It feels like it's her first day of school, and I couldn't be prouder. She has obviously had an eye-opening conversation with Papa, because today is the day Fleur will return to her normal, everyday life, even if her emotions are still catching up.

Fleur taps her foot impatiently, wondering why I have told her to wait by the door before she leaves to go to training. She realises what is happening when I tell her to smile.

Pushing my phone away from her face, she grumbles something unintelligible and heads out of her apartment. I inhale deeply. I am glad to be left alone, happy that she has pulled herself up just a little bit. Barcelona, paying her too much money to mope at home, have hired Twente's old psychologist, who will be made available to Fleur and Frenkie (from the men's team) if they wish to use her. And, while it hasn't been formally mandated, she has been advised to pay her a visit.

"Have fun!" I call as she makes her way down the stairs, blowing her a kiss.

"Shut up," she shouts back. Laughing, I toe off my trainers and settle on the sofa beside Oli, Fleur's new cat. There is a personal trainer nearby whose star client is Alexia Putellas, and he reached out to me with an offer to give me a session for free. And then more, if I liked it. I'm sweaty from the gym, but the cat doesn't seem to mind.

With nothing other than tennis to worry about, I spread my aching limbs over the entirety of the plush cushions of the sofa, breathing out a sigh of existential relief.

Leah is fine.

Fleur will be fine.

What more could I want?

In three days, I am going to fly to London, wanting to support Fleur through both legs of her Champions League semi-final. Hopefully, the initial shock of playing Chelsea will wear off in the first match, lessening the effects of the second leg in Camp Nou. That match will mirror the night Scarlett died, and, despite being an important game for her own Champions League success, Leah will not be watching. She has psyched herself up for my visit, though.

It fucking sucks when Leah goes down the next day.

A non-contact knee injury.

Everyone waits with bated breath for an update from Arsenal that they already know the contents of.

She doesn't want to speak to me that evening, but it's alright. I understand.

I give her time. And patience. And a bouquet of roses that I buy on the way to her house in St. Albans.

Alex answers the door, having insisted on moving in after the doctors had confirmed it as a ruptured ACL. My lack of communication with my girlfriend means that I have no idea whether Leah is pleased about it, but I can assume she isn't by the weary look on Alex's face. My arrival alleviates the pressure weighing on her to cling onto Leah before she withdraws so far into herself that she is gone forever. I offer her a smile as I walk inside. She takes the bouquet from me to put the flowers in a vase, and says she will leave my suitcase by the stairs.

"She's in the living room," Alex says, voice soft, similar to one used in a hospital ward. I cringe, but it's not her fault. That is exactly what this feels like.

The last time we were in this situation, Scarlett had just died. When I got to the house, I had sprinted to her, my haste filled with worry but also the fear that I was going to lose her. That she wasn't actually mine to have.

Things have changed.

"Leah," I breathe, standing in the doorway, watching as she mindlessly scrolls through her phone. She sees me, absent, grey eyes locking with mine, and pushes herself to get up, wincing in the process. I rush towards her, quickly sitting in the space on the sofa that I think may have become Alex's temporary fussing seat. She laughs; a weak, wet ghost of what normally brings a smile to my face. I notice how carelessly her crutches have been thrown on the floor.

"I've joined a new club," she mumbles through her laughter, acting as if I had never left her side. Our argument has been undone completely, but things feel less real over the phone.

"Which club?" I ask, confused.

"Injury FC." Her shoulders shake as she doubles over, the injured leg that's propped up on a few cushions nearly falling off the tower and aggravating the existing damage. I frown, worried. "I thought it was funny," she says, trying to breathe but failing miserably to do so. She's hysterical.

"Not even close." And just when her laugh is beginning to catch on, a sob breaks through the mood and she is now shaking for an entirely different reason. She covers her face with her hands, still half-bent into her lap. I reach across to her from my position, but Alex's seat is nowhere near close enough to Leah as I'd like to be. So I stand, searching for a way to sit down again. I lift her up gently, sliding myself underneath her body, clamping her down into me as she continues to cry, tears running down her blotchy neck as though they themselves are mocking what she can no longer do. What she won't be able to do for a while.

