#cjkr17

"Alright, chicas," Jonatan, the assistant coach, clapped his hands. "Today’s session is about fitness monitoring. New program."

The squad collectively groaned.

Jonatan grinned, holding up his own wrist. "Apple Watches, Oura Rings, whatever you’re wearing; we’ve synced them all into the Barça Fit app. We’ll be tracking movement, calories, sleep, steps. Weekly rankings."

"Weekly rankings?" Patri repeated, deadpan. "Like we’re Pokémon Go characters?"

"It’ll be fun," Mapi smirked, already fiddling with her Apple Watch. "Finally, proof that I’m fitter than Ingrid."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Delusional."

Y/N chuckled, sliding her own watch on. She’d bought it mostly for running, but now it seemed it was going to betray her in ways she hadn’t considered. She cast a quick glance at Alexia, who was smirking knowingly, like she’d already predicted how this was going to go.

“Just don’t check the leaderboard too obsessively,” Jonatan warned. “It’s for motivation, not obsession.”

Which, in retrospect, was the beginning of the end.

“Welcome to the Hunger Games,” Patri announced dramatically as she scrolled through her wrist. “Except no one dies. Well, unless Alexia kills us during fitness drills.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Alexia muttered, stretching casually, though her lips twitched like she was holding back a smile.

You were perched on the bench nearby, tying your shoelaces tighter than necessary to keep from laughing. Being around this team was like being thrown into the middle of a sitcom, but you were used to it by now. What they didn’t know, yet, was that you were also Alexia’s girlfriend.

And that was something neither of you had shared with the team.

Not because you were hiding out of shame, far from it, but because you both agreed it was kind of nice having something just yours. Barcelona Femení was a family, but they were also terrible gossips. If one person knew, the whole team would know, and by dinner the entire city of Barcelona might as well.

So, for now, you stayed under the radar.

“Alright, everyone synced?” Mapi clapped her hands together like an evil mastermind. “Ready for a challenge? The rules are simple. Every activity is logged. Whoever has the highest numbers by the end of the month wins. Losers…” her eyes swept over the group with mock menace, “…buy the winners dinner.”

“Plural?” Ingrid raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, plural.” Mapi smirked. “Me and whoever else is worthy of standing next to me at the top.”

“Delusional,” Aitana muttered.

“Competitive,” Mapi shot back.

You leaned against the bench, trying not to smirk too much as you looked at Alexia. She wasn’t saying anything, just scrolling lazily through the app like she wasn’t taking it seriously. But you knew better. If there was one thing your girlfriend hated, it was losing. She’d never admit it, but she was one of the most competitive people you’d ever met.

The first week was chaos.

Aitana got spotted doing yoga in the locker room between drills. Even Irene, who swore she “didn’t care about dumb leaderboards,” started doing pushups in the hall before meetings.

“Patri’s been running laps around her kitchen at midnight,” Mapi announced one day, reading the rankings. “You can’t be that desperate.”

“I wasn’t running laps,” Patri protested. “I was… making tea.”

“Fifty floors of tea?” Mariona snorted.

Everyone laughed, the usual chaos of the locker room. Y/N pretended to check her bag, hiding a smile. She and Alexia had been careful, workouts only logged during normal hours, nothing suspicious.

But then came Wednesday night.

It was 2:43 a.m. Y/N lay flat on Alexia’s bed, chest heaving, sweat sticking to her skin.

“That was…” she panted, “…not yoga.”

Alexia, sprawled next to her, smirked. “It burned calories.”

“Alexia.” Y/N turned her head, glaring weakly. “You know our watches log this stuff.”

“Mm.” Alexia stretched an arm above her head, unbothered. “Let them think I’m committed to midnight Pilates.”

“They’re going to think something,” Y/N muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Alexia only chuckled, rolling over and pressing a kiss to Y/N’s shoulder. “Relax, cariño. They’ll never piece it together.”

Except the next morning, Patri’s voice rang through the training pitch.

“WHO THE HELL IS WORKING OUT AT 2:40 IN THE MORNING?!”

Y/N nearly tripped over the cone she was dribbling around.

The entire squad crowded around their synced app, gasping, laughing, speculating. Two names flashed in the “Completed Workouts” section: Alexia Putellas and Y/N L/N. Both logged exactly 47 minutes. Both at 2 something in the morning.

Mariona’s eyes were wide. “That’s… creepy.”

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “Coincidence?”

“Coincidence my ass,” Mapi said, smirking. “Who does HIIT at 2:40 a.m.?”

Alexia jogged over, calm as ever. “What’s going on?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Your watch thinks you’re an insomniac,” Patri accused, waving her phone.

Alexia peered at the screen, lips twitching. “Ah. Yeah, sometimes I can’t sleep. I like to…move.”

Y/N nearly choked on her water. Move. That was one way to put it.

“You too, Y/N?” Mariona teased, glancing at her. “Starting rookie hazing early with 3 a.m. cardio?”

Heat crawled up Y/N’s neck. “I- uh..I couldn’t sleep either.”

Alexia, the devil herself, simply patted Y/N’s back like a supportive captain. “Good habits, eh?”

The squad laughed it off, eventually distracted by training. But Y/N knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Not with Alexia’s cocky grin lingering like a secret weapon.

Sure enough, it happened again.

Friday night. 1:58 a.m. Alexia had pulled Y/N into her home gym after a movie night. "Just ten minutes," she’d promised. Ten minutes turned into thirty of… well, not exactly gym exercises. Y/N had begged her to turn off the watch. Alexia just raised a brow and whispered against her ear, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Saturday morning, locker room chaos.

“Okay no, this is too weird,” Patri said, holding up her phone again. “You two did another workout together at the exact same time? Middle of the night?”

“Do you have like a secret pact?” Mapi asked, grinning. “The Midnight Fitness Club?”

“Maybe they’re vampires,” Mariona suggested.

Y/N sputtered, “It’s… It’s just a coincidence!”

“Twice?” Patri deadpanned.

Alexia smirked, cool as ice. “Some people value discipline.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

By the third time it happened, there was no saving face.

Monday. 3:12 a.m. 62 minutes logged.

“Okay,” Mapi slammed her hand on the table during breakfast. “Confess. What’s going on between you two?”

The entire squad stared at Y/N and Alexia.

Y/N’s heart pounded so loud she swore it echoed in the cafeteria. Her fork trembled in her hand. Alexia, on the other hand, leaned back casually in her chair, sipping her coffee like she was immune to mortal panic.

“Going on?” she repeated smoothly.

“Yes!” Patri said. “Three nights this week. At ungodly hours. Both of you. For the exact same amount of time. Nobody’s that coordinated without planning it.”

“Unless…” Mapi’s grin spread wickedly. “…you’re planning something else.”

Laughter exploded around the table.

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

Alexia reached over, calmly plucking a piece of toast from Y/N’s plate, unfazed by the chaos. “You all think too much,” she said with a shrug. But her eyes - oh, her eyes were sparkling with mischief as they flicked to Y/N’s flushed face.

She was enjoying this.

Far too much.

The second week was underway. First thing in the morning, the press room at Ciutat Esportiva was buzzing, as it always did days before a Champions League fixture. Cameras, microphones, questions flying in every direction. Alexia handled it with her usual calm authority, giving clipped but confident answers in that smooth captain’s voice.

Y/N, sitting two seats down, tried to appear equally composed. Except she wasn’t. Because all she could think about was the way Alexia’s hand had brushed against hers under the table, out of view. A feather-light touch, a silent promise.

“Y/N,” one reporter called. “How are you finding your first Champions League campaign with Barça?”

Y/N blinked, forcing a smile. “Um, it’s been incredible. The support from the team makes everything easier.”

Beside her, Alexia gave the tiniest smirk. Y/N sat up straighter, praying no one noticed the warmth creeping up her neck.

The press session ended, players dispersing back toward the training ground. The squad was chattering, joking, debating who gave the most boring answer (Patri, unanimously).

But as soon as the hallway cleared, Alexia caught Y/N’s wrist.

“Five minutes,” she whispered.

Y/N blinked. “Now?”

Alexia’s grin was sinful. “Now.”

The gym was empty. Everyone else had either gone to shower or other media. Alexia closed the door behind them, tugging Y/N into the corner where the mats were laid out.

“This is reckless,” Y/N hissed, though she was already letting herself be pulled down onto the mat.

Alexia leaned in, brushing a stray hair from her face. “This is cardio.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

Twenty-five minutes later, both of their watches buzzed. Workout complete.

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto the mat. “We’re doomed.”

Alexia only laughed, stealing a quick kiss before tugging her up. “Relax, cariño. Nobody checks it immediately.”

She was wrong.

By lunch, the notifications had been spotted.

“WHAT?!” Patri’s voice rang through the cafeteria. “Again?!”

The table erupted in chaos. Phones were whipped out. Screens shoved in faces.

“11:47 a.m.,” Mariona read dramatically, like a courtroom prosecutor. “Right after media. Guess who logged a 25-minute workout together?”

All eyes turned.

Alexia chewed her chicken calmly. Y/N nearly choked on hers.

“Oh come on,” Mapi said, grinning ear to ear. “You guys aren’t even trying to hide it now.”

“Maybe they’ve got a secret training pact,” Ingrid offered, though her smirk betrayed that she didn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Patri deadpanned. “The Pact of Suspiciously Synced Heart Rates.”

Y/N dropped her fork. “We just… like to… stay active!”

Laughter roared around the table. Even Ona, usually quiet, chuckled into her salad.

Alexia sipped her water, completely unfazed. “Discipline,” she said again, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

Y/N wanted to scream.

From then on, it became a running joke. Every random moment, the squad checked their app.

After recovery yoga: both Alexia and Y/N logged an “extra” 15 minutes. After team dinner: another 40 minutes mysteriously appeared at 10:55 p.m.

Even after media days, when the entire squad was together; somehow, someway, those two always logged matching sessions within minutes of each other.

“They’re sneaking off,” Mariona announced one day, loud enough for half the locker room to hear.

“They’re definitely sneaking off,” Mapi agreed. “I swear I saw them disappear after physio yesterday.”

“You’re imagining things,” Y/N squeaked, tugging on her boots.

Mapi leaned in, mischievous. “Am I?”

Y/N’s ears burned.

By the third week of suspiciously synced workouts, the Barcelona locker room had shifted from amused curiosity to full-on investigation mode.

“This isn’t normal,” Patri declared one morning, scrolling through the app like it was evidence in a courtroom trial. “Nobody works out this much together unless there’s a secret.”

“Or unless they’re dating,” Mapi added, smirking.

Y/N fumbled with her laces so hard she almost tied her boots together.

Alexia, lounging nearby, looked entirely unbothered. “Or maybe we’re just competitive,” she said smoothly.

“Competitive?” Mariona repeated. “At two in the morning?”

Alexia’s shrug was the picture of captainly calm. “Discipline.”

The squad groaned in unison.

That afternoon, a new plan was hatched.

“Operation Caught-in-the-Act,” Mapi announced proudly in the physio room. “We’re going to prove it once and for all.”

“How?” Ingrid asked, though the twitch of her mouth suggested she already knew she was going to regret asking.

“Stakeout,” Mapi said, like it was obvious.

Mariona grinned. “Like detectives.”

“Exactly.”

Patri crossed her arms. “This is ridiculous.”

“…but brilliant,” Mariona added.

Patri sighed. “Fine. I’m in.”

The first attempt came after training.

Y/N and Alexia had barely slipped out of the locker room, heading toward the side hallway, when whispers echoed behind them.

“Follow them!” Mapi hissed.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, heart skipping. She could’ve sworn she saw Mariona’s head pop out from behind a vending machine.

Alexia, unfazed, leaned down and murmured, “Don’t look back.”

“I think they’re actually following us,” Y/N whispered.

“They’ll lose interest.”

Spoiler: they didn’t.

The “stakeout squad” trailed them down the hall, ducking behind corners with the subtlety of toddlers playing hide-and-seek.

At one point, Ingrid had to physically pull Mapi back because she was giggling too loudly.

But when Y/N and Alexia slipped into the gym and closed the door, the squad rushed to peek inside, only to find the pair genuinely lifting weights.

“Damn it,” Mapi muttered.

“Told you,” Patri said smugly.

Except twenty minutes later, both watches buzzed, logging an “extra activity” session that didn’t match what they had witnessed.

Mapi stared at her phone in disbelief. “How?!”

“Maybe they’re… multitasking?” Mariona offered.

The group dissolved into wheezing laughter.

The second attempt came after a media day.

Knowing their habit of vanishing after press duties, the squad decided to set a trap.

“We’ll all stay together,” Patri insisted, gathering the team in the tunnel. “No one leaves until we’re dismissed. That way, no sneaking off.”

Y/N’s stomach sank. Alexia, of course, looked like she’d just been handed a puzzle to solve.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Alexia leaned down, whispering low into Y/N’s ear, “Meet me by the physio room. Two minutes.”

“What? They’re literally watching us!”

“That’s the fun part.”

And somehow, impossibly, Alexia pulled it off. A casual excuse to grab water. A wave at a staff member down the hall. A quick detour.

By the time Y/N nervously slipped away, the squad was still huddled, distracted by Mapi trying to convince Patri to start a TikTok series called Fitness Gate.

Twenty-five minutes later: ding. Both watches buzzed.

Mapi’s jaw dropped. “No. Freaking. Way.”

“They’re magicians,” Mariona whispered, staring at her screen. “Or spies.”

It became a game, the squad versus the secret couple.

During a recovery pool session, Patri and Mariona stationed themselves at opposite exits to “block escape routes.” Somehow, Alexia and Y/N still vanished, logging a suspicious 30 minutes.

At team dinner, Mapi hid behind a menu, watching their every move. The next morning, their watches revealed a perfectly matched midnight “yoga” session anyway.

Even when Ona, usually the quiet observer, joined in, she could only shake her head. “They’re professionals. You won’t catch them like this.”

Mapi gasped. “So you admit there’s something to catch!”

Ona smirked but said nothing.

Y/N, meanwhile, was living in a constant state of near-heart-attack.

“They’re literally hunting us,” she whispered one evening at Alexia’s apartment, clutching a cushion to her chest.

Alexia stretched out on the sofa, scrolling through Netflix like nothing was wrong. “They’re not hunting. They’re playing.”

“They’re scheming! They’re going to corner us one day!”

Alexia finally looked up, grin tugging at her lips. “Then we’ll tell them.”

Y/N squeaked. “You’re not even a little nervous?”

“No.” Alexia reached over, tugging her onto her lap. “You’re mine, and sooner or later they’ll know. Until then…” She brushed her lips against Y/N’s ear. “…I like watching you squirm.”

Y/N groaned into her hands. “You’re evil.”

“Evil,” Alexia echoed, chuckling. “But irresistible.”

The next morning, when both of their watches logged a suspicious 3 a.m. “core workout,” the squad went feral in the group chat.

Mapi: THEY DID IT AGAIN. Patri: At 3 a.m.??? Do they ever sleep? Mariona: This is insane. I’m making a conspiracy board. Ingrid: Please don’t. Mariona: Too late.

One thing was clear: the squad wasn’t giving up.

And Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before one of their schemes actually worked.

It started with Mariona showing up to training with a roll of tape and a stack of printed screenshots.

“Everybody to the meeting room!” she announced dramatically, waving the papers in the air. “It’s time.”

Patri groaned. “Oh no.”

Mapi’s grin spread like wildfire. “YES. The Board.”

Within minutes, the squad had crowded into the unused video-analysis room. The projector was off, the tactical diagrams ignored. Instead, Mariona slapped the first paper onto the whiteboard: a screenshot of the Barça Fit app showing Alexia Putellas and Y/N L/N logging a 52-minute workout at 2:11 a.m.

“Exhibit A,” Mariona declared.

Patri dragged a hand over her face. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is SCIENCE,” Mariona corrected, already taping up more screenshots. “Exhibit B. Exhibit C. Exhibit D. Notice the pattern?”

The board filled up fast: timestamps, matching workout durations, photos of Alexia and Y/N caught sneaking into hallways. Mariona even drew connecting lines with red marker, circling everything like she was solving a true crime case.

Ingrid sat with her arms crossed, watching the chaos. “You all realise you’re insane, right?”

“Insanely observant,” Mapi corrected, grabbing a marker and scribbling Possible Scenarios at the top of the board.

“Okay,” Mariona said, stepping back like a proud professor. “Hypothesis one: they are actually vampires. Nocturnal activity, unexplained energy at training, suspiciously glowing skin-”

“Vampires?” Patri interrupted.

“Don’t dismiss it,” Mariona warned.

“Hypothesis two,” Mapi said, taking over. “Secret training cult. They’ve created their own midnight fitness regime, probably involving sacrifices…”

“Oh my god,” Patri muttered, sinking into her chair.

“Hypothesis three,” Mariona announced with a flourish, “and the most likely: they’re sneaking off for… activities.”

The squad erupted into howls of laughter.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Y/N was tying her boots when she heard the commotion.

“What are they even doing in there?” she asked, side-eyeing the muffled shouts.

Alexia smirked knowingly, adjusting her shin guards. “Scheming.”

“Scheming?”

“Mm.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “They’re obsessed with us, cariño. Can’t stop thinking about what we’re doing.”

Y/N felt her face go hot. “Alexia!”

But Alexia was already strolling toward the pitch, shoulders relaxed, that cocky grin in place.

Back in the meeting room, Patri tried to salvage some sanity.

“Look, you don’t need conspiracy theories. The answer is obvious.”

“Exactly!” Mapi shouted. “They’re hooking up!”

Patri blinked. “…I was going to say they just train together. But sure, let’s go with your theory.”

Ona, who had been quiet as always, finally spoke up. “If they’re hiding something, they won’t slip up in normal situations.”

The room went quiet. Everyone turned to her.

“They’re too careful,” Ona continued, calmly flipping through her phone. “If you really want to catch them, you need to create a scenario where they think they’re safe.”

Mapi gasped, eyes wide. “Like a trap.”

“Yes,” Ona said simply.

Mariona slapped the board. “Operation Honeypot!”

“That’s not what honeypot means,” Ingrid muttered.

But Mapi was already scribbling “TRAP” in huge letters across the board.

The next day, the trap was set.

Jonatan had finished tactical drills early, so the players were gathered in the meeting room. Mariona raised her hand. “Coach, could you excuse us for a second? We just… need to discuss something privately.”

Jonatan raised an eyebrow but left, muttering about dramatic footballers.

The moment the door closed, Patri announced loudly, “Okay, emergency toilet break. Everyone out!”

The squad “casually” filed out, except for the stakeout team, who crouched outside the door like kids at a sleepover.

Inside, Alexia leaned back in her chair, smirking. “You hear that?”

Y/N blinked. “Hear what?”

“They’re setting a trap.”

“What?!” Y/N squeaked, whipping her head toward the door. “Are you serious?”

“Mm.” Alexia stood, tugging her wrist. “Come on. Let’s give them what they want.”

“What do you mean?!”

But Alexia just winked.

Outside, the squad held their breath as the door creaked open. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Then silence.

Mapi whispered, “They took the bait.”

Mariona nearly squealed. “This is it!”

The group crept after them, peeking around corners like cartoon detectives. Finally, they reached the physio corridor, where they found Alexia and Y/N…

…sitting calmly on the bench, scrolling their phones.

“Caught you!” Mapi shouted, bursting out from behind the corner.

Alexia looked up, unimpressed. “Caught us… waiting for physio?”

Y/N blinked, wide-eyed, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline.

Mapi froze. “Wait. But you…we…”

Behind her, Patri groaned. “This is pathetic.”

Ona smirked knowingly.

Later that night, when both watches buzzed with a 1 a.m. “HIIT workout,” the squad group chat exploded.

Mapi: THEY OUTSMARTED US. Mariona: They KNEW about the trap. Patri: Maybe because you shouted “Operation Honeypot” in the locker room yesterday. Ingrid: Clowns. All of you. Ona: Told you.

Y/N lay tangled in Alexia’s sheets, face buried in her chest. “They’re never going to stop.”

Alexia kissed her hair, chuckling. “Good. I like the entertainment.”

“You’re evil.”

“Evil,” Alexia echoed, grinning. “And still undefeated.”

By now, the team had reached what could only be described as obsession. The “mystery of the midnight workouts” had become a daily fixture of conversation, escalating from casual teasing to full-blown detective work.

“They’re laughing at us,” Mapi muttered one morning, scrolling through her phone like it had personally betrayed her. “Mocking us with their little synced sessions.”

“They’re mocking you,” Ingrid said dryly, tying her boots.

“No, they’re mocking all of us!” Mapi insisted. “Every suspicious workout is a declaration of war.”

Patri rolled her eyes. “You’re unhinged.”

Mariona nodded sagely. “But she’s right. It’s war.”

And so the schemes escalated.

First came the GPS trackers; Mapi sneakily slipped an AirTag into Alexia’s gym bag, proudly announcing, “Checkmate.” Except the next morning, the tracker pinged from a perfectly boring location: Alexia’s living room.

“Maybe they really are just doing late-night workouts,” Ingrid suggested.

Then came the hidden cameras; Mariona convinced the kit man to let her “test” a new GoPro setup in the gym. But when they reviewed the footage, all they saw was Alexia calmly riding a stationary bike for twenty minutes, before winking directly at the camera and walking out.

Mariona clutched her head. “She knows. She knows everything.”

Ona, as always, smirked. “Told you.”

Y/N, meanwhile, was living in permanent panic.

“They’re going to catch us,” she hissed one evening in Alexia’s apartment, pacing the floor like it was a crime scene. “Mapi has gone full FBI. Mariona has a board. Patri’s probably running background checks.”

