Walk Me Home (On One Condition) - Holladay Street (street), UnfortunatelyMythtaken - Women's Association Football (2024)

Award ceremonies are always a hassle. The calls with agents and looking through pitches and then, always, inevitably, ending up dressed in tight, weirdly hot fabric.

There’s the ever-present clause that requires a post or at least a repost of pictures, and it’s as uncomfortable and as much as it is an afterthought to hit the buttons to share whatever image is least… not really off-putting or offensive. Maybe most palatable instead.

And sure, it feels good, being recognised and praised and such, but two days out from the latest red carpet Lucy’s already dreading the next one.

It feels even better, two days on, when she’s washing her face and her palms catch on tiny little rough patches on her jaw - and it strikes her as odd at first, because she’s so on top of her skin care regimen and has never had dry skin around her jaw, but then -

Of course. Her make up artist had shaved her entire face, so she’d look clean and sharp when receiving her award. It’s just tiny hairs growing back in.

Lucy can’t stop touching them.

Five days later, when the coarse stubble has turned into soft fuzz, Lucy puts her razor to her jaw rather than her leg when she’s in the shower.

One quick stroke in, she looks at her hand and shakes her head.

But a job started has to lead to a job finished, and another two days later, her shirt just so catches on coarse stubble once more, and it’s more than nice - it’s exhilarating.

Lucy adds shaving her face to her bi-weekly routine after that.

They play a Swedish club away in the Champions League and Göteborg is far enough from anything and anyone Lucy knows to get dinner on their night off at a decidedly queer bar, to dress in a way that feels comfortable rather than for the cameras that are aimed at her constantly at Barça.

“Sorry - d’you speak English?”

“Yes, sorry,” the sprightly, choppy-haired and overly friendly server replies with a grin and then does a double take - subtle, but Lucy’s been trained to notice these types of things. “I’m Jupiter, he/they, what can I get for you tonight?”

“I - uh. Anything good you can recommend? Otherwise I’m just going to go for the burger, side salad, and… sparkling water, thanks.”

“Don’t worry, handsome, I’ll sort you out.”

Handsome. Lucy isn’t new to the term - it’s been thrown around in her comment sections some. She’s had it directly applied to her a couple of times from friends and Keira, one time, years ago.

It had felt a bit off, then. It feels good now.

It still feels good a few weeks later, in intentionally loose fit clothes and a hat that isn’t entirely temperature-appropriate, at a coffee shop in a Barcelona suburb. And then at a quiet tapas bar another week later, and a hole in the wall boutique that carries unisex fashion only two days after that.

Halfway through an intense season, there’s a glorious week off between cup matches and national camp. A trip further south - to get a bit of sun and warmth when even Barcelona feels cold - sounds nice enough, so Lucy books a weekend trip to Sicily.

The place is a bit more remote than it looked initially, and half an hour into the ride in the taxi, Lucy downloads the Italian option for Google translate - just in case.

Another half an hour down, it turns out she made the right choice when an elderly lady, wrinkly smile and alert eyes, is waiting in front of the small cabin advertised online.

“Buonasera -“ and the rest of the Italian Lucy doesn’t catch, until “- Lukey, si?”

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian - English? Español? Português?”

Only Italian, it turns out, and “Lukey” is not part of that vocabulary at all.

“Lukey” is… well. It’s Lucy. But something about it makes her chest feel tight and free at the same time, has her skin tingle with warmth and excitement and promise. Maybe being Lukey, just for a bit, away from anyone who knows her, could be fun.

It’s just that Lukey feels a bit immature - not entirely age-appropriate. But Luca could work. A simple one letter off is not too hard to explain away, if anyone should ask.

And so Luca is the one going to shop for a bit of fresh produce once everything’s unpacked. Luca is the one going out for dinner at the one restaurant in the village and for a guided hike the next day, recommended by the waitress from the evening before, in the boxiest clothing available and sunglasses and a hat pulled low over his face, his tightest top on over a sports bra and under his loosest linen shirt.

The constant buzz under his skin might just be the anxiety and adrenaline at maybe being found out any minute - but when it persists even when back in the four walls that are his own over the weekend, it feels like more. It feels like joy.

The next time an invitation to an official event flutters in, it feels like it’s going to be terribly hard until it’s simple. Simple to veto the screenshots of dresses. Simple to email the stylist’s intern and politely ask for only suits going forward. No explanations or rationale - just a simple update of preferences. The intern replies with a smiling emoji and that’s that.

It’s not as if wearing dresses and the occasional frilly hat is impossible. Modern fashion is unisex enough to find something, anything remotely comfortable enough to build fits for days - and there’s enough of a history of being physically uncomfortable, with injuries and the near constant soreness in at least one spot of his body that just comes with being an athlete to be able to push it all aside for a few hours.