Her sobbing, while less intense, resembles the grief-stricken cries that haunt us from December. But, now, she is mourning the loss of a dream. An opportunity. I am sure that England feels equally anguished right now. Leah will miss the waning end of this season and part of next season, and the World Cup that sits, plump and ready to be won, in the middle of the two. Though she retreats inwards, embarrassed by herself, I find that her tears are incredibly justified.

She sniffs, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands, pulling apart from me before she resigns to the arms wrapped around her waist and lets herself fall back. I chuckle quietly, and so does she, before a fresh wave of tears emerges with a slower, calmer misery that greys the warm lighting of the living room and draws Alex in to tentatively check on us. Her soft smile as she watches me tenderly rock Leah back and forth widens when I catch her, growing mischievous. Leah turns her head to search for what I have gotten distracted by, giggling when she sees her friend.

"I told you so," Alex says smugly, crossing her arms as Leah rests her chin on my chest, snuggling into me. "Jaimie, can you believe that Leah thought she was 'done crying'? We got home two days ago and she's held it in, sure, but I knew that she'd see you and lose it."

"What are you talking about? I haven't cried since, Al," Leah tries. My body muffles her voice but neither of us want to ruin the warmth we have created.

"Sorry, yeah. You're not blubbering like a baby while your girlfriend gives you a lovely little cuddle, are you?"

I laugh at the face I feel Leah pull. "Alex, stop teasing her. She's fragile."

"I'll get a new knee, you know, and you two won't know what's hit you." She holds her hand over the brace her leg is in, scared to touch it. I reach out, lacing her fingers with mine, bringing her hand back to our bodies. "Staring is rude, Al."

"I'm deciding whether or not I want to be a third-wheel," Alex explains, joining us on the sofa once she has figured her answer out. Leah leans back so that she is lying over the top of us, but I suppose she's allowed to be a little bit dramatic. "Oh, Leah, Jaimie brought you some flowers. I've left them in the kitchen."

I nod. "Red roses."

"Arsenal roses!" she squeals, sadness forgotten. Both Alex and I jump at the sudden burst of energy, my hands instinctively going to hold her knee in place. My caution means that I don't roll my eyes at her comment, but I hope my disappointment is conveyed to her telepathically. "You leaving Milo with me has only furthered his support of the right team." Alex gives her a pointed look. "Thank you for the roses, Jaimie."

"You're welcome," I reply. "Shall we watch a movie? I refuse to let you both sit on your phones in silence." From my time in England, I learnt that Leah and Alex are busy enough to seem like they are doing something important on their devices, but that they are probably either scrolling through social media or playing some inane, mind-numbing game. Leah's current fixation has something to do with getting cars out of a carpark. I don't know.

"We've gone through all the usuals," Alex says with the same boredom Leah's expression holds. I am certain that her freed up time will be occupied again very soon, but, for now, the transitional period is slow and dull. It happens with every major injury. "You got any ideas, Lee, or are we leaving it up to Jaimie?"

Leah shrugs and Alex hands me the remote. I choose The Hobbit, sacrificing my own enjoyment for the sake of my girlfriend. Her mouth follows along with the script, which isn't surprising for Alex but enough to make me shake my head in disbelief. But, despite her reciting the words to the movie, she doesn't seem totally invested in it. She has a sense of restlessness that leads me to ask if she needs help getting up once the credits begin to roll and Alex wakes up from the nap she had drifted into halfway through. Leah flushes crimson, telling me no.

The words sit on the tip of her tongue until Alex is fully conscious and we are both looking at her expectantly. "I just... I want to say something. To everybody. The fans must feel let down, and I don't want to ignore the love and support because it means a lot. Then there's the press who will want to know about it, and will be expecting me to talk. I don't know. You guys are, like, the two celebrities I'm closest to."

