blue and gold Adidas tracksuits, flanked by staff and trainers.

At the very front was a tall blonde you recognised immediately as Leah Williamson, from all the billboards, ads and interviews but also from the exhibition you were about to guide them through.

And she didn’t look nervous, not even a little bit. Instead you could see the confident smile and slightly raised eyebrows all the way from the top of the stairs you were waiting on.

It only took a few minutes for the gaggle of girls to form a half-circle around you on one of the lower steps of the stairs.

“Uhm, hi! Welcome to the British Museum. I’ll be your guide today… for the, uh, ‘History of Football’ exhibition.’ The curator was supposed to guide you today, but he’s sick, so… I’m well, I’m leading you instead. My usual work’s more… royal history. Dead kings and stuff, I guess.”

A couple of polite ‘hello’s and ‘nice to meet you’s were thrown your way along with friendly smiles. 

“Well anyways, let’s get out of this cold! Please follow me inside!”

Hastily you turned around and held the heavy wooden door open - not for long though before you were gently nudged out of the way by a certain blonde captain. “I got it don’t worry, should get inside your hands look like they’re gonna fall off.” 

You could feel a flush creeping up your neck and decided to hurry inside where the other girls were gathering.

“Uhm… that way’s the cloakroom, if anyone wants to get rid of a… well, you’re not wearing jackets, are you? Anyway, just ignore that.”

One of the girls raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, so this is just a sneaky ploy to make us take our sweaters off, right?” she teased with an irish accent.

You could feel the warmth coming back to your face, waving your hands like a maniac.

“Wha- no! I mean, yes, I mean… no, not at all! I just… the cloakroom is over there, that’s all!” The group giggled, and you felt your stomach twist. Perfect. You were mortified. The happy giggles did however lighten the mood a little once you could actually find it funny yourself. 

“To make it easier we have prepared Name tags, so please take yours.”

The footballers buzz around the table getting their own tags, getting scolded by Leah and some of the older girls when they tried to switch them as a joke.

“Okay,” you tried to quieten the chatter, “Please follow me to the exhibition.” Your steps echoed through the halls, the girls' sneakers a lot quieter than your business casual outfit. 

Behind you, the girls drifted slightly, whispering to each other, nudging displays, and occasionally pressing buttons or tapping at interactive screens. You tried to keep your pace steady, but every time someone moved ahead or paused somewhere unexpected, your notebook instinctively came up, and you muttered to yourself, flipping pages as you went through the exhibition again.

“Right, section one… early clubs… factory teams… 1860s… FA formation… somewhere there.”

Your words came out in a low mumble, but apparently it was audible enough that Katie McCabe snorted behind you. She was the one that had teased you beforehand, but now you had a name to the face.

“You actually read your notes while walking?” she asked, leaning just slightly toward you with that teasing grin.

You looked down and waved a hand trying to distract her. “I… I just.. yes. I need to make sure I say it correctly!”

Leah came up beside you, almost silently. She had been walking slightly behind you the whole time.

“Relax,” Leah murmured quietly, just for you. “You’ve got this.” You gave the blonde a nervous, shaky smile while she looked confident as ever.

“Kyra! It says no touching!”

Your head swiveled around quickly to where the voice came from. One of the younger girls looked at you with wide eyes, scared you’d scold her like the woman next to her, apparently called Kim, had. 

"Oh yes!" Please don’t touch it! It might look really strong and sturdy but the natural oils of our skin and fingers will ruin the protective barrier and damage it.” You smile at Kyra who’s hand was now hovering by her side. 

“Anyways. We made it!” With a dramatic nudge you opened the double doors revealing pure cotton football kits and old leather balls in a vitrine.

Had this exhibition always been this big? Dragging nearly thirty footballers who can’t stand still to save their life made it feel endless - so you tried to make them walk as much as possible, darting from one display case to the next, pointing at old leather balls, photographs, kits behind glass.

Rapidly you went through your notes as fast as possible, a few of the girls wandered off to peek at some interactive displays, tapping buttons, pressing play on old match reels, whispering and nudging each other. 

Kyra leaned against a vitrine and whispered something to Victoria; you caught a hint of a smirk and felt your stomach twist. How do I get them to focus? you wondered. Every step felt like a small battle.