Luca would probably be fine being Lucy for the rest of his life. An ok kind of fine - wakeful in the night, scrolling socials too much, trying to find a distraction from it all. An ok kind of fine where even the most carefully-posed pictures media photos would always feel a little off-kilter and blurry. Until, on a random night out, a grainy strip of photo booth pictures taken in the back of a bar look sharper and more like himself than any of the pictures taken over the last two decades or so - familiar in a way he didn’t even know he was missing.

Once negotiations fall through with Barça and he’s back in London, things get both easier and a little trickier. He’s more confident on soil that he knows, surrounded by the culture and language he grew up around; yet navigating around a place he knows and is known is a far cry from the relative anonymity abroad.

He seeks out the quiet spots, the places that are just coming up and aren’t highly frequented yet. He offers autographs instead of pictures whenever he is recognised, and then rarely returns.

He hasn’t had a proper night out in a while when there’s word of mouth of a new club opening - good music, quality drinks for a fair price, private.

The visit is carefully planned, his outfit laid out on the foot of the empty side of his bed for a full three days. Loose jeans, a dark shirt and roomy overshirt, and two of his tightest sports bras that he’ll layer. A hint of invisible stubble, shaved two days ahead of schedule so it might show just a little bit when the time comes.

It’s not like it actually shows - but feeling it, whenever he runs his hand across his face frustrated during training, or later relaxing on the sofa and half-heartedly following the soap opera he got hooked on while at Barça, makes it all feel more real, makes him feel like he’s there and alive and thrumming, not just a shadow of himself draped in a select few items of clothing and slipping into a character for the night.

The club’s a healthy mix of full but not packed, enough of a crowd for a decent chance at anonymity. The brief walk along the dance floor isn’t enough to properly catch the whole vibe of the place, so Luca heads for the bar instead, choosing a stool that is a few empty ones removed from the nearest patrons.

“Hi there. Can I just get a beer?” The overall level of noise makes it hard to keep up with what he’s practised at home, to speak in a lower register than where his voice usually sits - not by a lot, but the few extra notes feel important.

He’s served seconds later, with a nod that he thinks might be the casual ‘here ya go, bro’ type that he watched happen a bunch back at college, but has never had directed at himself before.

“Thanks, mate,” he replies with a nod of his own, a tiny cheers in lifting his drink to go alongside, and then he half-turns and watches the crowd - not necessarily to find someone he might try to talk to, more to just… exist, in parallel, because that would be enough for the night.

There’s a flash of blonde next to him - on the side that’s turned away from the bar, but he’s pretty sure he knows that side profile, he’s seen it in tiny snapshots from about every angle for years, quick turns of his head to check in during practice and high-scale matches both, longer glimpses whenever she laughed out loud during nights out or while they were all setting up for team photos or filming bits for the media team. So he turns around and double checks as Leah asks the barkeeper for a margarita.

“Can you put that on my tab, please?” He asks, and the bartender, kudos to them, hesitates for a second until Leah’s half-surprised, half-annoyed frown turns into a smile.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi. Hope you don’t mind - it’s nice to meet you. I’m Luca.”

There’s a slight tremor to Luca’s hand as he holds it out, and it feels weird but not at the same time, and all he can hope is for Leah to either indulge him or to fully lean into it.

The moment of tension between them is slightly too long to feel natural and there’s cold sweat collecting on his back before Leah meets his eyes again after looking him up and down - lingers on his jaw, maybe - and shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you Luca - I’m Leah. You really didn’t have to buy me a drink, but… thank you anyway.”

“Ah, well,” Luca laughs, relieved and smiling brightly at Leah, and just like that his confidence is back - or maybe newly found, because he’s never talked to a pretty lady before, like this. He’s never even thought about buying anyone a drink over the past year or so. “Proper thing to do, innit, when you see a gorgeous woman.”

“Maybe so - didn’t expect it here, though.” There’s a brief pause, with Leah’s eyes flickering up and down again. “Not that I’m complaining. Are you… here with anyone?”

“Just me. How about you?”

It’s code - familiar from years of attending the same events and such, subtly asking if it’s alright to just hang out or if there’s commitments involved, if a brand making an appearance in photos will mess something up for the other person, if there’s a third person there that should not be mentioned for the sake of privacy and protection. It’s all of that and much more, now.

“I’m flying solo as well.” Leah, in the past, usually looked nonchalant about similar statements - but she’s smiling now, warm and almost inviting.

Luca’s safe.

“Want to change that?”

Moving closer to Leah feels easy. The way she leans in, lets their knees knock lightly from adjacent bar stools, gives all the signals of wanting to be in his personal space but doesn't put herself there - just waits at the edge of it, smiling, calm, sipping her drink.

Luca thinks about what it would feel like, to rest his faint stubble that he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off all afternoon against Leah's cheek so they could both feel it.

