#barca

Bayern had already arrived and spread out by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for the pre-match inspection, players and staff scattered across the field with the easy confidence of people standing on familiar ground. It was their stadium after all, their territory, and they carried themselves like they belonged there.

But Alexia could see the nerves lying beneath the surface, no matter how brave and intimidating Bayern tried to appear - she wasn’t scared, and neither was the rest of the team.

Pitch inspections had become routine to her. A chance to feel the grass beneath her shoes, feel it in her hands, adjust to the atmosphere of the still empty stadium and see her opponents before kickoff. But as Barcelona spread out across the pitch, the blonde's attention caught on someone standing near a goalpost.

While most of Bayern’s training staff stood huddled together near the bench, already relaxed and laughing amongst themselves, one lone figure had wandered further onto the pitch entirely on her own. An iPad was tucked securely beneath her arm while she held a notebook and pen in her hands. 

If not for the moving pen in her hand, Alexia might have mistaken her for a statue with how still she was standing. Not even looking down to see what she was writing, instead completely focused on how the girls from Barcelona behaved and moved on the pitch - even if they were just walking around and joking.

Alexia found herself staring at the mystery woman much more than she should.

The difference between her and the rest of the Bayern staff felt unsettling to the captain - so concentrated and isolated while the rest were already done with the inspection and were just chatting in a corner.

“Who is that?” Alexia asked quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Mapi followed her gaze and shrugged. “No idea. Maybe an analyst? Bayern’s got like five of them.”

She didn’t really expect her teammate to have a useful answer but was disappointed by the answer nonetheless. Just as she was about to tell her as much, she felt a stare settle on her.

Alexia looked up, and the stare didn’t falter. She was still and composed, pen hovering above her notebook, as if she had been studying Alexia just as closely as Alexia had been studying her. 

The moment stretched for only a few seconds, but it was enough to feel deliberate, neither of them in a hurry to look away first. Then, almost casually, the woman lowered her gaze back to her notebook, breaking the connection with a small shift of her shoulders before continuing to write as if nothing had happened at all - but Alexia could see the small smirk on her lips.

The blonde frowned slightly.

She had expected something. A reaction, a flicker of recognition, anything that showed the woman knew exactly who she was - Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d’Or winner, with more than enough titles under her belt to intimidate most opponents. 

But there was nothing.

“She’s weird,” Patri muttered, having just caught the end of her captain’s interaction. If you could even call it that.

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were still fixed on the goal area, watching the way the woman moved a few steps closer, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing down.

Then, without really thinking about it anymore, Alexia turned her head slightly. “Bühl?” she called as the German approached them. 

Klara Bühl looked over. “Hm?”

Alexia nodded subtly towards where the woman had just sat down, leaning against a goal post “Who is she?”

Klara followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh, like the answer was obvious. “Oh,” she said, “that’s our tactical assistant coach. She basically runs half our tactical prep.”

Alexia’s eyes drifted back toward the goalpost almost immediately.

The woman still hadn’t moved much, now sitting against the white metal frame with one knee pulled up slightly while she wrote something down across an already crowded page of notes. Every now and then her gaze flicked back toward Barcelona’s players, focused and thoughtful in a way the Catalan found increasingly difficult to ignore.

And before she could properly think things through her feet were already moving towards you.

“Oh my god,” Patri groaned somewhere behind her. “You’re actually going over there?”

The woman noticed her approach long before Alexia reached her and just stared at her while she was making her way over. Before the captain had reached her, she had stood up, the pen had stilled and the notebook had been closed and vanished into a coat pocket.

Up close, she looked younger than Alexia expected, however the stare didn’t waver and was still scary as hell.

For a moment neither of them spoke, just sizing each other up. But the blonde broke first, nodding to the coat pocket, “Find anything useful?”

The corner of the woman’s mouth lifted slightly.

“That depends,” she replied smoothly, finally closing the notebook. “Are you planning on making this easy for us?”

The faint smirk still lingered on your lips, subtle enough that Alexia almost thought she had imagined it, but there was something undeniably amused in the way you watched her now, as though her walking over had only confirmed whatever conclusion you had already come to.

“Confident,” Alexia noted lightly.

One of your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”. The Catalan found herself caught off guard for half a second by how easily you held your ground beneath her stare.

Up close, you somehow seemed even calmer than before, completely unaffected by the fact that the Alexia Putellas was standing directly in front of you. There was no nervousness in your expression, no awkward fumbling for words.

And it unsettled her more than she cared to admit, how your eyes seemed to constantly analyse her.

“What exactly are you writing down?” Alexia asked after a moment, nodding subtly toward the notebook now tucked away inside your coat pocket.

You tilted your head slightly, considering her question for a second before answering.

“Tactical adjustments, patterns, weaknesses.” That small smirk appeared again, just barely visible at the corner of your mouth. “And maybe,” you said smoothly, “which Barcelona players are easier to distract than others.”

Before she could respond, someone further down the pitch called your name sharply and said something in German. Your attention shifted immediately toward the Bayern bench before returning to Alexia one last time.

“You should probably go warm up properly, Putellas,” you said calmly as you stepped around her. “I’d hate for all those Ballon d'Ors to lose against Bayern.”

Then you walked away before Alexia could think of an answer good enough to stop you.

Usually warming up before the match was calming, and helped Alexia focus on the game. The familiar rhythm of drills, repeated movement and stretching were addicting to her, but this night was different, no matter what the blonde tried her attention kept drifting off.

The stadium was slowly filling up with supporters clad in red and white, while music echoed through the speakers - just enough to entertain the people but, but quiet enough that conversations were easy to overhear.

Barcelona had been warming up for nearly ten minutes before the Bayern staff started to take their places on the bench and behind it. Her eyes immediately found your figure again - the reason for her distraction.

Just behind you was a woman that appeared to be close to your age, also dressed in staff gear, holding a cooler of Powerade while you walked slightly ahead, flipping through the notebook with concentration.

Alexia could hear the woman talk to you in English, the Brit was loud enough that her words made their way over to the captain, but she only caught part of it at first.

“... seriously need to relax.”

She could only scoff at the woman’s words. Relax? You certainly didn’t look stressed. You barely looked up from the page. “I am relaxed.” 

The woman snorted beside you. “Right. Because stalking Barcelona’s warmup from the goalpost definitely screams relaxed.”

Alexia’s mouth twitched despite herself, just a bit amused at how passionately you had watched them.

You finally glanced sideways at the woman with weary eyes. “It’s called tactical preparation.”

“Sure,” she said dryly. “And I’m sure your actual coaches appreciate their little overachiever assistant doing all the hard work for them.”

Something about the comment immediately bothered Alexia.

Maybe because of how quickly you went quiet afterward. Or maybe because Alexia had already spent enough time watching Bayern’s technical area to know your role clearly extended far beyond “assistant” and that it simply wasn’t true.

You only stood quiet at the comment, eyes already dropping back to your notes. The woman sighed quite loud and dramatically. “God, you’re impossible before matches,” then, quieter this time, “You act like you’re the one actually coaching.”

Alexia’s jaw tightened, her eyes locking onto the British woman beside you. Because from everything she had seen so far, it certainly looked like you were coaching and analysing.

And judging by the way your shoulders stiffened almost immediately beside the woman, this clearly wasn’t the first time she had said something like that.

Eight minutes.

It had taken Barcelona all of eight minutes to be ahead. 

The stadium erupted instantly in anger, as Ewa Pajor disappeared beneath a crowd of celebrating Barcelona players. If there’s one thing the polish woman knew how to do, it’s score goals, especially against Bayern. No matter if in Barça’s blaugrana or Wolfsburg’s neon green.

Alexia patted the goalscorers back with pride and satisfaction while her gaze swept to the sideline where the Bayern bench looked shocked.

The head coach was already speaking rapidly to one of the assistants beside him, frustration clear in every sharp movement, but you had gone strangely still again, eyes locked onto the pitch with that same intense concentration Alexia remembered from the inspection earlier.

And then suddenly you moved - the notebook was gone, replaced by the iPad tucked beneath your arm as you stepped directly into the technical area beside the coach, who stopped talking immediately. 

The Catalan didn’t have more time to observe your actions closely as play resumed, she did however see Giulia Gwinn make her way over to you in the coaches box, where she listened to your instructions.

Bayern’s shape changed almost instantly after Gwinn made her way back and made a few gestures that clearly meant something to the others. 

The midfield line dropped slightly deeper whenever Barcelona tried building through the center, forcing them wider instead. Bayern’s strong and experienced wingers stopped tracking aggressively and started blocking passing lanes first - effectively shutting every attempt on goal down.

Alexia frowned slightly as she jogged back into position after another corner, eyes flicking toward the bench area again. The head coach had stepped back already but you hadn’t.

You were still standing near the line, one arm folded across your chest while the other held the iPad against your side, eyes constantly moving across the pitch as Bayern reorganised themselves exactly the way you had indicated moments earlier.

You were observing and shaping the game. Just as a content smile made its way onto your face the Brit tugged you back by the jacket, out of Alexia’s sight.

The whistle for halftime couldn’t have come sooner, finally letting you breathe for a moment as Barcelona still led, but only barely. The home team's adjustment had worked well enough to slow the game down, much to the frustration of the Spanish team.

As Alexia made her way toward the tunnel, she found you again - hands full with an iPad, notebooks and a tactical board. You flinched when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. 

“Nice adjustment,” she said casually, her spanish lilt soft in your ears. For the first time all evening, you looked genuinely surprised. Then your expression settled back into something smoother, more controlled, though Alexia didn’t miss the faint satisfaction that flickered across your face at the compliment.

“Careful, Putellas,” you replied lightly. “People might start thinking you enjoy talking to me.”

Alexia’s mouth twitched upward, a cocky smirk settling on her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.” And before you could answer that one, she disappeared further down the tunnel alongside the rest of Barcelona’s squad.

The second half started much messier than the first had ended. Barça still had most of the possession, moving the ball across the pitch with the same irritating patience and speed that had frustrated Bayern in the first half. But the home side looked sharper, hungrier. 

The equalizer came in the sixty-ninth minute. The Allianz Arena exploded in cheers, the second Franzi Kett buried the ball into the back of the net with a stunning shot assisted by Pernille Harder. Bayern's bench erupted into chaos, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

Alexia swore quietly under her breath while Bayern’s players disappeared into celebration near the corner flag. And despite her teammates teasing comments from earlier, her eyes searched for you again. For the first time all evening, you weren’t composed, no you looked thrilled.

One of Bayern’s assistant coaches grabbed your shoulders excitedly while players on the bench shouted toward you, and for a brief moment you laughed openly, the sound completely swallowed by the roaring stadium around you.

Your face looked much softer when you were this happy.

However, the game turned ugly quickly after that.

The foul happened directly in front of the sideline with the team benches and the coaches boxes. One second Franziska Kett was desperately trying to recover against Salma Paralluelo, the next Salma hit the ground with an angry shout as she held up some strands of hair - the referee’s whistle cut sharply through the stadium noise. 

At first, nobody seemed too worried - only a couple of weeks earlier Katie McCabe didn’t get anything for her action.

Then the referee reached into her pocket.

Red.

The entire stadium erupted instantly.

Bayern players crowded the referee almost immediately while the Barcelona bench shouted for the decision to stand, and a few meters away Kett looked completely stunned as she backed away slowly with both hands pressed against her head.