Alexia lounged on the couch, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t a care in the world. “Let them try.”

“You don’t understand…”

Alexia reached out, snagging Y/N’s wrist, pulling her onto her lap. Her grin was maddeningly smug. “Scared the team will find out just how much stamina their captain has?”

Y/N nearly fell off her lap. “ALEXIA!”

“What?” Alexia teased, brushing a kiss against her neck. “It’s just fitness, no?”

Y/N covered her face with both hands. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

The problem, of course, was that Alexia’s cockiness wasn’t unwarranted.

Because that night, for reasons Y/N couldn’t even comprehend, their “session” stretched past an hour. And when their watches buzzed: Longest workout yet: 92 minutes. Y/N nearly cried.

The next morning, the squad erupted.

“NINETY. TWO. MINUTES.” Mapi screamed, slamming her phone onto the breakfast table like it was proof of alien life.

The entire team gathered around, jaws dropping.

“Ninety-two minutes of cardio at three a.m.,” Patri said flatly. “That’s not normal. That’s… borderline superhuman.”

Mariona whistled low. “Stamina.”

Ingrid’s eyebrow shot up. “Impressive.”

Y/N, sitting two seats down, choked so hard on her orange juice that Vicky had to thump her on the back.

Alexia, across the table, just smirked over her coffee. “Discipline,” she said again smoothly, like it explained everything.

Mapi slammed her hands on the table. “NO. This isn’t discipline. This is… this is…” She gestured wildly. “…something ELSE.”

The squad howled with laughter, voices echoing around the cafeteria.

Y/N’s ears burned crimson. Alexia, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair like a cat in the sun, entirely unbothered.

Of course, ninety-two minutes was the spark that lit a new fire under the squad.

“This is it,” Mapi said, pulling out her notebook later that day. “Our white whale. If we can’t catch them after this, we never will.”

Mariona nodded gravely. “We need the ultimate plan.”

Patri muttered, “Or you could just… ask them?”

“No,” Mapi snapped, eyes wild. “We don’t ask. We hunt.”

Ona chuckled under her breath.

Back in Alexia’s apartment, Y/N buried her face in a pillow. “They’re insane. They’re going to put us under surveillance.”

Alexia ran a hand lazily through Y/N’s hair, the smirk still lingering. “Let them. They’ll never win.”

“You’re too cocky.”

“Mm.” Alexia kissed her temple. “Maybe. But admit it, you like watching me win.”

Y/N groaned into the pillow. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Alexia’s laugh was low, soft, and maddeningly smug. “Ninety-two minutes says otherwise.”

By now, the entire Barcelona women’s squad was in too deep.

What had started as harmless teasing had spiraled into a full-blown mission.

Mapi slammed her notebook down onto the cafeteria table like a manifesto.

“Operation Midnight Raid,” she declared.

Patri groaned. “That sounds illegal.”

“It’s not illegal,” Mapi countered. “It’s genius. We’re staying overnight at Ciutat Esportiva. No one leaves, no one sneaks off, no excuses. We’ll all be together; meaning no midnight workouts.”

“And if they still log a workout,” Mariona added dramatically, “then it proves something unholy is happening.”

Y/N nearly dropped her fork. “Overnight? At the training ground?”

“Yes,” Mapi said, narrowing her eyes at her. “A squad bonding sleepover. Everyone in the same place. No chance of… sneaky cardio.”

Across the table, Alexia calmly buttered her toast. “Sounds fun.”

Y/N gaped at her. Fun?!

That night, the squad transformed one of the media rooms into a makeshift dorm. Air mattresses, blankets, snacks, even a projector for movies. It had the chaotic energy of a school trip, players shrieking with laughter and tossing popcorn across the room.

Y/N sat stiffly on her mattress, glancing nervously at Alexia across the room. Alexia was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching the chaos with that infuriating smirk.

“They’re watching us like hawks,” Y/N whispered when Alexia finally settled beside her.

“I know,” Alexia murmured back. “It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?!”

Alexia’s grin turned wicked. “Scared they’ll find out how much stamina their captain has?”

Y/N nearly smothered herself with her blanket.

The squad was relentless.

Every bathroom trip was monitored. Every trip to the vending machine was tracked. Mapi even set alarms through the night, insisting on “random checks.”

Around midnight, Patri shook everyone awake just to “make sure no one was missing.”

“Still here,” Alexia muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Still here,” Y/N croaked, cheeks burning.

Mapi squinted at them suspiciously. “We’ll see.”

By 2 a.m., the locker room had finally quieted. Snores echoed, someone’s Spotify playlist hummed faintly from a corner, and the squad’s elaborate trap seemed airtight.

Y/N curled into her blanket, eyes heavy. For once, maybe, just maybe, they’d survive the night without suspicion.

Then she felt Alexia’s hand brush hers under the covers.

Her eyes flew open. “No,” she whispered. “Absolutely not.”

Alexia leaned close, her breath tickling Y/N’s ear. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Y/N whispered back firmly. “Because they’ll actually kill us if we-”

Her watch buzzed.

Y/N froze.

“What the hell?!” she whispered, glancing at the screen. Somehow, inexplicably, it had started tracking a workout.

Alexia’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Guess it knows something you don’t.”

“Alexia!” Y/N squeaked, yanking her wrist away. “Turn it off!”

Too late.

By morning, both watches proudly displayed a synced “low-intensity activity” session logged at 2:17 a.m.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Mapi screamed so loudly when she saw the notifications that half the staff came running.

“EXPLAIN THIS!” she demanded, waving her phone in Alexia and Y/N’s faces. “We locked you down! You had guards! You had surveillance! HOW?!”

Mariona collapsed onto the floor, wheezing. “They’re… unstoppable.”

Patri rubbed her temples. “This is insane.”

Ona smirked knowingly. “Told you they couldn’t be caught.”

Y/N wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it. “It must’ve been a glitch,” she babbled, waving her hands. “Like… like, maybe the watches picked up on… tossing and turning in our sleep?”

“Oh sure,” Mapi said, dripping sarcasm. “You both tossed and turned for twenty minutes at the exact same time.”

Y/N made a strangled noise.

Alexia, of course, looked cool as ever. “Maybe we’re just in sync,” she said with a lazy shrug.

The squad erupted.

Later that night, safe in Alexia’s apartment, Y/N groaned into the couch cushion.

“We’re so close to getting caught. If they find out what we’re actually doing-”

“They will,” Alexia cut in calmly, tugging her into her lap.

Y/N blinked. “You want them to?”

Alexia smirked, leaning down until their noses brushed. “Eventually.”

“Why do you look so smug about this?”

“Because.” Alexia kissed her cheek, her grin maddening. “Ninety-two minutes wasn’t even our limit.”

Y/N let out a muffled scream into her hands.

The locker room buzzed with restless energy. The squad had tried everything; trackers, cameras, overnight stakeouts, and every time, Alexia and Y/N slipped through their fingers.

“This is it,” Mapi declared, standing on a bench like a revolutionary leader. “One final challenge. Winner takes all.”

“Winner takes what?” Ingrid asked, unimpressed.

“The truth!” Mapi shouted, pumping her fist.

Patri buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I play for a team of children.”

The “truth challenge” was announced later that morning: a team-wide competition of endurance circuits, balance drills, and strategy games. Partners were chosen at “random,” though everyone knew Mapi and Mariona had pulled the strings.

“Alexia and Y/N,” Jonatan read.

Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. Of course.

Beside her, Alexia smirked as she fastened the resistance band around their waists. “Shall we?”

“They’re setting us up,” Y/N hissed.

“Let them,” Alexia murmured, leaning down to her ear. “We’ll win.”

The day was chaos from start to finish.

First was the endurance gauntlet. With the band tethering them, Y/N struggled to match Alexia’s pace, but her captain never slowed, guiding her with steady hands and smug encouragement.

“Keep up, princesa,” Alexia teased, barely breaking a sweat.

Second was the balance beam relay. Every wobble Y/N made, Alexia’s hand steadied her waist, whispering, “I’ve got you.” The squad hooted from the sidelines, Patri shouting, “This is basically a public date!”

By the time they hit the obstacle course finale, Y/N was exhausted, but Alexia was still running like she’d just started.

Hours later, when the dust settled and the scores were tallied for the first month of the fitness challenge, the inevitable happened.

“And the winners,” Jonatan announced, reading from his clipboard, “by a landslide… Alexia and Y/N.”

The squad erupted. Mapi shrieked, Mariona clutched her head in mock agony, Patri groaned like she’d lost all faith in humanity.

“Unstoppable,” Ingrid muttered.

Y/N, cheeks burning, shuffled awkwardly toward the front. Alexia, on the other hand, strode confidently, arm sliding casually around Y/N’s waist.

Jonatan handed them the prize, a ridiculous golden foam trophy someone had dug out of storage. The squad wolf-whistled, phones out, recording every second.

Alexia raised the trophy high, grin wide. “Gracias.” Then, with a casualness that sent the room into chaos, she added:

“And thank you on behalf of my girlfriend, too.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then absolute pandemonium.

“WHAT?!” Mapi shrieked so loud the windows rattled.

“I knew it!” Mariona screamed, pointing at the ceiling like she’d solved a murder case.

Patri dropped her water bottle. “Oh my god.”

Ona just smirked knowingly.

Y/N hid her face in her hands, mortified. “Alexia…” she groaned.

But Alexia only kissed the top of her head, grinning smugly at her teammates. “You all worked so hard to find out. Consider this your prize.”

The squad went ballistic; cheering, teasing, chanting their names like it was a championship win.

Later, when the locker room had calmed and the team was still buzzing about the reveal, Y/N slumped onto the bench, face bright red.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, glaring at Alexia.

Alexia smirked, tugging her close with zero shame. “You’re mine. They were going to find out eventually. Might as well let them know when we’re on top.”

Y/N groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling when Alexia kissed her in front of everyone again, smug as ever.

Because, like always, Alexia had chosen the perfect moment.

Not just in sound, but in energy. Conversations overlapped in rapid Catalan and Spanish, boots squeaked against tile, laughter spilled from the lounge, and the low thud of a ball being volleyed somewhere echoed down the hall.

Her chest tightened in the way it always did when there were too many voices, too many eyes. She adjusted the strap of her training bag, willing herself to move forward.

Coach Giráldez had greeted her warmly, introducing her as “our new forward” with that bright coach’s grin that made it sound like a celebration. The girls had clapped, some calling “Bienvenida!” or “Welcome!” Y/N had smiled, a small, tight one, and lifted her hand in a quick wave. That was all she could do right now. Words stuck like gum in her throat.

She’d been through this before; new schools, new teams, the same careful routine of body language to make up for the silence. A nod here, a smile there. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to speak. It was that the moment to speak always seemed to collapse under the weight of anxiety, the sound trapped before it even reached her lips.

Selective mutism wasn’t something she talked about much. How could she, when talking was the problem? Instead, she lived with it like a shadow, something others either ignored or prodded at without understanding.

Her first week with Barça passed in a blur of drills, learning plays, and keeping her focus tight enough to block out the noise of her own self-consciousness. A few teammates; Mapi, Ingrid, and Patri, took extra care to include her with gestures and smiles. Even so, she mostly communicated through nods, thumbs-up, and occasionally writing quick messages on her phone.

One afternoon, after training, she was heading towards the gym for her cooldown when she noticed the physio room door slightly ajar. She’d never been inside. But today, curiosity tugged at her.

Inside, someone sat on one of the treatment tables, knee wrapped, hair falling loose over her shoulder as she laughed at something the physio said. It took Y/N a moment to recognise her, the captain. Alexia Putellas.

Y/N had seen her name on jerseys, in highlight reels, in articles about her injury recovery. But in person, there was a groundedness about her, like she belonged entirely to this place, even when sidelined.

Alexia glanced up at the doorway, and their eyes met.

Y/N froze.

Alexia’s smile softened, an unspoken “hello” in it. “Hola,” she said, voice warm.

Y/N nodded, unsure why her pulse had jumped. She should move on. She should…

“Eres nueva, ¿no?” Alexia asked gently. You’re new, right?

Y/N hesitated. Her mouth felt dry. And yet… something about the way Alexia looked at her, open, patient, made the tension in her throat loosen, just slightly.

“Yes,” she heard herself say.

The word was small, but it was out loud. It startled her almost as much as it seemed to startle her.

Alexia’s smile widened. “Bienvenida, Y/N.”

For the first time since she had arrived, Y/N felt the knot in her chest ease.

Y/N didn’t plan on going back to the physio room the next day.

In fact, she’d told herself she wouldn’t, she didn’t want Alexia to think she was hovering or, worse, pitying her.

But after training, her quads ached enough to warrant a stretch session, and the physio room was quiet compared to the noisy locker room. She pushed the door open slowly, half-expecting it to be empty.

Alexia was there again. This time, no physio, just her, leaning back on the table, scrolling through her phone. Her knee brace was off, replaced by a compression sleeve.

When she looked up and smiled, it felt… different. Familiar, even though they’d barely spoken.

“Hola, Y/N,” Alexia said, like they were already friends.

Y/N blinked, the sound of her name unexpectedly grounding. “Hi,” she murmured.

She moved to the corner mat to stretch, fully expecting the conversation to end there. But Alexia slid her phone aside and leaned forward.

“How are you settling in?” she asked, switching to careful English, slow and deliberate.

Y/N hesitated. Normally, this question was a minefield; one she avoided by nodding vaguely or shrugging. But the way Alexia asked it… her voice was low, not prying, and her gaze stayed steady without feeling heavy.

“It’s… good,” Y/N said quietly. She could feel her own surprise at how easily it came out. “Still… learning names.”

Alexia chuckled. “It’s a big team. And we talk too fast.”

That made Y/N’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. “Sometimes.”

For a moment, silence settled, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… easy.

Alexia tilted her head. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

The question wasn’t judgemental. It was an observation, almost gentle. Y/N looked down at her hands. “Not… with most people.”

“With me?”

She shouldn’t answer. She didn’t have to answer. But her throat didn’t close up the way it usually did. “You’re… easier,” she admitted.

Alexia’s brows softened, and something flickered in her expression, not pity, but understanding. “Then we’ll talk more.”

Y/N glanced up, caught off guard by how sure she sounded. And maybe, just maybe, a part of her wanted that.

It started with coffee.

A week after that first real conversation, Y/N found herself heading toward the players’ lounge after training. She’d been planning to grab her water bottle and leave, but the rich smell of espresso made her slow her steps.

Alexia was there, standing at the machine with her crutches leaning against the counter. She glanced up when Y/N entered.

“You drink coffee?” Alexia asked, holding up an extra mug.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Sit,” Alexia said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll make you one.”

They sat at a small table near the window, the winter sunlight slanting in golden streaks across the floor. The first few sips passed in companionable quiet. Y/N didn’t feel the usual pressure to fill the silence, Alexia seemed perfectly fine just… existing next to her.

“You live close?” Alexia asked eventually.

“Ten minutes’ walk.”

“That’s good. Easier after late games.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “If I ever play.”

Alexia’s eyes crinkled. “You will. I’ve seen you in training. You don’t need to rush.”

They fell into a rhythm after that.

Sometimes they’d sit together in the lounge, other times in the empty stands after training, or walk slowly around the pitch while Alexia did her rehab exercises. It was always low pressure, Alexia never filled the space with too many questions, but when she did ask something, it was thoughtful.

And Y/N found herself talking more than she’d talked to anyone in years. Little things, what she’d cooked for dinner, a funny thing Mapi had shouted during drills, a memory from her old team. Alexia listened with an attentiveness that made Y/N feel… seen.

One afternoon, they were walking down the corridor after physio, Alexia’s hand brushing Y/N’s arm as they turned a corner. It was such a light touch, accidental but it left a strange, warm pulse in Y/N’s chest.

Another time, Alexia had leaned close to point something out on Y/N’s phone, their shoulders pressed together. Y/N could smell her perfume; something soft, floral, and distractingly pleasant, and she’d barely caught a word Alexia said.

If Alexia noticed, she didn’t comment. But there was a softness in her gaze sometimes, when Y/N spoke, that made her wonder if she was imagining it.

For the first time since joining Barça, Y/N wasn’t counting down the hours until she could go home. She wanted to stay.

She wanted to stay because Alexia was there.

It happened during a rondo.

Y/N was in the middle, trying to intercept a pass between Patri and Mapi, when Alexia, leaning on her crutches by the sideline, called out “Haz ese truco que te enseñé!” Do that trick I taught you!

Y/N, without even thinking, shot back a quick reply, “I’ll never do it as well as you!”

The ball rolled between her legs while she was distracted, but the reaction around her wasn’t laughter about the missed tackle.

It was… silence.

Patri froze mid-pass. Mapi’s eyes widened in mock shock. Mariona’s jaw dropped so dramatically it could’ve been a comedy sketch.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mapi said, pointing at Y/N. “Did you just talk? Out loud?”

Y/N blinked, caught in the headlights.

“Sí, sí, I heard it!” Mariona gasped. “And to Alexia, no less!”

The teasing started immediately.

“Ohhh, so that’s the secret.” “Only speaks when the Queen speaks.” “Careful, Ale… she’s breaking her silence just for you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat, but before she could retreat into herself, Alexia cut in smoothly. “Maybe she just has good taste,” she said with a smirk.

That only made the chorus of “Ooooh!” louder.

From then on, the team seemed to keep track. Whenever Y/N spoke around Alexia, someone was there to nudge someone else, grinning knowingly. In the locker room, if Alexia sat next to her, Mapi would wink across the room. If Alexia handed Y/N a water bottle during a break, Patri would mutter something about “romantic gestures” under her breath.

It was embarrassing, yes, but also… weirdly nice. No one was mocking her for being quiet anymore. They were celebrating the fact she wasn’t quiet with Alexia.

One afternoon, after another round of teasing, Y/N mumbled, “They’re never going to stop, are they?”

Alexia smiled, walking beside her toward the exit. “Probably not.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Alexia’s tone was light, but there was something in her eyes; a spark, a question she didn’t voice.

Y/N didn’t answer. But she didn’t mind the teasing quite as much after that.

It was just a friendly match, a midweek game against a lower-league team, but for Y/N, it was still another chance to prove herself.

She was subbed on at the 60th minute, heart pounding in that mix of nerves and adrenaline that never quite faded no matter how many times she played.

Alexia, still not cleared for contact, was watching from the bench in her training gear.

For most of Y/N’s minutes, things went fine, a couple of clean passes, one decent shot that sailed just wide. But in the 82nd minute, she went for a 50-50 ball and felt her ankle twist under the weight of her own momentum.

It wasn’t a terrible injury, she knew that right away, but it still hurt, sharp and hot, and she hit the turf with a wince.

The physio jogged out, but before they even reached her, she heard the sound of someone moving fast on crutches.

Alexia.

She was beside Y/N in seconds, crutches clattering to the ground as she crouched, or tried to, with one leg braced, and put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Estàs bé? Are you okay?”

Y/N nodded quickly, embarrassed, but her throat was tight for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. “I’m fine,” she managed, voice low.

“You scared me,” Alexia said, and there was nothing casual in it. Her eyes searched Y/N’s face, serious, intent, like she was memorising every blink and breath.

The physio insisted Y/N come off, just to be safe. Alexia walked beside her the whole way, crutches under one arm so she could keep a steadying hand on Y/N’s back.

On the bench, Alexia knelt in front of her, properly this time, and adjusted the ice pack herself, her fingers warm even through the cold.

“You have to be careful,” Alexia said quietly, almost scolding, but the softness in her tone made it feel more like worry than reprimand.

Y/N swallowed. “You’re one to talk.”

That earned her a faint smile, but Alexia didn’t look away. “I mean it.”

Something in the moment felt… heavier. Like the rest of the stadium noise had faded, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of floodlight and shared heartbeat. Y/N could see the fine lines at the corners of Alexia’s eyes, the way her lashes caught the light, the faint scent of her perfume even here on the bench.

For a second, it felt like if she leaned forward just slightly…

“¡Buen trabajo!” someone shouted from further down the bench, breaking the spell.

Alexia straightened, clearing her throat, but the look she gave Y/N before turning away was enough to leave her pulse skittering for the rest of the night.

If Y/N thought the teasing had been bad before the friendly match, it was nothing compared to now.

The next day, Patri all but cornered her in the locker room. “You know she sprinted, on crutches, when you went down?” she said, eyebrows waggling. “That’s love, amiga.”

“It’s not, she was just-” Y/N started, but Mapi cut her off with a dramatic gasp.

“You spoke a full sentence! And defending her! This is getting serious.”

The others joined in: Mariona humming a mock love song under her breath, Ingrid dropping a folded note into Y/N’s hand (“From your secret admirer… hint: it’s not that secret”), even Cata whispering, “Just ask her out already.”

By lunchtime, Y/N was ready to sink into the floor. But instead of hiding, she went to the lounge.

Alexia was there, of course, leaning back on the couch with her knee propped up, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when Y/N walked in, and that little smile, the one that reached her eyes, appeared.

“Hi,” Y/N said quietly.

“Hi,” Alexia returned. She patted the spot beside her. “Come sit before Mapi steals you for more teasing.”

Y/N sat, tucking one leg under herself. “They’re… relentless.”

Alexia smirked. “Because they’re not wrong.”

That made Y/N’s heart trip over itself. “About what?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Alexia didn’t hesitate. “That I like you.”

For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe. Alexia was watching her closely, but not nervously, like she already knew the answer.

“I…” Y/N began, then stopped. But her throat didn’t close. Her voice didn’t vanish. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Alexia. “I like you too.”

The relief in Alexia’s smile was almost dizzying. She reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face, her fingers lingering against her cheek.