There’s a glint in Leah’s eyes that Luca’s very familiar with from years of sort of third-wheeling it - on nights out with Keira, with Georgia too before her move to Bayern. He’d seen it directed at Jordan a lot at first and then suddenly decreasing steadily in frequency, and later aimed at a lot of people, with some acted on and others not so much or at all, and it has his skin feeling hot in a way that’s entirely unrelated to the increasingly stuffy air of the club. It feels good to have Leah look at him like he’s someone to be desired, like she’s eager to get to know him beyond the already well-established bond they have on and off the field.

Getting closer to Leah, even while she’s throwing all the signals at him, feels impossible to Luca. He waits until they’re both almost done with their drinks, and then asks if Leah wants to dance - equal opportunity for an easy out or a next step.

Leah throws back her drink and so Luca does the same, and then contemplates leaving right away when Leah giggles.

“You’ve got a bit of foam.”

“Oh, sh*t.” He wipes at his mouth hastily.

“No, just here…” Leah reaches out, drags her thumb against his upper lip, gentle but firm, quick but slow enough that Luca knows Leah can feel the hint of fuzz beneath her skin.

“There you go, handsome. Now I believe I was promised a dance?”

Luca can’t do anything but nod and guide Leah to the dance floor, dares to place his hand on Leah’s back protectively, splays it out as much as he can to make it look and feel bigger.

Leah rests her fingers lightly on the back of his neck, seeming at once both comfortable, and like she's waiting again for the invitation to touch further.

And so, fueled by the pleasant buzz of knowing that Leah’s okay with it - that she’s maybe, probably even into it - in the safety of the night, the club, Luca takes Leah’s hands and twirls her around, and then carefully places them somewhere around his waist, light enough for Leah to pull them back but with enough pressure to let her know that he wants her to touch him - that it’s okay to explore.

And that first night they ease against each other in stages. Leah stays warm and relaxed in his arms as she runs her hands up his back, not pausing as she passes over the ridges of his layered sports bras, then back down again to settle at the small of his back. Her perfume is something vanilla and amber, as he leans his temple against hers and just lets himself breathe.

When Leah slips her hand under his shirt, lightly, teasingly mapping out his abs and then fingers and a palm spread against the same spot of skin, Luca knows the look in her eyes as well - he’s seen it on different people through the years. He knows that if he wanted, he could probably spend the entire night with Leah, at her flat or his. Lucy probably would have gone for it. Luca has more to think about, and so he enjoys the light drag of blunt nails against his skin, nips at Leah’s ear lightly, and digs his fingers into her waist some - just to keep her close, at first, when a group of people push past them, and then with intention. He wants Leah close. He likes being close to her - to feel her brush against his body every now and then, her hands threaded around his neck.

He means to ask her if she wants another drink, a little while later, leans in so he can be sure Leah will hear him, when his mind goes blank because there’s lips against his neck, a little tongue and a hint of teeth, and he can’t stop the shiver that runs through his entire body.

“Did you mean to do that,” he manages eventually, and he’s not sure if he means just the kiss or the general state he’s been reduced to, but the next thing he knows they’re in a booth, Leah in his lap and making out like they’re teenagers, he eventually pulls back and asks if he can walk Leah home. Because it’s the proper thing to do - because he needs them to meet, properly, out in the light of day and sober, before he peels back more than the layers of clothing he has on his body for Leah even though he really, really wants to.

He just has to be sure Leah really wants to, too.

"Mm, you can walk me home on one condition." Leah says.

Luca's suddenly glad of his caution. Everything has felt easy with Leah - lush and warm and pretty damn safe. But her reply feels like the lead-up to an ultimatum.

"We get chips on the way." Leah continues. “That's my condition. The place just 'round the corner is ace. Supposedly their curry's good too if you like - though that’s not my thing, as I’m sure you know.”

The way his chest loosens at that is so physical, he's suddenly aware of the way his sports bras are hugging his ribs.

Luca buys Leah her chips and gets them a bottle of water to share, and then Leah hooks her arm around his as he feeds her one chip at a time - it’s a long walk home, and neither of them feel like cutting it short by calling an Uber.

And it feels... like a thousand unknowns are stacked up in the future, but that in the moment, in the cool early-autumn air of late night London with his long-time teammate by his side in a brand new way - it feels easy.

There's a moment of frisson, when Leah catches his hand and licks some grease and salt off his knuckle.

But then she lets his hand go, snuggles deeper against his side, and just keeps walking - their strides matching perfectly.

“It’s late,” Leah says softly, when they’re at her doorstep. “Do you want to stay over?”

“Yes,” Luca replies immediately, and then smiles tightly. “But I’m not going to, I… I can’t sleep in this. And I definitely can’t trek it home in the morning like this.”

“You could borrow some of my-“

“No,” Luca interrupts her. “No, Leah, I really can’t.”

Leah takes a moment to look him up and down, and then nods and leans in to kiss him softly. “Sorry. That was silly of me. So it’s… it’s see you later, then? Because I don’t want it to be goodbye.”

Luca hovers over the chat with Leah for two days, the last few messages exchanged between them staring back at him almost mockingly.

