I am packed to go back home.

Tomorrow, at nine in the morning, I will be on a flight to Ibiza – a three-day trip with Sam and Erin that serves as a pitstop between now and flying to Amsterdam. This will be the last I see of Barcelona until after the World Cup. I must say that, after it is all finished, I am excited to return to a place I now consider a lesser version of home.

Alexia and I go to the beach, hoping that the sea breeze will take the edge off the pressure stamping down on us.

The sand is warm underneath my feet and the sun washes us in a pleasant sort of heat. The smell of the sea is fresh, the salt carried through the air, and the splash of the waves almost sends me to sleep as Alexia and I sunbathe in a comfortable silence.

I could stay here forever.

She turns onto her stomach, and the movement breaks me out of my daze. The muscles in her back are defined, and her skin is adorned with small tattoos. I let my eyes trace over each one, committing them all to memory, taking in this moment. Relishing the bliss we lie in, I let my head drop against the towel once more, content to stare at the blue, blue sky, lost in my own thoughts.

I wonder what Alexia would say if she knew how I felt. We put out the flames of hatred but it has only allowed a fire of something else to thrive. My cheeks burn, my eyes having made their way back to the expanse of Alexia's body like they are paperclips to a magnet. I try to look at something else now that the sky is impossibly boring in comparison; the children running around in the sea, the family who have just situated themselves a few metres away from us. It doesn't work. Alexia shouldn't look so good.

And, if her back is too much for my little gay brain to handle, her front is even worse.

"Drink water," Alexia says, breaking the silence. She gestures to my face, assuming that I am overheating. I open my mouth to protest, but she has sat up, unscrewing the cap of the bottle before I can say anything. She beckons me towards her. I plant one hand on the towel we are lying on, centimetres away from her thigh, and lean over her. She brings the rim to my mouth, tilting the bottle back slightly, the cool water trickling onto my lips as I part them, heart thumping in my chest. Her thumb swipes the droplet that runs down my chin, but it feels like the contact was made much lower.

"Thank you," I murmur as we stay in this position, her eyes, warm and inviting, too hard to look away from, piercing through the shield of my sunglasses as though they were never there.

She smiles. "De nada."

The moment is promptly ruined by a ball being launched at the space between us, making us both lurch away from the missile at an alarming speed.

"Hola, guapas," calls Patri with a wide, wide grin. Pina, of course, is beside her.

Alexia shakes her head, telling them off in Spanish, but they join us anyway, flicking the lid off the nevera they have brought along. The cans of beer they open hiss loudly, protruding into the silence Alexia and I had settled into earlier.

Pina tugs me upright when she gets bored of sunbathing, dragging me to the water.

"It was Patri's idea to come," she says as we wade in further from the shore. "Ale accidentally told us that you two were here. She is very secretive, you know." Pina's Spanish is politely slowed and enunciated, but I take credit where it is due. "We're happy that you are together."

The water is deeper now, and we start swimming, treading water while I figure out a way to explain the situation.

Somewhat embarrassingly, she reads my expression well. "You're not together?"

"No." Her eyes widen slightly, and she looks like she is sorry that she ever said anything. "I... Well, maybe after the World Cup? I wouldn't not–"

"But you are on a date?!"

"It's not a date."

Officially.

Just after I had sent her a picture of my zipped-up suitcase, she appeared at my door and told me we were going to the beach. Knowing better than to question Alexia's spontaneity (a difficult trait to grasp, but one that I find myself weirdly endeared by), I showed her my different bikinis, asking for her opinion. She wasn't sure and suggested that I model them. Alexia chose one that has a most criminal lack of fabric. She said it was to do with tanning, and I let us both believe that.

"So I need to tell Mapi that you have stolen her best friend?" Pina pries with an irritating knowingness. "Although, I have never seen Mapi look at Alexia like she wants to kiss her."

"I've kissed her already," I retort, feeling defensive. I don't want to be teased. Pina's eyebrows shoot right up, and I am scared that she will drown from how she falters in her steady strokes. "Ages ago. We were drunk and it was a mistake."

