Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aitana stared above her. They were filming a campaign for a new football boot. Adidas had brought major footballers in on the campaign, Raphinha, Beckham, Pedri, Bellingham. And there was another name on the list of players to appear alongside Aitana- Alessia Russo.

That name had followed her for quite some time now. Russo had slipped into her life back in 2020, as an opponent, then in whispered comparisons from coaches, and in headlines Aitana pretended to ignore. 

Spain had emerged victorious from their first meeting- obviously. But Aitana knew Russo’s runs, finishes, habits inside the box with a precision that could be argued to step outside of professionalism.

 Not that that would be admitted to anyone. And, anyway, Aitana knew that much about any opponent, she told herself. If anyone asked. Which they didn’t.

There were lights everywhere on set- too harsh- and they seemed to pulse as people milled around her- makeup artists, stylists etc.

 Aitana had never had much patience for the media portion of her job. She understood its importance of course, it brought in money and the awareness needed to keep the women’s game strong, but god, was it painfully mind numbing.

 She smiled tightly as a woman explained to her the importance of the blush she was painting on her. And smiled apologetically as another crew member had to resteam her wrinkled jersey. Then she was called up to the cameras, and she filmed her scene. It was relatively simple, she just sat on a sofa and said a line, but they still filmed it around 50 times, making minute adjustments to her setting or face or directions each time.

She was finally let go and almost bolted out of the building, desperate for fresh air and silence after enduring over 5 hours of filming. And she’d only had one scene. 

The midfielder rolled her eyes as she imagined the hell those in the advert with more screen time would’ve gone through.

Her apartment in Barcelona was small, only ever intended as a sort of short stay camp, for the times she couldn’t be bothered to make the travel home.

 It was a sort of holding space, half lived in and largely ignored. Yet it was the place her friends would stay as she rarely invited them to her home in Sant Pere. It had felt strange the few times she had done it- to mix her home and work lives so brashly.

 Rölfo was coming around later in the evening, but she came over so often Aitana no longer felt the need to properly prepare for her visits. The washing was still laid haphazardly across the floors, needing to be sorted, but Aitana just positioned herself across the sofa, her mind still reeling with the heavy scent of hairspray that would surely attach itself to her for the next few days.

Frido let herself in with the ease of a well established habit, and glanced down at her friend, laid horizontally and completely unaware of her presence, instead fixating on a match blaring on the TV across her.

‘Aita.’

‘Hmph?’, she grunted.

‘Get up, the flats a tip. Was it another media day? We have training tomorrow, you do realise this? Get up Aita.’ The left- back had already started collecting laundry as she chidied Aitana.
The midfielder sat up and paused the TV,

‘It was hell, they had me filming for hours Rölfo. I don’t get how anyone puts up with it. Utter nonsense too, for a pair of boots? And I’ll bet I get paid a quarter of whatever the other people in it get.’

‘Who else was in it?’ Frido’s tone was casual, but it carried a hint of insistence.

‘No one, I filmed alone. I think the English will film over in the UK and I don’t know where Pedri’s filming- but I doubt it’s a dingy little studio.’

Frido looked at her knowingly.

‘Aita, that wasn’t the question and you know it.’ 

Aitana paused, feigned confusion flitting across her face.

‘Obviously Pedri is, there’s Raphinha, Beckham, Bellingham. You know, adidas athletes.’

‘Anyone else?’ Frido asked sweetly, giving the midfielder another look. 

Aitana glared at her.
‘They did talk about that Alessia Russo being in on it too.’ she muttered reluctantly, her shoulders suddenly quite tense, and eyes intensely studying the sock dangling off her foot.

Frido hummed noncommittally, and Aitana found a rather awkward silence settle over her. Frido seemed unaffected, seeming to have gotten what she had wanted out of the interaction. She didn’t need to press further- the uncomfortable pause told her enough.

She ended up breaking the silence 5 minutes later, having organised Aitanas washing.

‘So do you have anything to eat or are we going to have to order in?’

Aitana looked at her sheepishly.
‘Didn’t do food shopping this week, I thought I’d have time to go home.’

Frido clasped her hand over her chest in exaggerated shock.
‘So you mean to tell me the last minute text I received inviting me to yours was in fact a last resort and you’d have much rather sat at home with those cats?’

Aitana smiled, she had in fact wanted to sit at home with her cats but dinner with Frido was still a welcome alternative.
‘Sushi?’

Frido grinned yes and Aitana picked up her phone to order.

The evening was pleasant as always. Frido had always had a way of dragging Aitana out of whatever angst driven upset she had gotten herself into, and yet the midfielder still felt slightly uneasy at the name of that English striker.

It wasn’t as though she was unused to her name- it was heard by her well enough- from commentators, coaches, friends. But tonight, its mention has left something unsettled in her chest. A warmth in her face that she couldn’t name.

And she hated- really despised- that the director had shown her those clips earlier, of Russo on set. And that they were playing on a loop in her head.

Chapter Text

Alessia was quite a patient person, but she felt tested today. Filming for adidas was expected to be hectic- they were a big company, it was understandable. But the day had dragged for so long that Alessia was slowly going insane.

 It was only one scene, it shouldn’t have taken so long to film, but between organising all the extras, figuring out camera positions, and countless re-takes, the day had turned out to drag more than expected.

She huffed quietly, she’d have to do her run late on, which was always a pain.  It would have to be in the evening now, in the pitch black of a November night. Brilliant. But the lady she was working alongside was sweet and so Alessia wouldn’t complain.

 She wasn’t about to snap at someone just doing their job as a consequence of her own frustration. It could always be worse. She’d had media campaigns where she’d had to film over a few days before- they were the true nightmare fuel.

The Uber home was quiet, the rain streaked down the windows as the striker mulled over tactics for training tomorrow.

 She was headed to another England camp, and even though the travel to St George’s park took a while from London, she was sure Sarina would have them at least play a small match. Alessia didn’t mind in the slightest though.

She loved her England teammates to death, and she’d see Ella again. They’d have a lot to catch up on. Filming for the podcast had wrapped earlier and they’d not really had a chance to see one another for a while. 

The car picked her up early in the morning, she was car sharing with Leah and Beth as they’d all happened to be staying in central. They were in the car already when she got in.