There’s a picture of Narla from a few months ago, Leah responding with a heart. Three weeks of nothing, then a simple “ catching the 8:12 train, if you want to tag along ” for their latest trip up north for camp and a thumbs up from Luca.

They’d mostly slept on that trip - all the Arsenal girls, and then LJ and Millie across the aisle, with Luca watching over them quietly.

Dinner tonight? He finally taps out and hits send before he can talk himself out of it again.

I’m in. Where? Or are you picking me up? The reply comes in minutes later, and it’s back to step one, anxiety-wise.

I was thinking maybe just round mine - I’ll cook. But I can make reservations somewhere if you prefer.

Still going to need an address, I haven’t been to your new place yet

I’ll pick you up. Is 7 okay?

See you then, handsome

Luca does a quick sweep of his apartment. He likes being tidy - needs to be, really, he’s learned over the past few years - so there’s not too much to be done. Still, he eyes everything critically, tries to see how his living space might come off to someone who’s entering it for the first time.

It’s a bit barren, maybe.

He thinks back to the clutter Keira used to bring home, small trinkets and plants and picture frames, and how Leah has small bits of memorabilia scattered around her flat. LJ has a whole shrine of scented candles, if you put her collection all in one place, and even Jordan has little metal and glass plates that hold other… stuff all over her place.

Luca doesn’t have any of that. His walls are bare, and his shelves are empty save for the books he owns an actual physical copy of. He could probably decorate with the near-countless awards and medals he’s won through the years, but that doesn’t feel right either.

So he goes to buy some plants at the shop around the corner, asks for the most low- maintenance ones and then angles them in a way that the messily ripped off price tags don’t show, because he still needs to cook and get ready for Leah.

Two hours later, with everything prepped and ready, the table set and the music chosen, Luca freezes when he goes to grab the bottle of perfume he’s bought and bought again over the years, sitting right next to the cologne he ordered online after sampling it thrice.

Smelling the way Leah’s used to might make things easier for her. Smelling of cedarwood and bergamot will make things easier for him - and probably for Leah in the long term.

He goes for the cologne, double checks his silhouette in the mirror twice before he gets in his car and drives over to Leah’s.

He should’ve brought flowers, he thinks, when he pulls his thumb back from pressing down the doorbell.

“Hey,” Leah greets him, slightly breathlessly, and there’s something in the back of his mind - a random comment Keira once made, about how Leah’s always ready on time except for when it really matters to her, and then can she can’t make up her mind on things and ends up flustered.

“Hello. I - wow. You’re a stunner,” Luca blurts out, because Leah is, in an oversized shirt that is buttoned low over a skin tight top and wide-cut linen trousers, the perfect mix of fancy and casual he’d been aiming for and has maybe just fallen short of, with his slacks and dress shirt tucked neatly in.

“Just give me a minute, I have to… shoes, you know,” Leah holds up one finger and abandons him, and Luca takes that moment to unbutton his collar, to pick and tug at the fabric covering his torso until it sits in a slightly more rumpled and less formal way.

Seconds later, Leah reappears, pulls the door closed behind her and is standing much closer than Luca expected this soon into the night.

“Hello… again,” he mutters, and it would be so easy to lean in and kiss Leah, and so he does, redirects his movement at the last second and presses his lips to her cheek instead.

Sure, they’ve kissed before, but he doesn’t want to assume.

“Hello yourself,” Leah hums, lifts her hand to play with the collar of his shirt a little. “You clean up nice - not that I thought you wouldn’t, just… this is a very good look on you.”

“Thanks,” Luca manages, and then lets Leah tug him down into a slow, firm kiss that leaves him a little breathless. ”I didn’t think that would come until later, maybe.”

“Thought I’d take the edge off,” Leah shrugs, and Luca can see bits of Leah, his captain, peeking through. “Tonight’s going to be firsts and unknowns enough as it is, for both of us, I reckon.”

“I - yeah. Good thinking,” Luca agrees. “Shall we get going, then?”

It gets both easier and harder once Leah’s in his car and taking over the aux immediately. It’s something that’s familiar and comfortable to Luca, and he’s glad to notice some of the songs Leah chooses to play match the ones he’s put on the carefully curated playlist for the night. It makes him wonder if Leah’s going to like the songs he picked out - if Leah’s going to like any of it, or most importantly, him.

The conflicting tangle in Luca’s chest finally curls into a strange kind of anxious excitement when he leads Leah up to his apartment and shows her around.

“S’not much, I know. I’ve just been so busy - could do so much with the space, I haven’t been able to sit down and have a proper think of what I want it to look like, I s’pose.” He explains. “Anyway, uh, the kitchen is probably the most put-together part of it.”

“I was wondering what was smelling so good.” Leah muses, wandering in and peeking under the lid of a pot clearly left on a simmer.

