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Being 25 and dating Alexia Putellas was a constant adventure. From the beginning, you were both completely clear: no one on the team could find out.

Not because you were doing anything wrong. Not because you had doubts. But because you knew the younger ones far too well. If they found out, it wouldn’t last three days before the entire locker room knew.

Alexia, with all her experience and calmness, had been the one to suggest it.

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” she had told you one night, sitting on the couch in her apartment, the lights low and the distant noise of the city coming through the window. “It’s just that if we tell Claudia or Cata, within an hour Vicky will be making absurd theories out loud and Mapi will be looking at us with that suspicious smile. And I don’t have the energy for that.”

“So… what are we? A secret operation?”

“Exactly,” Alexia had replied, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Operation absolutely secret.”

And for months, it worked.

Long looks no one else noticed. Hands brushing only when you were sure no one was watching. Discreet messages before matches. Leaving the parking lot separately so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The only problem was that Alexia, no matter how much of a captain she was, sometimes forgot she was in public when it came to you.

And there was also the small detail of the sweatshirt.

The famous gray sweatshirt.

Everything fell apart on an ordinary Saturday.

You arrived at the stadium with your headphones on, your hair tied back in a low ponytail, and the oversized sweatshirt covering almost your hands. It was comfortable, warm… and smelled like Alexia.

You didn’t think much of it. It was just clothing.

Until you walked into the locker room.

Mapi was the first to notice.

“Hey,” she said, frowning with exaggerated drama. “Since when do you wear that sweatshirt?”

You froze mid-step.

“What’s wrong with the sweatshirt?”

Claudia looked up from her phone.

“That’s Alexia’s sweatshirt.”

Silence.

A dangerously long silence.

You tried to keep your composure.

“Not every gray sweatshirt belongs to Alexia.”

At that moment, as if the universe had a sense of humor, Alexia walked into the locker room. She stopped for barely a second when she saw you. You. Wearing her sweatshirt.

And she smiled.

Mistake number one.

Because Mapi never forgave that kind of smile.

“Oh,” she said slowly, pointing at both of you as if she had just solved an international crime. “Ohhhhh.”

“Don’t start,” Alexia muttered, trying to sound firm.

“Start what?” Mapi replied, placing a hand on her chest dramatically. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just observing that our captain lost a sweatshirt… and magically it appeared on someone else.”

Vicky was already recording with her phone.

“This is premium content.”

“Don’t record,” Alexia warned, crossing her arms.

You felt your cheeks begin to burn.

“It’s just a sweatshirt, really.”

“Sure,” Claudia replied, holding back laughter. “Just like it’s ‘just’ a coincidence that after every training session you two disappear at exactly the same time.”

Chaos was served.

But the real confirmation came hours later.

Home match. Full stadium. Maximum intensity.

Alexia stayed impeccable, focused, serious. She celebrated your goal with the whole team, hugging everyone equally. Zero mistakes. Zero slips.

It seemed like you had survived the sweatshirt incident.

It seemed.

The problem came afterward.

In the tunnel, when the adrenaline was starting to fade and the stadium was still roaring outside, you began walking a few steps ahead, still smiling because of the goal. Alexia was behind you, talking to the staff.

And it was something minimal.

Tiny.

But definitive.

You stopped to adjust your shin guards, leaning against the wall. Alexia, without thinking too much, stepped closer from behind and placed a hand on your waist.

An automatic gesture.

Intimate.

Natural.

Too natural.

“Did you hurt yourself in the fall?” Alexia asked, lowering her voice, leaning slightly to speak near your ear. “Because if it was from that tackle, I already spoke to the referee and—”

You shook your head, smiling.

“I’m fine. I just got a little scared, but it’s okay now. You don’t have to go into angry captain mode every time someone touches me.”

Alexia didn’t remove her hand.

On the contrary.

Her fingers slid just a few centimeters, making sure you were really okay.

“It’s not captain mode,” she replied softly. “It’s… caring about you mode.”

Silence.

A small, charged silence.

And then, from the back of the tunnel:

“Are we interrupting something or should we keep watching?” Mapi’s voice echoed with unnecessary clarity.

You both turned at the same time.

There they were.

Claudia with her mouth open.

Vicky with a “I knew I wasn’t crazy” expression.

Patri with her arms crossed, enjoying the show.

And worst of all.

Alexia’s hand was still on your waist.

Alexia removed it slowly. Too late.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she tried to say.

“Oh, perfect,” Mapi replied with exaggerated seriousness. “Then explain to us what it looks like. Because from here it looks like our captain has very specific preferences when it comes to checking injuries.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Alexia, on the other hand, took a deep breath. She looked at the group. Then she looked at you.

And something changed.

The strategy was over.

The secret operation was over.

“Alright,” Alexia said, with that firm calm she used in press conferences. “We didn’t want to say anything yet. But yes. We’re together.”

The silence lasted exactly half a second.

Then the tunnel exploded.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I told you the sweatshirt wasn’t a coincidence!”

“How long have you been together?”

“I DEMAND DETAILS!”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or hide behind one of the columns. Your cheeks were burning and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who had just played a full ninety minutes.

Alexia, meanwhile, kept her characteristic calm. She wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… resigned.

She looked at the group with a mix of patience and warning.

“Breathe,” she said firmly but serenely. “We’re not holding a press conference right now.”

“But how long have you been together?” Claudia insisted, unable to contain her excitement.

You hesitated for a second, but Alexia answered first.

“Long enough to know it wasn’t something we wanted to make public yet,” she explained. “Not because we’re ashamed. We just wanted something that was only ours for a while.”

That softened the atmosphere a little.

The teasing didn’t disappear, but it lowered in intensity. It wasn’t an interrogation anymore, it was affectionate curiosity.

And while the group began to scatter, talking among themselves, Alexia looked at you again.

This time without hiding anything.

“I promised we’d last quite a while,” she murmured softly.

You let out a nervous laugh.

“Yes, but we didn’t count on them being so observant.”

“They’re a disaster,” Alexia replied, though there was tenderness in her tone. “And they don’t know how to keep secrets. You were right.”

There was a small silence. Calmer now.

No hidden glances. No hands pulling away at the sound of footsteps.

Alexia took a step closer.

It wasn’t impulsive. It was deliberate. Serene.