José Barcala was already storming out of the coaches box furiously, shouting so aggressively toward the ref that everyone could hear it. Several staff members tried unsuccessfully to calm him down, but the Bayern coach only grew louder. 

Then came the second red card.

The stadium noise somehow became even louder.

Barcala stared at the referee in disbelief before being forced away from the sideline by security and staff members alike, still shouting over his shoulder while Bayern’s bench dissolved into confusion around him.

You were already stepping forward before Barcala had even fully disappeared down the sideline tunnel, one hand reaching automatically for the tactical board while Bayern’s assistants and players turned toward you. 

Alexia watched as you spoke rapidly in German, pointing sharply toward the pitch while Bayern’s players looked uncertain, now a player down and desperately trying to reorganize.

A strange thrill settled low in Alexia’s chest as your eyes lifted briefly from the tactical board and met hers across the pitch again. In the middle of complete chaos, you looked terrifyingly calm and completely happy.

The final whistle finally released the high strung tension of the crowd. The Allianz Arena erupted into a relieved applause as Bayern’s players collapsed into each other, congratulating themselves on making it through the game.

After saying good game to her opponents and teammates alike Alexia made her way back over to where you were standing on the pitch. The captain pointedly ignored Pina’s wiggling eyebrows. You looked tired for the first time since she’s met you, while your fellow staff celebrated.

“That was good,” Alexia said as she stopped in front of you, slightly breathless. “Very good.” Your eyebrows only lifted a bit in surprise at the kind words. “We still only drew.”

“Sí, but after all this?” Alexia gestured vaguely toward the pitch with a small scoff. “With ten players and crazy coach?” A grin pulled at her lips. “Vale, maybe you save them a little.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head, knowing damn well that the catalan herself wasn’t happy with a draw, always wanting to win.

Before you could make her aware of her hypocrisy, the British woman from earlier suddenly appeared beside you again, a possessive hand on your shoulder. Well, she hadn’t exactly materialized out of nowhere, but Alexia had been far too busy admiring your smile to notice the woman approaching. 

“There you are,” she sighed dramatically in a heavy English accent before finally noticing Alexia properly. “Oh.” You straightened slightly. “Alexia, this is Emma.”

“Her girlfriend,” Emma added smoothly before you could say anything else. Well. That certainly wasn’t what the footballer wanted to hear, but she could see something unreadable flicker across your face for the briefest second.

Emma, meanwhile, looked far too pleased by the attention she had gotten by such a prominent figure of women's football. “I handle travel schedules and staff accreditation for the club,” she explained quickly. “Matchday logistics mostly.”

Alexia blinked once. Because the way Emma had been talking and behaving all evening, she had half expected her to be running Bayern herself. 

Then Emma laughed lightly, nudging your side. “She takes football way too seriously honestly. I swear she cares more about tactics than actual people sometimes.” 

“Hmm.” A faint smirk pulled at her lips. “One organises buses, the other organises football.” 

Emma’s smile faltered slightly and for the first time all evening, she didn’t seem to have a response ready. “Right,” she muttered after a second, patting your shoulder once more before stepping away toward the rest of Bayern’s staff.

The Catalan looked back at you with a much softer smile now.

“So,” she said casually, switching the conversation back where she wanted it, “you like Spain?” Your head lifted again, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”

Alexia grinned faintly. “Barcelona.” She shrugged. “Maybe one day we steal you, no?”

This time your laugh sounded more genuine as you tilted your head, “Can Barcelona even afford me?” you asked lightly.

Alexia’s grin only widened.

“For you?” she said smoothly. “Vale. Maybe I ask president personally, huh?”

27th of April - Barça Training Facilities, Barcelona Spain

Back in Barcelona the analysis session had been over for nearly 20 minutes, but Alexia was still there, reviewing their lines against Bayern and what went wrong. Pere Romeu stood beside her, arms folded as he watched his captain re-watch the game again and again.

“The adjustment they made after our goal, that wasn’t Barcala,” she said suddenly.

Pere glanced over briefly. “Hm?”

Alexia pointed on the screen where she could see you talk to Gwinn, giving her the changes they were supposed to make. “That was her.”

A small smile pulled at the coach’s mouth, like he had been waiting for somebody else to notice. “She’s good,” he admitted simply.

She crossed her arms loosely. “You need another assistant?”

That earned her a proper look this time. Pere leaned back slightly against the desk. “Why? Are you recruiting for me now?”

“Maybe,” Alexia replied without shame.

The older man laughed quietly before glancing back toward the frozen image on the screen where you stood near the sideline, iPad tucked beneath your arm.

“She already applied.”

Alexia blinked.

“What?”

“For next season,” Pere clarified casually. “Not officially finalized yet, but we’ve been watching her for a while.” Something strange twisted low in Alexia’s chest at that. “She wants to leave Bayern?”

Pere shrugged lightly. “From what I heard, Bayern’s not exactly trying very hard to keep her, and they’re losing a few of their core players of the last few seasons as well.”

“Well,” she said lightly, already turning toward the door, “sounds like Barça will be happy about that.” 

02nd of May 2026 - Barça Press room, Barcelona Spain

The heat in the press room felt unbearable in preparation for the second leg of the semi final, now in Barcelona. Not only the heat of so many people in a room without windows, the bright lights or the cameras heating up, but also the what of the questions.

Alexia sat upright beside Pere Romeu, hands loosely clasped in front of her, though she wasn’t really listening to the final questions anymore, her attention drifting in small, toward the other side of the table where you were sitting with Klara Bühl and bombarded with questions about the red cards and how you’ll move on from it as a team.

“Alexia,” a journalist called from somewhere in the middle rows, voice cutting cleanly through the room as the last of the movement settled, “in matches like this, how much do you think influence from the bench actually changes what happens on the pitch, especially when the coaching structure shifts during the game?”

Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, hands still loosely interlaced, listening properly this time and taking a moment before she answered.

“It depends,” she began slowly, slightly measured, “but in games like this… you can feel when something changes from outside, no?”

She paused for a second, searching for the right word, eyebrows drawing together slightly.

“Like… hm… how do you say… when someone is seeing the game before it happens?” She glanced briefly toward Pere, then shook her head lightly, continuing anyway. “Sometimes it is not the coach shouting, it is someone who is… already there, mentally.”

“And that kind of influence can decide matches?” The question came again, a bit sharper now.

Alexia exhaled softly through her nose, almost amused.

“Sí… It can be very dangerous, or very good. If you understand football like that… you don’t need to be on the pitch to change everything.”

The end of the press conference couldn’t have come sooner in your opinion, as chairs were scraping back and journalists started talking to each other.

Alexia stood with Pere, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder when she saw you pass just a little too close to the edge of the exit path, holding one of your notebooks against your chest.

The hallway outside was quieter, dimmer after the harsh lights of the press room, the noise of voices bouncing further down toward the exit. Pere was a step ahead of her, when a movement at the edge of the corridor near a side passage caught her eyes. The blonde gestured to her coach that she would see him tomorrow, telling him she wanted to use the washroom before leaving.

In front of the bathroom you sat on a bench, files iPads and notebooks stacked on top of each other as one of them dropped. With a soft slap of paper and leather it landed on the florór, sliding slightly before coming to rest near the wall. 

Alexia got to it first, picked it up and looked at the open page. Your handwriting was dense, chaotic and a mess of german and english.

A small sound left her, halfway between amusement and disbelief at seeing her name in there. “Hm,” she said quietly, tilting the notebook slightly so you could see what she was looking at.

You shifted instantly. “That’s private.”

“No,” Alexia replied easily, finally looking up at you with far too much confidence for someone currently invading your privacy, “I think maybe you should watch us again, vale?”

“I watched you for ninety minutes.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head slightly, unconvinced. “Not enough, clearly.”

The smugness in her voice only made you step forward quicker, reaching for the notebook before she could continue embarrassing you further, but the second your fingers nearly brushed the paper, Alexia reacted faster.

Her hand closed around your forearm smoothly, almost lazily, while her other arm lifted the notebook higher and further away from you in the same motion.

The movement was so effortless it completely caught you off guard with how easy it clearly was for her.

Her hand was large and warm against your skin in the cold hallway, fingers firm around your arm while she held you back without even properly looking like she was trying, and for one brief second your body simply stopped responding the way you wanted it to.

Alexia noticed the lack of bite coming her way, and looked at you again - amused by the flicker of surprise across your face and the way your eyes darted down toward where she was holding you before lifting back up to her again.

And the smile that spread across her face after that was unbearably smug. “Ah,” she said softly, amusement dripping through every syllable now, “mira eso.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“If I knew you go this quiet when I hold you like this,” she continued, voice lower now, teasing in a way that made heat crawl annoyingly fast into your face, “maybe I do it earlier, hm?”

Your mouth fell open slightly in disbelief.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying once more to tug your arm back, only for Alexia’s grip to tighten just enough to stop you again with ridiculous ease.

“Sí,” she agreed immediately, completely unashamed. “But you are still trying.”

The worst part was that she looked entirely too pleased with herself now, dark eyes flicking between your face and your arm in her grasp like she was enjoying every second of watching you realize exactly how much stronger she was than you had expected.

Then, almost casually, she tilted the notebook again.

“Hm,” she hummed teasingly, “and this here is definitely wrong.”

You groaned quietly. “Alexia…”

“No, no, listen.” She laughed softly now, clearly having the time of her life. “You think you understand us, but maybe you are too distracted every time I look at you.”

“That is not happening.”

“Mm.” Her eyebrows lifted knowingly. “You sure, cariño?” Heat rushed even faster into your face at that, making your cheeks burn and eyes divert. “Ah,” she grinned, satisfaction written all over her face now, “there she is.”

You stared at her in disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”

“Venga,” she scoffed lightly, finally letting your arm go, though not before her thumb brushed once against your skin almost absentmindedly. “You started this when you stare at me from goalpost like psychopath.”

“I was analysing you.”

Alexia’s grin only widened. “Sure you were.”

Only then did she finally lower the notebook enough for you to snatch it back, though she kept standing far too close afterward, eyes still fixed on your face with amusement.

“You know,” she added lightly after a second, “for someone so scary before the match, you get very quiet when I touch you.”

You scoffed softly, trying to ignore the heat still sitting in your face. “You’re unbelievably full of yourself.”

“Mm, maybe.” Her grin only widened slightly. “But I am also right. ”Your eyes narrowed at her while you gathered your notebooks back against your chest. “Do you flirt with everyone like this?”

A slow grin spread across Alexia’s face. “Cariño, you are not everyone.” The answer came far too easily.

Before you could recover properly, her gaze flicked briefly toward the notebook in your arms before returning to your face again.

“And your girlfriend?” she asked casually, though the curiosity beneath it was obvious. “She knows you get like this?”

You blinked once, then let out a soft breath through your nose. “Emma’s not my girlfriend anymore,” you corrected calmly. “Hasn’t been for a while.”

For the first time since picking up your notebook, Alexia looked genuinely caught off guard.

The reaction only lasted a second before something far more pleased settled across her face instead, slow and smug and entirely too satisfied for your liking.

“Ah,” she murmured softly, unable to stop the grin pulling at her mouth now. “This keeps getting better for me.”

You rolled your eyes immediately. “You’re unbelievable. What’s with the sudden obsession?” Before she could answer that, the bathroom door beside the bench suddenly opened.

Klara stepped out first, still fixing the sleeves of her hoodie before she stopped dead at the sight in front of her.

