I linger by the players' exit, this time without having to hide my face.

Fleur's eyes look sore, as though she has harshly rubbed at them, and her gaze is fixed on the floor. She is in the midst of a protective crowd of her teammates, their hair wet and faces scrubbed clean from the sweat coating their skin after a cut-throat match.

Briefly, she looks up at me. We both know that I am not here for her. The smile she gives me is understanding. She nods at Viv, who is dressed in her own clothes as if to highlight her absence from the team even more. Viv has joined the solemn huddle with a welcoming hug to Fleur's miserable body.

I glance at the sign pointing towards a disabled bathroom, believing, for a moment, that the sickening guilt pooling at the back of my throat is truly going to have me running to a toilet soon. Swallowing hard as I watch my sister make her way to the team bus, I force myself to stay put. This is where I agreed to meet Leah, and this is where I will be when she comes cheering her way out of her changing room.

Unsurprisingly, I hear them all before I see them; their shouting is loud enough to be heard from the stadium's nosebleeds, I suspect.

Leah is grinning as she rounds the corner, and wastes no time in diverging from the gaggle of England players to wrap her arms around my waist. I try not to blush as the onlookers hoot and wolf whistle at their beloved captain. She doesn't seem affected by it.

Noticing the way my lips have pressed themselves together in a flat line (a precaution from my earlier wave of nausea), she dampens her mood. "Is she alright?" she questions in reference to Fleur, maybe only caring because I seem sad about it. "I..."

I don't want to hear her apologise for not believing me. Or, rather, thinking I was exaggerating. "Now you understand," I reply, shrugging. "I know my sister better than anyone, Leah."

"I know," she breathes against my lips. I lean in slowly, instinctively wanting to greet her with a kiss, but she pulls back. The place is not crowded but is still busy, with a river of people making their way out. They move at a sluggish pace, affected by the way some of the Lionesses pause when they get to a particularly well-known bit of the song blasting out of the speaker Georgia is holding. It gives them the perfect opportunity to look at what is happening between us.

At my quiet huff of offence, Leah furrows her eyebrows. "You can't have told her yet."

"This won't do any harm," I state confidently enough for Leah to agree, blinded by her own desire to point out my hypocrisy.

She doesn't need to be told twice, and though the kiss is quick, it is a clear promise for what is to come later.

"Tell Marcus that he doesn't need to take you back to London tonight."

"He will only book a hotel room," I inform her, becoming increasingly more knowledgeable, through my driver, about his contact with Juan. He is, essentially, babysitting me. Juan trusts him to take me from A to B safely.

"Fine with me." Her forehead rests against mine, a hand cupping my cheek, keeping our eyes locked together. "I've told Sarina that I've had to sort my gran out and that I'll get a taxi back to the hotel we're at. We're allowed to go to the pub next door tonight."

I laugh softly. "Sarina is not stupid, Leah." She rolls her eyes at my lack of faith in her story-making capabilities, though it has been proven to be the correct stance on the matter time and time again. She is not very good at lying. She gets too awkward. "I will call a taxi for us. Are we making any stops?"

"Well..."

Due to my self-control and her underestimation at how much the game drained out of her, the taxi ride is tame. The furthest anything goes is a cheekily placed hand high up on my thigh. I retain my five star Uber rating.

No one has changed for the pub, and so we go straight there, Leah claiming that she will eventually find her bag later on in the night. I know that it will be me searching for it later on. I am not allowed to get too drunk in case I forgot about how purple my calf was a few weeks ago.

It's easy to convince myself that everyone is looking at us as we walk in, but, if they have been, they go back to their own conversations soon enough. Leah and I order our drinks at the bar (two gin and tonics, one with lime and one without), and then I am dragged away from my girlfriend by Ella Toone, who says she has a bone to pick with me.

"Leah is your favourite?" she angrily reminds me of what I had said a few days ago. "I wonder why! So, now, excluding Leah..." She gesticulates wildly – I think she is already drunk – as she speaks, gaining more expectant listeners. They mostly play for Manchester United or Manchester City. Choosing which team is simple. The red one.

"Alessia," I answer, hoping to satisfy them all. The blonde goes red and thanks me happily, but the others groan.

"Boring! Try again."

"Mary?"

Ella shakes her head. "Nope. You're on the right lines though."