She placed a gentle hand on your cheek, her thumb barely brushing the skin still warm from the match.

“Are you okay?” she asked once more, but no longer about the fall.

You nodded, this time without nerves.

“I’m more than okay.”

And then, in front of the distant laughter and the murmurs of teammates pretending not to look, Alexia leaned in just enough.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It wasn’t scandalous.

It was small. Soft. Certain.

A warm brush of lips, calm, like confirming something that no longer needed to be hidden.

When you pulled apart, you were smiling without being able to stop.

“Now,” Alexia said, with that half-smile of hers, “official.”

You had been dating Scottie for almost 2 year, atleast that was until you found out she had been cheating on you for 3 months.

You met Scottie at La Maisia when you were 15. You became friends quickly, only at 16 Scottie decided that she was not going to persue a professional career.

You on the other hand had dreamt of being a footballer since you could kick a ball. Scottie went to university and you signed for Barcelona. Even though your lives were totally different, you stayed connected.

At 17 you and Scottie had your first kiss together in a club in Barcelona, which led to both of you confessing your feelings. Soon after you started dating.

One day when your training had ended sooner then scedueled, you decided to surprise Scottie at her apartment. Little did you know what you where about to see.

The key turned in the lock as you pushed open the door, walking in and dropping your bag at the door. As you walked in the living room, your face turned as white as paper.

On the couch was your girlfriend, emphesis on your, getting eaten out by some random blonde girl you didn't know.

"WHAT THE FUCK, SCOTTIE!" You yelled, probably loud enough for the neigbours to hear, but frankly at this point you could not give a single fuck about that.

Both heads turned towards you, pure horror all over them. "I didn't know you would be here already" Scottie said, as if that was going to clear the situation that was unfolding in front of you.

"Aparently, because if you did know, you wouldn't be fucking this bitch on the couch!" You yelled. "And who are you, if I may ask?" The girl who was on top of Scottie seconds ago asked. She was still very much naked and was not showing any sign of changing that, or even better, leaving the apartment.

"I'm Scottie's girlfriend and i have been for 2 years. Who are you?" The tone of your voice clearly angry, irritated by the attituded that blonde witch had.

"I'm Megan and you must not have been a good one, because she has been fucking me for 3 months." She said. You looked at Scottie, who just stayed silent and did not return your look.

"Get out, now." You said, directed at the girl. "And we are over." You added pointing between you and the girl you thought you knew everything about. As Megan grabbed her clothing to leave, Scottie came back to live and had decided that she was the victim of all this.

"Why did you sent her away, we could have explained." Scottie said when Megan had already left the apartment, because atleast she had the decencie to wait until she was gone to fight with you.

"Oh i don't know, maybe because there isn't much you can explain. You were fucking her on the couch in front of my eyes. I think the picture is quite clear here." You said, trying to stay calm, but absolutely failing.

"Y/N baby, we can try again, i swear she means nothing to me." Scottie tried to defend herself. "You were cheating on me with her. I would say that she meant at least something to you." You argued.

"Fine if you aren't going to try to reason with me. She meant more to me than you will ever do. She wasn't a whiny little bitch and she actually made me feel something." Scottie said, finally turning on you.

"You can sort this out yourself. I don't care if you fall back in to the ditch that i helped you out of. You can go fuck yourself. Get out!" Scottie yelled. You decided she wasn't worth your time so you left.

You sat outside on a bench overlooking the sea of Barcelona, thinking of all the things that had happend in the past years.

When you signed your first professional contract you struggled with your mental health. You thought you weren't good enough, so you pushed yourself harder and harder. Training extra long and not eating enough.

You would distance yourself from your teammates, not accepting any invitations for team nights out. You would go home immediatly and cry in your bed, avoiding all human contact.

This became kind of a problem. Since you didn't

Until one day you collapsed in the middle of training. Tou had skipped breakfast and had went straight to the gym to do some cardio. By the time training actualy started, your body had ran out of fuel.

When you woke up, there were a whole buch of medical staff around you. They were all relieved that you had woke up. Not long after you were sat in a room with Alexia and the nutritionist. You explained what had been going on and Alexia reassured you that they were there to help.

With the help of some medical staaf and the nutritionist you got back to your old self. At that time, Scottie was always there for you, helping you if you needed it.

"She is good for you, you know. Taking care of a loved one when they are going through something is not easy." Alexia had told you after training one day. Oh how wrong she was about Scottie.

Tears were forming in your eyes. Someone you loved once again proved today that you are not enough and that hurt. You sat on that bench for hours just crying. Eventualy it got dark and you had to go somewhere to spent the night.

You had no place to stay technicaly. You had your own apartment, but you had a roommate, Maria, and you had promised her that she could have the house to herself tonight so her boyfriend could come over without you being a bother.

You could go back, but you had already walked in on somebody once and you were not going to let it happen twice. So your only other option was to walk to your captains apartment two blocks down.

Alexia had always reassured you that she was there for you, so you'd hoped she wouldn't mind you spending the night.

You quickly wiped your face, all signs of sadness disepearing from it. Alexia could not know that there was somethong going on with you.

"Hola cariño, que pasa?" She said as she saw you on her doorstep. "Can i spend the night here, i know it is last minute, but Maria invited her boyfriend over and i realy don't want to be in the same house as those two horny teens" you laughed, a small smirk apearing on Alexia's face.

"Yes sure, come in." She stepped aside, letting you in. "Was staying at Scottie's not an option?" She asked out of curiosity. You winced as you heard her name, the events of earlier today still fresh in your mind.

"No, she went out with her friends tonight." You lied, trying to make Alexia believe it. "Oh okay, well you know where the spare bedroom is. Do you need anything else, i have some dinner left over if you want some." She asked. You actually did want dinner. "Yeah sure, if it's okay for you. I don't want to be a burden." You said, knowing the earful you were going to get from Alexia for saying that.

"Cariño, you are not a burden. No hables así de ti mismo." (Don't talk about yourself like that.) Alexia took you to the kitchen, serving you a plate of leftover spaghetti. "Gracias Ale."

"Of course cariño. You know i'm here for you right. You can talk to me if there is something that is bothering you, right." Alexia could sense that there was something going on with you, she just didn't know what.

