Whistles dictate my life. They used to rule my childhood. A coach would blow their whistle, shout 'again', and I would know just how little schoolwork I would be doing after training. Papa would whistle along to the songs that played in the car, those high-pitched tunes getting stuck in my head as I ran laps or practised free kicks. At one point, I think my alarm even whistled. It was football-related.

The whistle that blows now feels like the beginning of something new. Watching the blue shirts pass between each other and not pass to me is strange, as if I am not really there. I suppose moving clubs is like that.

Caro's goal in the third minute is brilliant. As the team run in for a celebration, I notice the disappointment in my ex-teammates' faces. It swirls at the already troubling feeling in my stomach.

No more goals are scored, and Chelsea face a defeat in their own stadium. We are one step closer to winning the Champions League.

Their team huddle is broken when Sam and Erin ambush me as I talk to one of the coaching staff about a free kick I should have taken but was taken by Alexia instead. They drag me back to the Chelsea huddle, inserting me into the circle as if I had never left. Emma doesn't seem to mind.

"You just had to beat us!" Magda shouts, standing opposite me. I get pushed into the middle, and, for a moment, prepare to be attacked. That is until they crush me in a hug, cheering.

"We missed you, Toots," Sam says loudly in my ear. It must look weird to everyone else; a Barcelona player in the midst of a Chelsea group-hug just after beating them, but none of us care. Family is family. "We are going to destroy you in the second leg."

"Yeah, sure," I reply, laughing. I push her off me and go through the team, talking to every single one of them.

After some decent catch-ups with the ones I wasn't as close to, and enduring a few rants from Erin and Sam about keeping in contact and visiting and how they thought I'd torn my ACL like half of Arsenal when I disappeared from training and playing and national camps, I am set to do a lap of the pitch to talk to the fans who are still here. These are the ones that make (made) edits of Scarlett and I, or fly to Barcelona every so often to see me play. It's surprising how dedicated they can be. I love them.

Before I can get to the edge of the pitch, I am stopped by Magda. I spot Jaimie, who waves goodbye, knowing that I will be fine in the hands of my old captain and that she can return to her injured girlfriend. She'll text me later, commending me for not having a breakdown at the end of the match. I think that she is going to stay with Leah for a few more days before flying back to Barcelona in time for the second leg of the semi-final.

Magda and Pernille are leaving Chelsea at the end of the season, and I know that they will feel guilty about signing somewhere else when the team has lost both me and Scarlett. She either wants my advice or she is going to ask about how I'm doing. I hope for the first one.

"Sit." It was never going to be the first one. She pats the grass beside her, and I oblige to appease her. Most of the Barcelona girls have gone to the changing room, but they take a bit of time to sort themselves out if Patri has turned her speaker on. We fly back this evening. "What happened? You weren't playing for a bit. You've been benched for a few games, too. Is it the manager?"

The manager at Lyon was one of the reasons I left. It was because of him that I spent my second season on the bench, because he didn't like me as a person regardless of who I was as a player. It was very unprofessional, but my complaints were associated with him and I not seeing eye-to-eye on something totally inane, and so they were mostly ignored.

"No, I like the manager. I like Barcelona," I say quickly, not wanting the look on her face to translate into real-life actions. She is ready to beat someone up (or write a super long email to some CEO).

Alexia is taking pictures with the travelling Barcelona fans, basking in their attention. Her grin is– "Something's not right." I immediately avert my gaze, focusing on the emptying stands instead. Unfortunately, Magda's keen eyes zero in on what I had previously been staring at. She turns faster than I can register in my mind. "Love or hate?"

"Huh?" I spread my legs out, feeling the stretch in my tired muscles. This is my first game back, and I played the full ninety minutes. Jonatan said he trusted me. He knew that there was nothing physically wrong with me.

"That look is either a look of love or hate," elaborates Magda, hands swatting my foot away as I try to distract her by kicking some of the turf in her direction. I roll my eyes, raking my fingers through the blades of grass. "You're allowed to move on. Which one is it?"

"Magda." She shrugs my tone off. It is never an effective warning when I say someone's name like that.

"Yes, Fleur?"

Alexia hands back the fan's phone and waves the entire time it takes for her to get to the tunnel. Her hair looks surprisingly neat for someone who also played a whole football match. It's nice.

I think back to this morning in order to answer Magda's mosquito of a question. I couldn't look her in the eye this morning, not even when she asked if I would like to use the bathroom first. Last night, we were about to kiss, and then she ran away. There is no alcohol to blame it on. It's obvious what I need to tell Magda.