“It’s just marinara - I was thinking it could be fun to have a pizza night in,” Luca explains. “I know you usually just go for plain cheese, but… if you want, there’s a bunch of toppings ready in the fridge.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from pulling all the containers out to show them off, and he feels a little like a young schoolboy in front of the class when Leah turns and looks at him, silent for so long that the loose collar of his shirt starts feeling itchy against his neck. “What?”

“You made this from scratch, just for me, didn’t you?” Leah asks quietly, like it’s a revelation, like it’s something sacred.

“Well, yeah. I wanted you to like it - to be sure you’d like it. I know it’s not the usual first date thing… so I just, dunno. Figured I’d do my best to make this as good as I know I can manage.”

“It’s lovely, Luca,” Leah says, firm and sure, and then she laughs a little, unexpectedly shy and blushing, and that’s a side of her Luca’s never seen before. “Would it be a deal breaker if I still went for just plain cheese?”

Luca shrugs. “Less work for meal prepping for the rest of my week, is all I hear.”

Leah laughs again, out loud this time, and when she shoves at his shoulder and they’re rolling out dough side by side, easy banter between them, Luca doesn’t know why he was anxious about asking Leah out in the first place - why them, just hanging out like they’ve done dozens of times before only with others around usually, ever sent him down a spiral.

With their dinner in the oven and each of them equipped with a glass of wine, Luca relocates them to the sofa.

“My turn to take the edge off, I suppose,” he starts carefully. “We have a bit of time before the food’s done, and you’ve got to have some questions about all this so I figured we could get at least a few of those out of the way.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Leah double checks, and when Luca shrugs and nods, she shifts slightly to face him more fully.

“I’m not super familiar with, um, trans topics, so please bear with me - if that’s what’s, I mean, how you identify?”

“Yeah,” Luca nods slowly. “I’m still figuring out the extent of that myself, a little, but I think that’s where I’m headed.”

“So it’s a new development?”

“Doing something about it, at least. The other night - that was one of the few times actually going out as… me, I suppose. Mainly I’ve done it in places no one would know or recognise me.” Luca pulls a face. “Actually, I didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew that night either. You caught me by surprise.”

Leah laughs, shaking her head at him. “I’d still say I was the one who got the bigger surprise, out of the two of us. So if this is… a recurring thing, is it just sometimes that you - sorry, I don’t know how to word this properly.”

“It’s a pretty much constant thing, on the inside anyway. The outside is a bit hard, given… everything,” Luca shrugs, gesturing vaguely around them. “Probably won’t be able to change that until after I retire.”

“And would that look like… uh, like this, or would you consider further steps?” Leah cringes at herself, the way Luca knows she always does when she’s not quite happy with herself.

“I’d look into it at least. Some of it is really - some of it I’d really like.” Luca smiles slightly, absent-mindedly runs his fingers along his jaw where he can feel tiny coarse bits of stubble, imagines what an actual 5 o’clock shadow might feel like instead.

They keep talking through their dinner, with Leah growing more comfortable asking questions and Luca answering as well as he can - some of the answers easy and to the point (No, nobody else knows - yes, he wants to tell his family and closest friends eventually - yes, he will tell Leah if there’s anything she can do to support him) and others turning into something between a ramble and a monologue.

It’s hard to sum up several years’ worth of small bits and pieces and moments of becoming self-aware and self-discovery in just a couple of sentences.

“Can I ask you something now?” Luca asks when Leah’s questions have slowed down and their plates are nearly empty, and he feels his nerves acting up a little once more at Leah’s nod. “Does this… doesn’t any of this bother you? It’s just, I’m - I’m a pretty far f*cking cry from your usual type.”

Leah hums, frowns slightly as if she’s working something out for a moment and then finishes off the last little sip of wine she’s got left in her glass.

“I’ve always said I like what I like - or who I like, in this case. If it just so happens that you’re the first man who falls under that category for me… then that’s just what it is.” She smiles at Luca over the rim of her wine glass, somewhere between coy and confident, cheeks a little pink and a sparkle in her eyes.

“That’s… well, that’s really good to know,” Luca grins, terribly aware that his face must match Leah’s almost exactly but too relieved to care about it all too much.

After the pizza, with their plates in the dishwasher, Leah thinks he's moving them to the living room. But instead Luca reaches for her jacket and holds it out - carefully open, ready for her to slip her arms in.

“Where are we going?” She pauses to ask, resting her fingers against the inside seam of her jacket as it hangs between them. Luca’s expression is as earnest as she's ever seen it - in the locker room when they only have a half left to get their result.

“Dessert?” Luca replies. It sounds like a question as much as an answer. “There are some nice places around here,” he’s tripping his words a little, as he continues, “gelato, or ice cream if you'd rather, there’s a restaurant that does this chocolate tasting flight thing, or there’s crepes though that's a bit of a walk. I figured, it, just . . . I wanted you to have a proper date. A going-out date. If you wanted. As well.”

Luca seems a little unsure, as if he’s striving for the right words, in a way that's different from when they were talking earlier.