Over the next few weeks, your eating habits began to slip again. The sadnesswas taking over your body and the thought of food alone made you want to throw up. So you began to skip breakfast strategicly. You would arrive late at training, claiming to have eaten something already.

Alexia became suspicious. Knowing what had happened before when you were skipping meals left and right. "Have you guys noticed anything about Y/N?" she asked, glancing over at the table of younsters where you were sat, pushing your food around your plate and not actually eating it.

"No, not really. She has been a bit more quiet recently, but for Y/N that is not really a red flag" Irene said, also taking a look at you. "Why, do you think there is something going on?" Mapi asked, who was now also looking over at you.

"i don't know. A few weeks ago, she suddenly showed up at my door, claiming she had no place to sleep. She said Scottie was out with her friends, but what would that have to do with her not being able to stay at her house." Alexia said. "Do you think maybe something happened between them?" Martha asked.

"Maybe. She has been skipping meals a lot. I just hope that she is okay." "We can keep an eye on her. If we see anything suspicious, we will tell you" Irene said trying to not let Alexia worry to much. Irene knew how protective Alexia could be when it came to you.

Slowly you began to stop going out with the team. Sure, you were not the most outgoing person, but you like a good night out with your teammates. They would tease you about it, saying that you only came out of your shell when you went out.

But now the nights out felt more like an obligation than something fun you wanted to do. So you started saying no, much to your teammates surprise.

It was after a particular big win that the rest of the team became suspicious of you as well. "Hey Y/N, you coming with us tonight!" Vicky yelled from across the changing room. You just shook your head, not having any energy to form a complete sentence. "Oh come on Y/N, when did you become so boring." Pina said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You just shook her off and packed the rest of your bag.

You left as soon as possible, not even showering. Opting to go home as fast as you could so you didn't have to talk to anyone.

"What has been going on with her?" Cata asked when you had left. "She has been distancing herself from us for weeks." The changing room went quiet. "There must be something going on. She has been skipping meals to." Vicky said. "So you guys see it too?" Alexia asked, who was relieved that someone shared the same worries as her.

"wait, you knew there was something going on?" Pina asked Alexia, surprised that the captainnhad not yet warned the team to keep an eye on you. "No, i mean i had my suspicions, but Irene said that it was probably nothing." "Well, we have to find out what is wrong before it gets worse. I really don't want to see her collapse again. One time was really enough." Cata said.

The team decided they were going to watch your every move, without looking suspicious of course, so they could figure out what happend.

And so operation 'find out what's wrong' started. Vicky would be watching you as you ate breakfast, looking for anything out of the ordinary. On the pitch it was Cata and Pina looking after you. When you entered the changing room, Irene and Alexia went full captain mode, not taking tere eyes off you for one second.

You knew what was going on. The team was not exactly the best at hidding things. You constantly felt a pair of eyes on you, so you began to hide everything even better than before. You would eat your breakfast, just to trow it up again minutes later in the bathrooms. You would agree to go out, to than cancel last minute with some lame excuse.

"I'm sorry, i can't come anymore i have to pick up my mom from the airport tomorrow morning." You said as Vicky stood on your doorstep to pick you up to go out. She would look at you suspiciously, but then she would say goodbye and leave you alone.

But all that hiding and faking pushed you to a breaking point. It was after a grueling match, the team having to give it's all, but it still wasn't enough. Barça lost 1-0. You were sat in the changing room, trying to keep your tears in. Not only because you couldn't win, also because right before the match you had seen something on Instagram that you would much rather delete from your memory.

Scottie posted a picture on Instagram with her new girlfriend. Well not really new. It was the same girl that you had found her with on the couch. That awful blond hair staring back at you as you saw that picture. The events of that night came right back.

You chaneled all your anger into the game. Maybe even a bit to much. You had made a wrong tackle and had received a yellow card. As you continued to make risky tackle's, Pere decided to take you off and bench you, not wanting to risk you getting a red.

Now the anger you first felt was replaced with sadness. The tears were stinging in your eyes and you were trying not to let them roll down. Pina came to sit next to you, pulling you into her side. "You know it is not your fault that we lost, right. It was a team effort. We were all bad." She was making sure you didn't feel too bad about the loss. She thought you were sad about it, but she didn't know there was something else that was pulling you under and drowning you.

One by one all your teammates left and you sat alone at your cubicle, still in the same spot as you were half an hour ago. The tears you tried so hard to contain were now freely rolling down your cheeks, staining your face.

You had waited for everyone to leave so you could let everything go. You didn't trust yourself to drive home in this state, so you weren't leaving until the awful feeling was gone. You just sobbed and sobbed for what felt like hours, the facade you had up breaking in seconds.

Then the door suddenly opened. "Oh I'm sorry, i didn't know you were still here. I just forgot my water bottle." Cata said as she realized she wasn't alone. "Cariño, Estás bien?" she asked as she saw the tears on your face. You just looked at her and started crying again. Cata walked over to you, sitting next to you and pulling you into her side. "Hey hey, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here for you." You buried your face in her neck.

"Do you want to tell me what is going on?" Cata asked. "Me and Scottie broke up." You mumbled. "Oh cariño, i'm so sorry." She pulled you even closer to her as she cradled your face. "Do you want to tell me why?" You looked up from where you had buried your head.

"She cheated on me. I found her on the couch with some chick. Apparently they had been sneaking around for months." You said. The image of it still fresh in your mind like it had happened yesterday. "Is that why you have been so distant lately?" You nodded your head. "Scottie said i was a whiny bitch and that i was a burden, so i thought that maybe you guys also felt like that. I didn't want to be a burden so i distanced myself."

"cariño, i promise you none of us will ever see you as a burden. We love you now and we will always love you, understood?" Cata said, you just nodded. "Scottie is definitely missing out because you are the funniest, kindest and most genuine person i have ever met." Cata's words really met something to you in that moment. You had felt like you weren't wanted as a person, but Cata proved that statement wrong.

"Have you been eating properly?" She asked. You knew the team had caught on that your old eating habits began to return, but to have to admit it out loud was a different level. "No, I'm sorry. I just felt like i wasn't enough and those old thoughts started to come back." You said, feeling guilty.

"You are enough cariño, don't talk about yourself like that. I know you don't like it but you will have to go back to the sports psychologist and talk with the nutritionist. We can't have you collapsing again. You're a professional athlete, you need to fuel your body right." Cata said looking at you.

