We work on it. Learning when to listen.

Well, Alexia claims she has always known when to listen, but since the nonchalant comment is uttered during a very vulnerable conversation about Scarlett's memorial next month, I assume it's just a defence mechanism. Or something to lighten the mood.

Maybe part of it is coping with the darker times.

It's hard because we have both been through so much, done it all in our own way. Where our paths differ, we clash. Where they have been similar, we seem to... Well, we're trying to talk more.

There's a lot to know about Alexia, and a lot that she must find out about me. Though this part of our relationship is still growing its roots, it seems to brighten the flowers blooming elsewhere. Fragrant and beautiful. Flowers we water and tend to with diligence.

Mum's visit passes through quite seamlessly. Alexia wears a vintage t-shirt from the Olympics, explaining away the clear sucking up by calling on her Catalan pride. From what I hear, both sides were pleasantly surprised. I'm grateful to my mother for being civil. I suspect that she doesn't mind who loves me – maybe even praises the woman who can. I'm sure I heard her complain more about Jaimie moving (which was months ago) than anything to do with my new girlfriend.

I'll take it.

November slowly ebbs into the final month of the year. Alexia approaches the time hasty and restless, ready to reach 2024, ready to get back on the pitch. I prefer to take a step back, being granted time off to visit Lize for Sinterklaasavond.

Last year, I prioritised football. I was scorned by losing out on the Ballon D'or. Now that I have it, I realise that I feel no different.

My cousin picks me up from the airport with two empty seats in her present-filled car. Seeing me alone, she frowns. "No girlfriend?"

"She wanted to squeeze in as much of her physio programme as possible before I force her to take a break over Christmas." Lize laughs at my fond exasperation at the thought of Alexia in the gym, red-faced and determined to catch up with me before I 'get too far ahead'. "Where's the husband?"

"Distracting Noa so that she doesn't notice me sneaking these inside." I take in the boxes stacked along the backseats. Lize, with a sigh, explains that Jaimie insisted on getting Noa brand new ski gear in Ajax colours, complete with a badge plastered on each ski. It was delivered to Papa's house in order to not raise suspicion.

"And what did you get her?" I ask with a smirk.

I think about how Jaimie must have sounded over the phone. Hysterical, I presume. "I want my daughter to be happy," Lize starts, which means more than that.

"You want to piss Jaimie off," I correct.

"No one cares about the Arsenal thing as much as her. She's the one dating an Arsenal player!" I would say it's overcompensating, but my sister would slap me like she did in April. I don't particularly want that to happen again. "I got Noa what she really wanted, which is another Arsenal shirt."

"Who's on the back?" We're turning onto a main road, so I allow Lize's hesitation, giving her the benefit of the doubt. But she's gripping the steering wheel like she doesn't know how to drive, and a bad feeling creeps down my throat and into my stomach.

"Listen, Flootz, she's only little. She doesn't get it yet."

"Who is on the back, Lize?"

I'm not one for arguing with children, but Noa gets an earful about why she can't put my name on the back of such a monstrosity when I walk through the door of the doomed household my cousin seems to be running.

━━━━━━━

I'm back in Barcelona before our match against Eibar, shedding my warm winter coat in favour of Alexia's prized leather jacket.

"You can't steal my clothes," she tells me, indignant and wired from being in the stands yet again.

"I can," I reply, hair wet from the showering in hot, hot water, simmering underneath it, buzzing with the glory of another big win. Esmee's hat trick brings pride that I cannot contain. We wait in my car as she calls her girlfriend, going out for dinner after she is finished.

"You're not wearing it again." Her hands reach out for mine, a habit she's picked up to distract herself from being advised against driving. I have the wheel, but she has me. Who's really in control? Then, once she has absorbed my warmth and moaned about my hair dripping onto the expensive dead cow, she concedes a small "te queda bien".

And I say thank you, smirking – still smirking all the way through dinner as Alexia illuminates, glowing like a lighthouse in the babbling noise of the restaurant, guiding Esmee away from the rocks with her never-ending advice.

She asks why I'm so quiet tonight, just as we leave. I tell her it's because she wouldn't shut up.

She knows it means because I wanted to listen to her.

She goes, "you like it when it feels like this." It reminds me of other times she had said that; in bed, sweaty skin and heady moans.

"Like what?" I play coy. Still smirking.

She could be truthful, say it outright. But she's Alexia, and she's not as blunt as I am – of course she's not, of course she speaks with implications and hidden meanings. "Homely," she says. Like this is our future, she means.

Esmee heads to bed the moment we get home, but older, wiser, and not tired from only playing half the match, Alexia and I stay up. We open a bottle of wine. A good bottle, an early Christmas present from María.

Glasses of red sit on my coffee table, slowly draining as Alexia plays the music her father used to play. She's beginning to tell me more about him, about what he meant to her. "Christmastime is always heavier," she explains. I know that already, I nod in agreement. It is easy to notice when a name is missing from your list of people to buy gifts for. It is easier to miss those who are gone. "We're a close family, closest at this time of year. It makes me miss him more."

