(Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord)
Katie McCabe wasn't quiet by nature. She was fire in a match, thunder in training, and always the loudest voice in the room. But when it came to Caitlin Foord, she'd found herself hesitating, stuck between boldness and fear, between wanting and wondering.
Until Monday.
She caught herself checking Caitlin out again—mid-laugh, hair up, the sleeves of her hoodie pushed just far enough for Katie to notice the curve of her forearm. And she thought:
"I'm screaming, I shout... gotta love you out loud."
It hit her like a free kick to the ribs. She was falling. Loudly. Clearly. Painfully.
And Caitlin? She was just being Caitlin—unbothered, unaware, casually breaking Katie's heart every time she smiled like sunshine.
But Tuesday came, and Katie made her move. "Dinner?" she asked after training, trying to sound chill.
Caitlin tilted her head. "Like... team dinner?"
Katie smirked. "Just us."
Takeout Thai, a dodgy little place in North London. They ate on Caitlin's couch, shoes off, wine in hand, music low in the background.
Katie watched her laugh with her whole body and thought, Yeah. This is a date.
Wednesday, she went all in. "Let's get out of town," she said after a morning session, breathless and still in her training top.
Caitlin raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Anywhere."
They ended up in Brighton—windy, weird, wonderful. They walked the pier, got chips, played a ridiculous claw machine game. Caitlin won a stuffed football with one lucky try. Katie won nothing and didn't care.
Thursday, they stayed in. Caitlin came over in sweatpants and a messy bun, and Katie swore she'd never seen anything more dangerous. They watched a romcom. Caitlin dozed off with her head on Katie's shoulder, and Katie didn't dare move.
"Friday, we're in love..."
She knew. She knew it in her bones.
But Caitlin hadn't said anything. No signs. No hints. Just... warmth. Comfort. Quiet affection. Nothing loud.
And Katie? She was bursting.
So on Friday night, back at her place, she pulled out her phone and did something insane: she made a video. A mashup of all the little moments she'd saved. Caitlin laughing in training. Caitlin running down the wing. Caitlin messing up pancakes and cursing under her breath. Caitlin dancing to some terrible song at Leah's birthday.
She dropped in the song that had been haunting her for days:
"I'm gonna sing it on the radio / I will love you out loud..."
She added one word to the end of the video: You.
Then she posted it to her Instagram story.
One viewer: Caitlin Foord.
She didn't expect a reply. Her heart was a mess. But then, a buzz.
Caitlin: "Come outside."
Katie grabbed her hoodie and ran.
Caitlin was leaning against her car, phone still in hand, eyebrows arched. "You made a whole video?"
Katie nodded, breath caught. "I... yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I can't do quiet anymore," Katie said, voice cracking. "I've been screaming this inside me for weeks. Months. And I don't know if you feel the same but—"
"I do," Caitlin interrupted, soft but certain.
Katie froze.
Caitlin stepped forward. "I've been feeling the same, Katie. You just got there faster."
Katie blinked, dazed. "So you—"
"I'm not good at saying things first," Caitlin admitted. "But you singing it on the radio?" She held up her phone. "That was hard to miss."
Katie laughed, half from relief, half from the absurdity of it all. "I'm not a guy who be bragging about it..."
"You're not a guy at all," Caitlin said, grinning. "But I like your style."
"Gotta love you out loud, right?"
"You better."
Then Caitlin leaned in, and kissed her—like every lyric come to life.