You just sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Cata broke it. "Do you want to sleep at mine tonight, i have a spare bedroom. I understand if you want to be on your own but i thought that maybe you wouldn't want to see your roommate right now." You looked at her with a thankfull face. "Yes, if that is okay for you. Maria is a nice person, but i don't really want to see her right now." You said. "Cariño, i asked you if you wanted to stay over, of course it's okay. Come on let's go." She said, pulling you up from the bench.

You walked to her car in silence, neither of you having anything important to say. The drive to her apartment was silent. Cata occasionally glanced over at you to see if you were still okay. When you entered her apartment, it felt homey. You had never been here, opting to stay at Alexia's house when you needed somewhere to stay.

"Do you need some pyjamas. I can give you a shirt if you want?" She said looking at what you were wearing now. You nodded your head.

Cata showed you the spare bedroom and the bathroom, she gave you a shirt and wished you goodnight. "Oh and tomorrow, you are going to make an appointment with the psychologist. And you are not escaping it." You laughed quietly at how serious she was, not often seeing that side of her.

"goodnight Cata, thank you for helping me."

There were many hazards playing forward for the Spanish national team.

But for you, the greatest hazard at Las Rozas was currently wearing oversized neon, diving through the air, and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Actually, there were two of them.

"You’re staring again."

You jumped slightly, tearing your eyes away from the penalty box. Claudia was standing next to you by the water coolers, arms crossed, looking at you with a deeply judgmental smirk.

"I am analyzing the defense," you lied, taking a sip of your water. "I'm a striker. I have to study the keepers’ weak points."

"You are studying the way Misa’s thighs look in those shorts," Claudia corrected bluntly. "And ten minutes ago, when Cata caught that corner kick with one hand.It’s embarrassing, YN."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Claudia snorted. "Please. It’s the worst kept secret in the squad. You are an absolute embarrassment around the Number 1s. Broad shoulders, crazy reflexes, loud voices... you have a type. A very specific, unhinged type."

You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, the whistle blew to signal the end of the shooting drill.

Over in the six-yard box, Misa popped up from the grass after a spectacular diving save. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her eyes were blazing with pure adrenaline. She beat her gloved fists against her chest, letting out a loud, triumphant shout.

Right next to her, Cata just chuckled. The Barcelona keeper casually caught a stray ball on her chest, bounced it off her knee, and caught it in her gloved hands with effortlessly.

Both of them turned their heads. And both of them locked eyes directly on you.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very overheated.

Claudia patted your shoulder sympathetically. "Good luck surviving the week"

– – –

Thirty minutes later, the pitch had cleared out. You had volunteered to collect the training cones, mostly to avoid the craziness of the locker room. You hauled the heavy mesh bag of equipment into the dim hallway of the storage room.

You had just dropped the bag onto the floor when a shadow filled the doorway.

"You were holding back on your shots today."

You turned around. Cata was leaning against the doorframe. She was still in her keeper kit, looking incredibly relaxed. She reached up, using her teeth to rip the velcro strap of her right glove open. The completely effortless action sent a hot spike of electricity straight to your core.

"I wasn't holding back, Cata," you said, your voice betraying you by coming out slightly breathless. "I was just trying to place them."

"Mhm," Cata smirked, pulling the glove off and tossing it onto a shelf. She took a slow step into the equipment room, closing the distance between you. "I think you were distracted. You kept looking at my hands instead of the ball."

"I was not—"

"Is she bothering you, chica?"

A second, much sharper voice cut through the air.

You looked past Cata. Misa had just walked in and she looked like she was ready to go to war. Her eyes snapped from you to Cata, instantly flaring with that intense, territorial rivalry that defined El Clásico.

Cata didn't even flinch. She just threw a lazy glance over her shoulder. "We were just talking about my save percentage, Misa. You know, the one that’s higher than yours."

Misa’s jaw locked. She stepped fully into the small room. "Your save percentage only looks good because your defense does all the work. When it’s one-on-one, she knows who the real wall is."

Misa didn't stop walking until she was standing right beside you. She reached out her hand wrapping securely around your upper arm, pulling you a half-step closer to her side. The heat radiating off her was intoxicating.

"Don't let the Barcelona ego bore you, YN," Misa says, her voice dropping low her eyes looking down at you with possessiveness. "Si quieres un verdadero desafío, ven a entrenar conmigo." (If you want a real challenge, come train with me.)

Cata’s easygoing smirk vanished, replaced by competitiveness.She stepped forward, effectively boxing you in between the wall and the two women.

Cata reached out with her bare hand, her long fingers gently catching your chin, tilting your face toward her.

"No le hagas caso," (Don't listen to her) Cata whispered, her thumb brushing slowly over your lower lip. She leaned in closer. *"You don't want a goalkeeper who just yells all day. You want someone who knows how to handle things... with their hands."*

Misa’s grip on your arm tightened instantly. She leaned down on your other side, her breath hot against the shell of your ear.

"I can show you exactly what my hands can do," Misa growled, the raw, unfiltered hunger in her voice making your knees actually buckle a fraction of an inch. "I promise you won't be thinking about her when I'm done with you."

You were completely trapped.

To your left was Misa, intense, passionate, and dominant, staring a hole into the side of your head. To your right was Cata, reckless, arrogant, and radiating confidence, her thumb still resting on your jawline.

Both of them were looking at you, waiting for you to make a choice. The air in the tiny equipment room was thick with tension.

You looked back and forth between the two keepers, your heart pounding.You literally couldn't speak.

They were right,you thought dizzily, your back hitting the metal shelving as Misa and Cata stepped even closer, completely caging you in.You really did have a goalkeeper obsession.

When the door opened and Cata stepped in, you noticed immediately. Her expression was weary, her shoulders tight, her movements slow and sluggish. She looked like someone who had just barely made it through the day. You slipped out from behind the bar, wiping your hands on your apron, and greeted her with a soft smile. Whoever this woman was, now she was under your care and you'd try your best to make the day better.

“Table for one?”