"Hold on, when did this become a quiz? I thought it was my opinion." Ella blinks. I cross my arms, tapping into the same intimidation the girls on the tour complain about to their coaches before I embarrass them in front of some pretty big crowds.

"Tooney's being stupid," Leah declares with a silly smile. Her first drink clearly went down well. She has moved to whiskey and coke. "If Jaimie's favourite player is me, then her favourite player is me. You just gotta deal with it."

"Feeling possessive, Skipper?" Ella's eyes focus on the way Leah has grabbed my waist, pulling me into her.

"She's mine," replies Leah nonchalantly. I feel my cheeks heat up. Fucking hell.

"But Jaimie seems to always end up talking to me," Ella jibes, treading on cracking ice but enjoying it greatly. She seems to get a thrill out of the way Leah steps in front of me, too fixated on some stupid teasing to notice how I have rolled my eyes hard enough to the point where they might permanently swivel.

Ignoring their stupid conversation, I smile at Keira Walsh; a kind-looking player who has tried to help Fleur despite my sister's reluctance. She makes her way over to me, and I slip out of Leah's drunken grasp, glad to talk to her.

"I think I fucked up," Keira confesses almost straight away, following suit as I sit down in one of the empty booths. The conversation seems to be taking a different turn than what I had expected to talk about.

Intrigued, I lean forward. "How so?" It must be relevant to my life as she is telling me without a heavy influence of alcohol; her words are pronounced well enough to be understandable (despite her accent).

"Well, I told Fleur that Scarlett was gonna propose..." Oh. This is how she knew. "And I hadn't realised Fleur wasn't clued in on it. I saw what happened today. I'm worried I may have brought it on." Keira was the one who held up Scarlett's jersey. Though I will not be telling her this because she seems too nice to handle it, Keira Walsh definitely triggered Fleur's panic attack. Unless something else has happened that Fleur has not told me yet.

"Don't worry," I say, choosing not to answer the question disguised in her words. "She's fine now. I wouldn't be here if she wasn't."

Keira looks over at Leah, my eyes quickly following the path. "Hm." Blonde hair poking out from the makeshift dance floor, Leah catches sight of us, a smirk playing at her lips that is definitely not for Keira.

"It's new."

"Ten months is not new," Keira laughs, finishing the last of her beer.

"I... We—" I splutter, having no defence.

"Don't worry," says Keira, her turn to calm me down. "You're not obligated to tell me anything. She" — Keira pokes her index in the air, jabbing it in Leah's direction — "is. Was. Supposed to. Fucking sneaky of her. And to tell Georgia! I've got a bone to pick with your girlfriend."

She watches me tense for a second, eyes flicking over my body as if she is wondering whether she needs to retract that label. "I haven't told Fleur yet, so who is the better of the two?" I joke, and she relaxes, smiling for her friend's happiness.

"Fleur's too busy hating Alexia Putellas. She's not going to care." I'm glad that others have noticed the slight obsession with the Barcelona captain too. "You know, those two are hilarious. So much tension. I hate it when our manager makes me come to their private trainings."

"So it is usually just the two of them?" I ask, eyebrows raised. Conveniently, Fleur has neglected to mention this. I had assumed others were present during the sessions and she suffered alone in the car journey back. It seems she has been spending a lot more time with Alexia than she let on.

"Yeah, course," says Keira as though it was a given. "Jonatan's either doing some match-making or some next-level technical sessions, because the other midfielders are starting to get invited less. Not that any of us really want to go." She shudders; "Last time I was there, Fleur launched a rocket at Alexia's head. I think she aimed slightly off on purpose, but it was enough for Alexia to be fuming."

"Oh my God," I mutter, marvelling at her immaturity. It's like when little boys pull little girls' pigtails because they have crushes on them.

"Saw them get into a car together though, so maybe it's sexual tension — not, like, actual hatred. Fleur's already become a core part of the team, so they're both quite high profile. Inside and outside."

In comparison to me, Fleur is far from high-profile, but I understand what Keira is getting at. People care about what they do; how they behave.

I also note that Keira does not seem bothered by the thought of Fleur and Alexia despite her being her dead best friend's (ex)girlfriend. It's interesting.

Though Keira and I veer off from talking about people we both know, the conversation stays lively. We are eventually joined by a few others, making our peaceful booth now cramped and rambunctious as groups of the Lionesses are inclined to be.

And everything continues to be fine.