"Are you the one who... Are you hickey girl?"

"Sorry?"

"Ale never gets hickeys, but she had one in March, maybe – we all made fun of her for it. Was that you?"

I frown. "I don't know." I'm not sure how I feel about the prospect of Alexia kissing other people. Not jealous, but... disappointed. "It doesn't matter. Why are you asking me this?"

"We are bored of the dramatics and we want you guys to admit you love each other," she replies with a monotony that makes it hard to tell myself she isn't being completely serious. "Talia said that I shouldn't interfere, but, I mean, Fleur, she clearly cares about you. We saw the hand-holding, and the fact she was wearing your medal. Her smile – the smile she gives you – has always been reserved for something special. Someone."

"What if you're wrong?" I ask, though the words are hard to get out, barred by the growing lump in my throat.

"I'm not." She sighs. "Please tell her how you feel."

"I'll... think about it."

━━━━━━━

Pina dunks me in the ocean not long after our conversation, and the imaginable chaos ensues.

We return to shore with twisted bikini bottoms and wet hair, beads of seawater rolling down our stomachs that will leave a trail of salt on our tanned skin.

She wrings her hair out on Alexia's legs, and our captain is very quick to fire her a glare, snatching the towel from Pina's grip to dry herself off. Patri and I are sure to leave before the dirty looks get directed at us all, gladly beginning a game of two-touch.

The following hours at the beach are a stark contrast to how Alexia and I began our day, but it is actually not an unwelcome experience. I feel as though a huge barrier between half of the team and I has been torn down.

When we get into Alexia's car, my hair now dry, her glare now gone, she lets me connect my phone and play the music I want to listen to. The gesture, while normal for most, means a lot. Alexia often acts as though her ears will bleed if music she doesn't like is played.

"Good?" I tease, choosing to play the worst techno I can think of.

She swallows roughly. "I could bang my spoon on a pot and make better music for you."

"I have got to take you to a rave. You would lose your mind." The thought of such a reserved, controlled person in De School on a big night, surrounded by teenagers pinging on ecstasy, is enough to make me have to hold in my laughter. The image of Alexia, dressed for the occasion, hair down, dancing to the music, is why I have to hide my face by looking out of the window for a minute.

"Fleur de Voss is a party girl? Who would have thought?"

Her sarcasm is noted. "Why do you think I'm off to Ibiza before getting serious about the World Cup? I finally get to be drunk for three days straight."

"As if you are going to live in a church in Amsterdam," she scoffs.

"I'll have you know, Alexia, that I am very well-behaved. Always." She has no reason to think otherwise, really. During the season, I stay focused on football. The off-season is a different story. "It's not like you don't drink, anyway. I remember you promising Irene that you would dye your hair pink, but I don't think you do."

I glance at her, enjoying the way she has to take in a deep breath, most-likely reliving that moment for the first time since we won the Champions League. "Hòstia."

"Don't worry. For what it's worth, you'd look great with pink hair."

"¿De verdad?"

I blush, realising what I have just said.

"Yeah, I think." She doesn't even try to hide her smirk, and I nudge her shoulder with my own when we next stop at a traffic light. "So..." This car withstands a lot of tension, as I have learnt from my early days at Barcelona, but the air is thick with something similar to hatred, but not quite the real thing. It is almost frustration. As if the atoms of the Earth are fed up with us.

I resolve to tell Alexia before I leave. If it ends badly, at least I will not have to see her for a while.

"So," she parrots, mimicking my tone while switching to Spanish, presumably to discuss something that she needs to express with more care. "Mapi is helping me pack tonight. I am trying to reconcile, seeing as we have strained our friendship. She understands my reasoning, but I cannot help but think my best friend will resent me for doing this." The situation is cumbersome, but she does not need to worry. Mapi is loyal. "I have also spoken with Talia. Sevilla are willing to sell her."

"She needs to have a good tournament then," I comment, and it feels very motherly of me to say.