‘Hey Less!’ Beth smiled at her. Leah was engrossed in her phone, but she managed a nod in  Alessia’s direction as greeting. 

‘Social as ever I see, Williamson’, Alessia thumped down next to the pair, grinning at the the scowl that shadowed the defenders face. Leah didn't move her eyes from the screen though,

‘Give me second. I’m busy.’ 

Beth snorted

‘Texting Elle then?’ The defender rolled her eyes in pretence of annoyance but a smile overtook her face and betrayed her answer. 

It was only when Leah finally put her phone down that Alessia felt the atmosphere shift. The defenders gaze locked on her, and Alessia resigned herself to the impending quiz.

‘How was filming that campaign for Adidas?’ It was said casually, but there was a hint something  else, and Alessia looked at her, bemused.

‘Good? I mean it was a bit mind numbing, I was just surrounded by the elderly, but they were nice enough.’ Beth and Leah exchanged glances. Alessia now felt certain she’d missed something.

‘Anyone else there?’ Beth said this almost too casually. Alessia looked at her, confused now.

 She shook her head.

Leah let out a huff of annoyance.

‘Thought Bonmati was filming for Adidas too?’

Alessia started slightly, then unsuccessfully tried to hide it. But Beth had noticed, and snickered immediately. 

‘Nah, she’s filming in Spain I think.’ Alessia said too quickly, ‘Why?’

‘Nothing’ the two lionesses said instantaneously.

 Alessia’s eyes narrowed

‘Sure..’

The conversation turned to the upcoming camp, the girls conspiring on the inventive and slightly mad drills they’d surely be forced into this time.

But Alessia’s mind was still riddled with confusion regarding her teammates strange interest in the advert- and Aitana. She shook it off, it was probably a valid interest, Bonmati was a two time ballon d’or winner. She’d be curious about her too. 

As soon as she stepped out of the car she lost her train of thought entirely.

Ella launched herself across the driveway.

‘RUSSOOO!’ Alessia lost all ability to breathe as she was enveloped in a hug that may have cracked one or two of her ribs.

‘Jesus Tooney, I’ve been away for three weeks, not three years’ Alessia’s tone was annoyed, but her smile revealed her glee at their reunion.

‘You missed me Russo.’ Ella smirked at her,

‘Honestly, you’d think you went into hiding after podcast filming wrapped- I know we call every day, but it’s not the same. I’ve had to annoy Keira, and she’s already sick of me’.

Alessia rolled her eyes.

‘Shocker, Keira having limits. Who could possibly imagine.’

Ella smacked her arm.

‘Oi, she’s not that bad!’

Alessia grinned, the tension she’d carried all morning slipping away.

The first comments came from Lucy- obviously,

‘How’s life as the Adidas poster child Less?’ 

They were sprawled across the living area, and Lucy had that familiar glint of mischief in her eyes that called certain danger for whoever was on the receiving end of her remarks.

‘Heard they had you tying your boots fifty times’ Beth added. The other lionesses chuckled and Alessia rolled her eyes. 

‘It was hell on earth. I hate media days. They drag for so long.’

Ella chimed in ‘Did you get starstruck seeing Beckham?’

‘Nah, he wasn’t there. It was just me and five hundred cameras and extras.’

Lucy smirked

‘Wasn’t Bonmati in the campaign too?’ She said it innocently but her eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Alessia physically flinched, and forced her tone to be even before responding,

‘She’s filmed in Spain.’

Lucy grinned,

‘Putting you two together on a campaign would’ve made them millions’

Alessia ignored the comment, irritation rising within her as the other girls started tossing out exaggerated scenarios. She glared steadfastly at the floor, her cheeks a steady pink. 

The chatter shifted to another subject and Alessia sat back and scrolled mindlessly through her phone, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the onslaught of emotion Aitana’s name had brought up within her.

Later, she couldn’t seem to sleep, Leah’s tone and Lucy’s smirk echoed through her mind.

The girls teased one another all the time, she knew it was light-hearted and that they were just trying to wind her up.

 But one name kept floating up, over and over, refusing to leave her thoughts. She couldn’t understand why it was there, or why it made her feel… something.

Chapter Text

Football was Aitana’s priority. It was her routine. Football came first, because it was always the same.
It was predictable, simple- because the more you put in the more you got out. Aitana could do routine. In fact, she could excel in routine- this had been proven with the trophies littering her attic, the medals hung along her pantry walls.

So training should have grounded her. The sun was crisp overhead, and the drills ran like clockwork. 

Well, the ones excluding Aitana did. Her head was full of noise. Her feet stumbled. The ball seemed to be just marginally escaping her every time she darted towards it.

The coaches noticed. 

‘Vamos Aitana, vamos!’

She gritted her teeth, tried to engage the tunnel vision focus that had never failed to place the wall between her thoughts and her sport.

But still, she felt like she was wading through mud, her legs were heavy, her passes disconnected. And it wasn’t just the coaches that noticed.

The ball was swiped from under her, and as Frido turned to direct the pass away from them, she found the time to taunt the midfielder.

‘Careful Aita, if your mind wanders, your feet get sloppy.’ She wore a sly grin as she looked at the brunette.

‘Is there someone taking up your thoughts maybe?’

She ran down the pitch and left Aitana stood, still looking at the space the ball had been between her feet. 

The girls stood in circles later, passing absentmindedly between one another. Aitana’s head was still swimming, and when she felt eyes on her she glanced up to see both Mapi and Ingrid staring at her unashamedly in curiosity.

‘What?’ She snapped.

Mapi held her hands up in a mock surrender as silence descended over the circle and the ball was forgotten in the middle somewhere.

‘Nothing, nothing. You just seem a bit….distracted is all.’ She smirked.

‘Who’s getting you all flustered up in there?’ She tapped her own head and Aitana sent her a frosty glare.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so chose to look away, and put on the most indifferent face she could manage. 

Frido leaned across the circle.

‘It isn’t anything to do with Arsenal is it? Tomé mentioned them in the meeting yesterday and you looked like you’d just been slapped..’ 

‘Drop it. Now.’