“I want it to be a proper date. This is . . you’re so . . . I want to do well by you, Leah.”

“You handsome, sweet, silly ...” Her hands are off the jacket now and framing his face instead. “Luca. You just made one of my favourite foods for me. From scratch. That’s a really good date.” She presses kisses over his nose and cheeks until she can feel him smiling.

“Did you want to go out?” she asks as they ease apart. “Does going out in public help you feel settled into this new way of….” She isn’t sure the exact words to finish the question, but Luca’s quirking an understanding smile.

“It sort of does,” he answers, “I mean - never quite knowing whether I’ll be perceived as a Lioness with a fan following or as just an ordinary guy . . . there's a bit of anxiety there right now, I guess. It feels really good being perceived as Luca. Feels really good being perceived by you.”

Leah nudges the jacket out of Luca's hands, letting it drop and lacing their fingers together.

“If you're needing something sweet I'm happy to go out with you. But I’m not too fussed about dessert. I want - I just want to soak you in.”

They stand for a long time in the awkward corner of the room that the flat’s architect had decided should be the front hall. The light over the dining table leaves them half in shadows. Leah’s jacket is still on the floor at their feet.

Leah’s eyelashes are nearly translucent at the tips, Luca notices. And her eyes aren't just blue - they have tiny streaks of grey and green. She’s looking at him as if she’s collecting the same kinds of minute detail that he is - eyes darting a little, brow furrowed, expression warm and focused.

“I love this.” She rests gentle fingers on his cheek, pushing a little against the grain of the fuzz there to feel the friction. “It just catches the light. And it feels good against my skin.”

He hadn't meant to lean so overtly into her touch, but by the time he says “I love it too” she’s cradling his cheek in her palm.

They’ve just finished dinner weeks later - a hole in the wall place, but Millie had assured him the food was gorgeous, and she’d been right - when Leah steals the line that has become habit for Luca over the last weeks right out of his mouth.

“Can I walk you home? I’m way past due my turn.”

They are much closer to his place, Luca thinks, and he has been on the picking-up or dropping-off part of things a lot more than Leah - so it’s easy to agree.

As they’re walking down the sidewalks, moving in and out of the circles of light from slightly too far apart street lamps, he thinks back to the first time they walked home like this. How Leah had asked him to stay over. How much he’d wanted to say yes.

There have been more than a few dates now - more than a few times where Leah’s sat in his lap or pulled him on top of her on her sofa, her fingers digging into his back, his hands wandering along her sides. There’s been more than one apology on either side for a hand moving a little too far or a boundary brushed against, and through all of it, Leah has remained open and understanding and never shy about showing that she’s into him - that she’s into him .

And so, when Leah slows to a stop in front of his house, wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him the same slow teasing and wanting and wishing and waiting way that’s become their standard goodnight, Luca steals a phrase right back from her.

“It’s late. Do you want to stay over?”

Leah’s eyes shine as bright as her smile in the moonlight.

“I’d love to,” she murmurs, kissing him again.

“I want to -” Luca mutters, when he’s got Leah braced against the front door of his flat after it’s just fallen shut behind them.

“Me too.”

“I don’t know if I-”

“I know,” Leah whispers, kisses him once, twice, three times, chaste and quiet. “That’s alright.”

They make it to the bedroom, and with Leah in his lap, moaning softly into his mouth, Luca lets his hands venture where they haven’t before, relishing in the way Leah arches into his touch once her shirt has come off.

“Can I take yours off too?” Leah breathes against his ear, and he falters for a moment.

“Yeah, just…” he searches Leah’s eyes, finds them dark and eager and, below that, calm. “Remember I’m still me?”

“Always,” Leah replies, and it sounds like a promise.

Leah’s the one to remove his shirt, one button at a time and then a firm, slow push down his shoulders, but Luca’s the one to hastily do away with the double layers of fabric covering his chest.

“Look at you,” Leah mutters, even when Luca can’t quite meet her eyes just yet. “Can I - I really want to put my mouth on you.. right here.”

Leah’s dragging her fingers over his abs, and Luca nods, because he’s been thinking about that exact thing ever since Leah first slipped her hand under his shirt weeks ago at the club and bit her lip when he flexed under her touch.

They go from there, with every step a question first and an answer second, with every ‘not right now’ shelved for some later time and every ‘I don’t know’ met with patience until a definite answer is found. They find ‘yes’ together, too, angles and pressure and shared breath until they go breathless.

Luca doesn’t mind it at all when Leah throws her arm around his waist after, pulls her close until Leah’s head is resting somewhere between his shoulder and chest and he can feel her breath against his skin.

It’s a little different in the morning, when he wakes first and all he can think of is how exposed and naked he feels - and it must be his racing heartbeat that wakes Leah up minutes later, but when she simply turns her head to press a kiss somewhere close to his sternum, mumbles ‘good morning, handsome’ into his skin, he shifts and turns and kisses her right back.