She nodded wordlessly, eyes flicking around the cozy little dining room as if unsure she’d even made the right choice by walking in. You guided her to a table in the corner, one of the more private spots where the candlelight softened the shadows. A sprig of rosemary sat in a jar next to the olive oil, filling the air with a clean, herbal sharpness. The table was cozy and had a nice chair, that probably was your favorite one in the restaurant.

You set down a menu, but she looked at it with confusion, her brow furrowing as she flipped between the sections. “This is… strange.” She admitted. “It’s not in order. Usually it’s starters, mains, desserts…”

“That’s on purpose.” You said lightly. “Think of it more as a journey. Each section is a different place. Spanish, Catalan, Italian, English… You can build your own meal depending on what calls to you.”

She scanned the pages again, fingertips brushing over the Catalan dishes. Something flickered in her eyes at Escalivada and Fideuà, before reading through shepherd's pie and Krithraki dishes, though she didn’t choose. You could sense the hesitation, the pull between familiarity and curiosity.

“You look like you’ve had a long day.” You said gently.

Her lips parted, surprise flashing across her face. “That obvious?”

You shrugged. “I’m a chef. I see it often enough. Food helps.” You paused, tilting your head. “Where’s home for you?”

For the first time since she walked in, her expression softened. “Mallorca.” The word left her lips with a quiet fondness, like it carried its own weight of sun, sea, and family.

“Then you don’t need the menu.” You said with a grin. “I’ll make you something from there. Something that tastes like home.”

Cata blinked at you, caught off guard. “You can do that?”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice as though sharing a secret. “I’ve cooked all over Spain. Mallorca too. Trust me?”

There was a beat of silence, then the tiniest curve of a smile tugged at her mouth. “Yeah. I do.”

With a small smile you told one of your servers to get the lady a drink on the house and then you grabbed the menu.

You disappeared into the kitchen, the rhythm of the restaurant shifting as you began to work. Olive oil hissed in the pan, garlic sizzling until the air filled with its perfume. You roasted red peppers and eggplant, their skins blackening, then peeled them down to their tender hearts. The scent of saffron bloomed as it hit warm broth, golden threads releasing their fragrance. You pulled out a handful of sobrasada, the island’s cured sausage, softening it slowly so its paprika-rich fat could infuse the dish.

On her plate, you built something not on the menu. A small spread of pa amb oli, rustic bread rubbed with tomato and drizzled with local olive oil, served with a side of roasted vegetables and a saffron rice dish laced with hints of sobrasada and peppers. It wasn't what you'd usually find in a restaurant, but something closer. More intimate and homemade, the kind of plate someone’s abuela might set down on a kitchen table.

When you carried it out, Cata sat straighter, the warmth of the aromas pulling her in before she even took a bite.

“What is it?” She asked.

“A little taste of Mallorca.” You said, setting the plate before her. “Not perfect, maybe, but close.”

She picked up a fork, hesitating for only a moment before taking the first bite. The flavors melted together. Simple, yet hearty, rich with the smoky spice of sobrasada. Her shoulders eased almost immediately, and when she looked up at you, her eyes were brighter than when she’d walked in.

“It… does taste like home.” She murmured, almost to herself. You smiled softly, leaning on the edge of her table. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

For the first time all day, Cata felt something inside her loosen. The world outside could wait. Here, in this small restaurant near the training grounds, with a stranger who somehow knew exactly what she needed, she finally felt like she could breathe again. When she left an hour later you had packed her a few rubiols, a pastry from Mallorca and Menorca. You had filled them the traditional Mallorcan way with some jam. “A little treat for when you feel down again.”

After the first time Cata came in, you hadn’t expected to see her again. She had slipped in quietly, worn down by a bad day and left looking lighter, calmer, like the food had worked its magic. But then she came again. And again.

At first, it was every couple of weeks. Always on evenings when training had drained her or matches hadn’t gone her way. Then it became weekly, her visits so regular you started to look up when the doorbell chimed. Already half expecting to see the goalies frame in the doorway. Sometimes she was smiling, sometimes subdued, sometimes just bone-tired, but always she left after a meal that seemed to settle her spirit.

She never bothered with the menu anymore. She’d slip into her usual corner table, leaning her chin into her hand as you walked over, her favorite drink in hand and smiling.

“Long day?” You’d ask as you put it down and smiled at the Barcelona Goalkeeper.

Her lips would twitch into that familiar almost-smile. “You could say that.”

“Mallorca or a surprise?”

“Surprise me.”

And you would surprise her. Sometimes pa amb oli with different toppings. Sometimes tumbet, layers of eggplant and potatoes, rustic and comforting. Once, when she looked particularly homesick, you even managed an ensaïmada for dessert. Perfectly flaky, sweet, and dusted with powdered sugar that clung to her lips and made her laugh when you pointed it out. When she felt experimental you'd make her Cottage pie of Pho or Kaiserschmarrn.

What surprised you most was how easily she lingered after the food was gone. At first she would eat and slip out quietly. But soon, she began to stay. Asking about your day, your cooking, your stories. You told her about learning to cook in kitchens that were too small and too hot, about recipes passed down through whispers rather than written words. She listened intently, her dark eyes warm, elbows resting on the table as though she had all the time in the world. You told her how you had traveled most of Spain and Europe to learn and study different culinary skills. And your dream did come true. A successful restaurant in the middle of Barcelona with the way of thinking and menu you always wanted. A menu that gave everyone the chance to find something comforting if needed, but also to experience a taste from far away without ever leaving the table.

And then one night, after the last table had emptied and you were wiping down the bar, she didn’t leave at all.

“Can I help?” She asked, rolling up her sleeves before you could answer.

You laughed. “What, with cleaning? You’re a goalkeeper, not a dishwasher.”

“Hands still work, don’t they?” She shot back, already stacking plates. Her grin was tired but playful, and you felt something shift in your chest.

Moments like that became common. Her laughter mingled with yours in the quiet hours. The brush of her hand when she handed you a plate. The warmth of her gaze when she watched you cook, as if the sight of you in your element was something she didn’t want to miss.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you started to fall. And judging by the way her eyes softened when they found yours, the way she leaned closer when you spoke, the way she always asked for food that reminded her of home just so she could see your version of it… yeah she was falling too.

One evening, the restaurant was nearly empty, the last customer had just left. The two of you sat at her usual table. A candle burned low between you. The light was casting flickering shadows. She pushed her empty plate away, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you.