Aitana’s words came out just slightly harsher than intended, and the silence in the circle became oppressive suddenly. Frido’s smile faltered whilst Mapi raised her eyebrows and Ingrid had the grace to look away.

The rest of the drill session was awkward, the tension resolutely hanging in the air. But Aitana didn’t let herself care, just tried to focus on making her runs and keeping her disconnected passes to a minimum.

The video analysis session only made everything worse.

They’d picked clips from Arsenal’s last champions league match- and as the screen flashed to Russo, the video slowed. Typical. 

The coach pointed to her ‘Russo makes a curved run- she’s pushing the defence wide’. 

Aitana’s stomach twisted at her name, but she stared forward, unblinking, refusing to give anyone  reason to make any more conspiracies.

Another coach chipped in, ‘If we give her the freedom to turn, she becomes a very dangerous player.’

Aitana huffed. ‘Not that dangerous , really.’ She muttered it lowly, but Mapi smirked slowly, and Frido’s eyebrows shot up. Aitana crossed her arms, her face still a mask of indifference.

She kicked herself internally, though, for giving them something else to run away with. 

The locker room was loud, and it really didn’t help the midfielders mounting annoyance. She resolved to get changed as quickly as possible and started tugging off her boots with a kind of frantic haste.

She didn’t notice Alexia until the captain had cleared her throat pointedly. Aitana looked up hesitantly, knowing full well what was coming. 

‘You’ve been very… sharp today.’ The captain’s tone was neutral, but Aitana could sense the mild confusion behind it.

‘I’m fine, just tired.’ Aitana then looked down again, trying to end the conversation, and picked up her bag.

‘Sharp as in defensive.You tense up every time Russo is mentioned.’

Aitana froze. 

Alexia’s words had been quiet, but her teammates were exceptionally good at sensing private information, and the locker room fell into an unnerving quiet.

Aitana felt a deep crimson paint her face. She gripped the bench beneath her, her knuckles white with the force of it.

‘There’s no need to bring her up. Shes just a player.’ She retorted, and it was loud enough that the  team exchanged glances.
‘Can’t you just stop making this something it isn’t?’ 

Mapi blinked in surprise. Patri pressed her lips together and Frido stayed silent, sensing her friend’s rage quite clearly.

Alexia remained composed, and considered her next words carefully. There was an uncomfortable pause.

She leaned back, ‘If you say so, Aitana.’

The conversations resumed around her, but Aitana was still brimming over with frustration, and it was all she could do not to snap again. So she returned to her bag, and within two minutes was storming out of the training facility.

She only began to regret her words later, in the darkness. She buried her head in her pillow as her head pounded, processing her embarrassment and leftover annoyance. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t shrug this particular joke off. She wasn’t usually the type to get too annoyed by a joke. 

Because that’s all it was- a joke. Her teammates weren’t truly suggesting anything. 

The midfielder groaned in frustration.

She didn’t care about Russo. That couldn’t be it. 

But, if that wasn’t the case, she couldn’t figure out why she had lost her composure so violently in front of her team.

She knew she didn’t care.

Sleep should have come easily- the day had exhausted her. But blue eyes haunted her. The same clip from an advert still replayed on a loop, as it had from the moment she’d seen it.

Chapter Text

Alessia was not procrastinating. 

Scrolling on instagram didn’t even count- especially if it was strictly research driven.

Her algorithm just happened to be pretty fixated on the Barca players at the minute. 

That would be simply because they were one of the- if not the- most famous women’s team in the world. Not because of any clues the algorithm might have picked up from Alessia’s past stalking sessions.

Their recent Liga F match was playing. Not the whole match, obviously. One clip that Alessia allowed to replay.

Bonmati, gliding past 3 defenders before shooting the ball out of frame. Her brain dutifully framed it as analysis—tight control, first touch into space, balance through the dribble.

She scrolled, and paused on another clip of the midfielder.

This time, she was lunging across the pitch with teammates, warming up. But the camera was focused on her, the quality good enough to show the furrow of her eyebrows, the determined, harsh quality that her eyes took when on the pitch, the slight sweat that had started to bead across her forehead…

Alessia gazed at the clip, her brain had gone silent for a minute or so.

Her thumb absently double tapped, and before she had registered what she had done, a cackle erupted behind her.

She jumped, and turned to face Grace, directly behind her, eyes crinkled with glee. But the cackle had come from Ella, who stood above the sofa, eyes pinned to the screen Russo had dropped in the haste of being caught out.

‘Interesting Russo, very interesting.’

Ella’s voice was sing- song with barely restrained laughter.

‘Go away, both of you.’ Alessia’s eyes swung angrily between the two, her heart thumping in her chest for reasons she couldn't yet understand. ‘It’s not that deep, I was doing research. Back off.’

Grace raised her eyebrows, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.

‘Come on Alessia. You can’t be stalking fan pages of people and claim it’s nothing. What’s Bonmati done to get you under her spell?’
Grace was grinning, but Alessia was all too aware of the fact the room was pretty full with lionesses, and Grace’s voice was entirely too loud.

Her cheeks burned in a blotchy red that betrayed more than she would’ve liked.

‘Quit snooping over my shoulder. Seriously. Stop it.’ She’d said it with a kind of venom that she never used with her friends.

Graces smile dropped, and she stood up, eyes slightly hurt and quizzical. She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, shoulders hunched slightly.

The room was suddenly deafening silent. 

Russo turned back on the sofa, but Ella pushed her shoulder. The striker whipped around.

‘What?’ Her tone was too sharp, and although Ella wasn’t hurt by it, she certainly looked indignant.

‘There was no need to snap at Grace then. It’s a bit of fun Less.’ 

Alessia set her mouth in a hard line. She glared up at Toone.

‘Don’t either of you look at my phone then. It’s no one’s business but mine.’

Ella’s face screwed up in confusion- she wasn’t a stranger to arguing with Alessia- but they usually handled it better than this. 

‘Why are you acting so strangely?’

Alessia huffed.

‘I am not acting strangely.’

Ella rolled her eyes.

‘I am just not going to be joyous about people looking at my phone screen behind my back.’ 

Ella looked at her, hard.

‘No, Alessia. What’s actually going on here?’