You standing flustered with your notebooks clutched against your chest.

Alexia standing far too close with the most self-satisfied expression Klara had ever seen on another human being.

The German blinked once. Then slowly looked between the two of you again. “…Oh my god,” she muttered in disbelief.

Your face immediately hardened. “Don’t.”

Klara ignored you completely, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you before one eyebrow disappeared into her hairline. “…Why are you two standing so close?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nobody is standing close,” you answered immediately. At the exact same time Alexia said, completely calm, “We are having conversation.”

Klara stared at both of you for a second.

Then her eyes dropped briefly to your face, clearly noticing the embarrassed look and wide eyes, before looking back at the Barcelona captain, who still looked unbearably pleased with herself.

You let out a long sigh. “Please don’t start.” But the winger was already grinning now. “You flirted with her,” she accused Alexia outright. The Catalan only shrugged lightly, entirely unashamed. “Maybe.”

Klara looked between the two of you again, visibly trying and failing not to laugh.

“Wow,” she said slowly, eyes lingering on your still warm face, “I leave for five minutes and somehow you’re the one losing your head?”

“I’m not losing anything,” you shot back immediately.

Alexia hummed softly beside you, clearly unconvinced. “No?” she asked innocently. “Then why you look at me like that?”

Your mouth opened briefly before closing again when absolutely no good answer came to mind fast enough. Which only made Alexia’s grin widen.

Klara outright laughed this time, folding her arms across her chest. “This is incredible actually.”

“You’re both annoying.”

“Sí,” Alexia agreed easily, not taking her eyes off you for even a second. “But only one of us has you blushing in hallway, no?”

You shot Alexia one last look, still visibly flustered and annoyed all at once, before adjusting the notebooks against your chest again. “Enjoy your ego while it lasts, Putellas,” you muttered dryly. “Tomorrow I’m making your life miserable for at least ninety minutes.”

The grin on Alexia’s face only widened at that. “Ah, vale,” she laughed softly, “there she is again.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough that Klara snorted beside you.

“Come on,” you said, nudging the taller blonde sharply with your elbow as you finally started walking down the corridor. “Use those stupidly long legs and move your ass. Some of us actually have work tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” Klara called after you, laughing in disbelief as she hurried after you with far less dignity than she probably wanted.

“And good luck tomorrow,” you called over your shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

Alexia let out a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she watched you disappear around the corner with Klara still complaining beside you in German. 

“Qué mujer,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling long after you were gone.

03rd of May 2026 - Camp Nou, Barcelona

Camp Nou was already loud by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for warmups, fans clad in blaugrana trickling in and filling the stands, music echoed around the stadium. Normally the atmosphere helped Alexia settle into herself before a match, but tonight her attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Straight toward Bayern’s bench.

You were already there, standing near the technical area with an iPad tucked beneath your arm while clips from the first leg flashed across the screen in front of you. Two analysts stood beside you, along with Gwinn and Bühl, all listening while you pointed something out with quick, sharp gestures toward Barcelona’s midfield shape during rondos.

“Madre mía,” Mapi muttered after catching her staring again. “You have a serious problem.”

Alexia scoffed immediately. “I am warming up.”

“With Bayern’s assistant coach?”

“She is a tactical assistant,” Alexia corrected automatically.

Mapi’s grin widened instantly. “Ah, so now you know the exact title too?”

Patri snorted somewhere behind them while Alexia ignored the both of them with as much dignity as possible, though the smug looks on her teammates’ faces made that increasingly difficult.

A shout cut through the noise, forcing Barcelona back into drills, though even then her gaze kept wandering between passing sequences and stretches. It wasn’t until a short water break that your eyes finally lifted from the iPad.

Straight toward her, but you only smiled faintly before looking away again, continuing your conversation with Gwinn as if nothing had happened.

“Alexia!”

Pere’s voice snapped across the pitch sharply enough that several players turned.

The blonde looked over. “Sí?”

“You plan to finish warming up today or keep scouting Bayern staff for me?”

Patri nearly folded over laughing, catching herself on Pina’s shoulder, while Alexia rolled her eyes hard enough to make Mapi shove her shoulder teasingly.

“Very funny,” she muttered under her breath before jogging back into position.

Still, when she glanced toward Bayern’s bench one last time, she caught the corner of your mouth twitching upward again.

Barcelona came out aggressively from the very first whistle, moving the ball with sharp, suffocating movements that immediately forced Bayern deep into their own half. Within the opening minutes they had already created two dangerous chances, one forcing a strong save from Mahmutovic while another flashed narrowly wide after a quick combination through midfield.

Once the match started properly, Alexia’s focus narrowed almost completely toward the game itself.

This was a Champions League semi-final at Camp Nou. There was no room for distractions once adrenaline took over. Every movement became automatic, and Bayern spent most of the opening minutes trying desperately to survive Barcelona’s intensity.

The pressure finally paid off in the thirteenth minute.

A quick switch of play pulled Bayern’s defensive line apart just enough for Salma Paralluelo to attack the space behind Gwinn, and once she got through on goal there was never really any doubt about the outcome. Camp Nou erupted as Salma buried the finish confidently into the bottom corner before disappearing beneath celebrating teammates.

Alexia barely even looked toward Bayern’s bench afterward, already jogging back to her position while Barça tried to keep momentum high.

But Bayern answered almost immediately.

Only four minutes later Linda Dallmann found space after a messy second ball dropped awkwardly outside Barcelona’s box, and before anyone properly reacted the midfielder drove the ball low past Cata into the corner.

Alexia swore quietly under her breath while retreating back, frustration flashing hot through her chest. Bayern settled deeper after that, slowing the tempo wherever possible while Barcelona tried forcing openings through the middle again.

Then came the twenty-second minute.

The attack itself was ugly, the ball bouncing wildly around Bayern’s box after a corner while defenders desperately threw themselves in front of every attempt. One clearance failed, then another, until suddenly the ball rolled loose toward the penalty spot.

Straight to Alexia and her instincts won.

One touch. Strike. Goal.

The stadium went nuts around her, teammates on and off the pitch screaming as the culers started another chant.

Alexia turned immediately toward the sideline as the net rippled behind Mahmutovic, and this time, her eyes found you instantly.

Without slowing down properly, she angled her run closer toward Bayern’s coaches box before dropping into her familiar celebration, a bow, with a smug grin pulling at her mouth.

Directly toward you.

Then, just before teammates crashed into her from behind, Alexia lifted her head again and winked.

You just stared at her for half a second too long before rolling your eyes sharply and gesturing for your players to reset. But the Catalan still caught the reluctant twitch at the corner of your mouth before she disappeared beneath celebrating teammates.

The match settled into something scrappier after that.

Bayern dropped deeper and deeper, trying to slow Barcelona’s rhythm whenever possible while frustration slowly crept into challenges across midfield. In the twenty-ninth minute Stanway earned herself a yellow card despite her protests.

From there Bayern focused almost entirely on surviving until halftime.

Barcelona dominated possession while Bayern defended and tried to calm the game down whenever possible to get it back to their side. One minute of added time appeared on the fourth official’s board.

Then finally, at 45+1, the whistle for halftime echoed through Camp Nou.

The tunnel under Camp Nou was loud with halftime movement, boots echoing off concrete as both teams filtered away from the pitch, and Alexia barely had time to reset her focus before someone bumped lightly into her shoulder and, when she turned, there you were walking beside her, Bayern jacket half open and iPad tucked under your arm.

“Nice goal,” you said casually, though your eyes lingered on her just a fraction too long. “Bit dramatic with the celebration.”

Alexia’s smile came immediately, easy and unbothered as she kept walking in step with you. “Ah, you watching very close hm?,” she said, voice warm with amusement, letting the words roll a little as her gaze flicked over you.

“Hard not to when you bow in front of our bench.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her, low and pleased.

“Vale,” she replied, leaning just slightly closer as the tunnel narrowed around them, “so you like it enough to remember.”

You shot her a sideways look. “Don’t overthink it.”

Alexia tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully as if she was weighing something she already knew the answer to, and then she said it, light and almost teasing as they kept walking, “you trying to get into my head?”

The captain saw the shift in your expression, the brief hesitation before you recovered, and the corner of her mouth lifted as she softened into something almost fond. “Mm,” she added, quieter now, amused rather than sharp, “cute.”

Your stare sharpened immediately. “It’s not…”

“Tranquilo,” she cut in easily, still smiling like she’d already decided what she thought, “I like it.”

A voice called your name from further down the tunnel, pulling you away as you turned your head and began to step back toward Bayern’s dressing room. “Second half,” you said over your shoulder, regaining yourself quickly, “don’t get too comfortable.”

Alexia’s grin lingered as she watched you go.

“No promises,” she called after you, still amused, before finally turning toward Barça’s dressing room and shaking her head once under her breath.

The second half started with a similar energy.

But Barcelona came out sharper, faster, more ruthless in possession, and it didn’t take long before Bayern started getting pushed deeper again, forced back into survival mode as the pressure built.

In the 54th minute, the breakthrough came again.

A quick combination through the left half pulled Bayern’s defensive line just half a step too late, and Ewa Pajor didn’t need a second invitation, she finished and Camp Nou erupted as Barcelona stretched the lead.

Two minutes later, Claudia Pina came on for Caroline Graham Hansen, and immediately Barcelona looked even more dangerous in the final third, the game speeding up with fresh legs as Bayern tried to adjust.

Then in the 58th minute, it happened again.

From the right half, Pina floated a long free-kick cross toward the far post, Esmee Brugts rose to meet it and nodded it back into the danger area, and there, half turning, body already falling, Alexia connected instinctively, guiding the ball into the far corner.

She celebrated only briefly, turning toward the crowd with that familiar lift of her arm and a grin.

She didn’t dwell on it then, not with the game still alive, not with Bayern still dangerous, and her attention snapped back into place almost immediately as Barcelona pushed forward again, not giving up.

When the 85th minute board went up and her number appeared, she already knew what was coming, on her way toward the sideline she clapped for the fans in thanks, handing over the captain’s armband to Patri. 

There were tears in her eyes, as she took in the sight of a packed Camp Nou wearing her colours and her name, of a semi-final played at home for the club she had grown up dreaming of, and she blinked hard once again.

On the bench she sat slightly back from the noise, breathing more evenly again now but still watching the pitch, still locked into the game even without being on it, and her gaze inevitably found you once more at the edge of Bayern’s coaching box, where your focus remained absolute despite the pressure building around you.

She saw Emma beside you then, talking frantically, gesturing confidently and saying something that you clearly didn’t agree with, based on your expression, as you tried to stay locked on the game while clearly fighting the distraction beside you.

The Catalan could see the tension in the way you stood, the way your attention kept snapping back to the pitch, and when Emma continued speaking you finally shook your head once, firm and decisive, cutting through it and turning your focus fully back to the match, effectively ending the discussion.

Then came the 89th minute.

Caruso won the ball in the midfield and Bayern shifted forward instantly, as Harder drove through the centre and slipped Imade into space before the ball came back across in a messy way that ended with the finish. Bayern didn’t celebrate much as they could immediately hear the Spanish team and fans protest.

Even from the bench Alexia felt her eyes finding you, because she had learned by now that you didn’t react like everyone else. At first you were completely still while your players were protesting on the field.

The blonde saw the slight drop in your shoulders, the shift in your weight, the way your head turned toward the officials before anyone else had even processed what was happening.