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

I remember a mistake Lize made. Or was it a hint?

"The usual: going home, spending time with my family." Lips full and crimson, she smiles as I shift on the plush fabric, making myself even more comfortable.

"I found out that Lize booked me a double room in Gerlos. I was supposed to share with my other cousin – you know, Luka, the youngest – but she got it wrong." Lize drew the short straw for sorting out the arrangements this year, and she has ensured no one will trust her to do them again. As well as forcing my relationship to grow. "I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

"To Austria? With you?"

"Yeah," I say, growing sheepish. Maybe it's a bad idea.

"You know the last thing I'm going to do is ski, right?" She points to her knee with disdain. "No skiing. No driving. No playing football."

"I know." I pour out the last of the bottle, silky liquid running ribbons down the sides of the glasses. "No driving, no football. You're not ranting to a brick wall." She laughs, mumbling that sometimes it feels that way. (Only because her fast-paced Catalan often eludes me.) "But you wouldn't be skiing at all. I was thinking you could come for New Year's? It's the last three days of the trip."

"So I can spend time with my family over Christmas," she deduces.

"I'm very thoughtful."

I watch her tilt her head back, drinking the final drops of her wine, licking my own lips at the expanse of skin she reveals to me. She seems to do it on purpose, the long, sweet groan – better than the music, better than any other sound on Earth. When she has drained her drink and resurfaced for air, I find her staring straight at me.

Now she is the one wearing a smirk.

Slowly, Alexia moves so that we are a lot closer than before. And then I am tasting María's wine, not because I am drinking it but because her lips are pressing into mine, kissing me with a soft kind of passion that exists for late, quiet nights.

Her lips are warm and inviting, all subtle intent gently hidden in the caressing of my cheeks. And I am slightly different, slightly less patient: answering eagerly, moving closer until our bodies press together on the sofa. Limbs entangle with my own, hands sliding up my arms, fingers brushing my skin with an electrifying touch that burns as the brightest star in the sky. My thumb strokes the sharpness of her jaw as her tongue teases mine, slow and deliberate. I feel her relax.

I seize the opportunity.

I let my hands roam, tracing the familiar lines of her abdomen underneath her t-shirt, addicted to the valleys, willing to get lost in them. Leaning into my touch, she presses herself on top of me, gasping into my mouth with the same fire behind her breath that she ignites in mine. Between those gasps comes a moment of stillness. First, "I'd love to." My answer – the best answer I could have received. And then, "venga. Vamos arriba."

It's like a secret mission; creeping out of the flat, trying not to wake Esmee. We hold hands, stumbling without a smidge of stealthiness, and we laugh as soon as my front door shuts behind us.

"Do you remember when we almost slept together at Mapi's party?" Alexia asks as we wait for the lift. Settled into the anticipation by now, I can hardly bother to answer her question, feeling as though the flush in my cheeks is response enough. "I wanted to fuck you. I wasn't sure why."

She looks at me carefully. "And then the fucking lift didn't come."

As the doors ding open and I am backed against the mirrored wall, I dignify a murmured, "if only it had." And she gets on with what should have happened then.

The low hum of the lift is barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat, which seems to echo in the quiet. Alexia's hands are on my waist, firm yet gentle, and her eyes – intense and unwavering – are locked on mine. There's tension in the air. I will us to get there faster.

"You know," she says, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear, "we're not going to make it to the bedroom if you keep looking at me like that."

I can't help but grin, my breath catching in my throat. "Maybe that was my plan all along."

Her laugh is soft, almost a purr, as she tilts her head to capture my lips once more. The kiss is unhurried, languid, as if we have all the time in the world. Which we do, sort of. When we get like this, nothing else can continue.

The lift shudders to a stop, and the doors open with another ding, but neither of us makes a move to leave. Not yet. Alexia's lips trail down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and my fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her closer. The world outside the lift can wait. Everything else can wait.

When she finally pulls back, her eyes are dark, filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, something that makes my chest tighten in the best possible way. "Let's go," she whispers, her voice husky, and this time, there's no room for coyness, no pretence.

We enter the dark room hand-in-hand, Alexia's grip tightening at the complete silence of the place. She is still getting used to it.

But she takes a deep breath and then she pulls me in, holding me close again. Her hands slip under my shirt to lift it over my head. The cool air hits my skin, but it's quickly replaced by the warmth of her touch, her lips.

Entwined and full of lust, the path to the bedroom is one well-travelled and familiar, and when we finally reach the bed, she pushes me gently onto it, her gaze never leaving mine. There's a moment of stillness, a pause where we just look at each other, the weight of what's about to happen settling over us. But it's not heavy, not in the way that feels suffocating. It's grounding, reminding me that this is real, that she's here with me, that this is happening.

"Are you sure about Austria?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she crawls onto the bed beside me, her hand brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

I nod, my hand reaching out to cup her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under my palm. "I want you there with me. I want us to start the new year together."

Her smile is soft, a little shy, and she leans in to kiss me again, slow and deliberate, as if she's savouring every second. "Then I'll be there."