Alessia stared at her for a second, opening her mouth momentarily, but she couldn’t make any words come out. So she turned back around again. She felt the rooms eyes on her, and the blush now crept past her face and over her neck. She resolved to stay silent.

Ella sighed behind her, before dumping herself on the sofa next to her. 

‘At least apologise to Grace, Less.’

Alessia stared into her lap. Her throat felt thick with emotion, so she nodded curtly instead of verbally agreeing. 

The rest of the evening, Alessia was quiet. She had unliked the post just an hour after the incident, and sent a quick apology to Grace over text. Grace hadn’t come over to hug her or texted back to forgive her, and yet Alessia couldn’t bring herself to care too much. 

Because her mind circled with images of a brunette midfielder, darting through the defences on the pitch, with narrow, predatorial eyes and a mouth arranged in a harsh line that had imprinted itself into Alessia’s memory.

The peace in the living room was disrupted by Leah, her footsteps having woken up those dozing on the sofas littering the space.

She headed straight to Alessia, and the striker groaned inwardly. Her captain wore an exasperated expression, her eyebrows arched and eyes glaring. 

Leah folded her arms, and Alessia stared just past her, deciding no eye contact might be preferable. She didn’t particularly feel like being sliced apart by the laser that was Leah”s gaze. 

‘Russo?’ 

Alessia begrudgingly looked at Leah directly, her throat constricting. Leah didn’t often invoke this tone- not with her. It was firm and flat, and commanded the attention of every girl in the room.

‘You feel like explaining why I’m getting DMs about you liking shit from a Bonmáti fan page?’ 

The strikers stomach dropped. Fuck. 

Of course someone had sent it to Leah. Fans moved quickly, and could screenshot far faster than she could delete a double tap.

 ‘It was an accident.’ She was muttering her apology, her voice shaking slightly under the heated pressure from her Captains questioning. ‘I didn’t mean-‘

‘ Accident you say? Funny. Some accident, to have half the squad whispering and Grace sulking upstairs? Not your smoothest excuse Less, have to say.’

Muffled laughter rippled across the room from the others, and Alessia clenched her jaw. Her gaze now fixed on her hands, clenched in her lap.

Leah’s eyes flicked sharply around the room, catching the guilty faces. Her mouth thinned.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The quiet authority in her voice flattened the laughter instantly.

She looked at Alessia, “Corridor. Now.”

Alessia’s chest tightened. She dragged herself up and followed her captain out of the room, the heavy silence of the squad pressing at her back.

Out in the corridor, the hush felt worse. Leah leaned against the wall, arms still folded, watching her with that same piercing look.

‘I apologised to Grace. And it doesn’t matter what I’m liking on instagram.’ Despite her defiant words, her voice was anything but.

Leah studied her for a long moment. She sighed.

‘No, it shouldn't’ she agreed. 

‘But you’ve got to understand how it looks. You can’t distract yourself now, especially not with a player you’ll be facing in a matter of weeks. It won’t end well Less.’

Alessia head whipped up. 

‘I’m not getting distracted. I can handle Bonmáti.’ Her eyes held Leah’s defiantly,

The captain rolled her eyes. 

‘I hope so mate. If you end up playing Nation’s league trying to prove that with every touch of the ball, you’ll give her an edge she definitely doesn’t need.”

An image of Bonmati’s eyes across the pitch surged up, uninvited.

Alessia swallowed slightly.

Leah softened slightly. 

‘I know you can handle this, whatever mad rumours start circulating. But we need you to be focused, these next few months are important. Ok?’

Without waiting for an answer, Leah pushed off the wall and walked away, leaving Alessia standing in the empty corridor, pulse thundering. She slipped upstairs, the silence following her into her room

Her skin still prickled with heat. She couldn’t figure out if it was due to Leah’s reprimanding or the image of Bonmati that had seared itself in her mind.

She curled in her duvet, phone illuminating her face, the screen showing endless clips of a small Spanish midfielder streaking across a pitch. 

Alessia hated herself for the way her chest ached at the sight

Chapter Text

Spain camps were always intense. It was a different team, even if there were faces from Barca. You had to keep up or get left behind. And, here, it was easy to get left behind.

Even La Reina had been left behind. Aitana never would’ve thought she’d see the day Alexia got subbed off, or didn’t start, and yet here they were.  Their captain  sidelined in the test matches, the starters practising together and Alexia looking on with a forlorn frown from her place with the other Spain players. Alexia’s eyes would bore into the back of Aitana’s head during training. 

A reminder that nothing was permanent at the top- that even the most untouchable could be shifted aside.

And so her head being distracted constantly was not helping very much.

The warm up had barely started before she mistimed her first touch,  letting it slip  just slightly out of place.  Only a fraction, but enough. Mistakes weren’t ignored here. They were punished. 

Caldentey pounced without hesitation, slotting the ball between Aitana’s legs. A sharp nutmeg.

The midfielder attempted to  smile at Mario in good sportsmanship, but it was thin and didn’t quite reach her eyes, her frustration quite evident.

‘Concéntrate, Aitana!’ 

Alexia’s voice was sharp, and Aitana’s face flushed in humiliation, even though her captain’s words held no malice.

She pulled her shoulders back. She tried to get a grip over her mind, put in place her mental walls to block out distractions, and yet it was harder here. The pressured weighed on her constantly,  she knew Spain needed her sharp, clinical. Unbreakable. 

She trapped the next  ball under her boot, clean, and spun it toward Pina. She breathed out shallowly. This was ok. She would be fine.

But then Ona’s voice carried across the pitch, and Aitana turned to find her smirking slightly, talking to Patri but her gaze lingering on Aitana.

‘I was talking to Lucy yesterday,’ 

Ona’s tone was casual, but her smile was almost cruel.

‘She says England are counting on Russo. Calls her their sharpest striker now. The biggest threat they have.’

The ball knocked against Aitana’s feet, and she ignored it completely. Her chest seized strangely and her mouth had gone dry. Her face scrunched up. In anger? Or upset? 

The pitch had dropped  silent around her. She blinked, tried to repress the mental highlights that her brain had conjured- Russo’s sure strikes, her precision, her….