"She will. My power in the national team is now significantly less, but I have spoken with Jorge. He has invited her to camp. She will probably make the squad, especially after her winning Champions League goal."

"And you?" I try to lighten the mood. "Will you make the squad?"

"Which one of us has won a Balón de Oro, Fleur?" She is graceful enough to not mention that the answer is neither, because she has won it twice.

"But I am better looking," I reply, grinning at her.

She parks the car in the underground parking of our building, getting out while I revel in stunning her silent. Then she says, "alright, hermosa, come on."

I follow her blindly, trying not to melt into a puddle of panic on the concrete floor.

We get into the lift, filling the small space with the smell of suncream and the sea. Alexia leans against one side, and I stand opposite. "Come over?" I ask her, not sure why my mouth has gone dry as I speak. It is not uncommon for her to visit nowadays, but, after my conversation with Pina, I feel almost reluctant to ask. I don't want to wreck what we have built. I really don't want to.

Alexia looks at me, puzzled. "I thought I was already," she chuckles as the doors open on my floor. "The good thing about Mapi helping me pack is that I get to spend as much time with you as I can before we go. I need to sabotage your boots, anyway. I don't want you to win."

I push her inside, my index finger jabbing into her stomach as punishment for her silly joke. I try not to acknowledge what the fabric of her t-shirt covers.

"I'm going to shower," I tell her as she dives onto my sofa, her groaning muffled and therefore easy to ignore. "Finish off what's in my fridge, please. It needs to go before my flight." With that, I make my way to my bedroom, Oli far too occupied by Alexia's cuddles to yowl about my absence (he acts as though she is the one who feeds him). The shower I take is cold, but for good reason.

━━━━━━━

It is the television that starts it.

We find our way to a football channel that is showing a documentary about legends of the game; Xavi, Iniesta, and so on.

She asks about the documentary they are making about Jaimie and I, knowing about my hesitation to agree to it.

Filming begins on the thirtieth for Jaimie, and a week later for me. They plan to get the build up to both the World Cup and Wimbledon, and then continue through to the end of the tennis season and the winter break in the football season. So I will have cameras following me around until December.

Alexia has a documentary of her own, and so she is speaking from experience, but I just want her to be quiet. "It may amplify the pressure," she says calmly, not feeling how tense I have become while tucked into her side. "There is a lot of it. Cameras can make it worse."

"I thrive under pressure," I remind her, growing irritated.

"To a certain extent." She sighs as I sit up and push myself to the other side of the sofa. "Fleur, I did not realise you were a child," she teases as I cross my arms over my chest.

"It's nice to know you believe in me," I bite back sarcastically, hoping it cuts deep.

"Everyone has faults and weaknesses."

Sensing that it is going to escalate, she stands, walking off to the kitchen. "But this isn't one of mine!" I call after her, debating whether or not I should follow.

I don't, and she reappears five seconds later.

"You are not a machine. You cope because you don't process things. Ever."

It is painfully accurate, and suddenly I hate how well Alexia can understand me. It makes me feel vulnerable, like I am completely at her mercy. I am simply putty in her hands, and it has stripped me of all the control I possessed.

I did not go through what I did for her to take my achievement away from me. She cannot diminish the fact that I am still standing here today by telling me that I don't manage my own issues correctly. It's bullshit.

"I know that you are a control-freak, Alexia," I begin, venom laced into my words as she furrows her eyebrows, wondering why I have gotten so upset, "but I am not one of your subjects. You don't get to order me about, or give me your unsolicited advice and unwanted opinions. You are not that to me."

I am terrified that one day Alexia will decide I am an awful person.

I'd rather make the decision for her.

"Where is this coming from?" she asks, her voice wavering slightly. She has been caught off-guard. I get up from the sofa and walk towards her.

Choosing to pretend I can't hear how hurt she sounds, I decide to twist the knife. "You are so arrogant, so self-important, that you think everyone wants to hear what you have to say. Everything is always about you."

She blinks, and I feel a hot tear running down my cheek. These emotions are not from what I'm saying, and, really, if Alexia were to think about it, she would hear that I make absolutely no sense.