There's nothing left to say after that. Words aren't needed as our clothes are discarded, piece by piece, until there's nothing between us but skin and breath and the rhythm of our hearts. The bed dips under our combined weight, and she settles above me, her lips tracing a path from my collarbone to my chest, her touch igniting every nerve.

I lose myself in her, in the way she knows exactly where to touch, how to move, to make me gasp and arch and cling to her as if she's the only thing keeping me grounded. Time ceases to exist; there's only her, only us, tangled together in a mess of sheets and whispered promises.

I return the favour competitively, with broad strokes of my tongue and words in any language I can remember. She pulls my hair, impatient, demanding, legs jolting as I force her knee into a position that will do the least damage. And she cries out my name when she comes, like sweet summer symphonies and birdsong that wakes you up to a dazzling sunrise.

Naked, tired, tipsy, we fall asleep. Happy. And together.

━━━━━━━

"Best friend!" Leah shouts in my ear as I sit down on the splinter-hazard of a bench outside the restaurant. She looks positively freezing, but I am wiping sweat from my brow as I undo my ski jacket and attempt to cool myself down. Of course, I'd told her that she'd be warmer if she got on skis, but it's hard to convince an ACL victim.

"Don't poke the dragon today," Lize says, ready to enjoy her lunch before we have to pick up the children from their lessons. "They had the slalom open for timing and she came last."

"I didn't," I insist. Because I didn't.

"You did," Jaimie disagrees, because she's a liar. She presses a kiss to her girlfriend's rosy cheek (Lize and I gag) and takes a seat opposite us, clawing at the menu like she hasn't eaten in days.

"So," Leah says, suddenly the most mature one here, "did you do anything other than bully baby Flootz?"

Short-lived.

"I'm not even the youngest one here!" My sister and my cousin and the devilish tag-along glance around at the empty table, pointedly searching for anyone younger than me. Which, unfortunately, there is not. I sigh. "I meant on the trip."

"If you carry on pouting like my four-year-old, I'll order from the kid's menu for you," Lize lightly chastises. "And that will hardly be enough food for the snowpark later."

"Fleur's getting it out of her system before Alexia comes," I hear Jaimie whisper to Leah. "She promised her no flips, no jumps, and no racing."

"I made the mistake of telling her about when Lize broke her leg." At the anecdote, Lize winces, face scrunching up at the memory. She offers to order our food for us at the bar. It's a sign for me to continue, which I do the moment she is out of earshot.

"It wasn't a difficult slope – not really. It was supposed to be clear, and it was a perfect part to race until we reached a flat bit. So me and Lize go in the second wave, all competitive and tucked into race position." Leah knows what that is after she watched Noa bomb down the nursery slope in it. "It was clear! Completely clear. But then a fucking snowboarder comes out of nowhere and turns into my path. I swerve because I'm going so quickly and I'm still trying to win, but it throws Lize off her path and into the snowboarder. Who... goes over her leg."

"I was at the flat and I heard her scream," Jaimie adds with a grimace.

I see Leah's eyes narrow, the same way they have been since she saw the videos of Jaimie's 540° on our second day here. She's wrapped up warm, entertaining herself with the company of Ida's new Husky mix. They liked Leah a lot when Jaimie brought her here last year.

We avoid talking about that though, because Scarlett's memorial a year on was rough as it is.

After attending that, I'm trying to live in the moment more. Leah and I sometimes stay up later than everyone else, silent in each other's company but acknowledging her absence together.

Tomorrow, I'll show her the places Scarlett really liked when she came here. Alexia's flight gets into Innsbruck in the afternoon. The hike I want to take Leah on will perfectly occupy my morning, so that I don't have to lie about flips and jumps and races.

Tomorrow, I'll also introduce Alexia to the rest of my family, although she briefly met them at the Champions League final last year. She'll hear the stupid stories they have to tell, and fall victim to the awkwardness of being shut down whenever she attempts to speak Dutch to them. I know she's been trying to learn from Esmee. The lessons are not paying off. I hardly help her when she tries with me, but that's because she is barely understandable.

She's warned me that she'll propose in Dutch one day and that I won't hear it happen, too busy laughing at her for mimicking the sounds of my language. I've never been threatened with a proposal before, but it sounded terrifying when she said it.

Tomorrow creeps in with a steady pace, today slowly fading away.

Tomorrow has Alexia. Cold, complaining probably, but only endearing with her misery because it is just so typical. Grumpy from surgery – maybe pleased with the news that her career isn't over, but that is unlikely – and tired from leaving a country she claims has everything. (You can ski in Spain too.)

I've missed her a lot, embarrassingly excited every time we call to update each other on our respective, chaotic family gatherings. She can torture me in every way possible – and she has. I hated her. I stopped doing that a while ago. And she made me love her. Made me fall in love with her.

Desperately so.

"Hola, schat. Que tengas un buen vuelo."

THE END.

notes: 

ugh guys i'm emosh  

the epi's not done yet but it'll be out tomorrow

an extra special thanks for reading this time x 

oh and sorry for it being september