“You know.” She said quietly. “This place… you… It feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve found here.” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, trying to play it off with a smile. “That’s what I wanted when I opened it. A little taste of home.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve given me more than a taste.”

The silence between you was charged, full of unsaid words. You could hear the ticking of the clock above the bar. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Slowly and cautiously, you reached across the table. Her hand met yours halfway. Warm and steady, fingers intertwining without hesitation.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just food anymore, or comfort, or routine. It was love, growing quietly between candlelight and saffron. Until it became as much a part of the restaurant as the rosemary jars on every table. And from then on, Cata didn’t just come in when she had a bad day. She came in because of you. And every day without fail she'd get a good healthy meal for free and kisses in the apartment upstairs after the store closed.

The rhythm of your life changed slowly. But it felt so natural, until one day you realized you couldn’t remember what it was like before Cata became a part of it. At first, she was the guest who stopped in after bad days, then the friend who lingered at closing, then the constant presence who seemed to fit seamlessly into your world. Over the next few months, the friendship tilted into something deeper until it was impossible to ignore.

Dating her felt both extraordinary and entirely natural. Like the missing piece of the restaurant’s warmth had finally clicked into place. You would close up late at night, switch off the soft golden lights downstairs and climb the narrow staircase to your little apartment on the second floor with her hand brushing yours. Sometimes you’d pause halfway, listening to her laugh echo off the walls, the kind of laugh that made you feel you were exactly where you needed to be.

Your apartment was relatively big and it was cozy. The house had three floors and you only used the ground level for the restaurant . So you had two floors for the apartment. It was a big kitchen and living room set up, four bedrooms, two bathrooms. Plastered walls painted cream, shelves crowded with cookbooks and tiny ceramic dishes, the faint smell of herbs drifting down from the roof garden above.

At first, Cata stayed over on the worst nights, curling into your sofa or your bed when training had left her too tired to go back to her own place. Then it became almost all weekends. Then longer stretches. One morning, after she’d left a toothbrush by your sink and socks in your drawer, you both realized she had already moved in without either of you saying the words or realizing it.

Still, one evening after about 6 months of dating, she made it official. You were chopping peppers for the next day’s breakfast when she padded into the kitchen in one of your aprons, hair damp from a shower. She leaned against the counter, eyes bright but serious.

“You know.” She began. “I’m here all the time anyway. And I… don’t really want to be anywhere else.” You glanced up from your chopping, heart skipping a beat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Her smile grew slow and certain. “Yes. I want to live here. With you.”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, but it didn’t need to be. You set the knife down and pulled her into your arms. Your cheek pressed against her damp hair, your heart racing with a kind of joy you couldn’t put into words.

From then on, life above the restaurant was yours together. The second and third floor turned into a shared space. Her training gear tucked next to your kitchen equipment, her framed photos from Mallorca lining the hallway wall beside your grandmother’s recipe cards. One of the bedrooms was renovated into her space so she could have a place to go when she needed to be alone, just like you had the kitchen. On Sunday mornings, she’d brew coffee while you fried eggs. Both of you were moving easily around each other in the kitchen. Most nights you’d cook dinner for her in the restaurant and you'd share a meal downstairs before you went back to work.

And then there was the roof. The stairs from the third floor up opened out onto a little garden you’d cultivated over the years. Planters full of rosemary, basil, mint and even small citrus trees that thrived in the sun. An old outdoor sofa, a table with some chairs and even some things to give shade. Now it has become your shared refuge. After long training days for her or exhausting shifts for you, the two of you would climb the last flight of stairs and step into the open air.

Up there, the city felt quieter. Lanterns strung across the rooftop swayed gently in the breeze, casting a golden glow over the herbs and vines. Cata loved to sprawl out on the old outdoor sofa. Her hair tired up messy, shoes kicked off, watching the stars slowly appear in the sky. After your shifts ended way later at night you often joined her with a glass of wine, your head resting on her shoulder, her arm draped around you.

One evening, she traced lazy circles on your hand as you leaned against her, the smell of lavender and basil in the air. “You know what I love about this?” she murmured.

“The wine?” You teased, smiling into her shoulder.

She chuckled softly. “That too. But mostly… this whole house. The restaurant downstairs, you here, the garden above us. It feels like a world we built together. Like it’s ours.”

You tightened your hand around hers. “It is ours.”

And it was true. The three-story house had become a universe contained within its walls. Laughter and cooking downstairs, love and life on the second floor, peace and dreaming on the roof. Every corner carried both of you, woven together into something you couldn’t imagine untangling. Even if it was just your name on the deed, this was your home with Cata. You couldn't imagine not having her here.

Cata still had bad days, of course. Matches went wrong, training could be brutal. But now, when she came home. She didn’t need to order something from some take out place and curl up alone on the couch trying to keep it together. Someone was there waiting for her. Someone who made her food that tasted like Mallorca.

The change in Cata’s routine didn’t go unnoticed. Even if she thought she was being subtle. Her teammates had always joked about her habits and quirks, but recently something was different.

During training breaks, Ingrid raised an eyebrow as Cata unwrapped a neatly packed lunch, arranged with colors that could rival a professional food photo. “Since when do you bring… homemade stuff every day?” She asked, poking at a slice of vibrant roasted pepper.

Mapi smirked, nudging Pina. “Seriously, that doesn’t look like your usual stuff. Where’s the pasta? The sandwiches? that we all get from the cafeteria?”

Alexia leaned over, inspecting the neatly sectioned containers. “It’s like… gourmet. Who’s making this?”

Cata only shrugged, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks, but she didn’t answer. She had learned early that some things were better left unshared. “I like to eat healthy.” She mumbled, cutting into a perfectly roasted sweet potato cube.

Aitana tilted her head, suspicious. “Healthy, sure… but this looks like someone went to a cooking school just to pack your lunch. And I swear I’ve seen these before… same veggies, same bowls, same… everything.”

Cata’s fingers tightened around her fork, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I… cook sometimes.” She said vaguely, avoiding anyone’s gaze.

Ingrid exchanged a knowing glance with Mapi. “Cook sometimes? That’s an understatement. Who exactly is cooking for you? Because I don’t know about you, but that’s way too perfect for a hurried breakfast from the cafeteria.”