Keira, Lucy (her girlfriend – also plays for Barcelona), and some of the older players happily chat about general life with me, enjoying the comparison in schedule and earnings and lifestyle. Leah even sits down beside me, hand firmly in place on my thigh, but does not cause any external problems.

It's Viv and Beth.

They make it so that there is too little room at the table for someone not to have to sit on someone else's lap, but they have bought the next round of drinks and so cannot be turned away. Viv looks far from apologetic as Leah tugs me on top of her, muttering something in Dutch that is aimed at me but too quiet for me to catch.

"No funny business," her girlfriend, Beth Mead, says, waggling her finger at Leah's smug expression.

"I would hope not." I feel Leah's arms snake around my waist – not enough so that we have to readjust – pulling me into her. Her front presses against my back. Fuck. I decide to sit as still as I can. "Where were we?" I prompt the table, hoping to resume the conversation and ignore how Leah's hands are beginning to wander.

Leah lets me pretend she is not affecting me. I don't drop my relaxed tone, even when her cold hand slides up the back of my t-shirt, fingers splaying out against my bare skin. Internally, it takes the breath from my lungs for a moment.

"I mean, teams choke all the time," defends Keira to Viv as I tune back into the conversation, presumably still talking about the Premier League. "It's not impossible." Leah grows bolder, removing her hand, playing with the button of my jeans.

"As long as it's not Newcastle," the second goalkeeper, who I think is called Ellie Roebuck, chimes in. "City for the win, though."

Leah presses a kiss to my neck, so fleeting that no one would have known if the area hadn't raised into goosebumps. "I don't know. United have a chance."

"United always have a chance," retorts Keira. "They just never know how to actually seize it."

"At least I don't support Man Shitty," Ella taunts. I look up from the table – it is growing more interesting the longer Leah's lips map out a path up and down my neck. If anybody has noticed, they haven't said so.

"Man Shitty?" I question, laughing. Leah doesn't move.

"Guess who that could be," Ella giggles in response, hiccupping as someone else takes the half-empty glass from her hand. "You got a favourite English team?"

That makes Leah stop, head tilted as she waits, more intrigued than anybody else, for my answer. I think about it, deciding I don't. "I'm not good with favourites. I don't watch the Premier League."

"Ask her about the Eredivisie." Viv's joke is funny to the others, but I frown, knowing what she is really getting at. The table is in shambles.

"Surely you watch the WSL," Beth prods, the first acknowledgement of Leah and I within this group. Leah is uninterested again, aware of what my answer is already, and returns to her own little world, hands travelling up my sides while I am too distracted to slap them away.

"Arsenal games only?"

"I watched Chelsea for a while." They all laugh. "Since the league resumed, I haven't. I was not about to wake up in the middle of the night to watch you guys kick a ball around and get injured for the silliest things."

"Remind me whose calf doesn't work?" Leah interjects, offended.

"Go back to being a vampire," I reply, making Keira snort and the rest of them hide their mouths behind their hands. "Maybe that's why you can't eat food with any flavour."

Leah lets the comment fly over her head. "Wanna dance?" she asks with a smile. I forget about everybody else. Stupid, stupid love makes me do stupid, stupid things.

"Alright. Provided you dance and I watch. My calf can't handle it."

Her hands graze the outline of my body; a tease. "If you wanna be like that, no need to string out the foreplay. We can just go back to the hotel." Nobody else is listening, and we both know that. It doesn't stop the blush from blooming on my cheeks, red enough to be visible with the pub lighting and drunken haze that surround us. Leah cocks her head to the side. "Something wrong, Jaimie?"

The movement of me turning to tell her no causes a heat between us. It is impossible to ignore. She shifts at the weight of me in her lap, my hands now bracketing her body to keep myself upright. My chest is almost level with her face. Leah looks... flustered.

"Something wrong, Leah?" I mimic, tone and all. Her eyes seem to have clouded, darkened by fifty shades. They are firm, hard: full of desire. Though there is very little space between us to begin with, she moves in closer, eyes still fixed to mine. I can't look away.

"We're gonna go dance," she husks, addressing the table but staying focused on me. I get up quickly, stepping out and waiting for her to finish her silent conversation with Keira and Georgia. She takes my hand soon after, pulling me towards where the music is the loudest.