You were waiting. And then came the announcement, the goal would be VAR-checked.

Foul in the buildup - Goal disallowed.

The noise flipped violently from Bayern celebration to frustration and disbelief, but on the sideline Alexia saw you let out a controlled exhale that didn’t try to hide the disappointment, only accept it.

Just disappointment, clean and honest in a way that made you look younger for a second.

The final five minutes passed in a blur of exhausted pressing, clearance after clearance, and Barcelona simply trying to manage the game rather than force anything new, while Bayern threw everything forward in one last attempt that never quite broke through the Catalan structure.

When the whistle finally went, it didn’t explode into chaos so much as release—arms dropping, bodies bending forward, players collapsing into exhaustion and relief all at once, before both teams slowly began to find each other for the ritual that always followed matches like this.

Handshakes first, then brief embraces, words exchanged in passing that were half respect, half disbelief at what had just been survived.

Pere found you almost immediately, “Very good,” he said simply, nodding once as he looked at you properly, with respect. “You did incredible for the first time coaching.”

A few Barcelona players passed by while shaking hands, some offering quick smiles, others stopping long enough to pat your shoulder or exchange a few words in Spanish or English, still slightly breathless but clearly appreciative of what they had just been through. 

After you joined the rest of the Bayern players and Staff on the pitch in a quieter circle, shoulders close, with visible emotions. A few wiping their faces quickly before they all walked together toward the away end, clapping their hands and raising them in thanks to the small cluster of travelling supporters who had stayed until the end. Finally they retreated to their dressing room.

Barcelona, in contrast, had already started their full lap of the stadium, players moving together toward the stands where drums were already being played for team chants and huge flags were being waved, the atmosphere shifting fully into celebration.

Alexia only broke away from the celebrations once the initial wave had settled, slipping out of the cluster of teammates, her breathing still slightly elevated as she crossed back toward the centre circle where Pere Romeu and you were still standing.

She slowed as she reached you both, a faint grin already forming like she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Oh,” she said lightly, glancing between the two of you with clear amusement, “I see my scouting worked, no? Very good job for me.”

Pere let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he had expected nothing less from her. “Careful, Alexia, you start taking credit and I will start charging you.”

“That is fine,” she replied without missing a beat, still smiling as she shifted her attention fully onto you now. After a quick shared look with Pere, he gave a small nod before stepping away, leaving the two of you with the noise of the stadium stretching out behind you.

Alexia didn’t waste the space he left.

She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a second before speaking with that effortless confidence you were just slightly jealous of.

“Next year you win… in blaugrana then, vale?”

You exhaled softly through your nose, not quite a laugh, but not resistance either. “Maybe,” you replied, more careful now, eyes flicking briefly toward the pitch before returning to her.

That made her hum lightly, but instead of pushing further, her gaze sharpened just a little. “What was that Emma talking to you about?” she asked.

You paused, then gave a small shrug. “She wanted me to make substitutions again,” you said honestly, glancing down for a second as if replaying it in your head, “but I didn’t see the point. Not if I couldn’t actually fill the gaps properly with what we had on the bench.”

Alexia nodded slowly, like she was filing that away, but her eyes stayed on you. “And what is the deal with her anyway?” she asked after a beat, more direct now, though still calm. “Why she says she is your girlfriend?”

That made you let out a short breath, tiredness slipping through. “She isn’t,” you said simply. “Not anymore. She just… doesn’t really accept that.”

“And you?” she asked then, quieter. “What is stopping you from coming to Barça?”

“I’m scared of the change,” you admitted, voice lower now, “but I still want to grow. That’s why I sent the application to Pere in the first place… a while ago. I just wasn’t sure if I would actually follow through with it.”

Alexia didn’t push further right away, she just watched you for a second longer, then her expression softened, the intensity easing back into that confidence she wore so naturally.

“Vale,” she said quietly, more so to herself, then let out a small breath through her nose, “I know you will like Spain,” she added after a beat, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “the sun, the food… the people.”

A faint grin tugged at her mouth as she glanced at you again, a little more pointed now, “Especially the people,” she added, not really trying to hide what she meant with that.

You gave her a look at that, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement, and Alexia noticed it immediately, of course she did.

She just smiled a little wider in response, unfazed.

“And you are already here a lot in your head, no?” she continued, calmer now, voice dropping slightly as she stepped half a pace closer again. “So it is not so big a change. Just… make it official.”

There was a brief pause, the stadium noise distant enough now that it felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

“Next season, you come. And I show you the rest properly, vale?”

“And if I do come,” you asked, tilting your head slightly, “and you get what you want… will you just keep looking at me like this, or do you move on to the next thing you decide you want?”

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you, really looked, like she was weighing the question properly instead of brushing it off. Then her grin came back, honest in its amusement.

“Ah,” she said quietly, almost like she understood what you were really asking. “So that is what you think.”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“I don’t think you are something I ‘finish’,” she said simply, her voice steady and matter-of-fact, like the idea itself didn’t really make sense to her. “If you come… I think you will just be there.”

“And I don’t get bored of interesting things,” she added, a faint exhale through her nose. Then her expression softened just a fraction as she lifted her hand, brushing it lightly over your cheek, the touch brief and soft making the heat shoot up to your face.

“And you, cariño,” she murmured, her tone dropping slightly, “you are very interesting. Always will be.”

It was lunch time after a particularly brutal morning training session, the kind that left everyone's legs shaking and lungs burning, the kind where Jonatan had pushed them through drill after drill without mercy, demanding perfection, refusing to accept anything less than absolute excellence.

The team cafeteria was loud.

Really loud.

The kind of loud that came from thirty professional athletes all talking at once, all processing the morning's work, all complaining about how hard that session had been, all making plans for the afternoon, all existing in that post training state of exhaustion and hunger and relief that the hard part of the day was over.

Conversations overlapped, creating layers of sound that bounced off the walls and ceiling, amplifying in the enclosed space.

Cutlery clinked against plates, chairs scraped against the floor, someone's phone was playing music, the kitchen staff were calling orders back and forth, the coffee machine was hissing and grinding, creating an absolute symphony of noise that was just part of normal team lunch, just the ambient chaos of feeding thirty people in one space.

Most of the team was clustered at the large centre tables, the usual groups forming naturally, defenders sitting with defenders, forwards with forwards, the Spanish speakers gravitating together, the international players forming their own cluster, everyone settling into their comfortable familiar patterns.

Kika had grabbed her food and was looking for a seat, scanning the room, trying to decide where to sit, still in that new player phase of not quite knowing where she belonged yet, not quite comfortable just inserting herself into established groups.

That's when she noticed Jay.

Sitting alone at a small table in the corner, the spot furthest from the main chaos, the area where the noise was slightly less intense, where the visual stimulation was slightly reduced, where someone could exist in semi privacy despite being in a shared space.

Jay had food in front of her, a plate with what looked like chicken and rice and vegetables, all the proper nutrition a professional athlete needed, all the balanced macros and careful portions.

But she wasn't eating.

She was just sitting there, staring at her plate, her fork in her hand but not moving, her whole body language suggesting she was present physically but not mentally, like her brain had gone somewhere else entirely, like she was running on autopilot.

And she had earplugs in.

Small rose gold loops visible in each ear, the expensive kind that Kika had seen advertised for musicians and people with sensory sensitivities, the ones that filtered sound rather than blocking it completely.

Jay looked completely normal.

Looked fine.

Looked like someone just having a quiet lunch alone, nothing unusual, nothing concerning, nothing that would warrant attention or intervention.

Her expression was calm, neutral, giving away absolutely nothing about what was happening in her head.

She could have been thinking about tactics or planning her afternoon or composing a shopping list or absolutely nothing at all, there was no way to tell from looking at her, no obvious signs of distress or struggle or anything being wrong.

Kika thought nothing of it.

Just registered that Jay was eating alone and seemed approachable.

She'd been wanting to ask Jay something anyway, something about a drill they'd done that morning, something about positioning that Jay had executed perfectly and Kika had fumbled, something she wanted clarification on so she could do better next time.

This seemed like a perfect opportunity.

Jay was sitting alone, clearly not in the middle of a conversation, apparently available for a quick question.

Kika grabbed her tray and headed over, weaving between tables, her mind already formulating how to phrase her question, how to ask for help without sounding incompetent, how to learn from someone who was clearly better at this particular skill.

"Hey, Jay," she said cheerfully, setting her tray down on the table across from Jay, assuming she was welcome to sit, assuming this was fine. "Mind if I join you? I wanted to ask you about that overlapping run drill we did this morning. You timed it perfectly and I kept arriving too early and I was wondering if you could explain..."

She trailed off because Jay hadn't responded.

Hadn't looked up.

Hadn't acknowledged Kika's presence at all.

Just kept staring at her plate, fork still in hand, completely unresponsive, like Kika hadn't spoken, like she wasn't even there.

Kika frowned, confused, wondering if maybe Jay hadn't heard her over the cafeteria noise, maybe the earplugs were blocking more sound than Kika had realised, maybe she needed to speak louder.

"Jay?" she tried again, louder this time, leaning forward slightly. "Sorry, I just wanted to ask about the positioning in that drill. If you could explain how you read when to start the run because I was definitely..."

"Don't."

The word came from behind Kika, sharp and firm and absolutely non negotiable, cutting through the cafeteria noise like a knife, freezing Kika mid sentence, making her turn around to see who had spoken with such authority.

Alexia.

Standing directly behind Kika's chair, holding her own lunch tray, having apparently materialised out of nowhere because Kika definitely hadn't seen her approaching, hadn't noticed her presence at all until she'd spoken.

The captain was still in her training kit, her hair damp from a quick shower, pulled back in a messy bun, her face serious but not angry, her whole body language radiating authority and protectiveness in equal measure.

"Don't," Alexia repeated, and her voice was firm but not unkind, not angry but absolutely certain, the tone of someone enforcing a boundary that was not up for negotiation. "Earplugs means she needs quiet. You don't talk to her when she has earplugs in. You leave her alone."

Kika blinked, completely blindsided, her brain scrambling to process this information, to understand what rule she'd just violated, to figure out what she'd done wrong.

"I just wanted to ask a quick question," she said, trying to explain, trying to justify her completely reasonable action of asking a teammate about training. "About the drill this morning. It'll take two seconds. I didn't think..."

"She can't," Alexia interrupted, setting her tray down on the table but remaining standing, positioning herself between Kika and Jay in a way that was clearly protective, clearly deliberate. "Right now, she can't answer questions. She can't process language. She can't formulate responses. She can't do conversation. The earplugs are not for music. Are for managing sensory overload. For reducing input when her brain is too full. When everything is too much."

Alexia's accent was thicker than usual, emotion bleeding through her careful English, the protective energy coming out in her voice, in her posture, in the way she'd physically placed herself between Kika and Jay.

"She looks fine," Kika said, glancing at Jay, who still hadn't moved, still hadn't acknowledged that this conversation was happening right beside her. "She just looks like she's eating lunch. I didn't realise..."

"She always looks fine," Alexia said, and there was something almost sad in her voice now, something that suggested this was a familiar frustration, a common problem. "This is the problem. She's very good at looking fine when she's not fine. Very good at appearing calm when inside is chaos. Very good at masking. You cannot tell by looking at her. You have to know the signals. And earplugs in is the biggest signal. The clearest signal. The one that means her brain is overloaded and she needs space and quiet and no demands."