“I was going to wait until you were ready,” Alexia murmured. “But you’ve been ready for a while, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s chest felt warm, not tight, not anymore. “With you, yeah.”

Alexia leaned in then, slow enough that Y/N could meet her halfway. The kiss was soft, unhurried, the kind that felt like it had been waiting patiently in the background for weeks.

When they pulled apart, a cheer went up from the hallway. Mapi’s voice carried above the rest: “FINALLY!”

It was in the back corner of a local football pitch when you were both just kids, before the cameras, before the rivalries, before the world decided the two of you should stand on opposite sides of a centuries-old football war. You’d both scraped knees, chased after balls too heavy for your legs, and talked about your dreams until the stars came out.

Back then, it was you and her against the world.

Now? It’s you versus her.

Barcelona versus Real Madrid.

Childhood best friends turned bitter rivals.

The night of the accident had been normal until it wasn’t. You weren’t even sure who hit who first, the street was too narrow, the light too dim, and both of you were too stubborn to give way. Her car versus yours, fenders kissing in the ugliest possible way.

You groaned as you stepped out, slamming your door harder than necessary.

And there she was.

Alexia.

The girl who once shared your secrets, now standing across from you with the same fire in her eyes that she brought to every Clásico.

“Of course it had to be you,” you muttered, throwing your hands up.

Her jaw tightened. “What are you even doing in Barcelona? Don’t you belong in Madrid?”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you crossed your arms. “It’s called visiting family, Alexia. Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you.”

She scoffed, muttering something in Catalan under her breath.

That was about when the shouting started, your voice against hers, accusations flying faster than either of you could process. And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, the flashing blue lights cut through the dark.

Police.

Explaining was… complicated.

Alexia insisted you swerved first. You swore up and down she was distracted. Both stories contradicted each other so thoroughly the officers gave up trying to figure out who was lying.

“You’ll both come with us,” one of them finally said.

“What?” you and Alexia shouted at the same time.

“You’re both being difficult. Until we sort this out, you’re spending the night at the station.”

So there you were, sitting in a cell, metal bars between you and the rest of the world. You sat on opposite ends of the narrow bench, glaring at the wall because looking at her felt like admitting some kind of defeat.

Minutes stretched into hours. The silence was louder than the shouting had been.

Finally, Alexia sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

You glanced at her, arching a brow. “You think?”

A pause. Then, softer, almost like she hated herself for saying it: “You haven’t changed.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged, eyes fixed on her hands. “Still stubborn. Still impossible.”

You should’ve been annoyed, but instead your chest twisted. You remembered the way she used to say those exact words when you beat her at card games as kids. The memory hit harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re still dramatic,” you shot back.

And just like that, a corner of her mouth curved upward. It wasn’t much, barely there, but it was enough to make something warm stir inside you.

You hated that feeling.

It was nearly 3 a.m. when Alba showed up.

She strolled in like rescuing Alexia (and, by extension, you) from trouble was the most normal thing in the world. She exchanged a few words with the officers, signed something, and before you knew it, the cell door swung open.

Alexia was free to go. So were you.

“You owe me, hermana,” Alba teased, ruffling Alexia’s hair as if she wasn’t the younger sister of the two. Her eyes flicked to you. “And you… maybe don’t crash cars in my city again, yeah?”

You muttered a thank you, cheeks burning.

By the time you finally got home, exhaustion weighed you down. But sleep never came easy when Alexia was on your mind.

And tonight? She was all you could think about.

The next morning, Alexia dragged herself into training at Joan Gamper. She thought she looked fine, maybe a little tired, maybe still annoyed about the night before, but her teammates didn’t miss a thing.

“Good morning, capi!” Mapi León’s grin was too wide to be innocent. “Or should I say… good morning to our criminal?”

Alexia froze. “What?”

Claudia Pina nearly fell over laughing, phone in hand. “Don’t act clueless. It’s everywhere.”

Alexia snatched the phone.

Her stomach dropped.

There it was, paparazzi photos of her leaving the police station with you at her side. Headlines screamed about the Barça captain and the Madrid player spending a night in custody together.

“Alexia Putellas caught with Real Madrid star; scandal or secret romance?”

Her blood ran cold.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

“Oh yes,” Mapi said, winking. “Didn’t know you had a thing for the enemy.”

“I don’t!” Alexia shot back instantly, face heating.

The locker room erupted in laughter. Patri clutched her chest dramatically, while Mariona made kissing noises until Alexia threw a towel at her.

“Shut up,” Alexia growled.

But no matter how hard she tried to brush it off, her mind kept circling back to the cell, to the way your voice softened when you finally stopped arguing, to the flicker of familiarity in your eyes that made her heart ache.

Enemies or not… something had shifted.

And Alexia wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Your phone buzzed before training. You’d been staring at the ceiling for an hour, too wired from the mess of last night and the headlines that exploded this morning.

You hadn’t even opened Twitter, but your notifications made it clear: the world thought you and Alexia had rekindled some long-lost romance under the dim fluorescent lights of a police cell.

If only they knew you spent most of the night trying not to strangle each other.

Still… there had been moments. Small ones. Too small to ignore.

Which was probably why your thumb hovered over her name longer than it should’ve. You told yourself not to. You told yourself you didn’t care. But before you knew it, you were typing.

Thanks for not throwing me under the bus completely last night. Could’ve been worse.

You stared at the text, grimaced, and hit send anyway.

Regret hit instantly.

What if she ignored it? What if she laughed? What if she…

Your phone buzzed.

You’re dramatic. I didn’t do it for you.

But… you’re right. Could’ve been worse.

You didn’t know why that tiny concession made your chest loosen.

Meanwhile, at Joan Gamper, Alexia was in hell.

Everywhere she turned, her teammates had something to say.

“Piqué told me to tell you he’s proud,” Patri snickered. “Apparently you’re keeping the rivalry spicy off the pitch too.”

“Do we need to set up a double date?” Mapi added with a grin. “You and your Madrid girlfriend, me and Ingrid, perfect.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Alexia snapped for what felt like the fiftieth time.

But even as she said it, her phone buzzed in her locker. She glanced down, saw your name, and her stomach did a stupid flip she wished she could control.

Her teammates noticed instantly.

Mariona gasped, hand over her mouth. “She’s texting you?!”

Alexia wanted to sink through the floor. “It’s not like that.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Ona teased from across the room, smirking.

“I’m not.”

She was.

Later, after training, Alexia finally let herself answer properly. She sat in her car, phone resting on the steering wheel, debating how honest to be.

She hated that you could still reach her like this. That even after years of bitterness, Clásicos filled with sharp tackles and colder post-match handshakes, you still knew how to unravel her in two words.

She typed slowly:

We’re never speaking of last night again. Deal?

You saw it pop up while sipping water, exhaustion from your own Madrid session clinging to your skin. A smirk tugged at your lips.

Deal.

But I’m still telling people you cried.

You could almost hear her groan through the screen.

By the end of the week, the teasing hadn’t stopped. If anything, it got worse.

Every time Alexia walked into the room, someone hummed the Champions League anthem dramatically. During a rondo, Mapi yelled, “Careful, Alexia’s going to pass it to her Madrid lover by accident!”

She pretended not to care. But at night, lying in bed, she’d catch herself scrolling back to your messages, rereading the sarcastic little jabs you sent her when neither of you could sleep.

The conversations weren’t long. Just enough to remind her of who you used to be. Enough to make her laugh, even when she didn’t want to.

It was infuriating. And comforting.

She hated both.

The first real crack in the armour came during a team dinner.

Barça had gathered after training, all loud voices and clinking glasses. Alexia tried to blend into the chatter, but Mapi wouldn’t let her.

“So, capi,” she started, smirking. “What’s it like falling for someone who wears that crest?”

The table erupted into laughter.

Alexia nearly choked on her drink. “I am not falling for anyone-”

“Oh come on,” Mariona cut in. “We’ve all seen the way you check your phone now. It’s pathetic.”

Even Ingrid, usually quieter, raised her brows knowingly. “She smiles when it’s her. It’s obvious.”

Alexia’s ears burned. She tried to protest, but every word she said only fuelled their laughter.

Finally, she slammed her fork down. “Enough. She’s… she’s nothing like that. She’s Madrid. That’s all.”

But the way her voice faltered at the end betrayed her.

And her teammates knew it.

You, meanwhile, had problems of your own.

Your Madrid teammates weren’t as loud about it, but they noticed. Esther teased you once after you checked your phone mid-lunch, saying, “Don’t tell me you’re flirting with Barça’s captain.”

You laughed it off. You told her no.

But when you were alone in your apartment, your thumb hovered over Alexia’s name again.

You hated her. You really did.

And yet… you didn’t.

The next message you sent wasn’t sarcastic.

It was late, the city outside your window quieter than usual, and you’d had a long, brutal session. For some reason, she was the one you thought of.

Do you ever wonder how it would’ve been… if we hadn’t chosen different sides?

You regretted it instantly. It was too raw, too revealing.

Minutes passed. Your heart hammered.

Finally, her reply came.

Every day.

And you didn’t know whether to smile or cry.

Alexia told herself to stop.

Stop checking her phone before training.

Stop waiting for your name to light up her screen.

Stop replaying that last message in her head: Every day.

But the human heart rarely listens to reason, and hers least of all.

At training, it was relentless again.

“Capi, did your girlfriend sleep well?” Patri sing-songed, juggling the ball on her thigh.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Alexia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Mariona leaned over with a wicked grin. “You say that, but you haven’t blocked her number either.”

“I should,” Alexia muttered.

But she wouldn’t. She knew it, and so did her teammates.

Back in Madrid, you faced a subtler kind of torment.

“Are you distracted?” your coach asked after you mis-hit a pass during a drill.

“No,” you lied, biting the inside of your cheek.

But you were. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw her smirk when she got the last word in your text battles. Every time you stepped on the pitch, you heard her voice barking commands at Barça like she owned the game.

You told yourself it was rivalry. Obsession. Nothing more.

Except deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

The next weekend brought travel. You hated away days in Barcelona, the press always camped outside hotels, hoping for a headline. This time, they got one.

Because as you stepped off the bus, cameras already snapping, you spotted her.

Alexia.

Just across the street, in casuals, phone in hand.

You froze. Her head lifted. Your eyes met.

It was one of those stupid moments where the world slowed, noise fading around you. Just her, just you, like when you were kids and shared orange slices at halftime.

But now there were cameras. Now there were teammates. Now there was history.

So you looked away, jaw tight, and walked on.

That night, your phone buzzed.

You looked miserable today.

You stared at the message, curled up in the too-stiff hotel bed. You shot back:

That’s because I saw you.

For a minute, nothing. Then…

Liar. I know your tells.

Your chest squeezed. You hated how well she still read you.

You don’t know me anymore, Alexia.

This time, her reply was slower.

Maybe. But part of me thinks I always will.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The next day was matchday.

Barça versus Madrid. The kind of Clásico people cleared their calendars for, the kind that sold out stadiums.

The kind where you and Alexia were supposed to be enemies, nothing else.

You told yourself that when you shook her hand at the lineup. Her grip was firm, her eyes burning with the same competitive fire you’d always admired, and hated.

“You ready?” she asked, low enough no one else heard.

“Always,” you shot back.

For ninety minutes, you forgot everything else.

It was war.

Hard tackles. Shoves in the box. Glares across midfield. She nearly scored; you nearly stole the ball off her twice. The crowd roared with every touch.

And yet… there was respect in every clash. An understanding no one else could touch.

When the whistle blew, Barça 2-1 Madrid, you collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving.

Alexia offered you her hand.

For a moment, you hesitated. Cameras flashed. The rivalry demanded you ignore her.

But your body betrayed you, you reached up, let her pull you to your feet.

And the crowd went wild.

Back in the locker room, the teasing reached a new peak.

“Look at her blushing!” Mariona yelled, showing everyone the photo already trending online: Alexia, pulling you up, the two of you closer than anyone should be after ninety minutes of football warfare.

“Classic love story,” Mapi added, grinning. “Rivals to lovers. Netflix is already calling.”

“Shut. Up.” Alexia buried her face in her hands.

But she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Just a little.

That night, your phone buzzed again.

Good game.

You smirked.

You only won because the ref was blind.

Excuses, excuses.

Don’t get cocky, Barça.

A pause. Then…

You’re cute when you’re mad.

You stared at the screen, heat flooding your face.

Delete my number.

But you didn’t mean it. And she knew it.

You told yourself it was stupid.

Meeting Alexia anywhere outside of the pitch or a press conference? That was practically asking for trouble.

But when she texted-

We need to talk. No cameras. No teammates. Just us.

Your fingers betrayed you before your brain caught up.

Where?

She chose carefully. A little café tucked into a quiet corner of Gràcia, the kind of place where old men played cards in the back and nobody cared who you were. You arrived first, hood up, sunglasses on.

You hated that your pulse jumped when you saw her walk in.

She looked… normal. No captain’s armband, no cameras, no weight of Barça draped on her shoulders. Just Alexia.

“Hi,” she said softly, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Hi.”

For a moment, silence stretched. Two people who’d known each other forever, somehow strangers now.

“You shouldn’t have asked me here,” you muttered, stirring your coffee just to keep your hands busy.

“Maybe not.” She leaned back, studying you. “But I had to.”

You frowned. “Why?”

Her lips pressed together. Then: “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your chest squeezed. “Alexia-”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, eyes blazing. “Don’t give me the rivalry speech. Don’t say Madrid and Barça can’t mix. I know all of that. But after last week… after everything… I can’t pretend anymore.”

You swallowed hard. The words you wanted to say tangled with the ones you knew you should.

“Do you know what it’s like,” you whispered, “to have your own team already suspicious of you? To feel like every time I look at my phone, someone’s about to catch me?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Because I’m living it too.”

That stopped you cold.

“Mapi won’t let me breathe,” she continued with a bitter laugh. “Mariona has a field day every time your name comes up. Even Ona’s teasing me. And still-” Her voice dropped, softer now. “Still, I don’t care. Because when it’s just us… it feels right.”

You stared at her, heart racing. The café noise blurred.

And for the first time, you didn’t argue.

Back at training, Alexia’s smile was impossible to hide. She tried, God she tried, but it betrayed her every time her phone buzzed.

“Look at her,” Patri whispered to Mariona during warm-up. “She’s glowing.”

“Definitely in love,” Mariona agreed.

“I’m not,” Alexia muttered, cheeks flushing.

But then her phone lit up:

Stop smiling. You’re obvious.

She bit back a grin. Too late.

In Madrid, you weren’t doing much better.

“Something’s up with you,” Esther teased in the locker room. “Don’t deny it. You’ve got that… stupid face.”

“What stupid face?” you asked, defensive.

“The one where you’re texting someone you shouldn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone in your bag. “You’re imagining things.”

But when you got home, you pulled it back out immediately, typing without hesitation.

They’re onto me.

Alexia replied instantly.

Same. We’re doomed.

You laughed, and it scared you how much lighter you felt.

A week later, you caved.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, too risky, too messy, but you agreed to meet her again. This time, not in a café.

This time, in her car.

Parked at Montjuïc, overlooking the city lights, it felt like being teenagers again, sneaking out to talk about everything and nothing.

“Remember when we swore we’d play together one day?” she asked, gaze fixed on the skyline.

“Yeah.” Your chest ached. “Back before Madrid even had a team.”

“We were so sure.” She laughed softly. “We thought we’d be unstoppable.”

“We would’ve been.”

Silence. Heavy, full of what-ifs.

Finally, you said it: “Sometimes I wish I’d chosen Barça.”

Her head whipped toward you, eyes wide. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You met her gaze, steady now. “Because then maybe I wouldn’t have lost you.”

The car filled with something dangerous; thick, charged, undeniable. Neither of you moved. But the space between you shrank anyway. Her hand brushed yours on the console. A spark shot up your arm.

“Y/N…” she whispered.

And for a moment, you wanted nothing more than to close the gap.

But your phone buzzed. A teammate’s message: Where are you?

Reality crashed back. You pulled your hand away.

“I should go.”

Alexia’s face fell, but she nodded. “Right. Of course.”

You opened the door, heart in your throat.

But before you left, you looked back. “This… isn’t over.”

Her smile was small. Hopeful. “I know.”

The next morning, Alexia walked into training late.

Her teammates pounced instantly.

“Rough night, capi?” Mapi smirked.

“You’re glowing again,” Mariona added.

Alexia groaned, shoving past them. But deep down? She didn’t even care anymore.

Because they were right.

It started with a photo.

You weren’t even together, not really. Just walking a few steps apart after sneaking out of a quiet restaurant in Barcelona. But someone with a long lens had been waiting, and by morning, the picture was everywhere.

Headlines screamed betrayal.

Madrid star caught with Barça captain; secret tryst or scandal brewing?

Your stomach twisted as you scrolled. Every sports outlet, every gossip page, every Twitter thread seemed to have an opinion.

Some called you a traitor. Some called her reckless.

Some, worse, called it love.

Training was brutal.

Your Madrid teammates weren’t cruel, not exactly, but the sidelong looks and half-jokes cut deeper than you’d admit.

“So,” Esther said as you tied your boots, “do we need to start calling you culé now?”

The others laughed. You forced a smile. “Hilarious.”

But it didn’t stop. During drills, someone muttered, “Careful, she’ll pass it to Alexia by instinct.” Another chimed in, “Maybe we should invite her to dinner, since she’s basically family now.”

By the end of the session, your chest ached from holding it all in.

In Barcelona, Alexia wasn’t spared either.

“Capi, capi,” Mariona called, waving her phone dramatically. “Explain this very romantic dinner photo I just found online?”

Patri leaned over her shoulder. “Oof, they even got the lighting perfect. Candlelight and everything.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Alexia snapped, sharper than intended.

Her teammates froze. For once, even Mapi kept quiet.

Alexia sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want to talk about it.”

But the truth was, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop thinking about you.

That night, you texted her first.

We’re screwed.

Probably.

They’re already calling me a traitor in Madrid.

A pause. Then,

And they’re saying I’m distracted. That I’m not focused on Barça anymore.

The words sat heavy between you. This was bigger than teasing now. Bigger than stolen coffees and quiet car rides.

This was your careers. Your reputations. Your clubs.

You typed slowly:

Maybe we should stop.

The dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.

Finally, her reply:

Do you want to?

You stared at the screen, heart pounding. Did you?

Every rational bone in your body screamed yes. It would be easier. Safer. Cleaner.

But your heart whispered no.

And you hated how loud it was. You sent at last,

No.

Then we don’t stop.

The next weekend, both teams had games in different cities. It should’ve been a reprieve, but instead it only made things worse.

You were warming up in Madrid when you heard a chant from the stands, Barcelona fans who’d traveled, yelling your name alongside Alexia’s, twisting it into some cruel little rhyme about forbidden love.

You pretended not to hear. You focused on the ball. But inside, you burned.

Alexia texted you that night:

They’re chanting about us here too.

Good or bad?

Both.

I hate this.

Her reply came slower.

I don’t. Not all of it.

Your breath caught.

Which part don’t you hate?

Dots flickered. Then,

The part where I get to talk to you again.

You shut your eyes. You couldn’t keep doing this. And yet, you knew you would.

Days later, you almost got caught.

It was stupid, you’d agreed to meet at her apartment, thinking the underground garage was private enough. But as you slipped inside, hoodie up, you heard footsteps echoing.

Voices. Familiar ones.

Barça teammates.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You pressed yourself against the wall, hidden in the shadows, until the voices faded past.

When you finally reached Alexia’s door, you were shaking.

She pulled you inside instantly, hands on your arms. “What happened?”

“Your teammates,” you whispered. “They almost saw me.”

For a moment, fear flashed in her eyes. Then determination.

“Then we’ll be more careful,” she said firmly.

“Alexia…” you started, but she cut you off.

“I don’t care, Y/N. Not about them. Not about the press. If it’s you… I don’t care.”

Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to believe her. You really did.

But when you looked into her eyes, all you saw was the same impossible truth you’d both been running from:

So long as you wore Madrid, and she wore Barça, you were doomed.

And yet, neither of you let go.

Not that night.

Not ever.

By the time you arrived at Madrid training, the whispers weren’t even whispers anymore.

“Traitor.”

You heard it as you walked past fans outside the gates. Not shouted, worse. Hissed, like poison slipped under the skin.

Inside, your teammates were sharper too. Esther, usually quick to joke, muttered, “You’d better not throw this match for her.” Others didn’t bother hiding their glances, heavy with suspicion.

You trained harder than ever, every sprint sharper, every pass cleaner, desperate to prove you weren’t distracted. But the tighter you clung, the heavier the doubt felt.

In Barcelona, Alexia felt the weight just as much.

“Capi, this isn’t like you.”

Jonatan’s voice was calm but firm after training. He hadn’t raised it, he didn’t need to. The disappointment stung worse than yelling ever could.

“You’re unfocused. You’re the leader here, Alexia. If you get dragged into off-pitch drama, the whole squad feels it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue. He wasn’t wrong.

And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to regret you.

That night, you broke first.

They think I’m a traitor. Even my own teammates.

The reply came fast.

They think I’m distracted. Like I can’t do my job anymore.

You stared at the screen, thumb trembling. Finally, you sent,

Maybe they’re right. Maybe we’re making a mistake.

Minutes passed. Your chest squeezed with every second of silence.

Finally,

If this is a mistake… it’s the only one I want to make.

Your throat tightened.

You’re insane.

So are you.

And despite the storm outside, you smiled.

The next time you saw her was reckless. Too soon. Too dangerous.

Her apartment again. You barely made it through the door before she pulled you into a hug, fierce and desperate.

You froze at first. Not because you didn’t want it, but because it had been years since you’d held her like this.

