(Leah Williamson and OC)
My phone lit up around midnight.
Leah: Can't sleep. You up?
My thumbs hesitated over the keyboard.
Me: Yeah. What's up?
A moment passed. Then three dots, blinking. Then nothing. Then blinking again.
Leah: Nothing, really. Just felt like talking to someone who gets it.
There it was again. The ache. The softness. The thread between us pulled taut.
Me: Always here.
I didn't expect a reply. But three minutes later, the screen lit again.
Leah: Wanna come over? Just for a bit?
I stared at it. My heart lodged itself into my throat. Then I was out of bed, pulling on a hoodie, trainers, and sprinting past the doubt that whispered this was probably nothing.
________________________________________________________________________________
Her flat was only a five-minute walk. I knocked twice. She opened the door in an oversized tee and socks, hair down, eyes tired but soft.
"Hey," she said. "Sorry, hope I didn't wake you."
"You didn't," I said, stepping in, heart racing. "Couldn't sleep either."
She shut the door quietly behind me and padded to the couch. I followed, careful to keep the right amount of distance between us.
"You want tea or something?" she asked, already heading to the kitchen.
"Sure," I said, voice softer than usual.
The kettle started whirring. She leaned against the counter, arms folded, staring at nothing.
"I hate that she doesn't ask about the games," she said. "Like, tonight I mentioned the match coming up, and she just said, 'Cool.' Like it was some hobby I picked up during lockdown."
I nodded, unsure what to say that wouldn't sound too biased, too hopeful.
"She used to care more," she continued, voice cracking a little. "Used to text me good luck before every kickoff. Now it's just silence."
I walked toward her, paused, then leaned beside her on the counter.
"She should care," I said. "Anyone who loves you should care."
Leah looked up, eyes locking on mine. "Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who I am anymore."
I felt it again that dangerous pull to reach out, to cup her face and whisper, I know who you are. I see you. I've always seen you. But I didn't.
Instead, I handed her the mug she'd just poured.
"Then maybe she doesn't deserve you," I said.
Leah exhaled a shaky laugh. "You're dangerous, Winters. You always know the exact right thing to say."
I smiled tightly. "I try."
We took our mugs to the sofa, sat close but not touching. The lamp buzzed in the corner, casting soft gold light. She turned slightly toward me, knees brushing.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she whispered. "With her. With... any of it."
"You don't have to know," I replied. "You just have to feel."
She looked down at her mug, fingers tightening around it. "That's the thing," she said. "I feel too much. And not always for the right people."
My breath caught.
"What do you mean?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
She looked up. Her eyes held something unreadable.
"I mean..." She shook her head, smiling sadly. "Forget it."
"No," I said, heart in my throat. "Say it."
"I mean," she said, voice quiet, "sometimes I wonder if I'd be happier with someone who's... already here. Someone who sees me in this world."
She didn't look at me when she said it, but she didn't have to.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
"Leah..."
She blinked fast, then stood. "Sorry, I'm being weird. I just I needed someone tonight. You've always been that for me."
I stood too, unsure whether to hug her or run.
"You're not weird," I said. "You're... you."
She smiled again, this time more genuine. "Thanks for coming."
She didn't hug me. Didn't touch me. Just walked me to the door like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
________________________________________________________________________________
The next morning, she acted like it hadn't happened. Like I hadn't held my breath through every second of that night. She punched my shoulder during warmups, teased me about my messy bun, asked if I was coming to Lotte's movie night later.
And I played along.
I always played along.
But something was different. The way she looked at me lingered longer. The way she laughed at my jokes hit lower in her chest. She touched my arm twice during passing drills, didn't let go as fast.
I told myself it didn't mean anything.
I told myself lies just convincing enough to get through the day.
________________________________________________________________________________
That night, at Lotte's, we watched some action flick none of us cared about. Leah sat beside me on the floor, her leg pressed against mine the entire time. She leaned in to whisper jokes. She rested her head on my shoulder once, just for a moment.
I didn't breathe.
Later, while the credits rolled, she turned to me and whispered, "You ever think about just running away from all of it?"
I looked at her, heart hammering. "Sometimes."
"To where?"
"Anywhere you are," I thought. But I just said, "Somewhere warm."
She smiled. "Let me know when you go."
That was the moment I knew.
It wasn't just me anymore.
Something had changed.
She felt it too.