She moved around the table, sitting down in the chair beside Jay, not across from her where Kika had tried to sit, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching, close enough for that physical proximity that communicated I'm here, I've got you, you're not alone.

"Look at her plate," Alexia said, gesturing at the untouched food. "She's not eating. She's just sitting here. Staring at food. Because eating requires decision making, requires motor coordination, requires mental energy she doesn't have right now. She's using all her energy just to sit here. Just to exist in this loud space. Just to not have a meltdown. There's nothing left for eating. Nothing left for conversation. Nothing left for answering questions about drills."

Kika looked at Jay's plate, at the food that had clearly been sitting there for a while, getting cold, untouched except for maybe one or two bites, and suddenly saw it differently, saw what Alexia was pointing out, saw the evidence of struggle that she'd completely missed.

"I didn't know," Kika said quietly, feeling terrible, feeling like she'd done something harmful, feeling the specific shame of having made a mistake that affected someone else. "I'm sorry. Nobody told me. I didn't realise the earplugs meant that. I thought she was just listening to music or something."

"Is okay," Alexia said, her voice softening now, clearly recognising that Kika hadn't meant harm, hadn't understood. "You're new. You're learning. Now you know. Earplugs in means leave her alone. Always. No exceptions. Even if she looks fine. Even if it seems like a small thing. Even if you think it's important. If you need to ask her something, you text her. She can read text when she's ready. When her brain can handle it. But you don't talk to her. You don't expect response. You give her space. Vale?"

"Vale," Kika agreed immediately, nodding. "I understand. I won't do it again. I'm sorry, Jay."

Jay still didn't respond, didn't acknowledge the apology, didn't look up from her plate.

Because she couldn't.

Because her brain was too full, too overwhelmed, too maxed out to process the conversation happening around her, to formulate a response, to engage socially even in the most basic way.

Kika stood up, grabbing her tray, understanding that she needed to leave, needed to give Jay the space Alexia was protecting, needed to go sit somewhere else.

"I'll just," she said awkwardly, gesturing vaguely toward the main tables. "I'll go sit over there. Leave you both alone. Sorry again."

Alexia nodded, already turning her full attention to Jay, already shifting into girlfriend mode, into caretaker mode, into the role she clearly played when Jay was like this.

Kika retreated to one of the main tables, squeezing in beside Patri and Claudia, setting her tray down with slightly shaking hands, her face hot with embarrassment.

"You okay?" Patri asked, noticing Kika's flustered state. "You look upset. What happened?"

"I just," Kika said, glancing back toward the corner table where Alexia was now sitting very close to Jay, talking to her quietly, apparently trying to coax her into eating something. "I tried to talk to Jay when she had her earplugs in and Alexia shut me down. Pretty firmly. Told me I can't talk to her when she has them in. I didn't know that was a rule. I feel terrible."

"Oh," Patri said, understanding immediately lighting up her face. "Oh yeah. The earplug rule. That's a big one. Important one. You definitely can't talk to her when she's got them in. Alexia is very serious about enforcing that boundary."

"But why?" Kika asked, still confused, still trying to understand. "Jay looked completely fine. She just looked like she was having a quiet lunch. What's the big deal about earplugs?"

"The earplugs mean she's overwhelmed," Claudia explained, leaning in, clearly happy to educate Kika about this. "Her brain is at capacity. Too much sensory input, too much noise, too much stimulation. The earplugs filter the sound so it's less intense, so she can exist in loud spaces without completely losing it. But when she's got them in, that means she's already struggling. Already using every bit of energy just to cope with being in the cafeteria. She can't handle additional input. Can't handle conversation. Can't handle being asked questions. Any of that would push her over the edge."

"She has ADHD," Patri added. "And some sensory processing stuff. So loud environments are really hard for her. Really overwhelming. The earplugs help. But they're a signal that she's not okay, even if she looks okay. And Alexia knows that. Alexia always knows. So she protects Jay from people trying to interact with her when she can't handle it."

Kika looked back at the corner table again.

Alexia had moved even closer to Jay now, their chairs pulled together, Alexia's arm around Jay's shoulders, rubbing slow circles on her back, talking to her quietly, patiently, gently.

As Kika watched, Alexia picked up Jay's fork, speared a piece of chicken, and held it up to Jay's mouth.

Jay took the bite automatically, mechanically, like she wasn't really registering what she was eating, just responding to the food being offered.

Alexia said something else, quiet enough that Kika couldn't hear it across the cafeteria noise.

Jay nodded slightly, took another bite when Alexia offered it.

"Is she feeding her?" Kika asked, stunned, watching this intimate care play out in the middle of the team cafeteria, completely unselfconscious, completely unbothered by the fact that other people could see.

"When Jay gets like that, she can't make herself eat," Patri explained, watching the scene with obvious affection, with the familiarity of having witnessed this many times before. "Too much executive function required. Too many steps. Too much decision making. So Alexia just does it for her. Makes it easier. Takes away the need to think about it. Jay just has to chew and swallow. Alexia handles everything else."

"That's," Kika started, trying to find words for what she was feeling, what she was witnessing. "That's really beautiful. Really sweet. Really..."

"Really them," Claudia finished, smiling. "That's just what they do. Alexia takes care of Jay when Jay can't take care of herself. And Jay lets her. Which is actually a big deal because Jay hates asking for help, hates admitting she's struggling, hates being vulnerable. But with Alexia she doesn't have to ask. Alexia just knows. Just sees. Just helps. Every time."

Kika watched for another moment, watched Alexia continue to patiently feed Jay small bites, watched her press a kiss to Jay's temple between bites, casual and loving and completely natural.

And she understood, finally, what she was seeing.

Not just a relationship.

A partnership.

A system of care.

A way of loving someone that meant learning them so completely that you could read their needs before they could articulate them, that you could provide support before they had to ask, that you could protect them from a world that was often too much while still letting them be themselves.

It was beautiful.

It was profound.

It was exactly what love should look like.

Kika couldn't stop thinking about it.

About Jay sitting alone with her earplugs in, staring at untouched food, looking completely fine while apparently being completely overwhelmed.

About Alexia appearing out of nowhere like some kind of protective guardian, enforcing boundaries with absolute certainty, shutting down Kika's attempt at conversation with firm kindness.

About the way Alexia had sat down beside Jay and just started feeding her, casual and natural, like this was completely normal, like hand feeding your girlfriend in the middle of a team cafeteria was just what you did on a Tuesday afternoon.

It stuck with her through the rest of lunch, through the afternoon recovery session, through the team meeting where they reviewed game footage and discussed tactics for the upcoming match.

She kept glancing at Jay, trying to see what Alexia saw, trying to read the signs that apparently everyone else on the team had learned to recognise.

Jay looked normal now.

The earplugs were gone, removed at some point after lunch, tucked back into whatever case or pocket she kept them in.

She was participating in the meeting, asking questions, making comments, engaging with the tactical discussion in ways that suggested her brain was working fine, processing information fine, completely functional and present.

Like the lunch incident hadn't happened.

Like she hadn't been so overwhelmed an hour ago that she couldn't feed herself.

Like she could just switch from completely shut down to fully functional without any visible transition.

It was disconcerting, honestly.

The lack of obvious markers.

The absence of clear distress signals that would help Kika understand when Jay was struggling versus when she was okay.

She looked the same in both states.

Acted mostly the same.

Just with subtle differences that you'd only notice if you knew what to look for, if you'd been educated about the signs, if you understood the code.

After the meeting ended, Kika found herself walking out with Lucy, falling into step beside the English defender naturally, both of them heading toward the parking lot, both done with training obligations for the day.

"Can I ask you something?" Kika said, deciding to just go for it, to ask directly rather than trying to piece together information from observation and context clues.

"Sure," Lucy said easily, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, her short hair still damp from the post meeting shower, her expression open and friendly. "What's up?"

"The thing at lunch," Kika said, glancing around to make sure Jay wasn't nearby, wasn't within earshot, not wanting to talk about her behind her back in a way that felt gossipy or mean. "With Jay and the earplugs and Alexia stopping me from talking to her. I still don't fully understand what happened. Why it was such a big deal. Patri and Claudia explained a bit but I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's more to it that I don't get."

Lucy nodded slowly, clearly considering how to explain, how to give Kika the context she needed without betraying Jay's privacy, without sharing things that weren't hers to share.

"Okay," she said finally, leading Kika over to a bench near the parking lot, sitting down like this was going to be a longer conversation, like this required time and attention and proper explanation. "I'll tell you what I can. What Jay would be okay with the team knowing. What helps people understand how to support her without making her feel like she's being talked about or analysed or treated like a problem to be managed."

Kika sat down beside her, grateful for the willingness to educate, grateful to have someone patient enough to explain instead of just expecting her to figure it out through osmosis and observation.

"Jay has ADHD," Lucy started, and this Kika already knew, had already heard, had already absorbed as basic information about her teammate. "Combined type, which means she has both the attention difficulties and the hyperactivity, both the focus issues and the inability to sit still, both the working memory problems and the impulse control challenges. It's not mild. It's not subtle. It's pretty significant, actually. It affects basically every aspect of her life. How she thinks, how she processes information, how she regulates her emotions, how she experiences the world."

She paused, making sure Kika was following, making sure this foundational information was landing.

"Part of ADHD, for Jay specifically," Lucy continued, "is sensory processing issues. Her brain doesn't filter sensory input the way neurotypical brains do. Neurotypical brains automatically sort information into important versus unimportant, foreground versus background, relevant versus irrelevant. They filter out the noise. The ambient sound. The visual clutter. All the sensory input that doesn't matter for what you're currently doing. Your brain just handles that automatically. You don't even think about it. It just happens."

Kika nodded, understanding this conceptually, recognising that yes, her brain did do this, did filter out irrelevant information without her conscious awareness.

"Jay's brain doesn't do that," Lucy said bluntly. "Her ADHD brain can't filter. Can't prioritise. Can't decide what's important and what's not. So everything comes in at the same volume. The same intensity. The conversation you're having and the conversation three tables over and the kitchen staff talking and the coffee machine hissing and the chairs scraping and the music playing and every single sound in the environment all hit her brain at exactly the same level of importance, exactly the same demand for attention."

"That sounds exhausting," Kika said quietly, trying to imagine it, trying to understand what that would feel like.

"It is exhausting," Lucy confirmed. "Incredibly exhausting. Constantly overwhelming. Imagine trying to have a conversation while thirty other conversations are happening at the same volume right in your ear. Imagine trying to focus on anything while everything is screaming for your attention equally. That's what lunch in the cafeteria is like for Jay. That's what team meetings are like. That's what crowded spaces are like. Just constant overwhelming input that her brain can't filter, can't organise, can't manage."

She shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, clearly settling in for a thorough explanation.

"The earplugs help," Lucy said. "They're Loop earplugs specifically. Not noise cancelling headphones, not regular earplugs that block all sound, but acoustic filters that reduce volume without eliminating sound completely. They bring everything down by about twenty decibels. Make the overwhelming chaos slightly more manageable. Make the cafeteria noise less intense. Make it possible for Jay to exist in loud spaces without completely losing her mind."

"But she still looked so overwhelmed at lunch," Kika said, remembering Jay's blank stare, her untouched food, her complete lack of response. "Even with the earplugs in. Even with the sound reduced. She still looked like she couldn't handle it."