‘No, this is stupid. It’s nothing.’ Aitana wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but her voice rang out sharp, and when she scanned the pitch, Claudia was grinning at her.

‘Is it, Aita? Really?’ 

Aitana’s lips thinned, her eyebrows drawn low over her face, and she lashed the ball across the field, to a Pina that looked at her all too knowingly before trapping the ball and sending it to the back of the net. 

The back of her neck prickled with the sun, and the stares of the girls.

She dragged herself through the rest of training, movements stiff and unnatural, every glance from Alexia feeling like a reprimand.

As training came to an end, sweat clung to her forehead, and irritation pulsed hot under her skin . The blur of confusion inside her chest had slowly  sharpened into anger, until her teeth ached from how hard she ground them.

The other girls spilled off the pitch laughing, teasing Mario about some ridiculous playlist she’d made. Aitana trailed behind, their easy smiles and casual joy suddenly unbearable to watch.

The kitchen was already crowded when she slipped in.

Girls lounged across the bar stools and surrounded the counters. She stayed silent as she took a glass from the cupboard, but every concerned glance thrown her way felt like a deliberate reminder of the slew of chaos infecting her mind. 

Aitana shook herself slightly. 

Training had been bad, yes. But she wasn’t tired. Not physically, anyway.

Her mind buzzed with a strange array of thoughts- training, Russo, bad training, Russ-

‘Aita?’ She blinked. Claudia had sat down next to her.

Aitana didn’t even remember sitting down herself.

‘Pina.’ 

Claudia looked at her. The forward’s eyes were crinkled with barely restrained laughter, and her smile was only just contained and Aitana suddenly wished she were anywhere but sat with her.

‘Have you been on instagram lately?’

Aitana’s brows furrowed.

‘No. Why?’

Claudia’s eyes widened in glee. She whipped her phone out of her pocket and proceeded to flick through it rapidly.

.Aitana’s pulse quickened, pounding in her throat.

‘What is it?’, she tried for evenness, but her voice cracked. Claudia snorted.

‘Let’s just say the fans are having a great time.’ She slid the phone across to Aitana.

The screen showed a clip of Aitana and-

Oh shit. 

Her body froze. Her breathing became increasingly erratic as the edit played.

It was some stupid ship thing, playing clips of Aitana and… her, over some stupid pop song.

But Pina wasn’t done quite yet. She scrolled. It was a screenshot now- zoomed in on a like.

‘Alessia Russo liked this’

And it was a clip- of her.

Aitana, warming up on the pitch, hair tied back and eyes down, unreadable. 

Her cheeks flooded with heat, and her stomach twisted as if the room itself had tilted suddenly.

Pina began to giggle, and Aitana’s brain scrambled for some way to salvage her composure, but her throat felt tight and her hearts thumping was practically loud enough for the whole squad to hear. , The other girls leaned in, giggling, craning to see the phone. 

The mixture of emotion in her stomach from earlier rose up- and boiled over into anger quite rapidly. 

‘This is pathetic.’ She almost spat out the words,  glowering at the girls, and Pina in particular, who’s eyes widened with shock, her grin falling.

‘Aita-‘ Mario’s hand was on her shoulder but Aitana shrugged it off viciously.

‘Fans don’t know anything- and neither do any of you, apparently.’

 She stood up and shoved away from the table, just as footsteps approached. 

But Aitana’s eyes still pinned Claudia.

‘You-‘

‘Enough.’ Alexia’s voice rung out, clear and authoritative and impossible to ignore.

Aitana glanced at her, and her anger died in her throat. Alexia looked stern, her eyes switching between the midfielder and forward, her gaze holding an intensity that overruled Aitana’s anger.

Alexia turned to the girls.

‘If she says it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t waste your energy on fan gossip. I expect more from this team.’

The room was still, and when Alexia looked around, no one could quite meet her eyes.

When those eyes finally settled on Aitana, they weren’t blazing with anger. Worse. Her lips were pressed thin, her expression carved with quiet disapproval that stung deeper than any scolding.

Aitana’s heart sank. She might’ve fooled the girls, or at least scared them into backing off, but her captain was not as easily intimidated, and the look she’d given Aitana told her she’d seen through all the midfielders dramatic pretences.

Aitana told herself it was nothing — the edit, the whispers, the like — but the lie sat jagged in her throat. Because it wasn’t nothing. It had never been nothing.

And with the Nations League only days away, she knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun it on the pitch either.

Chapter Text

London was grey overhead, and Alessia’s coat was pulled tight around her as Ella bounded over. 

‘Glad you made it, Less! We thought we’d have to go get you from the hotel ourselves at one point!’

Alessia smiled sheepishly as she slid past Ella gently to take a seat next to Lucy.

The cafe was dimly lit, and bustling with people- it was almost impossible to see through the throngs of Londoners to the counter. It didn’t matter though, Alessia knew what she’d order anyway, the cafe was a firm favourite of her and Ella’s.

The conversation flowed easily, the three of them swapping stories they hadn’t already exhausted at camp. Lucy looked up midway through one of Ella’s long-winded tales, though. There was a gleam in her eyes that told Alessia exactly who’d just walked in.

‘Over here! Ona!’

 Lucy was stood, flagging down her girlfriend, and Alessia looked up brightly.

Ona was fast friends with both Alessia and Ella, their shared time at Man United had seen them become close enough to have stayed in contact, their friendship having managed to survive their individual club transfers.

But Ona was stood with another girl, with folded arms and a set mouth that Alessia recognised with a strange jump of her heart.

Her smile faltered as Aitana Bonmatí dragged herself behind Ona, speaking to the Spanish defender in an irritated, fast fashion, her apparent frustration distracting her from noticing Lucy or Ella. Or Alessia. Lucy didn’t hesitate with introductions. 

‘Hey guys! Ona, you know Less and Ella. And Aita, you met them at the FIFA awards, remember?’

Aitana looked at Lucy, and gave her a brief smile before turning to the other two lionesses, giving Ella a friendly nod and then looking to Alessia.

 It might’ve just  been the striker’s imagination, but Bonmatì’s composure seemed to cave in momentarily, her jaw slackening for a fraction of a second. But she quickly covered her tracks, her face now set in cool indifference and she gave Alessia a curt nod before turning back to Ona to remark something in Spanish, to which Ona smirked slightly, and ducked her head apologetically. 