“Good morning, beautiful. What d’you want for breakfast?”

“More sleep,” Leah grumbles and buries her face closer to his neck, and Luca does his best to keep his laughter contained.

The third time Luca’s properly staying over at Leah’s, planned and for more than just a random night that means an extra few hours together before one of them is whisked off for an away match, there’s a brand new set of towels in the bathroom, and a small deep blue cup to hold his toothbrush next to Leah’s, with a small note on it that reads this is the only time I’ll allow Chelsea blue in my home, so you better use it xx.

Luca’s too busy smiling at it all that he misses the steady drip-drip-drip of the faucet until he’s halfway through his skincare routine and the sound is somewhere between annoying and distracting him.

He tries to turn the handle off as firmly as he can without breaking the damn thing, but the dripping persists.

“Leah, babe, I think your sink’s broken - faucet keeps dripping,” he mentions when he enters Leah’s bedroom and climbs into bed next to her.

“I know, so annoying - drives me nuts in the mornings. I’ve been meaning to call my landlord about it but it’s not that bad yet, so I’ve just been putting it off,” Leah shrugs, yawns as she cuddles into Luca’s side. “I’ll get on it soon enough.”

Luca gives a short hum and switches the light off, blindly reaches for Leah’s jaw and tilts her head up enough for him to kiss her sweetly.

“Good night, beautiful.”

“G’night, handsome,” Leah replies as she snuggles against his chest - his unbound chest, too soft and too much to pass as just muscle, and Luca pulls her just a little closer for it.

When he brings his tool box the next time Leah invites him over, just a few days later, and heads straight for the bathroom, Leah doesn’t question it. Luca usually does, when he comes over after training or a media thing and hasn’t had time to change into clothes that are more comfortable for him.

He doesn’t come back for a solid fifteen minutes, so she does get a bit worried and goes to check on him, leans on the doorframe when she spots him on his back working away at the pipes under her sink. Twenty minutes later, when he wipes his hands on his jeans and the dripping has ceased, Leah’s expression has turned from confused to… maybe not impressed, but something close to it.

“There, that’s done. No need to call your landlord now,” Luca announces. “Don’t know why you didn’t tell me about this before, I could’ve fixed this for you weeks ago.”

“How was I supposed to know you knew how to fix sinks?” Leah defends herself.

“That’s what you’ve got boyfriends for, isn’t it?” Luca shrugs with a small grin.

“Is that so,” Leah hums, closes the distance between them and cups Luca’s face between her hands, rubs her thumbs against the tiny hint of stubble on his face.

“Well, uh. If that’s alright with you? I know I’m not, like, exactly what you’d imagine… but I think I’d be good at it. I’d like to be good at it.”

Leah can’t help it; she leans in and kisses him, if only to shut him up. “Look at you, faded T-shirt and worn out jeans. Fixing my sink for me - you’re perfect boyfriend material, and I’d be a fool to say no to that.”

Thinking back, the forecast had called for the rain to come back. They hadn’t really paid it any mind.

It’s post-match day for both of them, and a rare day off together. They walk to the park near Leah’s flat and then a mile or so on winding footpaths, joined hands swinging between them, enjoying the weak winter sun, before finding a high street and some lunch. They drift through a couple of shops - passing each other candles to sniff, and sifting through racks of vintage clothes - before heading back home.

The rain catches them in the park. Not a light drizzle like the weather report predicted, but a drenching downpour. It starts when they’re on an open bit of heath, and there isn’t even any point in running - they’ll be soaked before they reach the trees anyway.

Leah giggles at the sudden-ness of it, tilting her face up to the rain and closing her eyes, leaning into Luca’s side. Luca feels himself smiling - Leah’s mood feels easy and infectious. He wraps his arm around her waist to steer her.

There’s only a few centimetres of height difference between them. But something about the way Leah leans herself into him, angles her head onto his shoulder or against his neck, has him feeling much taller than her as often as not. He doesn’t know if it’s a conscious choice on Leah’s part - a subtle lean into something just a bit more gendered - but he loves it. Loves the way his lips know the texture of her hairline. Loves the effect on his heart rate every time her steady breathing presses against the skin of his neck - sometimes speeding as she nuzzles closer, sometimes slowing when she cuddles sleepily into him.

By the time he’s easing off his shoes in Leah’s kitchen, Leah is tossing him a towel. She disappears briefly and returns with a pile of hoodies and trackies.

“Take whatever you like.” She gestures with her chin at the stack of clothes as she unfolds the drying rack and spreads out her soaked jumper before starting on her trousers.

Luca changes his jeans for a pair of nondescript grey trackies from the pile before hesitating.

“I can step out.” Leah says, catching the way his hands have stilled at the buttons of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, that part’s fine.” Luca reassures her. “My binder would just make everything wet again.”

Leah is nodding before he's quite finished - as quick to follow what he’s thinking as she is at noticing when he’s open and pushing up the side of the pitch.

