We are guaranteed Champions League finalists.

The crowd sings and shouts – as they always do, apart from the chilling moment of silence in memory of Scarlett Powell – yet it only serves as a soundtrack to my principal train of thought. Though the journalists will never get this out of me, what I am thinking about as I take the first step into a much more promising career is simply where I haven't searched for the elusive Marc Ivorra.

Clàudia is occupied by her family when the match ends, and Fleur has been in a sour mood ever since Jona subbed her off, so I do a lap of the stadium with Salma at my side before heading into the tunnel, energised by the win momentarily, celebrating like my teammates are. Though I don't have a publicist, I am sure mine would hate me, but I cannot give Culers my signature when, one day, it will decorate Madrid jerseys and flags worldwide. Salma is inclined to roll her eyes as I stalk off to the changing room, having realised whose victory I am celebrating.

The only interesting thing in there, aside from the celebrations that will boost us into the final, is the look on Alexia's face. She is worried, and I know exactly who she is worried about. I nudge Clàudia, who only laughs and returns to dancing on the benches with Mapi and Patri.

Then, when we are ready and I am waiting outside the changing room for Alexia to find her 'missing shoe', Clàudia presses a secret kiss to my lips, mumbling that she's going out with a few of the girls later. Her invite extends to me, but I think of the ache in my legs and our agreement to remain discreet, deciding against it. "See you tomorrow, then?" she asks with a smile, more complemented than offended. She knows it's because I don't want to have to control myself the entire night. I'm too tired (and too handsy while drunk) for that.

"Obviously," I reply, rolling my eyes. She pokes my stomach and I jerk back. "Do you feel like driving me to recovery?"

"You have four people to take you. And your own car."

"But you're my girlfriend," I whisper in her ear.

She blushes. And then she remembers herself, shrugging her shoulders back with a frown. "No, Talia. Don't manipulate me. I'm already taking you for sushi and keeping it a secret from Patri. You know that Patri loves sushi."

"She's not coming on our date."

"But she loves–"

"Do you want to be kissed again?" I raise my eyebrows at her. "You're the one who chose to do this, and you could tell her if you wanted to. Plus, Patri probably doesn't want to come. Why would she come on our date?"

"Because she loves sushi!"

"Go for sushi with her then!"

The door of the changing room swings open, and Fleur rushes out, head down as she furiously types away on her phone. She looks up briefly, squinting at the two of us before hurrying off.

Alexia follows behind her, though our captain tries to seem as though the closely timed exit is entirely coincidental. Clàudia chuckles before kissing my cheek and heading out too, leaving just Alexia and I, seeing as she is driving me back to our building.

"Missing shoe?" I tease as we get into her car. She doesn't reply, pulling out of the space and following the sleek Audi in front of us. Jaimie is driving, and you can tell because she speeds off. "You're bad at hiding it. I bet it's a dream of yours to have sex in Camp Nou."

Alexia takes in a deep breath, hands clenching hard around the leather of her steering wheel. At least she hasn't veered off the road like Fleur does if I say something she doesn't like. This is safer. "We did not have sex."

"But you're not denying that it's your dream?"

"You are so annoying," she grumbles. The tension grows, but it comes completely from her. She is pissed off, and I am sure a certain Dutch midfielder has something to do with it. "God, I cannot play on a team with her. She needs to go," Alexia then snaps, voice loud and shattering. I almost flinch.

"Who? Fleur?"

"Yes, Fleur! She is impossible. I don't help her and she looks at me like I am the devil. I try to help her and she gets so defensive that it's like I am attacking her first-born child. I mean, what was I supposed to do? A captain cares about her players and she is grieving." She groans, though it is more of a scream. "She makes me... She makes me feel so–"

"Turned-on?" I supply with a smirk. Alexia turns her head, car stopped at a traffic light. Her glare is piercing and I shrivel, murmuring an apology. "It's nice that you care about her."

A wash of red light floods the car. "Of course I care about her," she scoffs instantly.

Outside, there is a growl of motors as the cars start moving again, Alexia's foot on the accelerator far from hesitant. The radio that she turns up fails to distract me from her words, but it is hard to know whether or not she has noticed.

Alexia offers nothing else on the matter.

I dedicate the rest of the journey to Instagram, making sure to confirm my attendance for Feria next month. Maybe I could bring Clàudia, though she will have to be a friend. Then again, she may not even want to come.

━━━━━━━

Finally, after what has felt like a lifetime at a club I cannot stand, I make my debut.

Jonatan tells me about it the day before, and I go to sleep in a Madrid shirt to Clàudia's horror. When I wrap my arms around her, comfortable in her bed by now, she almost shrugs them off, mumbling something about sofas and betrayal and bad life choices. In the morning, Patri throws paprika at me. The red powder settles on the white material, but I shake it off before she can aim a squashed tomato in my direction too. "You better play well," she then declares with a huff.

I do, actually.

I come on in the eightieth minute, and score in the eighty-ninth. We are winning the league today, indefinitely. The first to ruffle my hair is Patri.

Of course, sometimes Sevilla was successful – match to match, game to game. We had no chance of topping the table, but we could perhaps get a hand on the cup if the club pumped just that bit more funding into the women's team. But, if my near-finished time at Barcelona has taught me anything, it's that victory is addictive and I want nothing more than to wear every medal in the world.