Lucy had clearly caught Aitana’s remark, as she sniggered slightly, before telling the Spanish girls to sit down. Aitana’s face flashed with panic.

‘No, no. I don’t have time, I have to go back to the hotel-’

‘Oh, shut up Aita. It’s the day before a match, you can chill for half an hour’. Ona put her hand on her friend’s shoulders and sat her down abruptly.

Aitana crossed her arms in exasperation and rolled her eyes pointedly. 

‘OK. But half an hour. Yes Ona? Lucy?’

Lucy smirked slightly before she nodded, and then turned to give Ona a quick hug, 

‘Always the drama queen.’ 

Ona laughed lightly before settling down happily at the defender’s side.

Ona slipped back into the easy dynamic the girls had created, with her and Lucy practically wrapped around one another and Ella chattering on.

The other Spanish player sat in stony silence, occasionally offering up a very forced smile whenever Ona would attempt to include her in conversation, before giving a clipped,  one-word answer that would cause Ona to give up and return to the other girls. 

‘So how’s training Aitana?’

Alessia sighed at Ella’s abruptness. Her friend had never been great at reading people, and Aitana clearly hadn’t expected to be probed by anyone other than Ona, as her eyebrows shot upward.

‘Yes- yes, it’s good.’ Alessia could see her awkwardness, and although the midfielder did give Ella a short nod, she wasn’t exactly inviting further discussion. Ella obviously ploughed on, completely undeterred.

‘I just think it’s so cool, you know. The way you play- like individually and within a team. Obviously the Lionesses solo, but you guys come pretty damn close.’

Aitana frowned.

‘Solo? I do not know what you mean.’

Ella smiled, clearly seeing a way to press this god-awful conversation forward, and Alessia groaned inwardly.

‘Solo means like we are better than. You know- like the best, really.’

‘And you’re gonna say that to the two-time Ballon d’Or winner?’ Lucy quirked an eyebrow, obviously repressing a laugh.

‘I didn’t say anything about her individually! Just that England's better.’

Aitana laughed lightly, and Ona looked at her in surprise. Ella looked positively delighted at getting a reaction out of the midfielder. 

Alessia then caught Aitana’s eye, and it was as if she had personally erased the past five minutes. The midfielder seemed to physically shut off, her arms folding and the brightness in her eyes fading again. Alessia sighed.

The conversation picked up and yet Alessia couldn’t shake the disappointment she felt at Aitana’s lack of interest in even pretending to want to be friends. 

Ella then leaned in conspiratorially. 

‘She’s nervous you know.’ 

Alessia head jerked as she turned to face her friend.

‘What?’ Her voice was just slightly too loud, and Lucy and Ona turned to look at her. Aitana’s eyes stayed engrossed in the table in front of her.

Ella raised her eyebrows and leant back in her chair, unknowing or maybe indifferent to the havoc she’d just created.

Alessia looked at Aitana. Surely not.

A Ballon d’Or winner, nervous around- her? No way.

And yet.. 

She noted the tension lining her jaw, and the slight pout to her lips.. But surely she was just nervous in general- foreign countries were always a pain to adjust to, or maybe she was really just wanting to go back to her hotel, or to her teammates…

Or maybe, maybe Aitana felt the same nervousness that had been brewing within Alessia for the past half hour. Alessia felt a pang of sympathy, and then a cruel curling of something like curiosity.

The Spaniard hardly spoke, eyes darting to her watch twice in the next five minutes, arms locked across her chest stiffly. Every time Ona nudged her into the conversation, Aitana forced a smile and then stayed resolutely silent until the girls moved the discussion away from her. 

Alessia found herself staring, willing her to slip again slightly, to give something away- anything. 

Finally, Aitana scraped back her chair, and rose awkwardly.

‘ I need to go. We have curfew.’ 

Her tone didn’t invite much disagreement, but Ona groaned.

‘We aren’t children. Relax Aita, no one’s going to be affected if we stay a little bit longer.’

Aitana stiffened slightly.

‘I said I should go. You stay here if you want.’ She said it sharply, and her eyes flashed slightly.

Alessia’s mouth moved before she had time to second guess herself.

‘I’ll walk you out. Your hotel’s on my way back anyway.’ That was a complete lie. Her hotel was in the opposite direction to the one Spain was staying in.

Aitana froze. Alessia thought she’d refuse, and yet Lucy glanced at the midfielder quizzically, pinning her in place quite perfectly. Aitana’s lips pressed together.

‘..Fine.’

The air outside was still damp with the earlier rain, and it was heavy with fog- and an uncomfortable silence.

Aitana walked briskly, arms still folded against her chest. Alessia matched her stride easily, whilst attempting to keep her heart from racing in what would be a very non-casual way.

‘Not a fan of cafes, huh?’ Alessia asked it quietly, but Aitana shot her a side glance, her eyes steeled.

‘I like cafes. Just not wasting time. Not this close to a match.’

Alessia smirked faintly. 

‘Alright then.’

Aitana started ahead again, the only sound their shoes on wet concrete. Alessia let the silence stretch a little longer, then interrupted again when it became unbearable.

“You know,’  her voice was low enough that it seemed harmless, almost an afterthought. Almost.

‘I’d expect most people get a bit nervous before Wembley. Big stage and crowd. It’s completely normal.’

Aitana stopped dead and whipped around to face Alessia. Her eyes blazed vehemently. 

‘I’m not nervous, I’ve played in much bigger stadiums- with much bigger crowds.’

Her words were clipped and laced with a poison that made Alessia bite back a satisfied grin.

‘Oh, of course not.’ She looked at Aitana with a sincerity that she knew the midfielder would find insufferable.

‘I’m just saying- you hide it well.’

Aitana’s cheeks flushed slightly, the lamplight illuminating the sharp cut of her cheekbones, and the angles of her eyebrows against the hair tucked behind her ear.

She swallowed roughly. Alessia watched in satisfaction as the midfielder opened her mouth, then shut it abruptly, before spinning around to stride into the hotel they’d arrived outside.