And then you melted, burying your face against her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. Home, whispered a voice you hadn’t let yourself listen to in so long.

“I missed this,” she murmured against your hair.

“Alexia, we shouldn’t-”

“I know.” She pulled back just enough to look at you. Her eyes burned, but softer now, vulnerable. “But I can’t stop.”

Your chest ached. You should’ve pulled away. Instead, your hand rose, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She leaned into your touch.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispered.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you whispered back: “Don’t.”

Later, you sat curled together on her couch, a movie playing but neither of you watching. Your head rested on her shoulder, her hand tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

For a moment, the noise of the world disappeared. There was no rivalry, no headlines, no teammates. Just you and her, like before.

“Do you ever wish,” you murmured, “that none of this mattered? That it was just us again, kicking a ball until the streetlights came on?”

Her arm tightened around you. “Every day.”

Silence settled, warm and heavy.

And for the first time since this started, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t doomed after all.

But the world wasn’t done with you.

The next morning, both your phones blew up.

Not from each other. From the press.

New photos.

You and Alexia. In her car. Parked at Montjuïc.

Together.

The headlines weren’t whispers anymore.

They were screams.

The photos hit harder than either of you expected.

It wasn’t just gossip blogs this time, it was front-page sports news. National papers. International outlets.

“Putellas and Madrid Rival: Secret Affair?” “Clásico divided, or united?”

Clips played on morning TV, pundits debating whether this was love or betrayal. One former player even sneered, “Unprofessional. Both of them. Football comes first.”

Your phone didn’t stop buzzing. Neither did Alexia’s.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just teasing from teammates anymore. It was meetings. Closed doors. Serious voices.

In Madrid, your coach sat across from you, jaw tight.

“Y/N, I need you to be honest with me. Is there something between you and Alexia?”

You froze. “She’s… she’s a friend.”

“Friends don’t get caught in cars at midnight.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “We were just-”

He cut you off, sharp. “Listen. I don’t care what you do off the pitch, but if it affects this club, it’s my problem. And right now, the headlines say your loyalty is compromised.”

Your stomach dropped. “That’s not true-”

“Then prove it. Focus. No more distractions. Or I’ll have to make decisions you won’t like.”

The message was clear: your spot wasn’t untouchable.

Meanwhile, in Barcelona, Alexia faced her own reckoning.

“Capi,” Jonatan said carefully, “you know how important you are to this team. To the club.”

“I’m aware,” she muttered.

“Then you also know the image we need to uphold. You’ve always been the example. The professional. The one who puts Barça above everything.”

“I do,” she insisted.

He hesitated. “Do you?”

Her chest tightened.

“Alexia, if this… relationship, whatever it is, becomes a distraction, it hurts not just you. It hurts the whole squad.”

She wanted to argue. To say she was still leading, still fighting, still giving everything to Barça. But his words dug into the doubt already festering in her chest.

Was she distracted? Did she hesitate in that last game, just for a second, when you clashed in midfield?

The silence stretched too long.

Jonatan sighed. “You need to make a choice.”

That night, you called her. Voice low, shaking.

“They told me to prove my loyalty. Or else.”

Alexia’s chest constricted. “They said the same. That I have to choose.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it pressed like a storm cloud ready to burst.

Finally, you whispered: “Maybe they’re right. Maybe we can’t…”

Her voice broke in, sharp, desperate. “Don’t say that.”

“Alexia-”

“No. Listen to me.” Her breath came quick, ragged. “We’ve been through too much. We’ve fought too hard. I won’t let them take you away from me again.”

Tears stung your eyes. “It’s not just them. It’s everything. The press, the fans, our teams… we’re drowning.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice cracked now, raw. “Y/N, you’re the only thing that feels real right now. I can’t-”

She stopped. The silence between you throbbed with everything unspoken.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t walk away.”

Your heart twisted. Because you wanted to promise her forever, but you weren’t sure if forever could survive this.

The next day, the storm worsened.

During training, a chant rose from outside Madrid’s grounds. Loud. Cruel.

“Traitor! Traitor!”

You tried to block it out, but every touch of the ball felt heavier. Every glance from a teammate sharper.

And in Barcelona, Alexia’s teammates weren’t laughing anymore. They were worried.

“Capi,” Mapi said quietly after training, pulling her aside. “You know I love you. But this? It’s getting dangerous.”

Alexia’s jaw clenched. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?” Mapi searched her face. “Because right now, it looks like you’re breaking.”

For once, Alexia had no answer.

That night, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You left your phone buzzing on the table, ignored the calls, ignored the messages. Instead, you drove.

To her.

When she opened the door, you saw it all over her face; the exhaustion, the fire, the fear. The mirror of your own.

And before either of you could speak, you pulled her into a hug so fierce it knocked the breath from your lungs.

Her arms wrapped around you instantly, clutching like you were her lifeline.

“I don’t care,” she murmured against your shoulder. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if the world hates me. I’m not letting go.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears hot on your cheeks. “Then hold on. Even if it breaks us.”

And in that moment, with the world crashing down outside her door, neither of you let go.

It was inevitable.

With every headline, every photo, every whisper, the walls closed in tighter.

The tipping point came faster than either of you imagined.

In Madrid, the coach finally snapped.

“Enough,” he barked during a team meeting, slamming a newspaper onto the table. Your face. Alexia’s face. The car photo, blown up across the front page.

“This is a distraction. It’s poisoning the team. Y/N, until further notice, you’re benched.”

The words hit harder than any tackle ever could.

“Benched?” you repeated, stunned.

“You heard me. Focus on cleaning up your mess before you step on the pitch again.”

The room was silent, the weight of teammates’ eyes burning into you. Some sympathetic. Some accusing.

You couldn’t look at any of them.

In Barcelona, Alexia faced her own reckoning.

Jonatan pulled her aside after training, his voice clipped. “You’re the captain, Alexia. You set the standard. And right now? You’re failing.”

Her fists clenched. “I’m still leading. I’m still giving everything-”

“Are you?” he cut in. “Because it doesn’t look like it. The board is already whispering about suspensions. Don’t think your name makes you untouchable.”

Her breath caught. Suspensions. For her? For you?

The thought left her hollow.

That night, she called.

You answered on the first ring. “They benched me.”

Her silence stretched. “They’re talking about suspending me.”

Neither of you spoke after that. Just silence. The kind that screamed louder than any fight.

Finally, you whispered, “This is killing us.”

“No,” she said, sharp. “It’s them. Not us.”

But you weren’t sure anymore.

The fight came two days later.

You’d slipped to her apartment again, the only place you both felt safe. But the tension was thick, suffocating.

“They benched me because of you,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Her head whipped toward you, eyes flashing. “Because of me? You think I wanted this? You think I asked for us to be plastered across every headline?”

“I didn’t ask for this either!” Your voice cracked. “But somehow, I’m the one being called a traitor. I’m the one who lost my spot. And you…” Your throat tightened. “You’ll always be their captain. You’ll always be Barça’s golden girl. They’ll forgive you. They never will me.”

Her face crumpled. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Alexia.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and cruel. You didn’t mean them, not really, but they landed all the same.

She turned away, arms wrapped around herself. “So what, Y/N? You’re saying it’s not worth it?”

Your chest burned. “I’m saying I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Silence. Heavy. Breaking.

And for the first time, the thought slithered in: maybe this was the end.

You left before she could answer.

The slam of her door echoed like thunder in your chest.

The following days were agony. No texts. No calls. Just silence.

On the pitch, you watched your teammates run drills without you, your body aching to join but rooted to the bench. Every glance from the sidelines cut deeper.

In Barcelona, Alexia went through the motions, passing, shooting, leading, but her teammates saw the cracks. Her fire dimmed. Her shoulders slumped.

Even Mapi, who always teased, only offered a quiet, “You okay, capi?”

Alexia’s answer was a lie. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

The lowest point came during a press conference.

A reporter asked you directly, his voice smug:

“Y/N, is your relationship with Alexia Putellas more important than your commitment to Real Madrid?”

The room buzzed. Cameras clicked.

You froze. Every eye on you.

And for the first time, you didn’t know how to answer.

That night, you sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. One message drafted, deleted. Another. Another.

Finally, just two words remained.

I’m sorry.

You sent it.

And then you waited, heart pounding, praying she wouldn’t let it be the end.

Across the city, Alexia read it. Tears stung her eyes.

Because she was sorry too.

And she wasn’t ready to lose you again.

Her reply came quick.

Me too.

And for the first time in days, hope flickered again.

You sat across from Madrid’s sporting director, palms damp, heart pounding.

It had taken every ounce of courage to walk into this office. You’d rehearsed it a hundred times in your head, but now, face-to-face, the words stuck in your throat.

Finally, you forced them out.

“I want to leave.”

The director blinked. “Leave?”

“Yes.” You straightened, forcing your voice steady. “This isn’t working anymore. For me, for the team… I can’t stay here.”

His brows furrowed. “You realise what this means, Y/N. You’re one of our starters. You’ve built a career here.”

“I know.” Your chest ached. “But right now, all I’m doing is sitting on the bench, getting torn apart by fans and press who think I’ve betrayed the club. If that’s how it’s going to be, then I’d rather go somewhere I can breathe.”

“Because of Putellas?”

The question cut sharp.

You hesitated. Then, softly: “Because of me. Because I can’t be the player this club deserves when I’m carrying this weight.”

He studied you, eyes searching. Then he sighed. “We’ll discuss it with the board. But understand, if you walk away from Madrid, there’s no coming back.”

“I know.”

And with that, the decision was made.

You told Alexia that night.

Her apartment again. Safer, quieter. She opened the door, and for once there was no hesitation, you fell into her arms immediately, clinging like you’d drown without her.

“I told them,”You whispered into her shoulder.

She pulled back, brows furrowed. “Told them what?”

“That I want out. That I’m leaving Madrid.”

Her lips parted, stunned. “Y/N… are you serious?”

You nodded, throat tight. “I can’t do it anymore. Not the press, not the fans, not the whispers in the locker room. They’ll never forgive me. They’ll never see me the same.”

Her hands cupped your face, eyes searching yours. “But… where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” You laughed bitterly. “Anywhere. Abroad, maybe. A fresh start.”

Her chest twisted. The thought of you leaving Spain, leaving her, left her breathless.

But she saw it; the exhaustion in your eyes, the pain carved deep.

“You’re doing this for you,” she murmured.

“Yes.” Your voice cracked. “And maybe a little for you too.”

Something inside her broke and healed all at once. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours.

“I don’t deserve that,” she whispered.

“You do,” you said firmly. “You always did.”

In Barcelona, the teasing from teammates shifted once word spread.

At first, it was shock.

“Wait, she’s leaving Madrid?” Patri asked, wide-eyed.

“Because of you,” Mapi added, pointing dramatically at Alexia.

Alexia winced. “Not because of me. Because she wasn’t happy there.”

But Mapi tilted her head, smirking. “Still. If she’s walking away from Madrid… that’s not nothing.”

Even Mariona, who never passed up a chance to tease, sobered. “She must care about you a lot.”

Alexia’s heart squeezed. She wanted to say it wasn’t like that. But it was.

It always had been.

Meanwhile, in Madrid, the fallout was brutal.

The press spun it as betrayal.

“Madrid star quits under pressure of Barça romance.” “Love over loyalty?”

Fans raged online, calling you weak, disloyal, a disgrace.

You read every word, every cruel comment, until your phone shook in your hands.

Then Alexia messaged.

Stop reading. Come here.

So you did.

And when she wrapped her arms around you, whispering, “They don’t know you like I do,” for the first time in weeks, the weight lifted.

One night, sitting side by side on her balcony, the city lights stretching below, you finally let yourself ask the question that had haunted you for months.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re making the right choice?”

She glanced at you, eyes soft. “Every day.”

“And?”

She reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours.

“And every day, I choose you anyway.”

Your chest swelled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Alexia…”

Her thumb brushed your knuckles. “So wherever you go, whatever happens next… I’m with you.”

You smiled through the sting in your throat. “Even if I end up playing in some tiny club in Sweden?”

She grinned. “I’ll buy a scarf. Learn Swedish. Cheer the loudest.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up for the first time in weeks, and she leaned over, pressing the softest kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t reckless.

It was home.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The news broke first as a whisper, then a rumour, then a headline.

“Barcelona interested in signing Madrid star.” “Could she follow her heart to Barça?”

You saw it on your phone, thumb frozen mid-scroll.

Your first thought was: Impossible.

Your second: Would they really?

Before you could spiral, Alexia messaged.

Come to training ground. Now.

When you arrived at Barça’s Ciutat Esportiva, nerves twisted your stomach into knots. Players milled around after training, some waving, some smirking knowingly.

And then there she was, Alexia, waiting by the entrance, arms folded, trying (and failing) to look casual.

“You’re here,” she said, like she didn’t quite believe it.

“You told me to come,” you shot back, heart hammering.

She bit her lip, then motioned for you to follow. “The coaches want to talk to you.”

Your breath caught. This is real.

Inside, you sat across from Jonatan and two directors. Alexia lingered nearby, a steady presence.

One of the directors spoke first. “Y/N, we’re aware of the situation in Madrid. We also know what you can offer on the pitch. Your record speaks for itself.”

Jonatan leaned forward, gaze sharp but not unkind. “If you’re serious about leaving Madrid, we’re interested in bringing you here. But I need to know, are you ready for what that means? For the scrutiny? For being on the same pitch as Alexia… every day?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “I’m ready.”

Because no matter the storm outside, when you looked at Alexia, you knew exactly where you belonged.

The director smiled faintly. “Then welcome to Barcelona.”

Your chest squeezed. Relief. Fear. Hope. All at once.

And when you glanced at Alexia, her grin was wide, unguarded, impossibly bright.

Word spread like wildfire.

“Madrid traitor or Barça’s newest weapon?” “Putellas and Y/N: teammates and lovers?”

The press went wild, fans even wilder.

But this time, you weren’t afraid. Because now, you weren’t fighting alone.

Your first day of training in blaugrana was chaos.

As soon as you stepped onto the pitch, the teasing began.

“Look who defected!” Mapi shouted, arms wide. “The prodigal daughter!”

Mariona smirked. “All this for Alexia? She must be worth it.”

Patri cupped her hands around her mouth. “Careful, Y/N, she snores!”

The pitch erupted in laughter.

Your cheeks burned, but when you glanced at Alexia, she was blushing just as hard, hiding her face in her hands.

“You’re all children,” she muttered.

“Children who ship it!” Aitana added, sending everyone into hysterics again.

And for the first time, the teasing didn’t sting. It felt like… family.

That evening, the two of you sat together in the locker room after everyone left, the air quiet at last.

“You okay?” Alexia asked softly.

You looked down at your new jersey, still strange against your skin, but right somehow.

“I think so.” Then you smiled. “Feels weird. Good weird.”

She reached over, threading her fingers through yours. “I never thought this would happen. That you’d be here. With me.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder. “Me neither. But I don’t regret it.”

Her lips brushed your hair. “Neither do I.”

The first match you played together was magic.

Chemistry flowed effortlessly; passes, runs, glances that said everything words couldn’t. And when Alexia slipped you a through ball that led to your first goal in Barça colours, the stadium roared.

You didn’t think. You just ran, straight into her arms.

She lifted you off the ground, laughing, pure joy radiating from both of you. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, the world watched.

But in that moment, it was just you and her.

Later, in the tunnel, she caught your hand, squeezing it tight.

“You know they’ll never stop talking about us,” she murmured.

You squeezed back, smiling. “Then let them talk.”

Her answering smile was soft, radiant. “As long as I get to do this with you.”

And right there, with her hand warm in yours, you knew:

It had been worth every fight, every headline, every sleepless night. Hell even a broken fender.

Because you weren’t enemies anymore.

You weren’t rivals.

You were home.

Together.

“Okay, okay!” Vicky stood up, brushing crumbs from her lap. “I have a classic. A perfect team-building game.”

Clara Serrajordi, the newest face in the group, looked up with interest. Aïcha, another fresh signing, grinned. “Ooh, I love games. What is it?”

“Charades!” Vicky announced proudly.

The room went silent.

It was the kind of silent that is louder than a scream. Aïcha’s grin faltered. Clara looked around, confused. Patri, who had been mid-reach for another slice of pizza, froze. Mapi slowly lowered her sunglasses from her forehead to her eyes, as if to shield herself from the mere mention of the word.

Ona, ever the diplomat, held up her hands. "No. No, no, no. That's a lovely idea, but… no."

“No,” Jana said, her voice flat. “Absolutely not.”

“We’re not playing charades,” Kika agreed, shaking her head with the solemnity of a funeral director.

Clara blinked. “Why not? It’s fun! Aïcha and I used to play it with the B team all the time.”

Aïcha nodded, now puzzled by the team’s reaction. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a high-stakes game. What’s the big deal?”

There was a heavy, collective sigh. Pina looked at Irene. Irene looked at the ceiling, as if asking for divine patience.

Mapi finally broke the silence, her voice a low rumble. “You don’t understand. You weren’t here.”

“Weren’t here for what?” Clara asked, her journalistic instincts now fully engaged.

Alexia, who had been quietly sipping her water, suddenly became very interested in a loose thread on her sweatpants. Y/N, sitting beside her, developed a sudden fascination with the label on a beer bottle.

“Last year,” Kika began, her Portuguese accent making the story sound even more ominous. “We made the same mistake. We thought charades would be a laugh.”

“It was supposed to be a welcoming party for a few of the new girls last season,” Irene picked up the tale. “It started normally enough. Patri was acting out ‘The Lion King.’ People were guessing random things. Everyone was having fun. It was fine.”

“Then,” Patri leaned forward, her eyes wide, “it was Alexia and Y/N’s turn.”

Another collective shudder ran through the room.

“We were on the blue team, I think,” Y/N mumbled, not looking up from the bottle.

“No it was the green team,” Alexia corrected her quietly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “We were unstoppable.”

“That’s the problem!” Mapi yelled, gesturing wildly. “Look, just… you just had to be there and see it to understand.”

~~ Last Season ~~

The scene was almost identical. Takeaway boxes, the team sprawled across the same sofas. A younger-looking Clara wasn't there, but the room was full of laughter. It was Frido’s turn, and she was currently attempting to mime something involving a lot of hip thrusts and pointing at her own teeth.

“Is it… ‘Brush Your Teeth’?!” Ingrid shouted.

“No! ‘Hungry Horse’?!” Kika attempted a guess.

The timer went off. Frido threw her hands up in defeat and sat down, laughing. “It was ‘White Horse’! By Taylor Swift!”

The room erupted in a mix of groans and giggles. “Okay, okay, Red team with 1 point!” Lucy called out, ever the ringleader. “Alexia and Y/N, you’re up!”

Alexia stood up, a competitive glint instantly replacing her relaxed expression. Y/N followed, rolling her eyes but grinning. They were a formidable pair, their understanding on the pitch translating seamlessly to… well, everything. They didn't even need to huddle.

Alexia looked at the card Lucy held up. Her eyebrow quirked. A Quiet Place. She turned to Y/N and gave a single, sharp nod.

“Okay, go!” Lucy shouted, setting the timer off.

Then, she simply sat down, put a single finger to her lips, and stared, unblinking, at Y/N.

Y/N, without a moment's hesitation, snapped her fingers. "Horror movie. No, suspense. It's a film title. A… Quiet Place."

The room erupted. Patri’s jaw was on the floor.

"It was a fluke!" Ona argued from the memory. "A lucky guess!"

"Your turn," Alexia said, a serene smile on her face as she handed the card back to Lucy.

This time, the clue was for Y/N. She scanned the card. The Great Escape. She stood, mimed holding handlebars, and started doing a little bunny-hop motion, her face a mask of exaggerated triumph.

"Bicycle," Mapi guessed. "Tour de France!"

Alexia’s hand shot up. "The Great Escape!" she called out, her voice ringing with certainty.

The room fell silent this time. Y/N pointed at Alexia, a huge grin on her face, then did a slow clap.

"Again!" Pina demanded. "Give them a hard category this time!"

The next card was passed to Alexia. She read it, and for the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed her features. It was a complicated Spanish idiom: Mucho ruido y pocas nueces (Much noise, few nuts – the equivalent of 'much ado about nothing').

Alexia thought for a second. Then, she cupped her hands around her mouth and made a loud, rumbling "Wooooosh!" sound, waving her arms wildly to signify chaos and noise. Then, she stopped, held up two fingers, and mimed cracking open an imaginary nut, peering inside, and shrugging with disappointment at finding nothing.

Y/N watched, utterly focused. Her eyes lit up. "A saying. Something about… a lot of fuss over something small? Mucho ruido y pocas nueces!"

The team were stunned. Half in awe, half in outrage. Mapi was standing up from her seat.

"That's impossible!" Frido yelled.

"Impossible?" Alexia repeated, her competitive spirit fully ignited. She looked at Y/N. "Cinco dedos de una mano?" she said, naming another idiom: 'five fingers of a hand' – meaning they were two parts of the same whole.

Y/N laughed, a happy, bright sound. "Siempre," she agreed. Always.

“Lucky guess,” Pina muttered. “One more round.”

It was then that the card for the final round was drawn. This one was for Y/N to act out for Alexia.

Y/N looked at the card. Her face went completely blank. Then, she stood up, turned her back to the team, and began to act. She started with a simple, elegant wave of her arm, like a royal greeting. Then she mimed holding a small, round object. Then she pointed to her face, specifically her eyebrows.

Alexia watched, her head tilted. "Okay. Royalty. Queen. Something round… a crown? You're wearing a crown. And… your eyebrows?" She frowned. "Eyebrows… Ceja. Queen… Ceja?"