The trophy is beautiful: shining bright, glowing as it calls to me, promising to be lifted one day by white shirts, me right at the front of the picture, cheering with my heart and soul, not just my mouth.

I don't see much of Fleur as she rushes off to the airport, committed to going to Scarlett Powell's birthday party in London tonight. Alexia stares at her wistfully, though she thinks no one else sees. Before I can even think about bringing it up, Mapi drags her one way, and Clàudia drags me the other.

Joined by Patri, who is excited that we will be revisiting the sushi place tonight with her, we finish up our celebrations, walking into the tunnel. "You'll never guess what Mapi did, Tali," Patri blurts with a grin, sending my girlfriend a glare when an elbow nudges her in the stomach. "Hey! Pinagol, your girlfriend will agree with us. Not my fault you're anti-love."

"I'm not anti-love," she protests, kissing my cheek soon after to further prove her point. I squirm out of her grip, throwing my arm around Patri's shoulder instead.

"Mapi cancelled Fleur's flight and now Alexia has to drive her to London?"

She laughs drily, unamused by my sarcasm. "Close, but no."

"Well tell me then. I'm waiting with bated breath."

Clàudia kicks open the door to the changing room, unleashing the team's screaming and shouting upon the world. I wish the club paid for singing lessons. And beer cans that didn't spill.

"Fleur likes Leila, and she's going to be at the party too. Her teammate invited her, I think. Lauren Hemp – an English one." Leila Ouhabi and I have never met, but she used to play for Barcelona. I've been told to ask the Spanish girls living in England for their opinion of it before I think about playing there, but her number, so far, has only been saved as a contact on my phone. I should make use of it sometime, really. "But Leila... Leila's in on it now. I'm bored of Alexia being miserable and pretending to hate her. I see what you mean."

"In on what?" I ask, suspicious of how well-thought out this seems to be.

"The mission!" Patri exclaims with a grin. "Mission Fleur-and-Alexia, obviously. I didn't realise Andalucía had no schools."

"Are the schools here teaching you how to be spies?"

Clàudia winks. "Spies for the Catalan government, sí."

"Alright, alright. So Leila is going to do what...? Isn't that mean if Fleur–"

"She's going to talk about Alexia any chance she gets, and she has promised not to kiss her because Mapi wouldn't beg her to give up a girl unless she was seeing something that was truly there. It's there. They love each other."

"I think it's unfair," Clàudia says, matter-of-fact. She folds her arms across her chest as Patri begins to gather her stuff for the showers. "I told them not to but it is too late now."

I shrug. "I mean, who are we to stop them?" If they want to jeopardise their bond with their captain – because Alexia would go ballistic if she found out about this plan – then they can. It's their choice. Personally, I believe that they'll figure it out in due time, though it is excruciating to witness as of right now.

"You're okay with this?"

"You're not? I thought you would be completely for it. You hate that I was right, but you know they're perfect for each other."

"I just think that they aren't lying about their mutual dislike. As much as we think they'd be great together, if they kissed now then it would simply ruin the dynamics of the team, no?" Fleur, drunk after her dinner with her sister after the Chelsea game, sent me an interesting voicemail. I listened to it in the bathroom, not wanting her secrets spilled to Clàudia. She was upset, to be honest. And she sounded confused. She let it slip that Alexia kissed her once, and that she wishes it would happen again. I haven't brought it up.

"If who kissed?" We both startle, turning around to face the owner of the voice. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing, Ale," Clàudia says, clearly lying, ears turning red. Alexia bites her lip, staring at us with a motherly disappointment. Behind her, a head pokes out, face matching our captain's though it is slightly different. "Alba!"

"Clàu," cheers Alba. I swallow the pang of jealousy, aware of her relationship status. "I Talia. Molt de gust. Gràcies per marcar."

"She doesn't speak Catalan."

Alba's nicely-done eyebrows furrow with confusion. "Mami va dir que és de–"

"No," says Clàudia. "Talia's from Córdoba. Can't you tell?" She giggles, still finding my accent funny. There are times when I speak to my friends and she cannot understand a word of what I say.

Suddenly, a flurry of Catalan surrounds me as I begin to untie my boot laces, getting ready for a shower. I pick out zero phrases, but Alexia sounds exasperated and Clàudia is so intrigued that I consider the possibility that they are sharing government secrets.

And then I hear my name. Buried within a sentence I can't understand, drawing my attention right to Clàudia's pensive expression. "Mami creu que Talia s'assembla a la seva germana . Jo crec que Mami està boja."

I've got to learn Catalan. It's an urgent matter, at this point.

"Hòstia."

notes: 

sorry this is late -- i was busy last night and i just cba

this is more focused on fleur and alexia because i love them x

i hope the catalan is ok bc i don't speak it and google translate is really the only source i can find at times (painful to admit tbh)

Mami va dir que és de– = Mum said she's from--

Mami creu que Talia s'assembla a la seva germana. Jo crec que Mami està boja. = Mum thinks Talia looks like her sister. I think that Mum is crazy

thanks for reading!!