"I'm not a celebrity," Alex and I say at the same time, both breaking our eye contact with Leah to tell the other that they're wrong.

"Yes, you are," Leah declares, laughing. "Could you... help me write it? I think I could maybe do a post on Instagram?"

"Sounds like a perfect idea." I hum in agreement. "Get your notes app up. Let's do this."

"I really need the toilet," I confess to them, Leah moving as soon as I have said it so that I am no longer trapped by her. Her arms still work, she reminds me. "Let me do that, and then I will rejoin you. Start without me."

I come back to laughter, Leah's spirits high as Alex completely bashes her for wanting to say she has had her tears and made her peace with her injury. "You're lying to them!" Leah throws a cushion at her.

"Jaimie was the one that made me cry earlier, not my stupid ACL," Leah insists as if she has been trying to convince Alex of this for a while now. I take a seat on the floor, head resting against the sofa by Leah's stomach. I have a good view of what they have written so far.

"Oh, because you love her so much that the sight of her brought you to tears?"

Leah pauses, shrugging. "Spot on," she says seriously. I blush. "Okay, okay. 'Until I have the words to express my feelings properly...' Yeah, yeah. No World Cup for me, no Champions League... Jaimie, do you like it?"

"Is there going to be more?" I ask, glad that they have done this much already. Writing it out will help, as I have learnt from various posts I have had to make myself. There is an expectation to put out a statement about everything that happens in my life, but at least my unfortunate expertise is helpful to Leah right now.

She seems to shrink. "How do I tell them that I had a feeling it was going to happen?"

"You did?" Alex is taken aback, but I know what she means.

"Fleur has been talking about that. She keeps on asking who is next." It must be traumatic to witness the players you have marked and beaten and won with go down with the same injury, time and time again. The growing statistics are dangerous and terrifying. "Just be honest, Leah. Everyone is with you. We are with you."

"Every step of the way." I glare at Alex, suppressing my own smile. "Sorry. But, yeah, here we are. Ready to be your crutches if you really don't like the ones the hospital gave you."

I don't mention that I will be going back to Barcelona before Fleur plays in Camp Nou. I don't need to. Leah knows. She will listen when I explain it to her later. "I hate those fucking crutches," Leah mutters, nudging them further away from her with her good leg. "Alright, I think I know what else I'm going to say."

We wait in silence while she types, and when she is finished, she reads it out to us. "I'll send it off to someone who can do some fancy formatting, and then I'll post it tonight." She looks at us weirdly, wondering why Alex is crying and I am only just holding back tears. "What? Was it bad?"

"No, no. It was great." Alex wipes her eyes, grinning. "You'll get through this."

"Jaimie?"

"I'm not crying," I hurriedly get out, though it sounds painfully unconvincing. Leah leans down to inspect my face, her thumb swiping at a tear that is definitely not there. Another one trickles down my cheek, but this time Leah tilts my head up and interrupts its path with a soft kiss.

"Thank you," she says earnestly. I furrow my eyebrows, not completely sure what she means. Sometimes, when Leah thanks me, I wonder if it has gotten lost in translation. "For being here. It means a lot."

I laugh, amused that she expected anything less from me. "No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot stay away from you, Leah Williamson."

She leans down, love pouring out of her, flooding my senses, and kisses me. She keeps kissing me, despite the tears wetting my cheeks, and doesn't stop when my mouth opens to tell her to. It's the kind of kiss that affirms her devotion to me, and mine to her, and is as sweet as the salty tears permit. This is Leah telling me that she loves me, and this is me telling her that I love her back. I never want it to end.

"Alright, break it up, lovebirds! I'm not going to watch the two of you make out." 

THE END.

notes: 

there's an epilogue that i will be posting tomorrow. i'm excited to start hmc again, and my new fic, but i'm sad to finish this one. they'll be there in the other fics i promise!!!

i love you all, and you'll get some proper end-of-fic sentiments tomorrow, but, for now... 

thanks for reading x