Y/N nodded frantically, then made a grand, sweeping gesture, as if presenting everything to Alexia.

Alexia’s face went through a series of micro-expressions before it dawned on her. Her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Finally, she managed to choke out, "Reina… Isabel… y sus… sus… Cejas! Queen Isabel and her eyebrows!"

She was referring to Queen Letizia of Spain, and a very old, very niche meme about her eyebrows.

The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time. Mapi slowly removed her sunglasses from the top of her head. Her mouth was open.

Then the room was no longer chaos; it was anarchy. People were crying with laughter. Patri was on the floor. Kika was hitting Pina sat beside her, rolling around each other. Ona and Irene just stared at Alexia and Y/N, mouths hanging open.

Y/N turned back around, taking a bow as Alexia stood up and met her in the middle of the room for a triumphant, laughing high-five.

“How?” Jana whispered, looking at Alexia with a mixture of horror and awe. “How did you get that from practically nothing?”

“We just… get each other,” Y/N said, slinging an arm around a beaming Alexia.

“It’s like watching a magic trick you can’t explain,” Irene added, her voice still haunted. “And then you realise it’s not a trick, it’s just… them.”

~~~~~

Back in the present, Clara and Aïcha stared at the couple with a million questions flying around their heads. Alexia was now inspecting her fingernails. Y/N was trying to hide a proud smirk behind her beer.

“So you see,” Mapi concluded, gesturing to them like they were a pair of unexploded bombs. “They are not allowed to team up for charades. Not anymore. It’s demoralising. It’s terrifying. It ruins the game for everyone else.”

“They make us feel like we have the collective IQ of a houseplant,” Patri added, pouting.

Clara looked at Alexia, the Ballon d’Or winner, the leader, the serious one. Then she looked at Y/N, who was now quietly giggling.

Irene threw a cushion at them, "They didn't even need words! They had created their own language with eye contact. They acted out a 500-year-old Spanish queen's eyebrow situation, and Alexia just… knew." She shuddered. "We had to ban them. For the good of the team, and for our own fragile egos."

Kika chimed in, “So yeah, we can play anything, just… no charades. We’re playing Uno.”

“Deal,” everyone agreed quickly in unison.

The sun was warm, the scent of fried dough and sugar hung in the air, and their primary form of "team bonding" was in full swing: the merciless, good-natured teasing of their captain.

"Look! The Flying Carpets!" Salma pointed at a gentle, undulating ride where fibreglass carpets rose and fell a few feet off the ground. "Perfect for you, capitana! See, they're even called 'Flying' to make it sound exciting!"

Alexia shot her a withering look, adjusting her sunglasses. "It is a glorified elevator with fabric seating. I'm not impressed by marketing."

"You were not impressed by the 'Sea Serpent Swing' either," Aitana chimed in, falling into step beside her. She affected a dramatic, trembly voice. "'The lateral momentum is unpredictable! The chains look suspiciously slack!' You analysed the swing set like it was a rival team's defensive formation."

The group around them snorted with laughter. Lucy threw an arm around Mapi. "Remember the pirate ship? The pirate ship? I thought we were going to have to call the medical team for her. The sheer, silent panic."

Alexia flushed. "I was not panicked. I was… assessing the pendulum's arc. And the safety bar was digging into my ribs in an inefficient manner."

"Assessing the pendulum's arc!" Patri crowed, mimicking Alexia's serious tone perfectly. "You had your eyes squeezed shut and you were chanting what I think was the multiplication tables!"

"I was calculating force vectors!" Alexia insisted, but the fight was gone from her voice, replaced by familiar, fond exasperation. This was their ritual. She was the master of the midfield, the cool-headed leader under the fiercest pressure, but introduce a mildly thrilling amusement park ride and she transformed into their collective, adorable source of mockery.

They steered her toward a spinning "Mad Tea Cup" ride, which she endured with the grim dignity of someone heading into a root canal. "The centrifugal force is disorienting and serves no purpose," she declared afterward, slightly green, as Caroline howled with laughter.

"Okay, enough with the baby rides," Mariona said, consulting the park map. "Let's find something with a bit of—whoa."

The word died in her throat. The group followed her gaze around a bend, and a wave of groans and nervous laughter rippled through them.

'The Void' wasn't a ride; it was a threat. A sleek, black monument of steel that shot straight up like a skyscraper before contorting into a series of violent loops and corkscrews. The screams echoing down were short, sharp, and genuinely terrified.

"Absolutely not," Ingrid stated, taking a physical step back. "My spine just fused itself in solidarity against that thing."

"Agreed," Lucy said, shaking her head. "We have a season to finish. That is a one-way ticket to physical therapy."

Alexia, however, had stopped. Her usual analytical frown was absent. She wasn't studying the ride's mechanics with disdain. Her gaze was fixed on the entrance platform, where the ride attendant, Y/N, was helping a group of teenagers with their harnesses.

Y/N moved with a relaxed competence, her hair tied back, a soft smile on her face as she reassured a nervous rider. She had a kind of warm, grounded presence that seemed utterly at odds with the mechanical beast she commanded. Alexia watched, mesmerised, as Y/N laughed at something a kid said, the sound bright and clear.

Without a word, Alexia turned and began walking toward the queue entrance.

A stunned silence fell over the team.

"Uh… Alexia?" Aitana called after her. "The line for the churros is the other way."

Alexia didn't turn. "We should try it."

Ten faces stared at her in utter disbelief. It was as if she'd announced she was retiring to become a lion tamer.

"Try… that?" Mapi asked, pointing a shaky finger at the monstrosity. "Alexia, you think the bumper cars are 'aggressively chaotic.'"

"It's a new experience," Alexia said, her voice strangely firm. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Y/N, who was now scanning the growing line. "Team building. Facing fears."

The team exchanged bewildered glances. This made no sense. Their captain, who considered the log flume a "suboptimal combination of humidity and sudden drops," was voluntarily marching toward the most terrifying ride in the park.

Shrugging, a mix of curiosity and concern, they followed her into the dim, chilly queue. They spent the entire 20-minute wait reminding her of her past transgressions against amusement physics.

"You know this goes upside down, right?" Salma said sweetly. "Like, your feet will be where your head should be. Several times."

"Remember how you felt about the “lateral momentum” of the pirate ship?" Patri added, grinning. "This has diagonal, inverted, corkscrewing momentum."

Alexia just nodded, her jaw tight, her eyes glued to the platform ahead where Y/N was working.

They survived. Barely.

The team stumbled off 'The Void' looking like survivors of a natural disaster. Lucy's hair was a permanent wind-swept sculpture. Ingrid was walking in a zig-zag pattern. Aitana was giggling hysterically from residual adrenaline.

Alexia was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she unfastened her harness. It had been the most terrifying ninety seconds of her life; a violent, disorienting blur of force and noise. But as her feet hit the stable platform, her mission rebooted.

Y/N was there, offering a steadying hand to an elderly man. "Everyone okay?" she called out, her voice warm and professional.

Alexia's heart hammered for a new reason. She opened her mouth, but only a dry croak came out. The moment passed; Y/N was busy, and the team was herding her away, already dissecting the trauma.

"Never again," Mapi vowed, clutching her stomach. "I think I left my breakfast in that second loop."

"Agreed. Churros. Now. As medicinal intervention," Lucy declared.

They got about fifty feet, heading toward the food court, when Alexia stopped walking. She took a deep, steadying breath, turned on her heel, and started marching back toward 'The Void.'

"Uh… Alexia? The sugar is this way," Caroline said.

"I… I think I need to conquer it again," Alexia said, the words sounding absurd even to her own ears. "To… to desensitise myself."

The team stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"Conquer it again?" Salma echoed. "You looked like you were going to cry on the lift hill! You were muttering in Catalan! I heard you say 'mare meva'!"

"You were mistaken," Alexia said stiffly, her eyes already searching for Y/N's figure at the controls. "It wasn't as bad as I anticipated. The G-forces were… educational."

Without waiting for further protest, she walked back and got in line. The team, utterly flummoxed, trailed after her like confused ducklings.

The second ride was, if possible, worse. Knowing what was coming made the dread more profound. Alexia squeezed her eyes shut through the entire first loop. As they staggered off, Salma was genuinely concerned. "Capitana, are you feeling alright? You're very… determined about this specific fear."

"I'm fine," Alexia rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming. Her legs were jelly. But she had managed to make fleeting eye contact with Y/N during the safety check, and the attendant had given her a small, curious, and breathtaking smile.

The team dragged her to a bench, forcing water on her. They were no longer teasing; they were worried. "Okay, what is going on?" Mariona asked, her tone gentle. "Is this a bet? Did Pere text you a dare?"

Before Alexia could concoct another flimsy excuse, she saw the line for 'The Void' shrink to a minimal wait. A wild, reckless impulse took over. She stood up.

"One more time."

The statement hung in the air. The team's concern shattered, replaced by pure, unadulterated bewilderment.

"One more time?" Lucy exploded. "Putellas, you hate the carousel because the 'up-and-down motion of the horses is poorly synced'! You've been on that death trap twice! You've conquered it! You've desensitised! What possible reason could you have to go on it a THIRD time?"

All eyes were on her. Alexia floundered, her mind blank of any plausible excuse related to team-building or vestibular research. Her gaze, helplessly, instinctively, flicked over their heads toward the ride platform, where Y/N was leaning against the control panel, laughing with a coworker.

Ten heads slowly turned as one, following the trajectory of her longing look. They saw the beautiful, kind-faced attendant. They saw the way Alexia's posture had gone rigid with something that was definitely not fear of rollercoasters. They connected the dots: the sudden insistence, the front-row requests, the desperate need to keep returning to this specific spot.

A beat of silence.

Then, Aitana’s mouth dropped open. Patri’s eyes went wide. A slow, enormous grin spread across Caroline’s face.

“Oh…” Caroline breathed, the sound rich with delight. “Oh, no.”

Salma clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a shriek of laughter. Mapi leaned forward, peering at Alexia’s now-crimson face. “Wait. Let me get this straight. All of this… the terror, the screaming, the three times… is because you have a crush on the ride operator?”

Alexia said nothing. She just stared at her shoes, the flush creeping down her neck. It was all the confirmation they needed.

The dam broke. The team erupted.

Lucy Bronze doubled over, wheezing. “For a GIRL? You’re doing this for a GIRL? I thought you had a head injury!”

“The pirate ship was too much, but you’ll let ‘The Void’ rearrange your internal organs three times for a smile from a pretty attendant?” Ingrid gasped, tears of mirth in her eyes. “This is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed!”

Aitana threw an arm around Alexia’s stiff shoulders, her voice shaking with glee. “Capitana, my fearless leader! The orchestrator of our play! Brought to her knees by a theme park crush! This is legendary!”

The teasing was back, but it had evolved. It was no longer about rollercoasters. It was about this. They hooted and hollered as Alexia, fuelled by equal parts mortification and determination, turned and marched toward the line for the third time, her head held high.

“GO GET HER, TIGER!” Salma yelled.

“MAYBE ASK HER OUT INSTEAD OF COMMITTING SUICIDE BY COASTER!” Lucy added.

As Alexia took her place in the short queue, she could feel their eyes on her, their laughter a warm, buzzing sound at her back. This time, when she reached the platform, Y/N was waiting. She looked at Alexia, then at the cluster of her beautiful, hysterical teammates, then back at Alexia’s resolute, embarrassed face.

A slow, knowing, and utterly dazzling smile spread across Y/N’s face. “Back again?” she asked, her tone playful. “You’re either our biggest fan or you’re trying to tell me something.”

Alexia, buoyed by the chaos and the sheer absurdity of it all, found her voice. It was rough from screaming, but steady. “The second one,” she said, meeting Y/N’s eyes. “Definitely the second one.”

Nothing too urgent, one of those routine calls that more often than not turned out to be a faulty alarm or someone leaving a toaster plugged in. Still, duty was duty, and you were strapped into the truck alongside your team, listening to the sirens wail as the city streets blurred past.

By the time you arrived, the scene was already buzzing. Staff members in polo shirts hovered nervously near the gates of the Joan Gamper training grounds. That made you raise an eyebrow. The FC Barcelona crest was everywhere; on the signage, on the doors, even on the merchandise someone had clearly left lying on a bench.

Your captain gave the order, and you hopped out, helmet under your arm as you approached one of the staffers.

“Small kitchen fire,” the man explained quickly, gesturing toward the facility’s cafeteria building. “It’s under control, but protocol says we call you.”

“Good call,” you nodded, slipping on your helmet. “Let’s make sure it’s really out.”

As you and your crew moved inside, you could feel eyes on you. The reason became clear almost immediately, half the Barça Femení squad was gathered in the courtyard, cooling down from training. They were still in their gear, laughing and chattering in a dozen different directions, but their gazes flicked toward the firefighters like moths to a flame.

And one gaze in particular lingered.

You didn’t notice at first, you were too focused on checking the scorched remains of a countertop appliance, but eventually, the prickle of awareness made you turn your head slightly.

Across the courtyard, Alexia Putellas, captain of FC Barcelona and arguably one of the most recognisable athletes in Spain, was staring directly at you.

The moment your eyes met hers, however, she snapped her gaze away so quickly you thought she might have given herself whiplash.

You almost laughed. Almost. But you had a job to do, so you let it slide.

The fire was indeed minor, just a fryer overheating. After confirming everything was safe, you and your team packed up. That should’ve been the end of it. Except, when you stepped back outside into the sun, you caught her staring again.

This time, it was even more blatant. Alexia stood a little apart from her teammates, water bottle dangling loosely from her fingers, her expression unreadable but her eyes locked firmly on you. Until, of course, you looked back. Then, snap, she turned away again, pretending to listen intently to Mapi León, who was rambling about something with a mischievous grin.

“Everything under control?” a staffer asked you.

“Yeah,” you said, voice casual, though you were very aware of the weight of certain eyes on you. “You’re all safe now.”

You should’ve left it at that. Professional. Efficient. But curiosity tugged at you, and you allowed yourself the smallest glance over your shoulder.

Sure enough, Alexia was looking again.

And when she realised, you’d caught her, her ears went pink.

Your team started packing up the truck, but as you tightened the straps on a hose, you heard laughter from the players’ side. Not just laughter, teasing laughter, the kind that comes with a good-natured roast.

“Alexiaaa,” Mapi’s voice carried across the courtyard. “Why are you standing there like a statue, eh? Say something to the bombera before she leaves!”

You froze, suppressing a smile. Oh, this was getting good.

Another voice, Patri’s you thought, chimed in, “You’ve been staring since she arrived! Poor girl’s going to think you’re a creep.”

“I have not,” Alexia muttered, but her defensive tone only made her teammates howl harder.

You risked another glance. Sure enough, Alexia’s face was now an interesting shade of red. She ran a hand through her hair, clearly flustered, while her teammates poked and prodded at her shoulders like siblings who’d just discovered the best new way to annoy their sister.

You bit back a grin. The great Alexia Putellas, captain of one of the best football clubs in the world, undone not by a defender or a referee, but by her teammates’ teasing and, apparently, your presence.

Adorable.

As you climbed into the truck, you made sure your voice carried just enough across the courtyard.

“Stay safe out here,” you said, a playful lilt in your tone.

Her teammates erupted into fresh giggles. Alexia, caught mid-sip of water, nearly choked.

You shut the truck door, hiding your grin as the engine roared to life. But as you pulled away from the training ground, one thought lingered in your mind:

You’d definitely caught her staring.

And you weren’t about to forget it.

The cafeteria fire was forgotten within a day. For the players, anyway.

For Alexia, it was not.

Her teammates hadn’t stopped teasing her since the moment the fire truck rolled away. Mapi, especially, took her new mission in life very seriously: to torment Alexia about the bombera guapa until she cracked.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Mapi laughed in the locker room the next morning, towel slung over her shoulder. “Blushing like a schoolgirl. I didn’t know our captain could get shy.”

“I wasn’t shy,” Alexia muttered, shoving her training kit into her bag with a bit more force than necessary. “And I wasn’t blushing.”

Patri raised an eyebrow from across the room. “You looked like a tomato, tía. If that wasn’t blushing, then I don’t know what it was.”

The younger players snickered. Even Cata, usually so quiet, was grinning as she tied her shoes.

Alexia ran a hand down her face. They’ll forget. Give it a few days, and they’ll drop it. That’s what she told herself. She was wrong.

Two days later, training wrapped up under a blazing sun. Everyone was exhausted, sprawled across the grass like discarded dolls. Alexia sat upright, sipping water and trying not to let her mind drift to the memory of a firefighter’s confident stride and easy smile.

But her teammates didn’t give her the chance.

“Imagine,” Mapi said, grinning wickedly, “if the fire department had to come back here again. Maybe a small accident… like, oh, I don’t know, someone ‘accidentally’ setting a cone on fire?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Patri added with a laugh. “At this point, I’d do it just to watch Alexia lose her cool again.”

“I do not lose my cool,” Alexia snapped, though the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her.

Aitana, lounging nearby, smirked. “You’re the calmest player I’ve ever met on the pitch. But one firefighter smiles at you, and suddenly you forget how to breathe.”

That set everyone off again, laughter rolling across the training ground. Alexia threw her bottle cap at Aitana, who only dodged and laughed harder.

The teasing might’ve stung if it weren’t… well, true.

Alexia had always prided herself on composure. On keeping her head in pressure situations. She could block out entire stadiums of chanting fans, focus only on the ball at her feet.

But the second you’d turned those steady eyes on her, calm and assured beneath the weight of your helmet, her stomach had flipped. And when you caught her staring, and smirked just the tiniest bit, her pulse had tripped over itself like a rookie midfielder.

It was ridiculous. She didn’t even know you.

And yet, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind.

Meanwhile, across the city, you weren’t nearly as oblivious as Alexia thought.

Of course, you knew who she was. Everyone in Barcelona did. But watching the most composed footballer in the country get flustered over something as simple as a glance? That had been a treat.

You hadn’t told your own crew about it. They’d never let you hear the end of it. But when you lay in bed that night, you found yourself grinning at the memory of her pink ears and her teammates’ relentless teasing.

“Captain Putellas,” you murmured to yourself with amusement. “You’re adorable.”

It didn’t take long for fate, or perhaps Mapi’s scheming, to bring you back together.

The fire department was invited to give a short safety demonstration at the training ground. A PR move, probably. Good for community outreach. Your captain volunteered your team, and before you knew it, you were back at the Joan Gamper facilities, pulling up in your truck.

You barely had time to climb down before you heard it:

“Look who it is!” Patri’s voice, gleeful. “The bombera!”

The players were already gathered on the grass, waiting. Some waved at you like you were old friends. Others whispered to each other behind hands, clearly entertained.

And there she was. Alexia.

Standing with arms folded, trying so hard to look nonchalant. Too hard.

The moment your eyes met hers, she glanced away. Again.

But this time, you smiled. Wide and deliberate.

And if her ears went pink all over again, well. You weren’t about to complain.

“Alright, everyone, gather round.”

Your captain’s voice carried easily across the grass, drawing the Barça women’s team closer. They were already buzzing, though not about fire safety. You could feel their eyes darting between you and Alexia like kids waiting for a punchline.

You stepped forward, helmet tucked under your arm, and cleared your throat. “We’ll keep this quick. Just some basics, what to do if there’s smoke, how to use an extinguisher, and how to avoid setting your kitchen on fire again.”

That earned a round of laughter. Even Alexia cracked a smile, though she ducked her head quickly, pretending to tie her shoelace.

“Who wants to volunteer first?” you asked, gesturing to the fire extinguisher your crew had set up.

Immediately, Patri shoved Alexia forward. “Our captain! She loves being a role model.”

Alexia stumbled a step, glaring over her shoulder at Patri, but it was too late. Twenty expectant eyes were already on her.

“Uh…” Alexia’s voice faltered. She glanced at you, then back at the extinguisher, then at you again. Her usual confidence, the calm authority she carried on the pitch, was nowhere to be found.

You hid a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s easy. Come here.”

Her steps were hesitant as she moved to stand beside you. She was taller up close, broad-shouldered but graceful, though at the moment she looked like she’d rather disappear into the turf.

“First,” you said, holding up the extinguisher nozzle, “you pull this pin.” You demonstrated, then handed it to her.

She reached out, fingers brushing yours briefly, and you swore you felt the tiniest jolt run through her. Her hand jerked back like she’d touched a live wire, and she nearly dropped the extinguisher.

The team howled with laughter.

“Smooth, capitana!” Mapi crowed. “You handle footballs better than fire equipment.”

“Shut up,” Alexia muttered, ears blazing red as she finally managed to tug the pin free.

You leaned in slightly, voice gentler now. “Good. Now, squeeze here, and aim low at the fire.”

She nodded quickly, determined, gripping the handle with exaggerated care. When the foam burst out, she flinched, nearly stumbling backward. You steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“There you go,” you said, and couldn’t resist adding softly, “Not so scary, right?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, brief, but enough. Enough for you to catch the spark of nervous energy behind them. Then she looked away again, jaw tight, like even eye contact might undo her completely.

By the end of the demo, half the team had taken turns spraying foam at the target. Some took it seriously. Most did not. Mapi pretended to duel with Aitana, who shrieked and ducked behind Cata. Patri gave a dramatic speech about being a hero before immediately misfiring and hitting her own shoe.

But through it all, you kept catching glimpses of Alexia at the edge of the group. Watching. Fidgeting with her water bottle. Every time your eyes found hers, she looked away just a second too late.

And every time, her teammates noticed.

“Why don’t you thank the nice firefighter, Alexia?” Aitana teased as the demo wrapped up. “You’ve been staring the whole time.”

“I have not,” Alexia shot back, voice sharp with embarrassment.

“Sí, you have,” Patri said, grinning ear to ear. “We all saw it.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but her ears gave her away again, pink as ever.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Not cruelly, not mockingly, just warmly, genuinely. And when her gaze flicked to you, startled, you gave her the smallest nod.

It was as if you were saying: Don’t worry. I see you. And it’s okay.

She blinked, then looked down at the grass, but this time… this time you swore you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward.