It wasn’t until you reached the Arsenal section that the team’s attention actually peaked. Old kits behind glass, photographs of matches long past, trophies, and press cuttings, their own history, finally caught their eye. 

“This section…” you said, voice steadier now, “is about the Arsenal Football Club. And, well, I know you guys have your very own Arsenal museum, that’s why the curator couldn’t deliver us much stuff from your club.”

Leah, standing at the front and looking more relaxed than anyone else, tilted her head and gave you a small smile, once you let them have a few moments to look around she came closer to you.

“If you’re interested,” she said softly, just to you, “I could show you around there sometime.”

She paused, just for a moment.

“Promise I know my way around.”

Your face heated instantly, and you stumbled over your next words, but she didn’t wait for a reply. She just gave that faint, cocky smile and turned her attention back to the rest of the group. Acting as if nothing had happened while your head was beating out of your chest..

The group wandered on, not staying for long at the Arsenal display. You let them go, it was easier when they moved on their own. Less pressure on you to perform.

You looked down at your notes again, fingers nervously adjusting the corner of the page. “Right,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Arsenal… founded in 1886… originally Dial Square…” Your voice faded as you scanned for the next line.

When you looked up again, most of the group had already moved on. All except one. Leah.

She stood in front of the display case, hands loosely clasped behind her back, head tilted slightly as she studied the shirt.

It was strange, seeing her look at it like that. Not like a footballer but more like a visitor, someone you saw everyday at work.

“You mentioned earlier,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now without the others around, “that this one was worn in the FA Cup final.”

Your stomach dropped but you nodded quickly. “Yes. 1993.”

She hummed softly.

“It was, um, significant because Arsenal won and it sort of established them as…”

“They lost that one.”

You froze, mouth open slightly.

Leah turned her head toward you. “They won the League Cup that year,” she said. “Not the FA Cup.”

Your fingers tightened around your notebook. “Oh.”

Frantically you flipped through your notes.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you said quickly. “I must have… I mean I did read it, I just-,” Your voice cracked slightly, “I mixed them up.”

“I should know it,” you said quietly. “It’s my job.”

The blonde smiled and nodded toward your notebook “You do know it. You’ve done more homework than most people who talk about football.”

Behind her, you could hear the others laughing at something further down the hall.

“You don’t even like football, do you?” she asked.

You hesitated. “Not really.”

Her smile widened slightly. “I could tell.”

Your face burned. “I tried,” you said quickly. “I really did. I read everything. I just- I don’t have the same… emotional connection to it.”

You gestured vaguely to the display.

“But I think it’s nice.”

The England captain frowned slightly.

“What is?”

“That even though it’s not my kind of history, it’s nice that it’s someone else's." Her eyes flicked down to your notebook again. “Means it mattered.”

Voices echoed from further down the exhibition.

“Leah!” You both turned. Katie stood at the end of the hall, hands on her hips. “You abandoning us?”

Leah didn’t look away from you immediately. “Coming,” she called back. Then, quieter, to you; “You should keep going.”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Right. Of course.”

“I was serious, by the way,” she started back up again as you made your way to the beginning of the group together, “About the museum.”

She met your eyes. “I meant it, I could show you around.” Then she smiled and stepped ahead to rejoin her team.

Leaving you standing there for half a second too long before you remembered how to breathe and get yourself together.

Only a few metres further, you noticed a change in the girls. Their interest had finally peaked. The rest of the exhibition had been a blur of drifting players, wandering feet, clicking at interactive screens, and someone occasionally checking the time on their phone, sighing when it had barely moved.

But the moment you rounded the corner into the Women’s Football section, everything changed.

The chatter quieted and their hurried steps slowed.

Because these players… they knew this.

This was their story.

“I don’t think I have to explain much here, seeing as you already know a lot about this part. However, the Museum, the curator and myself want to thank you guys, but also your club for being so helpful and putting a lot of stuff forward so we can put it on show.”

The team had quietened, looking at you in the middle of the room.

“I’ll leave you guys to look at everything in your own time, I’ll just be over here if anyone has questions or, yeah… Questions. Uhm.. enjoy!” It didn’t need more for them to spread out again.