Alessia watched her go. Aitana didn’t turn back, but the striker could hear her faint angry Spanish  mutterings. Her heart thrummed with guilt- and exhilaration. 

She hadn’t planned it, but the image of Bonmatí’s face- that flicker of sincerity (even if it had been born out of rage) was burned into her mind.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets as she strolled back to the cafe.

This match was sure about to be interesting.

Chapter Text

Aitana’s head thrummed steadily. Her team-mates had been enthusiastic on the coach to Wembley, and whilst her body felt the excitement usual to her before a match, her hands were shaking slightly as she took out her earphones and exited the bus.

Mario squeezed her shoulder and grinned down at her.

‘Ready, Aita? It’s gonna be a good one, I can feel it.’ 

Her eyes were shining steadily as she looked down at the brunette.

Aitana smiled in agreement, but the roar of the fans surrounding the coach wasn’t entirely helping her nerves.

‘You okay, Aita?’ Ona was looking at her in concern, her eyebrows etched together in concern. 

‘Yes, yes. Match nerves, you know.’ Her words trailed off as she looked up to the athlete entrance. 

‘Figured that one. But you seem more on edge than usual? Is it because of-’

Aitana looked back to the defender, cutting her off with a glare.

 ‘I’m fine, seriously.’ Ona raised an eyebrow but seemed to accept her words as she turned back to Pina. 

Russo had been very right. The women’s game had grown a lot over the past few years, and the fans were already packing the stadium. 

But right now it wasn’t the size of the stage that made Aitana’s pulse trip over itself. It was knowing exactly who she’d met in the tunnel.

The concrete corridor loomed ahead of her, and the sea of white and red was just visible, the home fan’s shouts already clear. 

Aitana rolled her shoulders in an attempt to dispel her nervous jitters. The cold calm that usually steadied her before games wouldn’t come, though. Her throat was dry, her legs heavy.

Shouts echoed down the corridor as the lionesses arrived. One laugh stood out from among the rest- high and bright. She refused to acknowledge the flicker in her chest, the sting of recognition. It’s irritation, she told herself. But the lie wasn’t convincing or calming her mind.

Her jaw tightened. 

‘Come on. Concentrate.’

It was a mantra- and it wasn’t working like it usually  did. 

Patri nudged her gently.

‘Relax, ay? You look like we’re going to face a firing squad.’ 

Aitana smiled thinly. 

‘Maybe we are.’ 

Patri laughed, but Aitana kept staring ahead.

When the teams finally lined up, side by side, she didn’t glance across. Couldn’t. But she didn’t need to — she felt the weight of those eyes on her all the same.

Spain started sharp. Clinical. The usual.

For a while, Aitana could lose herself in their possession, the comfort of the rhythm, and the feeling of a victory within reach. She could almost convince herself the knot in her chest was loosening.

But then England broke. Lauren James was in space, and Wembley erupted with her. 

Aitana could physically feel the swell of the crowd and her teeth ground together.  Paredes hacked James down, and Aitana’s lips pressed together.  

James took the free kick.  Aitana stood in the wall, and her body was rigid, ready, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked just to the left, and Russo shifted on her feet, her eyes locked on the goal. 

Aitana snapped her head back as James struck, and Coll saved. 

Relief washed through her, and she raised her eyes to the sky above in a silent prayer of thanks.

The game continued. Aitana pressed high, but England pressed back, relentless and fierce in a way that had Spain struggling- just slightly. 

England eventually cracked  through. Russo wrestled through their midfield and defence, driving forward. Aitana sprinted up the pitch, eyes manic and lungs burning. 

Jess Park was the one to spin the ball to the back of the net, and frustration burned  hot in the midfielder’s chest as Wembley roared around her. 

And Russo didn’t celebrate immediately.

She instead turned to face the midfielder, and blue eyes met Aitana’s steadily across the pitch,  the striker’s mouth curling up just slightly into the barest smirk.

Aitana’s gut lurched as through she’d been punched. She told herself it was rage. That she hated it- hated her. But her body didn’t seem to listen.

But if she hadn’t been determined before, she was now.

And she got chances, but Hampton pushed aside her shots, with an ease that the midfielder had to respect, despite the indignation gnawing at her. Yet she was naive enough to think her team would perhaps let her off.

‘Concéntrate.’ Irene’s tone was sharp, and Aitana flinched. Their eyes met and Irene’s were flashing with annoyance. Aitana knew it wasn’t solely directed at her, but her stomach dropped anyway. 

Focus. She needed to focus. But her body wasn’t obeying her. 

The duel came just after the hour mark. 

Russo surged forward, her body angled to shield. And Aitana chased her back, slammed into her shoulder. Hard. Probably harder than necessary. 

Russo stumbled slightly, but held her ground. As the ref waved to continue play, Russo twisted, leaning just enough for her breath to brush Aitana’s cheek. Her words slipped out low, meant for no one else.

‘Not hiding it so well now, are we?

The tone wasn’t cruel- not quite. Smooth and steady, almost amused. And it slid under Aitana’s skin in a way that made her shiver. Her anger flared white-hot, but underneath it, something darker thrummed- something she refused to name.

By the time she processed the words, Russo was gone.

Anger flared hot in her chest- at Jess Park, at this stupid match, at Russo’s sheer nerve- and at herself.

When Russo was subbed off, she jogged just a tad too slowly for Aitana’s liking. As she passed the Spaniard, their shoulders brushed.

‘See you later, Bonmatí.’

Her voice was maddeningly  steady and Aitana’s eyes bored into the back of her stupid head as the blonde left the pitch, heat pricking her skin.

The match was sliding out of Spain’s grip. They pressed forward, but every attack fizzled. And every time the ball found Aitana’s feet, her mind stuttered, her rhythm broke. 

England swarmed, relentless. Aitana tried to steady herself, but the weight of the game- of her- gnawed at her composure. The more she fought to gain back control, the more it slipped from her grasp.

The whistle blew. 1-0 to England. 

Wembley roared around her. Heat stung Aitana’s eyes. Anger and  humiliation coursed through her, and something sharper than both, too. She muttered furiously in Catalan, cursing her wasted chances, the English- their stupid defence and their striker that had wriggled herself under the midfielder’s skin just enough to mess with her.