Later, as you packed up the equipment, you heard voices drifting from behind the players’ bench.

“You’ve got to talk to her,” Mapi insisted.

“No.” Alexia’s voice was low, firm.

“Why not?”

“She’s… busy. A professional. And I…” A pause. “…I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Too late for that, you thought, amused.

Still, something in her tone softened your smile. For all her composure on the pitch, she really was shy, wasn’t she? Clumsy, even, when it came to something that wasn’t football.

Adorable, indeed.

As you climbed into the truck again, you glanced back one last time.

Alexia was standing with her teammates, arms crossed like she was annoyed at them, but when she thought no one was looking, her eyes slid your way once more.

This time, you let her have the moment. You pretended not to notice.

But oh, you noticed.

You didn’t expect to see her again so soon.

It was a quiet Saturday morning, one of the rare days you weren’t on shift. You’d thrown on a hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back, and wandered down to your favourite café for coffee and a croissant.

The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside.

And there she was.

Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, standing at the counter in a simple white tee and sweatpants, hair scraped into a messy bun. She had sunglasses perched on her head like she’d tried to disguise herself, but the moment you spotted her, you knew.

She hadn’t seen you yet. She was staring at the pastry case like it held the answers to life itself, card in hand, frowning ever so slightly.

You considered slipping past quietly. But then the barista called out, “Y/N! Hola!” with a grin, and Alexia’s head snapped up.

Her eyes widened when they landed on you.

And just like that… pink ears.

You smiled, making your way to the counter. “Hey,” you said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to run into her here.

“Hola,” Alexia murmured, voice soft, almost uncertain.

You ordered your drink, then turned slightly toward her. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She shrugged, shifting her weight. “I come sometimes. When… I have a free morning.” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away, fiddling with her card like it might save her.

You bit back a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. Captain Putellas deserves her coffee in peace.”

At that, she let out a tiny laugh, barely more than a breath, but it was there. She looked at you again, and for once she didn’t glance away immediately. Her eyes were warm, cautious, but curious too.

Then the barista slid her drink across the counter. “Café con leche, for Alexia.”

She froze.

The way her name hung in the air, unmistakable, made her shoulders tense. A couple of heads turned. You caught it instantly, the flicker of unease, the instinct to retreat.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, lowering your voice. “Relax. It’s fine. No one’s going to bother you.”

Her gaze snapped to yours again, startled. Then softened.

For a moment, you stood there, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in a busy café.

And then, because fate clearly had a sense of humor, Alexia reached for her coffee, misjudged the angle, and knocked the lid clean off. Half the drink sloshed onto the counter.

“¡Mierda!” she cursed under her breath, scrambling for napkins.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Not meanly, just light, warm, a little teasing. “Careful, Captain. You’re dangerous with fire extinguishers and coffee.”

Her cheeks went scarlet. “I…I don’t usually…” She trailed off, clearly mortified, and you reached over to grab napkins, helping mop up the spill.

“Don’t worry,” you said gently, bumping her hand lightly with yours as you cleaned. “I won’t report you to the coffee police.”

That earned you another laugh, this one real. She shook her head, finally smiling.

By some unspoken agreement, you both ended up sitting at the same corner table, coffees in hand.

The conversation started simple, safe. Training schedules, how exhausting firefighting shifts could be, the weather. But little by little, Alexia relaxed.

You noticed the way she spoke with her hands, tapping the table when she got passionate about something. You noticed how she’d meet your gaze in bursts, brave for a moment, then shy again, glancing down with a faint smile tugging at her lips.

And you noticed, very clearly, how adorable she was when she tried to act casual but fumbled instead. Like when she gestured too widely and nearly tipped her cup again. Or when she forgot the word she wanted in English and huffed in frustration before switching back to Spanish.

Every clumsy little moment just made her more endearing.

“So,” you said eventually, leaning back in your chair. “Do your teammates always tease you that much, or was that just special treatment for me?”

Her eyes widened. Then narrowed in mock betrayal. “You heard them.”

“Hard not to.” You grinned. “They seem to think you were staring.”

“I wasn’t-” she started, then stopped, realising she’d trapped herself. Her blush returned full force. “…I mean…I was just-”

You let her flounder for a beat, enjoying the sight of the unflappable captain completely undone. Then you softened, tilting your head.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mind.”

Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. And for the first time since you’d met her, she didn’t look away.

Neither of you noticed the time slipping by until the café started filling with the late-morning crowd.

Alexia glanced at her phone and sighed. “I should go. Team lunch.”

You nodded, hiding your disappointment. “Duty calls.”

She stood, hesitating for a moment, then said, “Maybe… we’ll see each other again?” Her tone was tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she should ask.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

Her ears went pink again, but this time, she smiled back as you exchanged numbers.

The next day at training, Alexia knew she was in trouble the moment she walked into the locker room.

Mapi and Patri were huddled together in the corner, whispering like they were plotting world domination. Aitana was scrolling on her phone with a grin far too smug for this early in the morning. Even Cata, normally so quiet, had the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Alexia barely got her bag down before Mapi pounced.

“So,” Mapi drawled, “how was coffee?”

Alexia froze. “What?”

“Coffee,” Patri echoed sweetly. “With our favorite bombera.”

“I don’t-” Alexia started, but Aitana cut her off, waving her phone like a sword.

“Funny thing about Barcelona,” she said. “Small city. Lots of people around. Lots of phones. Lots of Instagram stories.”

She turned the screen toward Alexia. And there it was: a blurry photo from some random café-goer, captioned ‘Didn’t expect to see Alexia Putellas having coffee this morning 👀☕️’.

Alexia’s stomach dropped.

In the corner of the photo, just barely visible, was you, smiling across the table at her.

“¡Joder!” she groaned, dragging a hand over her face.

The locker room erupted into chaos.

“You sat with her?!” Patri gasped, clutching her chest in mock drama.

“You had a date?” Mapi demanded, practically vibrating with excitement.

“It was not a date,” Alexia muttered, ears already turning pink.

“Oh, it was definitely a date,” Aitana said firmly. “Look at your face! You’re smiling like a lovesick teenager.”

“I smile all the time,” Alexia protested weakly.

“Not like that,” Patri sing-songed.

Even Cata chimed in, voice soft but teasing: “You spilled your coffee, didn’t you?”

Alexia’s head snapped up. “How do you know that?!”

“Because you’re clumsy around hot people,” Cata said simply, and the room dissolved into laughter again.

By the time training started, Alexia was wishing for the ground to swallow her whole. But her teammates weren’t done.

During rondos, every time the ball got near her, someone muttered, “Careful, don’t spill it!”

During sprints, Mapi jogged past her with a wicked grin. “Better hurry, or your firefighter’s going to leave without you.”

Even their coach, gave her a puzzled look when the laughter refused to die down. “What is going on?”

“Nothing!” Alexia snapped, glaring at the team. Which, of course, only made them laugh harder.

Meanwhile, you had no idea what storm you’d inadvertently unleashed.

After your coffee with Alexia, you’d gone back to the station, in a good mood that your colleagues immediately noticed.

“You’re smiling,” one of them teased. “Who’s the lucky one?”

“Shut up,” you said, but you were smiling even wider.

Still, you had no idea that Alexia’s teammates were turning her life into a comedy show over it.

That evening, Alexia was sprawled on her couch, scrolling through her phone when a message popped up in the team group chat.

Mapi: 🔥🚒 Patri: Capitana, when’s the wedding? Aitana: At least invite us to the proposal, okay?

Alexia groaned, tossing her phone onto the couch cushion.

But then, against her better judgment, she picked it up again. Opened your contact. Stared at it.

She hadn’t texted you since coffee. She wanted to. She really wanted to. But every time she typed something, she deleted it again.

Finally, she forced herself to write:

Had a good time the other day. Thanks for keeping my coffee disaster a secret 😉

She hovered over the send button, heart racing. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed it.

Seconds later, the little “delivered” checkmark appeared.

And then three dots.

Her heart nearly stopped.

Alexia stared at the three dots like they might explode. They blinked on. Then off. Then on again.

She chewed her lip, heart hammering. Maybe she doesn’t want to answer. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe…

Then your reply popped up.

Anytime, Capitana. Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone panic so much over a latte 😏

Her face went hot. She groaned out loud, burying her face in her pillow. Of course you’d tease her. Of course.

Before she could overthink it, another message came through:

But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Firefighter’s honor.

Alexia exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it. She typed back:

Glad to know I can trust you. Even if you laugh at me.

The reply came almost instantly:

Only a little. It was pretty cute, to be fair.

Cute. You’d called her cute.

Alexia dropped her phone again, groaning into the pillow. She was the captain of FC Barcelona, twice a Ballon d’Or winner, admired all over the world, and here she was, reduced to a flustered teenager because a firefighter thought she was cute.

At the station, you chuckled softly as you put your phone down. You could practically imagine her expression, wide-eyed, embarrassed, ears pink.

She had no idea how transparent she was.

And you had no intention of rushing her. Watching the great Alexia Putellas stumble and blush her way through this was far too endearing.

Over the next few days, the texting continued. Short messages at first, cautious and tentative. Then longer ones.

She asked about your shifts, and you asked about her training. You told her funny stories about kitchen mishaps at the firehouse; she admitted she couldn’t cook much beyond pasta. You teased her mercilessly about that, and she pretended to be offended.

The more you talked, the more her shyness peeked through in the sweetest ways. She’d type something bold, then immediately follow it with, That sounded stupid, forget I said that. You always reassured her.

And slowly, the guarded captain seemed to relax.

One evening, after a particularly long day for you, she texted first.

Rough shift?

You smiled tiredly at the screen.

Yeah. Nothing too bad, but long. Could use about twelve hours of sleep.

There was a pause. Then:

Wish I could bring you coffee. Without spilling it this time.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head. She was trying. Clumsy, but trying.

Careful, Capitana. That almost sounded like you want to see me again.

A long pause. No three dots. You worried you’d pushed too far, until finally:

I do.

Just that. Simple. Bare. Honest.

Your chest warmed.

Then let’s make it happen. You’re in charge of picking the place though. I don’t want to be blamed if you trip over a table or something 😉

Her response took longer this time. You pictured her pacing her apartment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, overthinking every word.

Finally:

Deal. Just… don’t expect me to be smooth about it.

You grinned.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Back in her apartment, Alexia set her phone down with trembling hands. She couldn’t believe she’d actually agreed. She couldn’t believe you’d actually said yes.

And she couldn’t believe how giddy she felt, like she’d just scored the winning goal at Camp Nou.

Of course, she knew one thing for certain: she could never let her teammates find out.

Which meant, inevitably, they would.

Alexia tried to keep her cool the next few days. Really, she did.

She went to training, focused on drills, kept her answers short when her teammates pried. But every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped, and she had to bite back a smile.

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.

“Who are you texting, capitana?” Aitana asked innocently one morning, jogging beside her to get some water during warm-ups.

“No one,” Alexia said quickly, slipping her phone back into her bag.

“Mmhm.” Aitana smirked. “That’s why you’re smiling like that?”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yes, you are.”

Before Alexia could retort, Mapi jogged past, sing-songing, “Probably the firefighterrrr.”

Alexia groaned, covering her face with her hands. She should’ve known keeping a secret from this team was impossible.

That evening, she finally mustered the courage to text you.

So… I was thinking. Do you like Italian food?

You replied almost instantly.

Love it. Why?

Alexia stared at the screen for a full minute before typing:

There’s a place I like. Quiet. Not fancy. Maybe… dinner?

Your grin practically hurt your cheeks. Sounds perfect.

Just promise not to spill your pasta on me.

Her reply came after a long pause.

No promises.

You laughed, shaking your head. The way she leaned into her own awkwardness now, it was charming, really.

Two days later, at training, Alexia’s phone buzzed in her locker. She grabbed it quickly, shielding the screen from curious eyes.

But not quickly enough.

Patri’s sharp gaze caught the little notification banner. “Dinner Friday?” she read aloud.

Alexia froze. “¡Patri!”

The room went silent. Then erupted.

“Dinner?!” Mapi gasped, clutching her chest. “With HER?!”

Alexia’s ears turned crimson. “Mind your own business.”

“Oh no,” Aitana said gleefully. “This is our business. Our captain is going on a date!”

“It’s not a date,” Alexia muttered, shoving her phone deep into her bag.

“Uh-huh,” Patri said, smirking. “Then what is it?”

“Just… dinner.”

“Dinner,” Mapi repeated dramatically. “At a restaurant. With the firefighter who makes you blush every five seconds.” She clasped her hands together. “Sounds exactly like not a date.”

The locker room roared with laughter again.

Later, Alexia slumped in her car, forehead against the steering wheel.

She was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

If her teammates knew she had dinner plans, they would never, ever let her live it down. They’d probably follow her to the restaurant just to spy.

And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to cancel.

Because the thought of seeing you again, just the two of you, no foam, no teammates, no teasing, made her chest feel light in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

So, despite her nerves, she texted you again:

Friday, 8 pm. I’ll pick you up?

The reply came quickly.

Looking forward to it.

Alexia exhaled, letting her head drop back against the seat.

She was in trouble. But maybe, just maybe, it was the good kind.

Friday night arrived faster than either of you expected.

You stood outside your apartment building, dressed simply, nothing over the top, just something that felt comfortable but nice. When Alexia’s car pulled up, you almost laughed out loud.

It wasn’t the sleek sports car you might have expected from a Ballon d’Or winner. No, Alexia showed up in a practical little hatchback, spotless but utterly unassuming.

When she got out, though, jeans, a fitted blazer over a plain shirt, hair down and loose, she nearly made your heart skip.

“Hi,” she said, voice a touch breathless.

“Hi yourself,” you teased lightly. “You clean up well, Capitana.”

Her ears turned pink immediately. “You look… good. I mean…really good. Beautiful.” The last word slipped out before she could stop it, and her eyes went wide like she wanted to reel it back in.

You smiled, saving her from drowning in embarrassment. “Thank you. Shall we?”

The restaurant she picked was perfect; quiet, tucked away, cozy. Wooden tables, soft lighting, the hum of low conversation around you.

Alexia held the door open for you, almost tripping on the threshold in her rush.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Careful. I thought we agreed you weren’t going to spill anything tonight.”

“I haven’t spilled yet,” she muttered, but her blush deepened.

Seated across from you, menu in hand, she looked simultaneously like the composed captain of Barcelona and the shyest woman alive. She kept tucking her hair behind her ear, then fidgeting with the silverware, then pretending to study the wine list as if it held state secrets.

“Relax,” you said gently, leaning on your hand. “It’s just dinner.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, warm but nervous. “Yeah. Just… dinner.”

Of course, the universe had other plans.

The bread basket arrived first. Alexia reached for it, hand brushing yours again, and in her haste she knocked her water glass straight into her lap.

She shot up, cursing softly, grabbing napkins to dab at her jeans. “Mierda.”

You laughed, sliding your own napkin across the table. “You really are determined to spill something every time we’re together, aren’t you?”

Her face flamed as she took the napkin. “I swear I’m not usually like this.”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Kind of feels like your thing now.”

Despite her embarrassment, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Glad I can make an impression.”

“You definitely have,” you said, softer this time.

That made her pause. Her eyes lifted, meeting yours across the table. She hesitated before she looked away.

Dinner went on, punctuated by more little mishaps, her fork clattering to the floor, her sleeve brushing a candle and nearly catching (you swooped in and pinched it out before it even smoked, which earned you a round of applause from the amused waiter).

Every time, she grew more flustered. But every time, you teased her lightly, gently, never cruel. And each time, she smiled more easily, the tension easing from her shoulders.

You talked, too. Really talked. About childhood, about the weight of responsibility, her as a captain, you as a firefighter. About the strange balance of being admired in public but still feeling ordinary in private.

At some point, dessert arrived, and you both realised you’d been sitting there for nearly three hours.

Alexia leaned back, sipping the last of her wine, finally relaxed. “This was… nice.”

“Even with all the accidents?” you teased.

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

You reached across the table, gently tugging her hands down. “Hey. I liked it. All of it. Even the disasters.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not.”

For a long moment, you held her gaze. The restaurant buzzed around you, but it felt quiet, intimate, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

And then she cleared her throat, looking away quickly, cheeks blazing. “I should, um… get you home.”

You smiled, leaning back. “Okay, Capitana. But only if you promise not to spill me out of the car on the way.”

Her laugh, genuine, unguarded, was the perfect end to the night.

As she dropped you off, you lingered at the curb, hands in your pockets. She hesitated, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, clearly torn between wanting to say more and not knowing how.

So you leaned down slightly, peeking in through the open window. “You know, Alexia,” you said softly, “for someone so clumsy, you’re doing pretty well.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then you stepped back, giving her a little wave as she drove off, leaving her grinning like she’d just won another trophy.

Alexia should’ve known she wasn’t going to get away with it.

For one glorious day, she thought she had. She’d gone to dinner with you, dropped you home, spent the night grinning into her pillow like an idiot. At training the next morning, she walked in convinced she could keep it quiet.

And then she spotted Patri and Mapi whispering with matching evil grins.

No. No, no, no.

“Good morning, capitana,” Patri sang as Alexia walked past. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Alexia narrowed her eyes. “Like normal.”

“Oh, normal,” Mapi said, tapping her chin. “Is that what we call ‘smiling at your phone until midnight’?”

Alexia froze. “How do you…”

Aitana popped up beside her, phone in hand. “Because Barcelona is a very small city, and restaurants have windows.”

On the screen was a blurry photo; Alexia, leaning forward at a little Italian place, laughing across the table. At you.

Her blood ran cold.

“Who took that?!” she demanded.

“Does it matter?” Mapi teased. “Look at your face!”

The photo wasn’t flattering. Her head was tilted, hair falling into her eyes, smile so wide it crinkled her nose. She looked nothing like the composed, stoic captain the media always painted her as. She looked… happy.

“Delete it,” Alexia muttered, shoving her bag into her locker.

“Too late,” Patri said. “Already in the group chat.”

Alexia groaned, dropping her forehead against the cool metal of the locker.

The teasing that day was merciless.

During warm-ups: “Don’t trip, Alexia, you might spill spaghetti!”

During passing drills: “Careful, don’t drop the ball like you dropped your fork!”

Even the coaches were raising their eyebrows, though wisely they didn’t ask.

By the time training ended, Alexia was ready to crawl under the turf and stay there forever.

Meanwhile, you were at the fire station, blissfully unaware. Until your phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number:

Hi Y/N. This is Patri. Don’t ask how I got your number. Just wanted to say thanks for finally making our captain act like a human being instead of a robot ❤️

You stared at the screen, then laughed so hard your crewmates gave you strange looks.

A second later, another text came through:

PS. If she pretends she didn’t spill water all over herself, don’t believe her.

You grinned, shaking your head. Poor Alexia.

That evening, Alexia texted you, clearly frazzled.

My teammates know.

Of course they do.

They won’t stop teasing me.

Of course they won’t.

This is a nightmare.

No, this is adorable.

There was a long pause. Then:

Adorable?

You smiled.

Yeah. I like that they know. Means I’m not imagining this.

Another pause. Then, slower this time:

You’re not imagining it.

You leaned back against your pillow, warmth spreading through your chest.

For all her clumsiness, her blushes, her overthinking, she was trying. Really trying.

And you were more than happy to let her stumble her way closer.

If Alexia thought the teasing would die down, she was sorely mistaken.

For a week straight, every little slip during training became a reference to you. She overhit a pass? “Thinking about the firefighter again?” She slipped during sprints? “She’s sweeping you off your feet, capitana!”

By Friday, she was this 🤏🏽 close to losing it.

But then something happened. Something small, but important.

She realized she didn’t care as much anymore.

Yes, her teammates were relentless. Yes, she blushed every five minutes. But every time her phone buzzed with your name, every time you teased her gently or asked how her day was, it outweighed all of it.

So when the team planned a casual dinner out, she did something she never thought she’d do.

She invited you.

It took her three tries to actually type it.

The team is going out for dinner Saturday. You could come, if you want.

Delete.

Saturday, some of us are going to eat after training. It might be fun if you joined.

Delete.

Finally, she sent:

The team is getting dinner Saturday. I’d like you to be there. Only if you want.

She nearly dropped her phone after pressing send.

Your reply came minutes later:

So I get to meet the infamous teammates who won’t stop teasing you?

Alexia groaned out loud.

Yes. But only if you promise not to join them.

No promises 😉

Saturday came. You showed up to the restaurant in casual clothes, hair a little wind-tossed from the evening breeze. You expected to feel nervous. After all, you were about to walk into a room full of Barcelona stars who had apparently turned teasing Alexia into a full-time job.

But the moment you stepped inside, a chorus of greetings hit you.

“La bombera!” Mapi crowed, standing up and spreading her arms. “Finally! We’ve been waiting for you!”

You laughed, letting her pull you into a dramatic hug before you even reached the table. Alexia, sitting nearby, was pink already, glaring at Mapi over your shoulder.

“Don’t scare her,” Alexia muttered.

“Oh please,” Mapi said, flopping back into her seat. “She runs into burning buildings. I think she can handle us.”

Patri leaned across the table with a grin. “Welcome. You know, you’re basically a legend already. We’ve heard so many stories.”