"Hate. I hate her."

"Hm." I shove her shoulder. She laughs, throwing some of the loose grass at me. "Yeah, I don't believe you, but I'll let Jaimie deal with that. What else have you been up to? Are you going to Scarlett's birthday party?" It's on the thirtieth. The timing is perfect – it means that everyone who knew her can go. Jaimie might even come. "P come talk to Fleur!" She waves her girlfriend over, and it feels like a family reunion.

"You are playing on the right for Barcelona," is the first thing Pernille says, all three of us grinning at how loud the remaining fans get as she sits down. I need to give Sam my shirt; she made me promise we would swap. "Did you brag too much about being able to use both feet?"

"There's an 'Alexia Putellas' clause in my contract," I deadpan. It's true, but they don't know that.

"You should've stayed," she teases, eyeing the gold kit I'm wearing. She looks at the badge on my chest.

"Chelsea one's nicer," Magda says before she can.

"You guys are moving at the end of the season," I point out, rolling my eyes. Frido is approaching, probably with instructions to bring me back to the changing room. It will take ages considering the amount of Chelsea fans that still clamour for a picture with me. "Gotta go." They stand up with me, pulling me into another hug. "Guys, I'm fine."

"Tell Alexia how you feel," Magda says into my hair. I push her off me, shaking my head, ignoring the way Pernille's mouth hangs wide open. I roll my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time during this conversation, not at all amused by her attempt to play Cupid. She pats me on the back, telling me to call her when I learn our tactics for the second leg, and then sends me with Frido.

I am escorted back to the changing room with great efficiency, I have to say. Frido is clinical in regards to cutting down the time I am allowed to stall, though she doesn't know that my reluctance to rejoin the team is partly due to the idea of seeing a half-naked Alexia Putellas after all that has happened between us is mortifying. My heart pounds at the sheer trauma of thinking about it.

The longer I wait, the more likely she, and everyone else, will be ready to go. It only takes me ten minutes, compared to most of their half an hour shower concerts.

I get into the changing room to find it mostly empty, save for Frido who is playing catch-up because of me. One of the showers is being used, but, apart from that, the place is devoid of players. The kit staff smile at me, though, glad that they don't have to worry about my things. I'm not messy like Mapi and Patri.

Frido says goodbye, having sorted herself out, and then it is just me and the other person. I think it might be Keira.

I pull off my shirt, folding it and putting it aside so that I can give it to Sam on my way out. The shower switches off. I am about to ask Keira about sitting next to me on the flight back, but I close my mouth quickly when I see who it is. Of all people.

"Your sister is the girlfriend of the England captain, no?" Alexia asks. I am only in my sports bra and shorts. Her eyes drop down for a moment, but are pulled up by me clearing my throat.

"Yeah, she is," I grate out through gritted teeth, trying to will myself into pulling my sweaty shirt back on. "I thought sisters were off-limits." She was so angry when I spoke to Alba. I have had to avoid her at every game, despite her wanting to talk to me a few times. I think I am destined to make an enemy out of every single Putellas in Barcelona.

She emerges from the showers fully, hair wet and towel wrapped around her body, her sliders clacking against the floor and filling the tense silence as she formulates a response. "No, that is not what I meant. Leah Williamson injured her ACL. I was sorry to hear that." Alexia sounds too genuine, and I feel too exposed. "Your sister stays with you in Barcelona."

"She's injured too."

I hate Alexia, I remind myself, forcing my eyes to focus on anything other than the curve of her neck and her smooth, tan skin. I am not blushing. I am just hot.

(Alexia's hot.)

"She is a tennis player." Why are we still talking? This is surely horrible for the both of us. "You played tennis."

"Have you been reading my Wikipedia page?" I ask her sarcastically. Because Jaimie can't keep her mouth shut in interviews, my 'personal life' and 'early life' sections have more substance to them than most of my teammates.

Alexia shrugs, mouth contorting into what could almost be called a smirk. "I wanted to know more about you."

━━━━━━━

The flight back is fine, but our arrival to the training ground is not. I get a text on the team bus coming back from the airport that I know took a lot of ego-ignoring to send. I have only one option, which is to answer the request with a 'yeah fine', and then try to forget about how awkward this is going to be to live in a few minutes.

It is awkward. So awkward.

Alexia gets into my car in front of the whole team.