Cata laughed softly, more to cover her own flustered expression than anything else. “You’ll find out one day.” She said, neatly placing her lid back on the container. “Find out what?” Pina pressed. But Cata just shook her head, tucking the lunch into her bag with a careful precision that made it clear. This was private.

Training sessions went on as usual, but whispers began to circulate. Alexia noticed the same mango cubes in Cata’s container week after week, the spiraled zucchini ribbons, the tiny dollop of homemade dressing. Mapi commented casually, “She’s either dating a chef or she’s secretly opening a restaurant in her kitchen at home.”

Ingrid, ever the teasing one, eventually cornered her after practice. “Okay, I’m asking once. Who is making these? Because it’s not just healthy…. it’s art. And we need answers.”

Cata just smiled, a small, secretive smile that didn’t give anything away. “Some things.” She said softly. “Are just for me.”

No one pressed further. Cata had built her little bubble of privacy around her relationship with you. Her teammates had noticed the lunches, the consistent care in her meals, the glow she carried after eating them, but they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know about the little apartment above the restaurant, the roof garden where she laughed with someone who made her feel completely at home. Or the girlfriend who insisted she eat well because she cared.

And Cata liked it that way. For now, the secret stayed hers alone, tucked into her neatly packed containers, colorful and perfect.

The weeks rolled into months, and Cata’s secret slowly grew heavier on her shoulders. Her teammates had all but stopped teasing her about the lunches, though the looks and whispers never really went away. She could see it in the way Mapi smirked every time she unwrapped one of your carefully packed containers or how Aitana tilted her head, studying her as if she were piecing together a puzzle.

So when talk of the next team dinner came up during cooldown stretches, the usual back-and-forth started immediately.

“Let’s do tapas.” Pina suggested and some people groaned. They went for tapas half the time. “No, sushi.” Mapi countered. “Something different.”

Aitana shook her head. “Please, no more sushi. I want real food.”

Amid the bickering, Cata sat up and cleared her throat. “I’ll handle it.”

Ingrid’s brows shot up. “You?”

“Yes, me.” Cata replied, a little too quickly. “I’ve got a place in mind. Somewhere… special.”

Mapi narrowed her eyes, a grin forming instantly. “Oh, a surprise? Now this I have to see.”

On the night of the dinner, she led the team down familiar streets near the training grounds. Laughter and chatter bubbled behind her as the others tried to guess where she was taking them. When she finally stopped, Ingrid blinked at the painted sign over the door. ‘Little Taste of Home.’

“This is it?” Pina asked, tilting her head. “I’ve passed here before but never been inside.”

“It looks cozy.” Aitana admitted, already peering through the warm glow of the windows.

Inside, the team filed into the small but welcoming dining room. The thirty seats were filled with rustic wooden chairs and mismatched tables. Terracotta tiles lined the walls, painted with patterns that carried the warmth of Catalonia itself. The scent of saffron, garlic and roasted vegetables wrapped around them like a blanket.

And there you were.

Wearing your apron and smiling as you chatted with a server. Flour was dusting your hands, as you emerged from the kitchen with a warm smile that faltered slightly when you realized who had just walked in. Cata’s entire team. Cata caught your eye, the unspoken reassurance in her gaze saying, It’s okay. I want them to meet you.

“Everyone.” Cata began, her voice steady. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend. And the owner… and the head chef of this place.”

For a second, silence reigned. Then Mapi let out a low whistle. “Now the lunches make sense.” Laughter erupted and Cata’s cheeks flushed pink, but she looked relieved.

You greeted them all warmly, leading them to a cluster of tables pushed together. Menus were handed out, and immediately the chatter started.

“Wait.” Alexia said, flipping through the pages. “It’s divided by cuisines? Spanish, Catalan, English, American… Italian, Greek…” She looked up in surprise. “There are eight different cuisines?”

“Eight.” You confirmed with a proud smile. “Each one with both vegan and non-vegan options. I wanted everyone to feel like there’s something for them here, whether they’re after comfort food or trying something new.”

Aitana leaned closer, scanning a section. “This is so different. It’s not starters, mains, desserts in order. It’s all… little collections.”

“That’s the idea.” You explained. “Every cuisine is its own chapter. You can choose from just one section or mix them. Build your own story through food.”

Ingrid pointed at the small line printed at the top of the menu. “What’s this say? ‘Not on the menu? Give us a recipe, and we’ll bring home to you anyway.’”

You nodded, eyes warm. “It means exactly that. If you’re missing something. If there’s a dish that tastes like home for you, I’ll make it. You bring me the memory, I’ll bring you the food. The whole restaurant is built around that idea.”

The table went quiet for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. Then Pina smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

“And brilliant.” Alexia added, flipping through the menu again. “I don’t even know what to pick.”

“Get ready.” Mapi laughed. “Because if this is where Cata’s been sneaking off to, we’re about to eat very well tonight.” You smirked teasingly. “Well good, the monthly payments are due and my girlfriend wants new sneakers for 150€ too. So order as much as your wallets want to leave.” That made everyone on the team chuckle as they looked through the menu.

Cata chuckled, sliding into her seat beside you. Her hand brushing against yours under the table. She looked around at her teammates, their expressions filled with curiosity and anticipation. And then she looked back at you.

---

There’s nothing more dangerous than falling in love with someone who lives in the same routine as you.

Who trains on the same pitch. Who sits at the same dining table. Who looks at you like the world shuts off when you smile.

And on top of that, she’s Patri Guijarro.

Because Patri wasn’t one of those people who fall in love loudly. She did it carefully. With silences. With hands brushing your wrist in the hallway. With quick glances when Alexia wasn’t looking.

Patri was a secret. And so were you.

It all started the way things that shouldn’t happen start.

One afternoon at the training ground, when Alexia stayed longer with the physio and you were waiting outside, bored, phone in hand. Patri came out of the gym with her hair still damp, her face relaxed after training, and she froze when she saw you.

“You haven’t left?” she asked, as if the idea of you being there had changed her whole day.

“I’m waiting for my sister,” you replied. “The eternal captain.”

Patri let out a short laugh. “I feel sorry for you.”

“Is that flirting?”

“No.”

But she stayed with you.

And when Alexia came out, Patri was already too close for it to be normal.

You dated for months.