"Because the earplugs are a tool, not a cure," Lucy explained patiently. "They help. They make things more bearable. But they don't fix the problem. They don't make the sensory overload go away. They just reduce it slightly. Make it slightly more manageable. But if Jay has already hit overload, if her nervous system is already flooded, if she's already used up all her capacity for dealing with stimulation, then the earplugs are damage control. They're preventing it from getting worse. They're keeping her from full meltdown. But they're not making her okay. They're just making her able to sit in the cafeteria instead of having to leave entirely."

Kika processed this, understanding starting to form, the pieces clicking together into a clearer picture.

"So when she had the earplugs in at lunch," Kika said slowly, working through the logic, "that meant she was already at her limit? Already overwhelmed? Already using all her energy just to cope with being in that space?"

"Exactly," Lucy said, looking pleased that Kika was getting it. "The earplugs are a signal. A clear, visible signal that Jay's brain is full. That she's hit capacity. That she's in active overwhelm management mode. When you see the earplugs, you know she's struggling. Even if she looks calm. Even if she looks fine. Even if she's sitting there appearing completely normal. The earplugs mean she's not okay. They mean her brain is maxed out. They mean she has zero capacity for additional input, for conversation, for questions, for social interaction, for anything beyond just existing and trying to stay regulated."

"And I tried to talk to her," Kika said, guilt flooding through her again, understanding now how badly she'd misread the situation, how her well intentioned question had been exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. "I tried to ask her about training. Tried to have a conversation. Tried to make her process language and formulate responses when her brain literally couldn't do that. I made it worse."

"You didn't know," Lucy said kindly, her hand coming to rest on Kika's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "You're new. Nobody had explained it to you. The team knows because we've all been educated about it. We've all had the explanation. We've all learned Jay's signals. But you hadn't been told yet. That's not your fault. That's actually probably our fault for not making sure you knew sooner, for not including that in your team orientation, for assuming you'd just pick it up through observation."

"Alexia knew immediately," Kika said, remembering how fast the captain had intervened, how she'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere, how she'd shut down the interaction before Kika could make it worse. "She wasn't even at that table. She was across the cafeteria. But somehow she knew I was about to talk to Jay and she just appeared and stopped me. How did she even know?"

Lucy laughed, the sound affectionate and slightly awed, the laugh of someone witnessing something beautiful and slightly supernatural.

"Alexia always knows," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know how. I genuinely don't understand the mechanism. But Alexia can sense when someone is about to interact with Jay when Jay can't handle it. It's like she has Jay radar. Like she's tuned into Jay's frequency at all times. She could be on the other side of the building and somehow she'd know that Jay needed her and she'd just appear. It's honestly kind of spooky how good she is at it."

"She was feeding her," Kika said, the image still vivid in her mind, still striking her as intensely intimate, intensely caring. "Just sitting there feeding Jay like it was completely normal. In front of the whole team. Not embarrassed or self conscious about it at all."

"That happens sometimes," Lucy said, her voice going soft with affection, with the particular fondness of someone watching their best friend be loved well. "When Jay gets really overwhelmed, she can't make herself eat. Too much executive function required. Too many steps between hungry and actually getting food into her mouth. Her brain just can't manage the sequence. Can't prioritise it. Can't make it happen even though she knows she needs to eat, knows she should eat, wants to eat. The wanting and the doing are just completely disconnected. So Alexia does it for her. Makes it simple. Removes all the steps except the actual eating part. Jay just has to chew and swallow. Alexia handles everything else. Decision making, portion control, timing, all of it."

"And Jay lets her," Kika said, understanding that this was significant somehow, that this meant something. "She lets Alexia help her like that. In public. In front of everyone."

"That's actually huge," Lucy confirmed. "Jay hates asking for help. Hates admitting she's struggling. Hates being vulnerable. Hates appearing weak or incapable or like she can't handle things. She spent most of her life trying to hide her ADHD, trying to mask, trying to appear normal and functional even when she was drowning. But with Alexia she doesn't do that anymore. She doesn't pretend. She doesn't mask. She just lets Alexia see her struggling and lets Alexia help and trusts that Alexia won't judge her or think less of her or treat her like she's broken."

Lucy's voice had gone emotional now, thick with feeling, clearly moved by what she was describing.

"That's what love looks like," she said quietly. "Real love. Not the romantic comedy version. Not the grand gestures and dramatic declarations. Just Alexia learning everything about how Jay's brain works so she can support her better. Just Alexia noticing when Jay is struggling before Jay even realises it herself. Just Alexia quietly removing obstacles and providing accommodations and making the world more manageable without making a big deal about it. Just Alexia feeding Jay lunch in a cafeteria because Jay needs help and Alexia loves her enough to provide it without shame or judgment or hesitation."

Kika felt something tight in her chest, something warm and aching and beautiful.

"They're really in love," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"They're disgustingly in love," Lucy agreed, grinning now. "So in love it's almost painful to witness. So in love that the rest of us feel inadequate about our own relationships. So in love that it sets the bar impossibly high and makes us all want to be better partners to our own people."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both processing, both thinking about love and care and what it meant to really know someone, to really support them, to really show up for them in the ways they needed.

"So the rule," Kika said finally, wanting to make sure she understood completely, wanting to make absolutely certain she wouldn't make this mistake again. "The rule is earplugs in means leave Jay alone. Don't talk to her. Don't ask her questions. Don't expect interaction. Just give her space and let her regulate. And if I need to ask her something, I text instead. Wait for her to respond when she's ready. When her brain can handle it."

"Exactly," Lucy confirmed. "That's exactly the rule. Earplugs in, leave her alone. Always. No exceptions. Even if it seems important. Even if it seems like just a quick question. Even if she looks fine. The earplugs are the signal. The clear visible boundary. You see them, you know she's not available for interaction. You give her space. You wait. You text if it's actually important. But mostly you just leave her alone and trust that she'll reach out when she's ready."

"And Alexia enforces that boundary," Kika said, understanding the dynamic now, understanding the system.

"Alexia enforces all of Jay's boundaries," Lucy said. "Because Jay struggles to enforce them herself. Her ADHD makes it hard for her to advocate for her own needs, to say no, to tell people to stop, to create the space she needs. She'll just push through and suffer and pretend she's fine until she completely melts down. So Alexia does it for her. Alexia says no when Jay can't say no. Alexia creates space when Jay needs space. Alexia protects Jay from things that will overwhelm her. And the team knows this. The team respects this. When Alexia says no on Jay's behalf, we listen. We back off. We give Jay what she needs even if we don't fully understand why she needs it."

"That's a good team," Kika said softly. "That's a really good team. Taking care of each other like that. Accommodating each other's needs. Making space for different brains and different struggles."

"We try," Lucy said, smiling. "We're not perfect. We mess up sometimes. But we try. We learn. We adapt. We make sure everyone has what they need to function, to thrive, to be themselves. Jay needs sensory accommodations and executive function support and people who understand that earplugs in means leave her alone. So we provide that. We learn her signals. We respect her boundaries. We let Alexia enforce those boundaries when Jay can't. And in return, Jay shows up for us. Works hard. Plays brilliantly. Brings her whole chaotic wonderful self to this team. It's worth it. She's worth it."

Kika nodded, understanding settling deep in her chest, warm and certain.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For explaining. For being patient with me. For making sure I understand. I won't make that mistake again. I'll watch for the earplugs. I'll respect the boundary. I'll be part of the system that keeps Jay safe and supported."

"Good," Lucy said, standing up, shouldering her bag. "Welcome to the team. The real team. The one that takes care of each other. The one that learns each other's needs and accommodates them. The one that's a family, not just a collection of talented players. You're going to fit in great here."

She started walking toward her car, then paused, turning back.

"Oh, and Kika?" she called. "Don't feel bad about the lunch thing. Jay won't even remember it happened. When she's that overwhelmed, her brain doesn't form clear memories. She probably has no idea you tried to talk to her. No idea there was an incident. It's already gone from her memory. So don't carry guilt about it. Just learn from it and move forward. That's all any of us can do."

Kika smiled, relieved, grateful.

"Thanks, Lucy," she said.

"Anytime," Lucy said, waving as she headed for her car.

Kika sat on the bench for another moment, processing everything she'd learned, everything she now understood about Jay and Alexia and how this team functioned.

The earplugs were a signal.

A clear boundary.

A visible marker of overwhelm.

And Alexia was the guardian of that boundary.

The enforcer.

The protector.

The person who made sure Jay had the space she needed when she couldn't create it herself.

It was beautiful.

It was functional.

It was love expressed through accommodation and understanding and fierce protective advocacy.

Kika stood up, heading for her own car, already planning how she'd approach Jay differently going forward, how she'd watch for the signals, how she'd respect the boundaries, how she'd be part of the system that kept her teammate safe and supported.

She was part of this team now.

Part of this family.

Part of the collective understanding that made it possible for everyone to bring their whole selves to this space, disabilities and struggles and needs and all.

And that felt good.

That felt right.

That felt like exactly where she was supposed to be.

The next day's training was lighter, recovery focused, the kind of session where they worked on technical skills and possession drills without the brutal physical demands, where Jonatan let them play and experiment and enjoy football instead of grinding them into the ground with fitness work.

The atmosphere was relaxed, playful even, the team's energy good after yesterday's hard session, everyone loose and comfortable and existing in that sweet spot of being challenged enough to stay sharp but not so exhausted that everything hurt.

Jay was different today.

Kika noticed it immediately, the shift in energy, the change in presence, the way Jay moved through the session with bounce and brightness that had been completely absent yesterday.

She was everywhere.

Talking constantly.

Laughing loudly.

Making jokes that ranged from clever to absolutely terrible.

Chirping at teammates during drills, friendly trash talk delivered with a grin that communicated affection even while she was calling Mapi's defending "absolutely tragic, like watching a baby deer try to ice skate, genuinely concerning."

She was in Patri's space making her laugh.

She was having an animated discussion with Aitana about some TV show they both watched.

She was demonstrating something to Ona with elaborate hand gestures and sound effects.

She was just vibrantly, loudly, chaotically present in a way that was completely different from yesterday's quiet shutdown, from the girl sitting alone with earplugs in staring at untouched food, from the overwhelmed silence that had required Alexia's intervention and protection.

This was Jay at full volume.

Jay unfiltered.

Jay with her ADHD brain firing on all cylinders, ricocheting between topics and people and ideas with the kind of frenetic energy that would be exhausting to witness if it wasn't also somehow completely delightful.

And Alexia was watching her with this expression.

This specific look on her face that Kika was learning to recognise, that she'd seen before but was understanding differently now, now that she knew more about their dynamic, about how they worked together, about what Jay's different states meant.

Alexia was grinning.

Not just smiling.

Grinning.

This full face grin that made her look younger, softer, completely smitten, absolutely gone for the chaotic blonde currently demonstrating what she claimed was the "proper technique for celebrating a goal" which involved a lot of arm waving and hip shaking and zero actual technique.

The captain was supposed to be running a drill.

Was supposed to be demonstrating positioning.

Was supposed to be focusing on the tactical work.

But she kept getting distracted by Jay, her attention pulled like a magnet every time Jay laughed, every time Jay said something ridiculous, every time Jay's voice carried across the pitch with some new commentary or observation or completely unhinged take on whatever was happening.

"Capitana!" Mapi called out, laughing. "You're not even watching the drill! You're just staring at your girlfriend like a lovesick puppy! We could all be doing this completely wrong and you wouldn't notice!"