They have surely seen the video of me getting into her car after a match, so it shouldn't make them all stop in their tracks like it does. The only person who doesn't seem fazed is Talia, and that is because she slides into the backseat only a moment later.

A tense atmosphere is an understatement.

I don't know why Talia and Alexia act strangely toward each other, but they seem to stare straight ahead while Alexia quizzes our new teammate on Pina. I have no idea what they are really talking about, due to the conversation being in Spanish, but the names mentioned are distinctive enough for me to pick them out.

I assume that they continue while I drop by María's to pick up Oli, but, when I return to the car, it is silent. Talia asks me if she can connect her phone to the car's bluetooth. Both Alexia and I groan, knowing her music taste is very... specific.

"¿No os gusta Yung Beef?" she exclaims, offended. "He is the best."

"Alexia is in love with Rosalía," I say, glancing at the woman next to me. She is focused on her phone, typing furiously. Her head perks up at the sound of her name, but Talia turns up the music so she can start rapping loudly. We share a look between us, wondering how the twenty-year-old has so much energy.

"I am not in love with Rosalía," Alexia protests, though it is very delayed. "Me gustan sus canciones, pero como una novia, no. O sea, ¿todo el mundo piensa que Rosalía es guapa?"

"No sé tú, pero creo que Fleur es guapa." I still don't understand much of Talia's Spanish, but I think I know what she's talking about right now. It's a compliment. She says it like it's a compliment. "Y Oli es guapísimo." She pats his carrier fondly. "Alexia, deberías besarla pronto porque sois como mis madres. Prácticamente, es tu esposa."

I catch a glimpse of her in my rear-view mirror, and can see the smirk forming on her lips. I wonder what she is saying to Alexia to irritate her so much, because Alexia scowls and snaps, "¿Cómo?" in response.

"El ambiente del coche," Talia replies, sounding indignant. "Tensión sexual."

I tune out of their conversation, letting them argue while I find a place to park the car. The building has a carpark, but I prefer to look out my window and see how beautiful it looks when the shiny, black paint is shimmering in the sunlight. I understand why Jaimie is so obsessed with her cars.

Dazed, I only notice that Talia and Alexia are telling me to get out of the car when the former hammers on the window of the driver's side. She complains that she left her keys since her roommate had told her she was definitely going to be in. I tell her she could have asked Alexia to unlock the door, but get out anyway. I get my suitcase and Talia's because she decides to carry Oli. I almost have to remind her not to let him out of the carrier, seeing the thought blossom in her mind, but she restrains herself. Alexia spites me by making me open the door, too.

"Gracias, Fleur," Talia says, giving me a hug. "I am going to see you tomorrow!"

"I will," I correct her. "I will see you tomorrow." She nods, smiling gratefully. She won't stop talking about how badly she wants to play in England. It's her dream, aside from playing for Real Madrid. That one is a secret, though. "You're not going out tonight, right?" Talia and Alexia stand side by side, exchanging a look that can only be described as mutual confusion, though I doubt it has anything to do with me. They look very alike, and people will not stop telling them.

"No, my roommate is here and we are going to watch a movie. You and Alexia have fun. Bye!" She saunters off. I glance at Alexia, wondering why she hasn't sprinted away yet. She turns to me, looking rather sheepish, whistling to fill the silence. I am certain that she is motivating herself to drop a bombshell.

"I have left my keys in my apartment." Oh. "The owner is going to help me tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Because it's the evening. And our landlord is a busy man. Right. (Does Alexia also not know the word for landlord in English? I thought our landlord was from China, and couldn't speak Spanish or Catalan.)

Alexia's eyes seem to droop with exhaustion, the smile slowly fading from her face. It is one thing being recognised as a brilliant footballer, but another having the weight of FC Barcelona Femení dropped onto your shoulders. She must crave a moment to breathe; to have to herself. I take pity on her. "You can stay with me tonight, if you'd like."

Do I want to spend another awkward evening with Alexia? No, not really. Do I feel sorry for her because she would have to endure Ingrid and Mapi's loving relationship if I hadn't offered? A little bit.

The thought is translated and processed in her head, her eyebrows furrowing as if to decipher whether she heard me correctly. At my patience, she must realise that I was being serious. I suddenly hope she says no.

"Yes. That would be convenient."

notes: 

excuses... my pmdd is hitting HARD and i'm super busy 

translations? nope. fleur didn't understand so u don't get to either (although u could go look it up yourself ig)

might be the fact that im miserable as fuck rn soz that i'm bitter!

love you all loads - thanks for reading xx