But she doesn't.

She fights back.

"I earned my importance," she sneers, her complacent smirk out of place on quivering lips. "I worked hard and I showed them all. And, Fleur, this may be hard to understand, but I got rewarded for it. I am the best footballer in the world."

"And the most cocky one, too," I tell her.

She glares, jaw clenching; a picture of the Alexia I first met. The woman who hated me with every fibre of her being. "At least I deserve to be."

"So do I," I mutter as she collects her things.

Alexia turns to me before she leaves, and she is crying.

Realistically, none of this warrants that from either of us.

Nothing has been done to make me feel like I have ruined my own life, nor to cause Alexia's shoulders to slump in such defeat.

Before she crosses the line between my home and the outside world, I stop her. The knife that pierces through her chest is visible to the both of us, but something inside of me is terrified and I... I... "Why do you care so much?" I spit, praying she tells me that we should go back to being enemies.

It was simpler.

There was less pain. I was so sure of who she was to me. I didn't see question marks over her head every time I looked at her.

Alexia's eyes shine, glassy with the tears that coat the brown of her irises. She looks at me like I am an idiot.

"Because I love you," she says, stepping into the hallway, trying to save this.

I don't think I can bring myself to hear it, and so I don't, closing the door to my apartment and choosing to leave Barcelona back where I started.

Enemies.

━━━━━━━

I really regret it.

It tortures me all evening.

The food in my fridge will rot, because I don't think I can eat anything.

I can barely open my mouth to breathe.

Lifelessly, I lie down on my bedroom floor, one leg resting at an awkward angle on top of my suitcase after I felt my muscles getting too stiff.

My phone charges in front of me, buzzing every now and then.

When it begins to ring, I decide to pretend I haven't just rejected the woman I am literally in-love with, answering Leah's phone call as if everything is fine. Which is a fat lie that Leah can smell all the way in London.

"Have you been crying?" she starts with, not entirely sure what to do when I sniff down the line. She only called to check what dates I would be in Ibiza for. Leah must be used to Jaimie dealing with me, though, because she seems to take a deep breath and reset herself. "Did something happen?"

"No."

"Are you crying now?"

"No," I lie.

It is an obvious lie. I sound like a child.

"What's... wrong?"

And I really shouldn't be doing this with my sister's girlfriend, but there is no one else. Mapi is with Alexia by now, helping her pack; Ingrid would probably slap me; Talia is in Córdoba. It all kind of tumbles out.

Leah sighs when I am finished.

"What was her answer to your question?" she asks for clarification. I'd hoped she wouldn't pick up on that information being left out. "I think I can assume, but it is hard to imagine you being that idiotic."

"I'm not! She probably didn't mean it!"

"Who the fuck says 'I love you' in that context without meaning it? Jesus Christ. Why are you making it all so fucking complicated, Fleur? Go to her flat and make out with her!"

She hangs up.

She's not as eloquent as Jaimie.

Oli knocks my bedroom door open, slinking up to me, meowing.

He was enjoying Alexia's company (as was I), and he also looks at me like I have no brain. He stops by my face, pushing his paw into my cheek.

I frown, catching sight of myself in my bedroom mirror.

I leave Barcelona tomorrow.

Before I know it, I have sprinted my way up two flights of stairs in just my socks and am outside Alexia's door. Oli, seeing as I left my door open, has followed me, caught up in the action.

Nala can smell him, going ballistic on the other side of the door before I can knock. When I raise my fist to do it anyway, the hinges creak open, the demon rushing out to chase my cat back to where he came from.

"Fleur." Her voice is hoarse and her eyes are red. Mine must be as well. "¿Qué haces?"

I can only think of one answer.

I kiss her.

notes: 

the theme of this, i like to think, is 'don't break my heart' by ub40

i saw them live last night, knowing like three of their songs, but i zoned out while they sung this and planned the chapter so it feels necessary to name it after it

anyway. i cheered. 

fucking finally

THANKS FOR BEING PATIENT!!!!!!!!!!!!