Some of her teammates are still going, happy to have proved themselves once more against the crippling pressure an undefeated side must face. Words slurred, botching the lyrics horribly, they sway to slower songs than what had originally been playing, mellowing out as nights often do. Leah waves at the girls dancing, and then situates us on the outskirts of the little circle.

A song begins to play; one of those English cult-classics I should recognise from the various parties of theirs that I have been invited to. Leah sings along, grinning. She places both hands on my waist, moving us in time to the thud of the drums, mindful of my calf. Her head nods along to the beat, and I feel the speed of the song increasing. The tension of it rises.

How topical.

Leah sings the chorus with a bellowing shout, joined by most of the pub. I realise this isn't as slow of a song as I'd thought. It is hard not to enjoy the sheer happiness radiating off her. But, towards the end, she loses interest in the words. Or, rather, they have inspired her.

Her expression is that of pure hunger.

She steps in closer, and I want her to kiss me, so her hesitation is irritating. I let out a frustrated whine that only she could get me to vocalise. "She won't find out until the morning anyway," I insist, wanting to comfort her. And tell her to get a move on without begging for it. Which would be humiliating.

"You sure?" She doesn't seem convinced. "You care so much about what she–"

I had assumed Leah would want to be the one to initiate a kiss in front of everybody. She likes the power of it, the dominance. The display of what she has that others do not.

She gasps in surprise as I press my lips against hers, impatience getting the better of me. I clutch the soft material of her hoodie, the fabric annoying but necessary. We are in public, yet Leah is unashamed to deepen the kiss. I don't know what would happen if not for the cold, winter air drafting in every so often, making sure everybody stays sort of wrapped up.

Summer will be rough.

I groan as Leah continues to kiss me, her tongue pressing between my lips. I tilt my head to the side, hoping she'll move her mouth somewhere else before she does something that will have me dragging her to the nearest secluded area.

"Oi, you two!" Georgia jeers from the table. I am suddenly aware of at least twelve pairs of eyes trained on us. Leah frowns as I jolt backwards. Her lips are slightly swollen, kiss-bitten. "Pack it in, yeah? We get that you're together!"

"I don't think Luce is convinced," someone else shouts, clearly wanting to stir something up. Lucy is the one who found Leah after the first game of the cup, so it is clearly a lie. If anyone would be convinced, it would be Lucy. But, Leah, unable to contain her competitive spirit, kisses me once more. It's quite frankly boastful, but I take the compliment.

"I take it back! You're clearly a decent enough kisser!"

"Let's go," Leah decides, the only indicator that she heard what Georgia has said being the way she has to physically wipe the smugness off her face with her free hand as she leads me to the door. I pick up the bag she dropped earlier, finding it by the coat stand. She hands me her jacket, though I have my own. I'm not sure I am shivering because of the biting air outside.

"Cold?" I ask as her teeth begin to chatter, hand slipping into mine as if it is home as we walk the five minutes to the hotel. The players leave at whatever time they want tomorrow – camp is over. Leah thought it was a good piece of information to share with me.

"I'm sure you can find a way to warm me up." I smile at the thought, but it blossoms into something more; something else. I am happy.

"I love you," I say, suddenly serious. Leah stops walking. We become two crazy people outside the warmth of the hotel lobby, the glass doors welcoming us in as we remain standing on the pavement, not wanting to go inside just yet.

"I know," Leah replies with equal meaning. "I'm only on the third floor."

"As much as I'd love to race you up the stairs," I begin, relishing in the heated lobby as we make our way to the lift, "I'd also like to be pressed against the lift mirror." She doesn't remind me of my injury, which I am grateful for.

I don't get a response. Leah has to take in a deep breath to cope with my forwardness. Satisfied by its effect, I kiss away her slight confusion, my wish coming true the minute the doors ping open.

notes: 

i didn't check it don't come at me 

this was supposed to have smut in it but i dragged it out and so that will be the next chapter instead BUT the good news with that is that we are one step back from finishing the fic tbh 

im also currently in south africa so im busy enough for these fics to get more random by the minute (wayyy too much time without internet to be conceiving new, unnecessary plot lines) 

jaimie always seems to help leah celebrate big wins that contradict her undying loyalty to the oranje leeuwinnen looking back on it

finally, i imagine that viv has known about jaimie and leah since the euros (bc ofc viv knows -- she's connected to every single person involved)

 OH AND MANNY IS RED XXX