"I'm watching," Alexia protested, but she was still grinning, still looking at Jay instead of at the drill, completely unconvincing. "I'm very focused. Very professional. Very paying attention to football and not at all distracted by anything else."

"You're not watching anything except Jay," Ona said, grinning. "You haven't looked at the actual drill in like five minutes. You're just tracking her around the pitch with your eyes like she's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen."

"She is the most fascinating thing I've ever seen," Alexia said unapologetically, finally tearing her eyes away from Jay to look at her teammates. "Have you met her? She's incredible. She's hilarious. She's perfect. I'm allowed to look at her. That's my girlfriend. I'm supposed to look at her."

"You're supposed to be running training," Patri pointed out, though she was smiling, clearly finding this entire situation adorable rather than annoying.

"I can do both," Alexia said. "I'm very talented. Very capable of multitasking. I can run training and appreciate my beautiful chaotic girlfriend simultaneously. This is called being efficient. You should all be impressed by my skills."

Across the pitch, Jay had apparently said something that made Lucy actually bend over laughing, had to put her hands on her knees to catch her breath, whatever Jay had said clearly landing perfectly.

Alexia's grin got impossibly wider, her whole face lighting up with pride and affection and joy at seeing Jay like this, at witnessing Jay in full chaotic glory, at getting to experience this version of her girlfriend that was so different from yesterday's overwhelmed silence.

"I love her like this," Alexia said, almost to herself, her voice soft and full of emotion, her accent thick with feeling. "When her brain is good. When she's not overwhelmed. When she has the energy to just be herself. Loud and funny and everywhere at once. This is my favourite Jay. Happy Jay. Chaotic Jay. The Jay who makes everyone laugh and talks too much and has opinions about everything. I love this Jay so much."

Kika felt something warm settle in her chest, understanding clicking into place, seeing clearly now what she'd been observing, what this meant.

Yesterday Jay had been struggling, shutting down, unable to engage, needing earplugs and silence and Alexia's careful protective intervention.

Today Jay was thriving, bouncing around the pitch like a golden retriever who'd had too much coffee, her ADHD energy channeled into social interaction and humour and connection instead of being drained by sensory overload.

And Alexia loved both versions.

Loved the quiet overwhelmed Jay who needed to be fed lunch and protected from conversation.

Loved the loud chaotic Jay who was currently doing an impression of Jonatan's accent that was absolutely terrible but somehow also kind of accurate.

Loved all of Jay, in all her states, in all her moods, in all her different ways of existing in the world.

But this version, this happy energetic chaotic version, this was clearly Alexia's favourite.

This was the Jay that made Alexia grin like that, made her eyes go soft and warm, made her completely forget she was supposed to be running a professional training session because she was too busy being in love.

By the time they broke for lunch, Jay had already told approximately seventeen stories, made fun of at least ten teammates in loving ways, and somehow convinced half the team that she should be allowed to design their next goal celebration despite having "absolutely no choreography experience but tons of confidence which is basically the same thing."

The cafeteria was just as loud as yesterday, same chaos of thirty athletes all talking at once, same overlapping conversations and clattering dishes and general ambient noise that had sent Jay into shutdown mode twenty four hours ago.

But today Jay walked in like she owned the place, loudly announcing "I'm starving, I could eat an entire cow, actually maybe two cows, is anyone else unreasonably hungry or is it just me and my faster metabolism?"

No earplugs.

No retreat to a quiet corner.

No signs of overwhelm or distress or needing to manage sensory input.

Just Jay at full volume, grabbing a tray, loading it with food while providing running commentary about her choices.

"Chicken, obviously, protein is important, gotta maintain these guns," she was saying to Aitana who was in line behind her, flexing her arm ridiculously. "Rice, carbs are our friends despite what diet culture wants us to believe, carbs are fuel and I am a car that requires premium fuel. Vegetables because Alexia will give me a look if I don't eat vegetables, you know the look, the captain look that's also the girlfriend look, very effective, impossible to resist. And dessert because life is short and pudding is delicious and I deserve nice things."

She grabbed approximately twice as much food as a normal human would eat, her tray piled high, and headed straight for the main centre table where most of the team was gathering, dropping into a seat between Mapi and Lucy, immediately inserting herself into whatever conversation was happening.

Alexia followed a few minutes later with her own much more reasonably portioned tray, and her face when she saw Jay already deep in animated conversation with half the table, gesturing wildly with her fork while telling some story that had everyone laughing, was absolutely radiant.

Pure joy.

Pure love.

Pure delight at witnessing her girlfriend being herself without barriers, without overwhelm, without the weight of sensory overload crushing her into shutdown.

She sat down directly next to Jay, close enough that their shoulders touched, and just listened for a moment, soaking in Jay's energy, her presence, her chaos.

"And then," Jay was saying, apparently in the middle of some elaborate story, "and THEN, I realised I'd been talking to the wrong person for like five full minutes. Just having this entire conversation about football tactics with someone I thought was Lucy but was actually a completely different English person, and I didn't realise until they said something in an accent that was definitely not Lucy's accent, and I had to just pretend I'd known the whole time that I was talking to a stranger, had to commit to the bit, couldn't admit I'd made a mistake, so I just kept going and now I'm friends with someone whose name I don't know but who has opinions about defensive positioning."

"That was me," a voice called from across the table. One of the staff members, grinning. "I'm Sarah. From the medical team. We had a very nice conversation about the offside trap. You explained it very thoroughly despite thinking I was Lucy the entire time."

"Sarah!" Jay said delightedly, pointing at her. "Yes! You! We're friends now! We bonded over tactics! This is great, I'm so glad we've established this, I was worried I'd hallucinated you!"

The table dissolved into laughter, everyone clearly entertained, clearly enjoying this version of Jay, this bright chaotic storytelling version who provided endless entertainment.

Alexia was watching Jay with that expression again, that grin, that look of complete adoration, her hand finding Jay's thigh under the table, fingers tracing gentle patterns through the fabric of her training pants, just maintaining that physical connection, that grounding touch, that constant reminder of we're together, I'm here, I love you.

"You're ridiculous bebe," Alexia said, her accent wrapping around the words with affection, with warmth, with absolutely no criticism despite the words themselves. "Completely ridiculous. How do you talk to someone for five minutes and not realise it's the wrong person? How does this happen to you?"

"ADHD brain," Jay said cheerfully, completely unbothered by this character flaw, completely at peace with her chaos. "Face blindness adjacent situation. I recognise voices better than faces sometimes and Sarah has a similar voice tone to Lucy, very similar actually, and I was focused on the conversation content not the person speaking, and my brain just filled in the assumption that it was Lucy because why would I be having a tactics conversation with anyone else, and I didn't verify my assumption until it was too late. Classic executive dysfunction. Very on brand for me. You should expect this kind of thing by now."

"I do expect this kind of thing," Alexia confirmed, her hand squeezing Jay's thigh gently, affectionately. "I expect chaos constantly. You never disappoint. Always something new. Always some story about how your brain did something unexpected. I love it. I love you. I love your chaos brain."

She said it casually, easily, like declaring her love in the middle of a team lunch was completely normal, like announcing her feelings in front of thirty teammates was just what you did on a Wednesday afternoon.

Jay's whole face softened, that particular expression she got when Alexia said I love you, when Alexia was affectionate in public, when Alexia made it clear that Jay was loved, chosen, wanted, chaos and all.

"I love you too," Jay said, just as easily, just as publicly. "Even though you're judging my story. Even though you're questioning my face recognition abilities. Even though you're implying I'm ridiculous, which I am but still. Love you. You're my favourite person. Top tier human. Absolutely the best."

"Smooth," Lucy said, grinning. "Very romantic. Really sweeping her off her feet with that declaration."

"I'm extremely romantic," Jay protested. "I'm the most romantic. I regularly tell Alexia she's top tier. What more could she want? That's peak romance. That's maximum affection. I'm basically a romance novel protagonist."

"You're absolutely not," Alexia said, but she was smiling, was leaning into Jay slightly, was clearly delighted by this entire interaction. "You're chaos. You're disaster. You're the opposite of a romance novel. But you're mine. And I love you exactly as you are. Chaotic and ridiculous and talking to wrong people and thinking it's romantic to call me top tier."

"It IS romantic," Jay insisted. "Top tier is an excellent compliment. It implies you're better than other options. It suggests I've done a ranking system and you've come out on top. It's very thoughtful actually. Very analytical. Very clear communication of your value."

"Dios mío," Alexia said, laughing now, her hand coming up to cover her face, hiding her grin. "You're terrible. You're so bad at romance. The worst. How did I fall in love with you? What is wrong with me?"

"You love me because I'm hilarious," Jay said confidently. "And because I have excellent arms. And because I make you laugh. And because I'm very good at football. And because my chaos balances your organisation. We're a perfect system. A complete package. You need chaos, I provide chaos. I need structure, you provide structure. It's symbiotic. It's beautiful. We're like nature documentary animals who have mutually beneficial relationship."

"We're like what?" Alexia asked, looking at Jay with complete adoration despite the absolutely ridiculous comparison.

"Nature documentary animals!" Jay repeated enthusiastically. "Like the bird that cleans the crocodile's teeth! Or the fish that lives in the sea anemone! Or the bacteria in cows that help them digest grass! Mutually beneficial organisms living in harmony! That's us! You're the crocodile, I'm the bird! Or maybe you're the anemone and I'm the clown fish! The metaphor works multiple ways!"

"I'm not a crocodile," Alexia said, still laughing, clearly unable to be even slightly annoyed when Jay was like this, when she was bright and happy and making completely unhinged comparisons. "I refuse to be a crocodile. Choose better animals. Try again."

"Okay, okay," Jay said, thinking hard, her face scrunched up in exaggerated concentration. "You're a lion. Majestic, powerful, leader of the pride, everyone respects you, very impressive. And I'm a... what's a good animal for me? What animal is chaotic and energetic and talks too much?"

"Parrot," Mapi suggested immediately. "Definitely a parrot. Loud, colourful, repeats things constantly, causes chaos."

"I like parrot," Jay agreed. "Okay yes. Alexia is a lion, I'm a parrot. This is our new system. This is how we're describing our relationship from now on. The lion and the parrot. Could be a children's book. Could be a whole series."

"Could be a disaster," Alexia corrected, but her eyes were soft, warm, full of love for this ridiculous woman who compared them to nature documentary animals and thought top tier was the height of romance.

She pulled Jay in for a kiss, right there in the middle of lunch, in front of the entire team, just leaned in and kissed her like she couldn't help herself, like watching Jay be chaotic and happy was irresistible, like she needed to express her love physically because words weren't quite enough.

The kiss was soft, sweet, thoroughly inappropriate for a team cafeteria but absolutely perfect for them, for this moment, for Alexia being so in love she couldn't contain it.

When they pulled apart, Jay was grinning, smug and delighted and clearly pleased with herself.

"See?" she said to the table at large. "She loves me. Even though I'm a parrot. Even though I talk to wrong people. Even though I'm chaos. She loves me anyway. I'm very lovable. This is confirmed. Verified by kiss. Official."

"You're ridiculous," Aitana said, but she was smiling, everyone was smiling, the whole table clearly enjoying this display of affection, this evidence of how gone these two were for each other.

"I'm perfect," Jay corrected. "Ask Alexia. She'll confirm. I'm absolutely perfect exactly as I am. Right, babe?"