Now you finally took the time to also really look at the objects and pictures in this part of the exhibition - up until now you had been so focused on getting everything right that you didn’t do the thing you tell your visitors to do.

Experience History.

So you looked, you really looked at the pictures. And in it you could find some of the girls right here in front of you. Lotte, Beth, Alessia, Chloe and of course Leah.

“That’s from when we won the Euros in 2022 on home-soil.” Leah’s voice was deeper, and raspier than before - thick with emotions.

“Must have been incredible,” you gulped at how close she had gotten, “you guys won again though, no?”

“Yeah, 2025 in Switzerland. Hard beating the feeling of doing it for the first time and at home though.”

You nodded. That sounded fair enough. Sure, you couldn’t really understand the feeling, but you understood the idea of it.

“Is it strange?” you asked softly.

She frowned slightly. “What?”

“Seeing yourself in a museum.”

“Yeah,” she huffed a small laugh through her nose. “Really weird. Feels like it happened to someone else.”

You shook your head slightly.

“But it didn’t.”

She looked at you.

“It happened to you.”

You gestured toward the photograph.

“And if I see correctly, even as captain,” you added, nodding toward the rainbow armband wrapped around her upper arm in the picture, “you wrote history.”

“Yeah we did. I did.”

The blonde looked at the pictures like she was in disbelief and it didn’t happen just four years ago. “We always said that. That we wrote history and now we’re in a fucking museum,” she smiled sheepishly, “pardon my language.”

“So proper of you,” you giggled at the stunned footballer who was, for once, now the one blushing. “Yeah well. I don’t wanna swear at pretty girls in pant-suits at their workplace while I’m in a sweatsuit. Feels terrible."

That made you laugh even more. “I don’t like these either, just feel underdressed next to the other people here if I don’t dress up.”

She chuckled, “Well you look like you belong here.”

That caught you off-guard because you really didn’t belong in this exhibition or even in this wing of the museum, “Well uhm usually I’m like two floors down with all the dead royals and stuff.”

Leah shrugged, “Well, it still fits.” She glanced around the exhibition. “All of this,” she gestured vaguely, “it only exists because people wouldn’t let it be forgotten.”

You followed her gaze. “And because people kept it,” you added.

She looked back at you. “I guess that’s kinda your job.”

You felt your heart stutter slightly. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “I suppose it is but people like me need people like you who keep history alive and advance further.”

Before Leah could answer, Katie’s voice cut through the room.

“Are we done yet or are you two becoming part of the exhibition?”

Leah rolled her eyes. “We’re coming,” she called.

You straightened instinctively, slipping back into your role.

“Right,” you said, clapping your hands together once, softer than you meant to. “If everyone would like to follow me, we’re heading to the end now.”

By the time you led them back toward the entrance hall, the noise had returned. Easy chatter, quiet laughter, the sound of trainers against polished floors.

You stopped near the doors where it had all begun.

“And… that concludes the tour,” you said. Your voice came out steadier than at the beginning. “Thank you for being such a… cooperative group.” Half of the group snorted - at least they were self aware.

“And thank you,” you added, more sincerely now, “for trusting us with your history.”

You watched the girls leave and thanked the ones that came up to you personally before saying goodbye.

“You never answered me.”

Leah stood a step behind you, hands in her pockets, shoulders relaxed.

“About what?” you asked.

“My museum.” Oh, Right. Your stomach flipped.

“I meant it,” she said. “I’d show you around.” She tilted her head slightly. “But,” she added, “only if you show me yours.”

You frowned faintly. “My… museum?”

“The dead kings and stuff.” You let out a small, surprised laugh. “Oh.”

Not the exhibition you’d memorised for her. She wanted to see the one you loved.

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“I want to.”

You nodded.

“Okay.”

Her smile widened, smaller than her usual confident grin, but warmer.

“Okay,” she echoed.

From outside, Katie’s voice shouted through the open doors, “Leah! We’re leaving!”

Leah didn’t look away from you. “Guess I’ll have to come back.” And with a quick kiss to your cheek, she was gone before you could even react, out the door and on her way to her teammates.

Leaving you stunned with warm cheeks and an unstoppable smile so big that your cheeks hurt.