In secret.

At first it was fun. Pure adrenaline.

Stolen kisses in the empty locker room hallway. Coded messages. Patri slipping into your apartment like a professional thief, leaving her boots by the door and her heart with you in bed.

But the secret started to weigh.

Not because you were ashamed. Never.

But because Patri… was scared.

And you noticed it in everything.

In how she tensed up if she heard footsteps. In how she pulled away fast if someone got close. In how she never held your hand in public, not even when you were about to break.

One night, when you were sitting on her couch, a movie playing in the background and her shirt on your body, you finally said it.

“Until when?”

Patri looked at you from the kitchen. She had a glass of water in her hand, like it could protect her.

“Until when what?”

“Until when am I going to be your secret.”

The way Patri went still… hurt more than any answer.

“It’s not that.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, Patri. You don’t understand.” You stood up. “I’m not asking you to shout it. I’m asking you not to hide me like you’re doing something wrong.”

Patri clenched her jaw. “I don’t want problems.”

“With who?” you asked, your voice trembling. “With the press? With the club? Or with Alexia?”

That name changed everything.

Patri looked at you like you’d stabbed her with something.

“Alexia is your sister.”

“And you’re my girlfriend.”

Patri didn’t answer.

And that silence was the first crack.

The relationship turned into a war of small things.

You wanted to exist. Patri wanted to survive.

You wanted her to choose you. Patri wanted no one to find out.

Every time you tried to get close in public, she moved away.

Every time you asked “why?”, she said “it’s not the moment.”

Until one night, after a stupid argument over a team dinner, you exploded.

“You don’t even look at me when we’re with them!”

“Because I don’t want Alexia to notice!”

“And if she notices, what?” you yelled. “Is she going to bite you?”

Patri stood up. “It’s not funny.”

“No, Patri. It’s not. Because you’re treating me like I’m a mistake.”

She breathed hard.

“I can’t do this.”

“Do what? Love me?”

Patri swallowed. Her eyes shone for a second.

“The fear.”

“Then stay with it,” you whispered, broken. “Because I’m not going to stay waiting for you to dare.”

And you left.

---

The silence after was worse.

In training, Patri became professional. Cold. Untouchable.

You tried to do the same, but you weren’t Patri. You didn’t know how to fake it without the pain showing.

Alexia noticed.

She always noticed.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked one day, in the car. “You’re acting weird.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

But you did. Because you didn’t want to be the reason Patri broke.

---

And then Pina came.

Claudia wasn’t subtle.

Claudia was a storm with a smile.

It started with jokes in the dining hall. With sitting next to you. With stealing your phone and handing it back with a wink.

“If your sister gives me a dirty look, you’ll hide me, right?”

“Pina…” you laughed.

“What?” she said. “I’m flirting. It’s not a crime.”

And the worst part was… it worked.

Not because Patri didn’t matter to you. But because with Pina you didn’t have to hide.

She touched your shoulder in front of everyone. Made you laugh in the gym. Brought you a drink without asking if it was okay for someone to see.

It was freedom.

And you were tired of living in secret.

The day everything blew up was a Thursday.

Possession drill.

You were in the rondo, Pina behind you, so close you could feel her breath when she leaned in to say something in your ear.

“If I beat you here, you owe me dinner,” she whispered.

You laughed. “And if I win?”

“Then I owe you two.”

Cata whistled from the other side.

“Ooooh! There’s tension here!” she shouted, laughing.

The girls started teasing.

And that’s when you saw her.

Patri.

Patri wasn’t laughing.

Patri was still, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

Like she was drowning.

Pina brushed your waist as she passed.

And Patri… lost control.

She dropped the ball. Walked straight toward you.

And training froze.

“Patri…” Aitana said, confused.

Patri didn’t even look at her.

She stopped in front of you, breathing hard, like she had to choose between dying or speaking.

And then she did.

She grabbed your wrist. Firm. Public. Without asking permission.

“No.” she said, looking at Pina with a coldness that cut. “Not with her.”

The silence was total.

Pina opened her mouth. “Excuse me?”

Patri pulled you a little closer, like your body was territory someone had just invaded.

“I said no.”

Vicky let out an “OH” that sounded like a goal in a final.

Mapi almost choked.

And you… you couldn’t breathe.

“Patri…” you whispered.

But Patri was already too far to go back.

Because at that moment, Alexia walked onto the pitch.

With her bottle in hand. Her captain’s gaze.

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone turned to her.

Patri didn’t let go of your wrist.

She looked at you for a second. Like asking for forgiveness without saying it.

Then she looked at Alexia.

“What’s going on is I’m sick of hiding,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I’m sick of losing her.”

Alexia blinked. “Losing who?”

Patri took a deep breath. “Your sister.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Patri…” your voice came out shattered.

Patri looked at you, desperate.

“I’m not going to pretend anymore,” she said. “Not when everyone already knows except the only person I was scared of.”

Alexia stayed frozen.

The entire world held its breath.

And Patri finished it, looking at Alexia with an honesty that felt like a confession:

“I love her. I have loved her. And I still love her.”

The silence lasted three seconds.

Then Alexia took a step forward.

One. Two.

You braced for the worst.

But Alexia didn’t look at Patri like a captain.

She looked at her like an older sister.

“Did you make her cry?” she asked, soft. Dangerous.

Patri swallowed. “Yes.”

“And you left her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia closed her eyes for a second. “You’re an idiot.”

A murmur ran through the team.

Patri nodded, almost crying. “Yes.”

Alexia looked at you. “Do you love her?”

You felt the weight of the moment.

But you weren’t going to lie. “Yes.”

Alexia sighed. Long. Then looked at Patri again.

“You better take care of her,” she said. “Because if you break her again…”

Patri tensed. “I know.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

Patri swallowed, braver than ever.

“Because if I break her again… you won’t kill me.”

Alexia smiled. No humor. “No.”

“She will.”

Laughter exploded. Mapi clapped. Cata shouted “FINALLY!”

Pina raised her hands.

“Alright, alright, I’m out— but that was amazing!” she said, laughing.

And you… you only looked at Patri.

Patri, still holding you like you could disappear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, just for you. “You were right. You weren’t a secret to me… I was just scared of losing everything.”

Your eyes filled. “You already lost me once.”