It was fury. Pure and complete.

But it wasn’t the shame of loss she carried into the changing room. It was the ghost of Russo’s breath at her ear, the way she’d said her name. Deliberate. Like she’d known exactly how her words would sit in Aitana’s mind, and make her stomach twist.

And she hated to admit how much she wanted to hear her voice again.

Chapter Text

Alessia’s laces were half untied as she padded down the corridor. UEFA had stuck both teams in the same hotel for the night, so that the players could take post-match interviews and debriefing and then go straight to bed. Logistics, they’d said. 

Alessia saw it more as some kind of setup.

The phantom roar of Wembley hung in her ears, and her hair was still damp against the back of her shirt. She sniffed slightly. She’d had to use the hotel shampoo, and its scent was foreign to her. Her legs were exhausted- the muscle ached and although she wanted nothing more than to get into bed, her chest buzzed with a strange sense of- anticipation? Excitement? Weird.

Well, weird, but not entirely unexplained, if she was being honest with herself. Alessia knew well enough that her restlessness was due to the- unwelcome- image of a shaken Bonmatì that appeared everytime she blinked.

Whispering those words in her ear, letting her shoulder brush just enough as she came off the pitch. A risk. 

And Aitana had burned under it.

Alessia smiled as she replayed the memory, but she didn’t feel amusement- instead something closer to hunger gnawed at her. Something she wasn’t used to letting rise this far.

As the striker stood at the lift, she could just make out soft footsteps coming up behind her. There was the click of someone’s tongue, impatient- and unmistakable. She turned.

It was her. Of course it was her. 

Aitana’s eyes were cold and unwavering. Alessia silently prayed that her flush from earlier had died down. She knew it hadn’t. 

The midfielder leant against the wall, and though her posture was engineered enough to seem collected, Alessia could make out the straightness of her spine, and the nervous jitter of her foot against the carpet. 

So they were both feeling… whatever this was. Score.

Alessia raised her eyebrows. A silent challenge. 

Aitana’s mouth curved- half smirk, half snarl. 

‘Congratulations.’ Her words were cutting, and underlined with a sick malice. ‘You must be very proud.’

Alessia had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

‘I should be. But you don’t sound much like you mean it.’

Aitana’s eyes narrowed, and she sneered slightly. 

‘You play dirty, Russo.’

Aitana’s voice dripped with disdain, and something traitorous sparked low within Alessia’s stomach in response.

‘You enjoyed it.’ She hoped that her voice came out flat, and didn’t betray her pounding pulse. 

Aitana’s eyes deepened- or maybe the striker was just finally starting to lose it.

There was a pause. Aitana pushed herself of the wall, with a lazy- almost predatory- grace.

‘Maybe I did.’

Alessia’s eyes widened, and Aitana caught it. The midfielder’s sneer became fully fleshed. 

‘You needed to play dirty to win.’ Alessia opened her eyes wide in exaggerated offence. Aitana stared her down.

‘You can’t take anything seriously.’

Alessia tilted her head.

‘Can’t I?’ She let her voice drop, silky almost. 

She stepped forward, feigning confidence she didn’t feel. 

The faint hum of the lift filled the silence between the girls. 

Aitana’s eyes were almost black. Alessia was certain she wasn’t imagining this now. 

She reached out, slowly, and brushed a finger against Aitana’s sweatshirt. It was barely contact, but Aitana visibly froze, her breath hitched in her throat. 

‘You felt it.’ Alessia murmured. ‘I know you did.’

Aitana’s eyes steeled over.

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Her tone was venomous, but there was a tremor there too. Russo just grinned at her.

‘If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.’ She gazed down at Aitana, holding eye contact with the midfielder, who was growing visibly uncomfortable.

Neither looked away, though.

The lift dinged, and the air shattered between them. 

Aitana almost jumped away, whist Alessia stepped back hastily, both pairs of eyes locked on the person in the lift.

Keira Walsh stood, with mouth slightly open, eyes swivelling back and forth between the Spaniard and Lioness. She whistled softly, and her eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. 

‘This looks cozy.’ 

Alessia could hear the amusement in her voice, and her she could feel a blotchy flush crawling down her face and neck. She cursed herself silently.

Aitana strode into the lift, not turning back to Alessia.

‘No és res.’ She muttered to Keira. 

Whatever the midfielder had said clearly wasn’t convincing Keira, who smiled uncomfortably before locking eyes with Alessia. 

The lift shut silently, and Alessia stood, with a heart rate that was possibly going to send her into cardiac arrest.

She walked dejectedly back to her room, pulse hammering frantically.

Her hands were clammy as she failed to swipe her key card three times, and when she entered the room, she caught her reflection.

The girl that looked back at her was visibly flustered, and had a sort of panic stricken look about her- with eyes that were far too wide to appear relaxed.

She slumped on the mattress, and her phone buzzed at her hip.

Tooney- how’s my girl?

Tooney- Keira says spanish girls are scary ;)

Tooney- also tell ur face to chill in the tunnel footage bc u looked feral lol

Alessia snorted- then froze. If Ella knew, that meant Keira had already said something. And if Keira had said something, Leah probably knew. And Georgia. And maybe half the team by breakfast.

Ah shit. Her phone buzzed again.

Keira Walsh- You might want to figure out what’s going on between you and Aita before anyone else does.

Alessia stared at the message, thumb hovering. Her chest tightened, half panic, half something else.

Alessia- working on it 

Keira’s reply was almost instant

Keira- Figures. But keep your head straight. 

Alessia put her phone face down next down to her. She chewed at her lip absently.

Her mind was muddled- it whirred with a million concerns regarding the one girl she’d resolved to stay away from.

She should’ve felt her victory- she’d won. The match- and in her mission to get under Aitana’s skin.

Instead her skin was prickling. She felt like she was the one to have been played.

As she rubbed her palms harshly over her face, she could only conjure the image of Bonmatì, in that corridor.

Stood close enough to her that she could smell the spaniard’s faint perfume, brown eyes blazing, voice low.

Her snarl, like she’d been seconds from kissing or biting her. Alessia couldn’t figure out which possibility was making her pulse thunder more.