You arched a brow, sliding into the chair next to Alexia. “All flattering, I hope.”

“Depends who you ask,” Aitana said slyly, sipping her drink. “According to Alexia, you’re terrifying.”

“I never said that!” Alexia protested, nearly knocking over her water glass in her haste.

The table erupted in laughter. You nudged her knee under the table, leaning close to murmur, “Relax, Capitana. They like me already.”

Her blush deepened, but her lips twitched upward despite herself.

Dinner was chaos. The team was loud, lively, and absolutely merciless toward their captain. Every story turned into a chance to drag her. Every joke circled back to you somehow.

“Alexia’s the most composed player on the pitch,” Patri said dramatically, waving her fork. “But then you show up, and suddenly she’s dropping forks and spilling coffee.”

“Don’t forget the fire extinguisher,” Mapi added. “She almost took out half the team trying to impress you.”

You grinned, resting your chin in your hand as you watched Alexia cover her face with both hands. “Honestly,” you said, “I find it kind of adorable.”

The table erupted again.

Alexia peeked at you through her fingers, mortified; and maybe, just maybe, a little pleased.

By the time dessert arrived, you’d laughed until your cheeks hurt.

And Alexia, though flustered, red-eared, and endlessly teased, looked lighter than you’d ever seen her. She was still shy, still clumsy (she nearly dropped her spoon into the flan), but she was smiling. Really smiling.

At one point, when the noise around you swelled, she leaned closer, voice soft so only you could hear.

“Thanks for coming.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you don’t regret inviting me into the lion’s den?”

Her smile was small but certain. “Not even a little.”

You groaned into your pillow, fumbled around until you found your phone, and squinted at the screen.

Alexia: Brunch?

You: If I can walk straight, sure.

Alexia: Good. I’m outside. 10 mins.

You groaned louder. Alexia had a talent for showing up at the exact moment you were least prepared to deal with her. You rolled out of bed, splashed water on your face, and pulled on the first semi-presentable outfit you could find; denim shorts and an oversized shirt.

By the time you stumbled down the stairs, Alexia was leaning against her car, sunglasses perched on top of her head, her hair still a little damp from a morning shower. She looked disgustingly put-together for someone who had been out with you until 2 a.m.

“You look alive,” she teased, pulling you into a quick hug.

“You look like you didn’t drink your body weight last night,” you shot back.

“I didn’t,” she grinned, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Someone’s got to be the professional athlete, remember?”

The café Alexia drove to was one of your favourites; a small spot tucked into a quiet street near the beach, the kind of place that served fresh orange juice and the world’s best tostadas. You grabbed a corner table under the awning, ordered two coffees, two mimosas, and what felt like half the menu.

Brunch with Alexia was always easy. Conversation flowed effortlessly; mostly teasing each other, gossiping about the team, and laughing about whatever dumb thing had happened the night before.

But somewhere between your second mimosa and your third slice of pan con tomate, Alexia set her glass down and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“So,” she said, eyes glinting with mischief, “we have nothing important to do today.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said.

“No, I mean we have nothing to do,” she repeated, almost conspiratorially. “No training, no sponsor events, no interviews. Just… a blank day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It’s not,” she admitted, grinning. “But we should do something. Something dumb.”

You tilted your head. “Define dumb.”

“Impulsive,” she said. “Chaotic. Something so stupid that when we tell the team, they’ll think we’re lying. Something we’ll regret tomorrow but laugh about in ten years.”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “We could get matching tattoos.”

She smirked. “What, of each other’s faces?”

“I was thinking something cooler. Like a lightning bolt. Or a croissant. Or both.”

“Pass,” she said, laughing. “We could get piercings. Ear, nose, whatever.”

“You’d look hot with a nose ring,” you said before your brain caught up with your mouth.

Alexia raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your slip, but didn’t comment. “I’ll take the compliment. What else?”

You grinned. “We could sneak into Camp Nou and take stupid pictures on the pitch.”

“That’s just Tuesday for me,” she deadpanned.

You were running out of ideas. “We could… shave our heads?”

“Okay, now I know you’re hungover,” she said, laughing. “I’d get murdered by half of Spain if I shaved my head.”

You laughed softly, turning the idea over in your mind. And then, before you could stop yourself, you said:

“We could get married.”

Alexia blinked at you. For a second you were sure she hadn’t heard you, and then she burst out laughing, almost choking on her coffee.

“You’re kidding.”

“You said impulsive!” you protested, giggling now. “And it’s legal here. You and me, we could just… go do it.”

Alexia’s laughter softened into a grin. “You’re serious.”

You shrugged, a little flustered now that she was actually considering it. “I mean, not serious serious, but… why not? We’d have a good story for the years to come.”

For a long moment, she just looked at you, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“Let’s do it.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Let’s do it,” she repeated, looking infuriatingly casual. “Come on, Y/N. It’s us. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You stared at her, trying to gauge whether she was actually serious with going through with it, but Alexia Putellas didn’t bluff. If she said she’d do something, she meant it.

“Okay,” you said finally, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Let’s get married.”

It turned out that getting married in Barcelona on a whim was weirdly straightforward.

“We need rings,” Alexia said immediately as you stood outside the café.

“Obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And outfits. We can’t just show up like this.”

“You look fine,” she said, glancing you up and down, and was it your imagination, or did her gaze linger just a second too long?

You looked away quickly, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Right, so we will find some rings, change and I’ll meet you in two hours.”

She nodded, already pulling out her phone. “City hall. Two hours. Don’t chicken out.”

“Me? You’re the one who’ll chicken out!”

“Not a chance,” she said, grinning over her shoulder as she turned the other way and started to walk off.

You ended up in a tiny jewellery shop in El Born, explaining in broken Spanish that you needed a wedding ring “urgently.” The owner didn’t even bat an eye, just pulled out a tray of simple gold bands and asked for the size.

You picked the one that felt most like Alexia; simple, clean, quietly elegant. You couldn’t stop smiling as you left the shop, the small bag clutched in your hand.

Changing took longer. You hadn’t exactly prepared for an impulsive wedding, but you found a white sundress in a high street store and slipped it on.

When you arrived at the registry office, Alexia was already waiting, looking devastatingly good in crisp white trousers and a perfectly tailored shirt.

“You look…” she started, then paused, eyes scanning you slowly. “Wow. Very bridal.”

“You look like you’re about to be in a fashion campaign,” you countered, trying to sound breezy despite the way your stomach flipped at the sight of her.

She smirked, offering her hand. “Ready?”

You took it. “Ready.”

The officiant droned through the vows, completely unfazed, as if two best friends deciding to marry on a random Wednesday morning was the most normal thing in the world.

When it was time to sign, Alexia looked at you with a grin so wide you had to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“Your signature looks terrible,” she whispered as you handed the pen back.

“So does yours,” you shot back, grinning.

And just like that, it was official.

You walked out of the building hand-in-hand, partly because you were married now and partly because you couldn’t stop laughing.

“We are never telling anyone,” you said between fits of giggles.

“Agreed,” Alexia said, squeezing your hand. “This stays between us.”

An hour later, you were at a beach bar, marriage certificate tucked safely into your bag, sipping celebratory cocktails.

“This is officially the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” you said, raising your glass.

“And easily the most fun,” Alexia said, clinking hers against yours.

You looked at her across the table, sunlight catching in her hair, the gold band glinting on her finger, something shifted between you. Maybe it was the fact that you were now legally tied together. Maybe it was the way she kept looking at you, like she couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

Whatever it was, it felt… right.

The weeks that followed were strangely effortless. You’d always pretty much lived together, but now there was a sense of something new in the air as you officially moved in with her. A private joke you both carried around like a secret treasure.

Teammates came over and never suspected a thing. Patri teased Alexia for being “married to football,” and you nearly choked on your drink.

Even when Alexia’s family visited, you played it cool. Her mother kissed you on both cheeks and said you were like a daughter already. If only she knew.

Late at night, when you were both curled up on the couch watching Netflix, Alexia would sometimes glance at you with that same grin she’d worn at the registry office.

“You know we’re actually married, right?” she’d whisper, and you’d swat at her with a pillow, trying not to laugh too loudly.

But somewhere in all the joking, things started to change. The small touches lingered longer. The hugs felt warmer. The nights spent talking stretched later and later, until one night you realised your head was on her shoulder and your heart was beating too fast for it to be casual.

You never said anything, and neither did she. Not yet.

Because for now, it was enough to have this secret, this ridiculous, beautiful thing you’d done together.

As more months went on, the two of you fell into a rhythm that felt… different, somehow.

Alexia would leave her training gear on the bathroom counter, and you’d complain; then find yourself folding it neatly anyway.

She’d make you coffee before you woke up, then act like she hadn’t just gone out of her way to do it.

You started cooking dinner together more often, dancing around the kitchen to whatever playlist she threw on.

Sometimes, she’d grab your hand and spin you mid-song, both of you laughing so hard you nearly dropped the pan.

Sometimes, she wouldn’t let go right away.

And sometimes, late at night, when you were curled up watching a movie, she’d let her head rest on your shoulder, and you’d pretend your heart wasn’t racing.

You started doing groceries together every Sunday morning, arguing over which fruit looked better, laughing when you kept grabbing the same brand of yogurt without even asking.

One rainy afternoon, you were sprawled on the couch under a blanket, scrolling on your phone, when Alexia came back from one of her runs, soaked to the bone.

“You look like a sad cat,” you said, stifling a laugh.

“I’m freezing,” she grumbled, kicking off her shoes.

You got up, grabbed a towel, and started drying her hair without thinking.

She froze, letting you fuss over her, watching you with an expression that made your stomach flutter.

“There,” you said finally, smiling. “Better.”

“Better,” she echoed softly, still looking at you.

Moments like that kept happening, small, domestic things that made you realise you’d accidentally built a life together.

She’d wander into your room at midnight just to ask if you wanted to share popcorn and watch something dumb. It was on one of those nights, popcorn bowl balanced between you, that Alexia spoke up.

“We should do something,” she said suddenly, eyes on the TV.

You glanced over. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something…impulsive, chaotic… us,” she said with a little shrug. “We got married and just kind of… kept it to ourselves.”

You blinked. “That was the plan.”

“Yeah, but…” She trailed off, then looked at you with that familiar glint in her eyes. “What if we told people? Not just told them, showed them.”

You frowned. “Like, post a selfie with our marriage certificate?”

She laughed. “No. Bigger than that.”

“Bigger?”

Alexia nodded, sitting up straighter now, clearly warming to her own idea. “What if we threw a party?”

You blinked. “A party?”

“Yeah. Invite everyone; my family, your family, the team, some of the girls from the national team… make it look like a casual thing.”

“Like a dinner party?” you asked.

“Like a… fake birthday party for you,” Alexia said, grinning now. “And then halfway through… boom. We tell them we’ve been married for a year.”

You stared at her.

“You want to throw a surprise party for our marriage?” you said finally.

Alexia grinned wider. “Exactly.”

You burst out laughing, dropping a handful of popcorn on the blanket.

“You’re serious,” you said once you caught your breath.

“Very,” she said, leaning back with a smug look.

The idea was ridiculous. And yet… you felt a thrill shoot through you at the thought of standing up in front of everyone and telling them.

“We’d have to make it nice,” you said thoughtfully.

“Obviously,” Alexia said, as though that was a given. “Dress code: smart. Something close to wedding vibes, but not so obvious they figure it out beforehand.”

You smiled despite yourself, already picturing it. “You really want to do this?”

She nodded, her grin softening into something more genuine. “I want people to know you’re my wife.”

The room went quiet.

Your heart thudded hard in your chest.

“Okay,” you said finally, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

Planning a fake birthday-slash-surprise-wedding-reveal turned out to be more domestic than either of you expected.

Saturday mornings became planning sessions, both of you sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and laptops. Alexia would have the guest list open, and you’d be scrolling through playlists or caterer menus.

“Your mom will cry,” you said one morning, looking up from your screen.

“Definitely,” Alexia agreed. “So will Irene, probably.”

“Patri and Mapi will scream,” you said with a laugh.

Alexia grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

You caught her smiling at you, a soft, warm kind of smile that made your heart skip.

Somehow, between arguing over flower arrangements and taste-testing canapés, you were falling more and more in love with her.

And you couldn’t wait to tell her.

The apartment reflected your life together now in ways that made your chest ache if you thought about it too hard.

Her boots were always by the door next to yours.

Your favourite mug was always clean in the cabinet because she made sure it was.

You had a shared grocery list on the fridge where she added things like “protein powder” and you added things like “ice cream.”

You’d find her in the kitchen late at night, sitting on the counter scrolling through Pinterest for décor ideas, and she’d wordlessly hand you a spoonful of whatever snack she was eating.

“You think candles or fairy lights?” she asked one night.

“Both,” you said, leaning on the counter next to her.

She nodded, serious as ever. “Both. Dramatic reveal needs dramatic lighting.”

You smiled, watching her scroll through options. “You really want this to be perfect.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours. “I do.”

It wasn’t just about telling people anymore, you could feel it. This was about celebrating the fact that the two of you had built a life together, quiet and simple and full of little moments that meant everything.

You started writing your vows on a quiet Sunday afternoon while Alexia was out for a run.

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the city outside, sunlight spilling across the kitchen table where you sat with your laptop.

You stared at the blank page for a long time, thinking about the last year.

The late-night talks on the balcony.

The way she always made sure your phone was charged before you left the house.

The little smile she gave you every time you passed each other in training.

The way she’d fall asleep on the couch after training, trusting you to wake her up before it got too late.

Your fingers started typing almost on their own.

You thought about the mornings when you’d both stumble into the kitchen half-asleep, bumping shoulders as you reached for the coffee machine.

You thought about how she’d taken your hand on the couch just a few nights ago, telling you it would all be okay.

You stared at the words for a long moment, heart pounding, a smile tugging at your lips.

This wasn’t just a party anymore.

This was a promise.

When Alexia came home, sweaty and flushed from her run, she found you still at the table, lost in thought.

“Heavy planning session?” she teased, grabbing a bottle of water.

“Something like that,” you said, quickly closing your laptop.

She arched an eyebrow. “Secret plans?”

“Maybe,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

Alexia leaned against the counter, watching you with that soft expression that made your chest tighten.

“Whatever it is,” she said quietly, “I can’t wait.”

Neither could you.

The morning of the party felt like someone had replaced your stomach with a live orchestra.

You woke up early, sunlight spilling through the curtains, and just laid there staring at the ceiling. Today wasn’t your birthday, it wasn’t for yet another two weeks, but it was the day you were going to tell everyone you’d been secretly married to Alexia Putellas for a year.

“Estás despierta?” Alexia’s soft voice called from the doorway.

You rolled over to see her leaning against the frame, hair tied back, already dressed in sweatpants and a tank top.

“You’re up early,” you said, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“Big day,” she said with a small grin. “Birthday girl can’t be late.”

You groaned. “You know this is going to confuse everyone forever, right? They’re going to think my birthday is the start of June, not the end.”

“Let them,” she said, crossing the room to sit at the edge of your bed. “Today’s not about dates. It’s about us.”

Your heart skipped.

“You ready?” she asked gently.

“Absolutely not,” you admitted, burying your face in your hands.

Alexia laughed softly and tugged your hands away, holding them in hers. “You’re going to be perfect. I promise.”

Her confidence made something inside you unclench.

“Fine,” you said, sighing. “But if anyone faints, it’s your fault.”

Alexia smirked. “Mapi will scream first, I’m calling it now.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Ten euros says it’s Patri.”

“Deal,” she said, squeezing your hand once before standing. “Coffee?”

“Please,” you said, watching her disappear into the kitchen.

The next few hours were a blur of fairy lights, candles, and flower arrangements.

You climbed onto a chair to adjust a garland, nearly losing your balance until Alexia’s hands landed on your hips, steadying you.

“You’re going to break a leg before we even get to the vows,” she said, her voice warm with amusement.

“Better now than in front of everyone,” you muttered, flushing as you climbed down.

She didn’t move her hands until you were safely on the floor.

“Perfect,” she said softly, but you weren’t sure if she meant the decoration or you.

By late afternoon, the garden looked like something out of a magazine. The balcony glowed with strings of lights, the tables was set with flowers and candles, and soft music played from the speakers.

You’d chosen a cream satin dress that brushed mid-thigh, simple but elegant, paired with delicate gold jewellery.

When you stepped out of your room, Alexia was already waiting, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

She wore a crisp white suit with the top button of her shirt undone, her hair styled but soft, like she hadn’t tried too hard.

“You look…” you started, then trailed off.

Alexia’s lips curved into a smile. “So do you.”

“You look like you’re about to marry someone,” you said before you could stop yourself.

She smirked. “Again?”

Your stomach flipped.

Alexia stepped closer and adjusted the necklace at your throat, her fingers brushing your collarbone.

“Perfect,” she murmured again, softer this time.

You swallowed hard. “You ready?”

She nodded, though her smile had turned slightly mischievous. “Ready to shock them all? Absolutely.”

The first knock came just after sunset.

Alexia opened the door to find Eli and Alba standing there, carrying a bottle of wine and looking thrilled.

“Feliz cumpleaños, cariño!” Eli exclaimed, hugging you tightly.

“Gracias. You didn’t have to bring anything,” you protested.

“Nonsense,” her mother said warmly. “You are part of the family.”

Your chest tightened at that. If only she knew.

Within an hour, the apartment was buzzing with voices and laughter.

Mapi arrived in a fitted black blazer, Patri trailing behind her with a bottle of cava.

“Birthday girl!” Mapi yelled, wrapping you in a bear hug.

“You clean up nice,” Patri said with a teasing grin.

“You too,” you shot back, heart hammering.

Alexia drifted by, squeezing your hand quickly before disappearing to greet another group, her national teammates this time.

“This is very fancy for a birthday party,” Irene said, looking around.

“It’s a milestone birthday,” you said with a wink.

“Not really,” Ona said, frowning slightly.

You quickly shoved a glass of cava into her hand. “It is if you drink enough.”

She laughed and let it go, thankfully.

By the time the last guest arrived, the garden was glowing with warmth and noise.

You stood in the kitchen for a moment, catching your breath, when Alexia appeared at your side.

“You okay?” she murmured, close enough that her perfume wrapped around you.

You nodded, even though your stomach was doing somersaults.

“Almost time,” she said softly, brushing her hand against yours in a gesture so subtle no one else would notice.

You took a deep breath and nodded.

When the food was served and everyone had a drink in hand, Alexia caught your eye from across the garden.

She tapped her glass lightly with a fork, the sound ringing out over the chatter until the room fell quiet.

“Hola a todos,” she began, her voice calm but sure. “Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate Y/N’s birthday.”

There were cheers and claps, and someone (probably Mapi) whistled loudly.

“But,” Alexia continued, smiling slightly, “we have to be honest. Tonight is about something else. Something we haven’t told anyone.”

You stepped up beside her, heart hammering so loudly you were sure the whole room could hear it.

“This is… a little more than a birthday party,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

Alexia’s fingers brushed yours as she said, “It’s almost our one-year anniversary.”

The room went silent.

“Anniversary of what?” Mapi said finally, eyebrows raised.

Alexia smiled, took your hand, and said clearly, “Our marriage.”

The garden went dead silent for half a second.

Then Mapi screamed.

Like, actually screamed, clutching Patri’s arm hard enough to make her yelp.

“¡ESTÁN CASADAS?!”

Patri’s jaw dropped so far you were briefly worried it might never recover. “Wait… married married?!”

Alexia bit back a laugh, nodding. “Sí. Married married.”

Kika choked on her drink and started laughing so hard she had to set it down. “Oh my god. Oh my GOD. This is the most Putellas thing ever.”

Ona slapped both hands over her mouth. “You’ve been married this whole time?!”

Aitana immediately dropped into a chair, cackling. “This is the best birthday party I’ve ever been to.”

Irene blinked, looking between the two of you like she was trying to do complicated math in her head. “Since when?”

“Last summer,” you said, cheeks warm but smiling now that the truth was out.

Alexia nodded, completely calm. “Technically… July 12th.”

“Of course she remembers the exact date,” Patri muttered.

“This is INSANE,” Mapi yelled, though her grin was so wide it looked painful. “You were just living together like roommates but actually MARRIED?”

“We weren’t just living together,” you said, trying not to laugh.

Kika gasped dramatically. “You two have been doing domestic married things this whole time and letting us think you were just besties?”

“To be fair,” you said, “we were besties.”

“Besties who got legally married,” Ona squeaked.

“Exactly,” Alexia said, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how casual she sounded.

“But… you didn’t tell us?” Patri looked almost offended.

“Well, technically we didn’t tell anyone,” Alexia said with a small grin, her hand still wrapped around yours. “We wanted to keep it ours, at least for a little while. And because it’s our anniversary, we thought we’d do this properly,” she said.

“Do what properly?” Mapi demanded.

Alexia gestured toward the fairy-light-covered balcony, where chairs below had been quietly set up earlier. “Renew our vows, with all of you here this time.”

The entire room erupted again, but this time it was excitement: cheers, laughter, and hurried scrambling for seats.

As everyone settled, you felt your nerves spike again. Alexia must’ve felt it too, because she leaned close and whispered, “Breathe. We’ve done this before.”

“Not with an audience,” you whispered back.

She smiled softly. “We’ll be fine.”

When everyone quieted, Alexia turned to you, took both of your hands, and suddenly the rest of the world melted away.