"You're perfect," Alexia agreed easily, her hand back on Jay's thigh, her thumb rubbing gentle circles. "Perfectly chaotic. Perfectly ridiculous. Perfectly yourself. And I love every bit of it. Every story. Every wrong person conversation. Every nature documentary comparison. All of it. I love all of you."

"Even the ADHD chaos?" Jay asked, and there was something slightly vulnerable under the playful tone, something that suggested this question mattered, this answer was important.

"Especially the ADHD chaos," Alexia said firmly, seriously, making sure Jay heard this, making sure she understood. "The chaos is you. Is part of you. Is inseparable from everything else I love. I don't love you despite the ADHD. I love you including the ADHD. With the ADHD. All of it together. You're not divisible into parts I love and parts I tolerate. You're whole. Complete. Perfect as you are. And I love all of you. Always."

Jay's eyes went slightly shiny, emotion clearly hitting her, the weight of being loved completely, unconditionally, chaos and disability and all of it accepted and cherished rather than just tolerated.

"Okay now you're actually being romantic," she said, her voice slightly thick. "That was good. That was really good actually. Way better than top tier. I'm taking notes. Learning from the master."

"Good," Alexia said, kissing her again, quick and sweet. "Learn. Improve your romance skills. Maybe one day you'll catch up to my level."

"Never," Jay said confidently. "You're the romance expert. I'm just the chaos. But together we make something beautiful. The lion and the parrot. The perfect team."

"The perfect team," Alexia agreed, grinning.

And Kika, watching from a few seats down, understood something new about what she'd witnessed yesterday, about the earplugs and the shutdown and Alexia's protective intervention.

This was why Alexia protected that boundary so fiercely.

This was why the team learned Jay's signals.

This was why they accommodated her needs without question.

Because when Jay had the support she needed, when her sensory environment was managed, when she wasn't fighting constant overwhelm, when her nervous system was regulated and her brain had the capacity to function...

She was this.

Bright and funny and chaotic and full of joy.

Making everyone laugh.

Telling ridiculous stories.

Comparing relationships to nature documentaries.

Being fully, completely, authentically herself without barriers or masks or the exhausting effort of pretending to be neurotypical.

Yesterday's overwhelmed silence was the cost of not having accommodations.

Today's chaotic joy was the result of getting what she needed.

And Alexia loved this version so much, loved seeing Jay happy and energetic and engaged, that she would protect yesterday's boundary with absolute fierceness, would enforce the earplug rule without hesitation, would make sure Jay had what she needed to be able to be this version more often, to exist in this state more frequently, to experience this joy instead of that overwhelm.

It was beautiful.

It was love expressed through accommodation.

It was understanding that supporting someone's disability wasn't about fixing them or changing them but about removing the barriers that prevented them from being their full wonderful chaotic selves.

And watching Alexia look at Jay with that expression, that grin, that complete adoration...

Kika understood.

She got it.

She saw it clearly.

This was what love looked like when you really understood someone, when you learned their needs, when you protected their boundaries, when you created space for them to thrive.

When Alexia tore her ACL the first time, she was devastated, but she went through the usual: surgery, rehab, and physio, and took her time to get back to full strength. She made sure that she was fully fit before she played again because she didn't want to do anything that could possibly hurt her footballing career. Even in practice, she made sure not to overload on weights, and always did thorough warming up and cooling down.

But clearly, she hadn't been thorough enough because sure enough, one day during an exercise on the field, she felt a tugging pain behind her knee. It wasn't painful enough for her to make sure she came off the field for the day, so she kept on practicing.

A week later, they played Real Madrid and were winning 4-0 after halftime. Alexia had been doing good enough for her until she felt someone tackle her from behind and went down clutching her leg.

Her teammates and physio ran over to her, but she couldn't focus on anything but the pain and the thoughts running through her head. What if she had ruined her ACL again?

Or what if she had officially just gotten too old to play anymore? She felt a tap on her shoulder, making her get up and limp miserably off the field toward the examination room.

There was so much poking and prodding at her knee and the bright lights were giving her a headache. They ended up telling her that they would refer her to a surgeon tomorrow who would give her a better examination and follow through with whatever steps were needed.

Now, Alexia didn't want to get another surgery for this stupid injury, but she trusted the surgeon well enough, and he had done her well last time. She was also told that she wouldn't be able to drive home on her own, so she got Ingrid and Mapi to drop her off at her apartment. Alexia ended up texting her sister and Mami a short but to-the-point text.

| Ale: I'm fine, so no need to worry, the physio just told me to go to the hospital tomorrow to get examined. It should be Sr. Ruiz again; I just need to be driven there. Te quiero y buenas noches.

Alexia sent the text message, but she was too tired to wait for the response she knew was coming. Her Mami would send a bunch of texts wanting to know every single detail and wanting to make Alba stay with her. And Alba would text saying she would have to, but would come over anyway.

Alexia stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't showered before packing her stuff and meeting Ingrid by the front of the stadium. She still had grass on her skin, and her ponytail was a mangled mess from the unusual rainy Spain weather. Alexia took what was probably the longest and hottest shower and plugged her phone in next to her before shutting her eyes for the night.

You woke up in the morning to the bright sun from the curtains you forgot to close the night before, and a note on your nightstand that you assumed was from the woman you took home last night. You groaned, feeling the headache from drinking and the loud music before you checked your phone. You weren't supposed to have to go to work today, which is why you went to the club, but of course, life wasn't in your favor.

There was a text on the front of your screen when you tapped it awake from one of your teachers, Sr. Ruiz, basically asking you to take over his consults and surgery for the week, as he had an emergency with his son. You had to force yourself to hold back another groan before responding in the kindest way possible and getting up to throw the dark green scrubs in the washer.

While you waited for the clothes to be cleaned, you brushed your hair back into a bun and got a text from Carla, one of the nurses, saying that the files would be ready for you when you got to the hospital. "Dios mío." Of course, your first consultation of the day was for an ACL follow-up reconstruction. This meant you would most likely get some pissy athlete in your OR and have to deal with their attitude.

Your dryer timer finally went off, and you grabbed your coat and whatever lunch was meal-prepped in your fridge and dragged your feet down to your parked car. The loud Spanish pop was the only thing keeping you from wanting to go back to your bed and sleep.

"Hola chica, tu paciente ya está en la habitación cuatro esperando." Of course, you wouldn't even get a chance to get alone time to yourself, gosh. "Gracias, Carla," You replied to the older woman, and you trekked toward the break room to messily throw your stuff and grab your stethoscope and coat. [ Hey girl, your patient is already in room four waiting. ]

You greeted nurses and other surgeons who were walking through the halls as you got to your ACL room. You read the name on the clipboard outside as you made a confused face, not recognizing it. You glanced through the window to see an older woman and another woman whom you recognized from the club, and got her number.

"Hola, I am filling in for Sr. Ruiz today for your consultation and reconstruction. It says here that you got your surgery a little over ten months ago and felt pain in it last night." You didn't pay attention to anything other than the clipboard in your hand, making sure you got the information right.

Alexia had been sitting in the hospital bed with her leg propped up, courtesy of her mami, as she waited for whoever it was to examine her. As you walked in, Alexia's mood immediately changed, and she couldn't help but stare at your face, taking in your looks.

She stared at the messy bun atop your head and noticed the brown curls that were pulled out at the front. She also stared at the freckles that danced across your face and looked at the long lashes as you blinked and looked up.

Clearly, you were looking at her to answer whatever you asked, but she didn't hear a single word come from your mouth. "Uh, hm, sorry, what did you ask?" She tried to be discreet with the fact that she had been basically burning her stare into your face, which made you laugh a bit and repeat the question.

You wrote down any missing information that wasn't in the file, and you promised to be back with a gown and be able to take her back.

"Ooh, Ale, parece que alguien se ha enamorado del cirujano buenorro." Alexia rolled her eyes at her sister's teasing voice before allowing her brain to take her back into her thoughts of you. She was mad about Sr. Ruiz not being able to do her surgery, yes, but there was one huge plus to his being absent, and that was seeing you. [ Ooh, Ale, looks like someone has fallen in love with the hot surgeon. ]

Alexia waved goodbye to her mami and sister as they walked down to the cafeteria, ready to wait for the surgery to be finished. She texted Irene asking how practice had been going, as she heard the turning of the handle on the door with you walking through.

"Here we go, one hospital gown, I'll turn around, but just ask if you need help." You handed the gown to the blonde woman and felt a tingle in your fingers as they touched hers.

Obviously, she wasn't going to ask for help; she was Alexia Putellas, and she didn't need help tying some dumb gown. But as luck would have it, the ten minutes she spent trying to tie the strings together behind her didn't do anything, and she spoke up with a soft voice.

You let out a soft laugh before gladly walking over to the side of Alexia's bed and beginning to pull the strings together. You couldn't help but stare at the tattoos that were splayed across her back and how smooth her tanned skin was.

You patted her shoulder softly, noticing the nervousness written on her face as she lay back down on the bed. "Is something wrong? This is just a simple surgery, nothing like your last one." You said in an attempt to reassure her, but you could just see her grow more nervous before speaking up.

"I just don't want to be stuck in my apartment for a whole year again." You were surprised she answered, but you did your best to reassure her that everything would go perfectly fine.

You pressed the button for the nurses to wheel Alexia's bed back to the OR, and you softly grabbed her hand before the anesthesiologist put the medicine through the IV. "I promise it's going to be ok and I'll be there when you wake up, promise." You watched her nod as you squeezed her hand once more and pulled your gloves on.

It had been almost two weeks since Alexia got her ACL reconstructed; turns out she had loosened a screw in her knee which messed it up. You truly had kept your promise, and you were there in the room before Ale's mami or sister even got up to her room.

You ended up having a conversation, and you left a note with your number atop Alexia's cellphone, saying to call you whenever for any questions. You, in all honesty, hadn't expected any texts or communication from the woman. So when you got a cryptic text from the blonde athlete, you drove as quickly as you could.

She only texted one word, and it made you think something was seriously wrong with either her knee or the medication she was taking for it. Your phone was hooked up to the screen in your car, playing some random station, and you kept glancing at the screen for texts or calls.

You could feel the stares of other people in the elevator and on the stairs as you sprinted as fast as you could up to Alexia's apartment. As you pounded on her door, you tapped your foot anxiously on the floor.

Alexia almost regretted sending the text to your phone the second she hit send, even though it was just one word. She knew why she was calling you over; she just wasn't positive that she could do it. Alexia practically jumped at the insistent and constant knocking on her front door as she ran to the door from her sofa. "Hola, uh, come in, come in." Alexia ushered you in and led you to her small kitchen.

"What's wrong, is it your knee still? It really shouldn't be bothering you any-" Your speech got cut off by the feeling of another pair of lips on yours. You could feel your eyes widen as you realized what was happening; your blonde athlete patient was kissing you. Clearly, it took you too long to kiss her back as she started to pull away, but you grabbed her cheeks and pulled her back in.

"Lo siento, I didn't mean to." Even though it was dark out and there were only a few lamps lit, you could see the middle of her cheeks getting more and more red. "Alexia, I wouldn't have kissed you back if I didn't mean it. I gave you my number with more hopes than just a few medical questions." You spoke with laughter in your voice and watched for a reaction from the blonde.

She laughed back and laid her forehead against yours. "I have a feeling my life is going to get better." You said as you let Alexia lead you to the balcony outside of her living room. The two of you spent the rest of your night talking about sweet nothings and staring at the stars.