“Last summer,” she began, her voice calm but steady, “we woke up one morning and decided to do something crazy. And maybe it was crazy. But it was also the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Your throat tightened.

“You have been my best friend for years,” she continued, her eyes locked on yours, “but this past year you’ve been my home. My peace. The person I want to come back to after every match, after every bad day. You make me laugh every single day, sometimes without even trying. And you’ve made this house, this life, feel more like me than I ever thought possible.”

You blinked back tears.

“So my vow,” Alexia said softly, “is to keep choosing you. Every day, in every little way. To make coffee when you’re too tired, to make space for you when you’re overwhelmed, to hold your hand when you’re nervous, like right now. And to never stop loving this life we’ve made together.”

By the time she finished, you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. Your heart was hammering and a few tears were rolling down your cheeks. You’d known this was going to be emotional, but hearing her speak from her heart like this, without any pretence, made it feel real in a way you’d never expected.

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “My turn.”

You pulled the folded paper from your pocket, though you barely glanced at it.

“When we did this a year ago,” you began, voice a little shaky, “it was supposed to be a joke. Something fun, something reckless, something just for us. But somewhere between signing that paper and standing here today, I realised it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Alexia’s eyes softened.

“I love the life we’ve made without even trying; the quiet mornings, the shared grocery lists, the fights over who gets the last piece of toast,” you said, hearing soft chuckles from the crowd. “I love that you’re the first person I want to tell when something good happens, and the only person I want around when it’s been a bad day.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight.

“You make me feel safe and seen. And you make me laugh, even when I don’t want to. So here’s my vow: I promise to keep laughing with you. To keep cheering louder than anyone. To keep stealing your hoodies. And I promise that no matter how this started, I’m in it forever… because somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.”

Alexia’s thumb brushed against your hand, and there was a glimmer in her eyes that made your heart flip.

There was a pause, and then someone sniffled loudly, probably Patri, before the whole room burst into cheers and applause.

Mapi was crying and yelling at the same time. “YOU TWO ARE RIDICULOUS! YOU HID THIS FOR A YEAR?!”

“¡Por favor!” Eli was wiping her eyes with a tissue, smiling so wide. “Esto es precioso.”

Even Alba, sitting arms crossed on one of the chairs, grinned and said, “About time you got married. I was starting to think you’d never get together.”

You laughed, finally letting go of the breath you’d been holding.

Alexia leaned down and whispered in your ear, “We did it.”

You smiled, your chest full. “We really did.”

Alexia squeezed your hand one more time before leaning closer. “You did perfect,” she murmured, and the warmth in her voice made your chest ache in the best way.

By the time the applause died down, the garden was now buzzing like a festival.

Mapi was bouncing on the balls of her feet, tears streaming down her face as she kept pointing at you and Alexia. “I cannot believe this. A WHOLE YEAR, and you didn’t tell anyone?!”

Patri, still clutching her drink, laughed and shook her head. “I’m simultaneously furious and overjoyed. You two are impossible.”

Kika had wrapped an arm around Ona, both of them whispering excitedly to each other while glancing back at you. “This is… iconic,” Kika said, shaking her head. “I mean, we’ve watched Alexia do everything with style, but this? This is next-level.”

Ona nodded vigorously. “I can’t even. I literally can’t. How did you hide it so well?”

Eli and Alba walking slowly through the garden, stopping to hug each guest who came up to congratulate you both. Her mother’s eyes were still glistening. “I knew there was something special,” she said softly, gripping Alexia’s hand. “I just didn’t know this special.”

For the first time in nearly a year, the secret was out, and it was perfect. Not because of the ceremony, or the reactions, or even the surprise, it was perfect because this was finally your life together, shared with the people who mattered most.

And as everyone’s laughter and chatter continued around you, you realised that while the world now knew your secret, your heart had always known the truth: you belonged to each other.

The apartment was quiet now.

Fairy lights still glowed softly along the balcony, and the scent of flowers mingled with the faint aroma of leftover food. Chairs were stacked neatly in the corner, glasses rinsed and set on the counter, and the room, once chaotic with laughter and shouting, now held a warm, gentle calm.

You were sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under you, sipping the last bit of wine from your glass. Alexia was kneeling on the floor beside you, folding napkins with meticulous care, though she kept sneaking glances at you.

“Can you believe everyone’s reactions tonight?” you asked softly, trying not to laugh.

Alexia looked up, her green eyes glowing in the soft light. “I could have predicted some of it… but the way Mapi screamed? Classic.” She grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

You laughed, leaning back into the couch. “And Patri nearly gave herself a heart attack.”

“She was fine,” Alexia said with a small smile, though you could tell she’d enjoyed the chaos just as much as you had. “And Kika… Kika cried more than my mom.”

You shook your head, smiling. “It was perfect.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again, except for the faint hum of the city outside. You felt Alexia shift closer, her knee brushing against yours, her hand finding yours again.

“Y/N…” she said softly, her voice low.

You looked at her, heart skipping. “Hmm?”

“I just… I wanted to say,” she began, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, “that tonight? Seeing everyone… laughing, crying, cheering for us… I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Your chest tightened. “Me too.” You swallowed. “I mean… it was perfect, but not because of everyone else. Because of us. We did this together.”

Alexia’s lips curved into that soft smile that always made your heart flip. She leaned closer, and your knees brushed again. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Because this… this is ours. All of it. The secret, the chaos, the laughter, the quiet… and you.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “I love you,” you said quietly, almost afraid to break the fragile calm of the moment.

Her eyes widened just a fraction, then softened. “I love you too,” she murmured, leaning in closer.

The space between you disappeared, just barely, as your foreheads touched. Your fingers tangled in hers, and for a moment, the world outside; the cheering, the laughter, the leftover wine and napkins, faded completely.

“You know,” you said with a small laugh, resting your head against hers, “I didn’t think a birthday party could be this perfect.”

“It wasn’t a birthday party,” she teased, her lips brushing your temple.

“Technically, yes,” you replied, laughing softly. “But… it was our party. Our reveal. Our night.”

She kissed your forehead gently, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself savour it. “Forever starts now,” she whispered.

You smiled, heart full. “Forever starts now,” you echoed.

For the next hour, the two of you moved through the apartment together; cleaning a little, stacking chairs, laughing softly when you found a stray ribbon tangled around a glass, stealing kisses between small tasks. Every touch, every glance, felt intimate, like you were rediscovering the comfort of each other after months of quiet domestic life punctuated by the chaos of the party.

Finally, you sat back down on the couch, tangled together like you had a thousand times before, but now it felt official. Married. Loved. Seen.

Alexia leaned her head on your shoulder. “You know,” she murmured, “I think we’ve got this whole ‘married life’ thing figured out.”

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through her hair. “Yeah… but I think the secret part was our favourite bit.”

She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Maybe,” she said, quiet and warm. “But I like the part where everyone knows now too.”

You nodded, smiling. “Me too. Mostly because I get to say I love you in front of everyone, but also here.” You tilted your head toward her. “And I get to keep saying it forever.”

Alexia laughed softly, lifting her face to yours. “Forever,” she echoed.

You kissed, slow and soft, the kind that didn’t need an audience or a reason. Just the two of you.

You pulled back just enough to smile at her. “So… what’s next for us?”

She grinned, mischief and affection sparkling in her eyes. “Next? Pancakes tomorrow morning. And maybe a nap together. The we could adopt a kid.”

You laughed, resting your head back on her shoulder. “Maybe on our next anniversary.”

And as you both sat there, hands intertwined, the quiet settled around you. The party, the chaos, the surprise, everything that had come before, had brought you to this exact moment.

And for the first time, you weren’t just married. You were truly, completely, in love.

Y/N lingered on the grass, sprawled out with one leg bent, pretending she was too tired to move. In truth, she was waiting. She knew Ona would be the last off, just like always, taking a few extra minutes for finishing drills, then fussing over her boots as if they were fine china.

“Are you going to nap there or should I carry you inside?”

The familiar Catalan accent made Y/N smile before she even opened her eyes. She peeked up at Ona, who was standing over her with hands on her hips, sweat still glistening at her temples.

“Carry me,” Y/N said flatly, stretching her arms up like a child.

Ona rolled her eyes but crouched anyway, offering a hand. Y/N took it and let Ona pull her up. Instead of letting go, Ona kept their fingers linked as she guided Y/N toward the tunnel.

“Childish,” Ona muttered with a grin, though her thumb brushed across Y/N’s knuckles like it was second nature.

Behind them, Patri and Mapi exchanged smirks.

“You two done with the honeymoon walk?” Mapi called out.

Y/N immediately dropped Ona’s hand, face flushing. “Shut up, we’re just walking.”

“Sure, just walking,” Patri echoed in a sing-song tone.

Ona shot them a look but didn’t bother answering, instead nudging Y/N with her shoulder as they entered the changing rooms.

Inside, the atmosphere was the usual chaos; music blaring from someone’s speaker, boots clattering into lockers, voices bouncing off the walls. Y/N sat on the bench, still catching her breath. Ona plopped down right beside her, close enough their knees touched.

“You okay?” Ona asked softly, her voice lower now that it was just for Y/N.

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, leaning her head onto Ona’s shoulder without a second thought.

It wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was normal for them. Ona was the first person Y/N gravitated to after training, after games, after long bus rides. Their bodies just…fit. Whether it was leaning into each other on the bench or sprawling out side by side on the grass, closeness was their language.

The rest of the team noticed, of course.

“Look at them,” Mariona whispered loudly to Alexia, nodding at Y/N’s head resting comfortably against Ona.

“They’re basically dating,” Alexia replied, smirking.

Y/N heard them but refused to lift her head. If she did, she’d give them the satisfaction of seeing her blush. Instead, she stayed put, and Ona made it worse by adjusting slightly, tucking her arm around Y/N’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re spoiling her,” Mariona teased.

“Jealous?” Ona shot back smoothly.

The locker room erupted in laughter.

Later that evening, the team headed to a casual dinner at one of their usual spots. A long wooden table stretched across the restaurant’s back corner, already filled with plates of tapas and pitchers of sangria. Y/N slid into a chair, and before she could even set her bag down, Ona dropped into the seat beside her.

“Of course,” Mapi muttered under her breath, earning a snort from Patri.

Y/N pretended not to hear, but she was hyperaware of how Ona’s leg brushed against hers under the table, or how Ona leaned in close whenever she wanted to make a comment only Y/N would hear.

Halfway through the meal, when the laughter reached its peak, Y/N felt something tug at the hem of her sweater. She glanced down, Ona’s hand was there, curling into the fabric absentmindedly while she talked to Alexia. It was such a tiny, unconscious gesture, but it made Y/N’s chest flutter uncomfortably.

Mapi noticed. Of course she did.

“Unbelievable,” Mapi said loudly, pointing at their linked sides. “You two are glued together. It’s like Velcro.”

“Better than being alone, no?” Ona shot back without hesitation, still tugging lightly at Y/N’s sweater.

That shut Mapi up for a few seconds, replaced by laughter from the rest of the table.

Y/N buried her face in her drink, wishing the sangria were strong enough to erase the heat creeping up her neck.

After an evening at an away match, the bus ride back to the training ground was quieter, players yawning or scrolling through their phones. Y/N had a window seat, forehead pressed against the cool glass. She felt movement beside her, Ona settling in, blanket in hand.

Without asking, Ona draped half of it over Y/N and leaned into her side.

“You’ll get sick,” Ona murmured, tugging the fabric higher.

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’re bossy.”

“Someone has to take care of you,” Ona said, not missing a beat.

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She told herself it was nothing, it was just Ona being Ona. That’s what friends did. Friends shared blankets. Friends leaned on each other. Friends brushed each other’s hair out of their faces when they were falling asleep on the bus.

Still, when Y/N let her eyes flutter shut, she thought maybe the others weren’t entirely wrong.

And when Patri snapped a photo of them slumped together under the blanket, sending it to the team group chat with the caption just date already, Y/N knew the teasing wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

By midweek, it had become relentless. No matter what Y/N did, no matter how innocent, the team found a way to twist it into something about Ona.

When Ona tied Y/N’s shoelaces before training because Y/N was running late?

“Ohhh, married life.”

When Y/N shared her water bottle with Ona?

“Wow, so romantic.”

When Ona offered Y/N her jacket after practice?

“If you two don’t kiss, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Y/N was over it. Or at least, she told herself she was. The team had other ideas.

The Barcelona training ground lounge was always noisy after practice; protein shakes blending, shoes squeaking on the floor, laughter bouncing off the walls. Normally, Y/N found it comforting background noise. Today, though, the sound carried a dangerous undercurrent.

She could feel the glances being thrown her way, the barely muffled giggles. Something was brewing.

Mariona finally broke the suspense. She dropped into the armchair opposite Y/N with a grin far too wide to be innocent. “Alright, Y/N. Time to face facts.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “What now?”

“That you’re in love with Ona,” Mariona said sweetly.

Y/N’s head snapped up. “What?!”

“You heard her,” Patri said, sliding onto the couch next to Mariona. “And we can prove it.”

“I don’t need proving because it’s not true!” Y/N shot back, though her voice was too high-pitched, too defensive.

Across the room, Alexia set her phone down, folding her arms with the calm authority of a judge about to deliver a verdict. “Then you won’t mind taking the test.”

“The test?” Y/N repeated, suspicious.

Mapi, lounging on the floor, grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “The crush test. Easy. We show you a picture of Ona. You tell us something about it. If you really only see her as a friend, you’ll notice all the normal stuff.”

“Normal stuff?” Y/N echoed.

“You know, boring details,” Patri supplied. “Shoes, earrings, background. Not, like…the way her collarbones look.”

Y/N sputtered. “I do not stare at her collarbones!”

“Mhmm,” Mapi drawled. “We’ll see.”

Mariona was the first executioner. She pulled out her phone, swiping until she found what she wanted. “Okay, ready? Three seconds.”

Y/N sat up straighter, determined. I will nail this. I’ll show them I don’t…

Mariona flipped her phone around.

The image hit Y/N like a truck. It was a photo from Ona’s Instagram: a charity gala last year. Ona wore a navy dress that clung in just the right places, her hair swept back elegantly, makeup soft and glowing. Jewelry sparkled at her ears and wrists.

Y/N blinked once. Twice. Her stomach did a weird flip.

The phone snapped back out of view.

Mariona leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “What colour were her earrings?”

Y/N froze. Her brain was mush. She’d noticed her hair, her smile, the shape of her shoulders, but earrings? Earrings?!

“They were…” Y/N swallowed. “…silver?”

Mariona cackled. “Wrong. Gold.” She shoved the phone back in Y/N’s face, zooming dramatically on the dainty golden hoops.

The lounge erupted.

“She didn’t even blink at the earrings!” Patri laughed. “She was too busy drooling!”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “This isn’t fair.”

“Oh, don’t worry, cariño,” Mapi said, already pulling out her phone. “We’ve got more.”

Patri’s turn. She flashed a candid shot from a matchday: Ona arriving at the stadium in casual jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, trainers, and sunglasses balanced on her head.

“Alright,” Patri said after a brief three-second glimpse. “What colour were her shoelaces?”

Y/N’s heart sank. “Her shoelaces? Who looks at shoelaces?!”

“Answer the question,” Patri said smugly.

Y/N hesitated. “Uh…white?”

Patri spun the phone back. “Red. Bright red.”

The entire room howled. Mapi rolled over dramatically, clutching her stomach. Even Alexia chuckled, shaking her head.

“This is scientific proof,” Mariona declared. “She doesn’t care about accessories. She only cares about-”

“My God, do not say collarbones again,” Y/N groaned, pulling a pillow over her face.

“Fine. Her smile,” Mariona corrected, grinning. “But still!”

Mapi decided to up the stakes. She scrolled furiously, then held her phone just out of Y/N’s reach. “Okay, okay. Here’s a tough one.”

The photo: Ona at the beach, hair damp from the sea, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, a small bikini top showing just enough exposed skin to make Y/N’s chest tighten.

The phone disappeared too quickly.

Mapi leaned in. “What colour were her sunglasses?”

Y/N’s brain screamed. She’d been too busy staring at Ona’s figure, at the way her shoulders glowed in the sunlight.

“Uh… white?” she stammered.

Mapi smirked, flipping the phone again. “Brown. Amateur mistake.”

The room exploded into chaos.

“You’re hopeless!” Patri cried.

“She’s gone,” Mariona added, wiping tears of laughter.

“Pathetic,” Mapi declared, puffing out her chest. “Utterly, completely whipped.”

“I am not- ” Y/N tried, but her voice cracked embarrassingly halfway through.

“Yes, you are,” Mariona said cheerfully.

Alexia, calm as ever, finally spoke again. “Face it, Y/N. You don’t know earrings, shoelaces, or sunglasses. But if I asked what shade of lipstick Ona was wearing in that first photo…”

“I didn’t notice her lipstick!” Y/N insisted.

“Really?” Alexia raised an eyebrow.

Y/N squirmed. “It was…like…pinkish?”

Dead silence. Then the loudest explosion of laughter yet.

Patri rolled onto the floor, kicking her legs. Mapi clutched at Mariona for support. Even Alexia cracked a rare grin, shaking her head.

Y/N wanted the couch cushions to swallow her whole.

After the sunglasses disaster, Mariona decided to push the limits. She pulled up a photo of Ona celebrating a goal, arms wide, jersey slightly tugged, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.

The phone disappeared after three seconds.

“Okay,” Mariona said. “What colour was her captain’s armband?”

Y/N sputtered. “She… she was… she wasn’t captain that game!”

“Correct,” Mariona said with glee. “But you hesitated because you were too busy staring at her abs.”

The room lost it.

“This is rigged!” Y/N tried to shout, but her voice was drowned out by laughter.

And then, Ona’s voice. Calm. Smooth. Amused.

“You know, you could just say I looked good.”

The entire room fell silent. Heads whipped towards her.

Ona was leaning casually against the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, eyes locked on Y/N. There was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, the kind that said she’d been listening the whole time.

Y/N’s soul left her body. “I- I- I didn’t…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Ona cut in gently, walking closer. “I don’t mind.”

The team collectively gasped. Then chaos broke out again.

“Oh my GOD!” Patri screeched.

“She likes it!” Mariona howled, practically doubling over.

“Couple of the year,” Mapi declared, raising her water bottle in a toast.

Y/N covered her burning face with both hands, praying for divine intervention. Ona, meanwhile, just dropped onto the couch beside her, settling in like nothing had happened.

And the worst part? Ona’s hand brushed Y/N’s thigh, lingering there with the lightest squeeze.

Y/N’s heart raced so hard she thought everyone in the room could hear it.

The lounge was still vibrating with laughter long after Ona sat down beside Y/N. The others were relentless; snickering, whispering, sending not-so-subtle glances their way.

Y/N, face still burning, tugged a nearby blanket over her head. “I’m never showing my face here again.”

“You’re a little dramatic,” Ona murmured beside her, voice low enough that only Y/N could hear.

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one interrogated like a criminal.”

“I heard enough.” Ona leaned back casually, crossing one leg over the other. “They’re not wrong.”

Y/N peeked out from under the blanket. “What do you mean ‘not wrong’?”

Ona smirked, letting the silence stretch until Y/N squirmed. Then she leaned close, lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. “You do stare.”

Y/N jolted, yanking the blanket back over her head with a groan. The team roared with laughter again, even though they had no idea what Ona had just whispered.

A few minutes later, Alexia finally clapped her hands. “Alright, enough. Leave them alone before Y/N combusts.”

The others, reluctantly, dispersed; some to the showers, others to grab food. Soon, the lounge emptied until it was just the two of them.

Y/N dared to peek out. “They’re gone?”

“Mostly.” Ona tilted her head, watching her. “You can come out now.”

Y/N sat up, hugging the pillow like a shield. Her heart was still pounding.

“I really hate them sometimes,” she muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Ona said softly. “They’re just…loud.”

“Loud?” Y/N laughed weakly. “They were practically staging my confession for me.”

Ona studied her, eyes warm, thoughtful. “Would that be so bad?”

Y/N froze. “What?”

“Confessing.” Ona said it so calmly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Y/N’s throat went dry. “I- I don’t…”

“You don’t what?”

The words tangled in Y/N’s mouth. She wanted to deny it, laugh it off, but the way Ona was looking at her, steady, unflinching, it made lying impossible.

Finally, she whispered, “I don’t…want to ruin us.”

Ona’s expression softened instantly. She shifted closer, prying the pillow from Y/N’s arms. “Hey.” Her hand slid into Y/N’s, fingers warm and steady. “You couldn’t ruin us if you tried.”

Y/N blinked, heart hammering. “You… you mean…”

“Yes,” Ona said simply. “I like you too.”

The world seemed to stop. Y/N’s ears rang.

“You do?” she whispered.

Ona smiled faintly, thumb brushing over Y/N’s knuckles. “Of course I do. Why do you think I always sit next to you? Or hold your hand? Or…steal your hoodies?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you took my hoodie?!”

Ona laughed, leaning back smugly. “You really thought it just disappeared?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, half mortified, half giddy. “Oh my God.”

“Relax,” Ona teased. “I like smelling like you.”

“ONA!” Y/N cried, voice cracking.

“See?” Ona grinned, eyes sparkling. “This is why I like you. You’re too easy to tease.”

Y/N lowered her hands slowly, heart still racing. “So…what now?”

Ona tilted her head, studying her carefully. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in until their foreheads touched. “Now,” she whispered, “we take it one step at a time. No rush. Just us.”

Y/N swallowed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Okay.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, hands entwined, the world outside the lounge fading away.

And then, predictably, the door swung open.

“OH MY GOD!” Mapi’s voice rang out.

Y/N practically leapt a foot away, face scarlet. Ona, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. She just leaned back calmly, still holding Y/N’s hand.

“Finally,” Mapi cackled, stomping back down the hall. “They admitted it!”

Groans and cheers erupted from the corridor, proving everyone had been eavesdropping.

Y/N buried her face in Ona’s shoulder, mortified. “We’re never living this down.”