Leah hadn’t been there, when he’d tried on proper chest binders for the first time. As he’d compared the thick jersey options with the compressive mesh ones.

But she’d sent him a couple of research studies on the safest ways to bind (along with a sweetly peppery little text message ‘ I extracted these from behind the academic research paywall just for you - do with that what you will ’) which had prompted him to order the binders in the first place.

And before that, she’d spent an evening tracing her fingers across his back and over his ribs, discussing the latest policy proposal from Fifpro, and watching as the indents from his first solution of doubled-up sports bras faded slowly out of his skin. She had asked him gently how it felt, whether it hurt, what other options he’d considered.

He showed her. Once he’d found a binder that he liked and sent back the others. The slight constriction of his ribs and muggy feel of sweat along his spine more than outweighed by the right-ness and excitement and relief that flooded him as he looked at himself in the mirror - T-shirt falling flat and loose along his whole torso. And that evening, watching Leah rub the layers of mesh between her fingers and carefully examine the seams and the label reminded him of the way she scrutinised clothes options for the red carpet, or for long travel days.

Now, in her kitchen, she holds out her hands. Still cold and a little damp, just like his, and leads him to her walk-in closet.

“I got these so that you could have a change here if you needed.” she explains, opening a drawer.

It’s mostly empty. A couple pairs of his boxers, and a T-shirt he’d discarded hastily mid-makeout a nights days ago, are washed and folded on one side. On the other side are two binders, the same strong mesh as the one sitting damp against his skin.

“I know I got the right brand and size, not quite sure they’re the right style. I’ve still got the receipt if you want to...”

Luca is kissing her before she’s quite finished, her hair damp under his fingers and her lips still parted, then smiling, against his.

“We’re going to bookmark the part of this where you gave me a drawer and started doing my laundry.” He lets himself grin as he says it. “But... Thank you. I hadn’t even thought to… how did you get them so fast? I ordered more and it said shipping was delayed ‘til next week.”

“There’s a shop in Shoreditch, has them.”

“That’s…“

“It was easy.” She says it with the calm finality she uses as captain. “I’ll leave you to change - sorry, the other hoodie’s still in the kitchen - help yourself to whatever.”

Luca just stands there for a minute, after Leah steps out. Running two fingers along the front edge of the drawer - one corner to the other, back and forth, back and forth, the smooth surface grounding him from the odd unbalancing joy of being not just seen but anticipated.

Finally he unbuttons his still-soaked shirt and lets it drop, and strips the wet binder off inside-out with only a moderate amount of cursing.

He unfolds one of the binders from the drawer. Leah did indeed buy the right ones. He slips it over his head, scanning Leah’s stack of folded hoodies for options besides Arsenal red as he eases the mesh over one shoulder and then the other.

He doesn’t notice what’s happening until it has already happened. The fabric’s rolled under itself all across his back. He wriggles, trying to pull the mesh away enough for it to unroll like a shirt would, but it’s too tight. He tries to take the whole thing off, but can’t find an edge to grip with the way the garment is lodged under his armpits.

“Leah? Um, could you give a hand?”

“Can you get the back?”

“I can try,” she sounds dubious, “I’ll be touching by your shoulder blades, that alright?”

He nods, working his fingers under the fabric in the front.

“Oh, your skin’s still damp. That’s why it . . . bit of a rookie move darlin’, I must say. The folks on Reddit say not to put these on straight out of the shower.”

“Well I’m clearly not an expert at any of this, yet,” he grumbles. He manages to get the front pulled down a few inches, but he can feel Leah’s still scrabbling for purchase on the mesh against his back.

“Sorry… didn’t mean to tease.” From her tone Luca knows that, if he was dressed and not in such a vulnerable situation, the apology would come with a kiss pressed to his shoulder or his jaw.

“It’s fine,” he replies, arching his back as Leah finally manages to free the back of the binder. “What’s this about Reddit?”

“Just - stop wiggling - you know. Learning what I can. Their advice forums are well-moderated. There’s some useful stuff.”

Luca can’t find a response to that. To the sudden accumulation of startling/reassuring things. The drawer. The binders she’s managed to have on hand before he even has enough at his own flat to last through laundry day. The way Leah checks in - not at all timid, just matter of fact courtesy and consent - before she touches him. The way she’d looked at him over lunch when he’d found a good pun - a little affronted and so, so fond.

He slips on the top hoodie from the top of the pile, only half noticing the pink jeep and ‘Meadema Revenge Tour’ splashed across the front, before pulling Leah close and tilting his face for kisses.

They've been together hardly any time at all compared to both their previous relationships, that first Christmas. Handfuls of weeks that can technically be counted in months, though that feels like a stretch.

Luca is convincing himself to be brave a lot, these days. But his courage fails a little at the prospect of a Christmas gift for the person he'd shared a job and a changing room with for most of a decade, and was suddenly sharing more vulnerable parts of himself with day by day.

He ends up making an IOU - carefully hand lettered - for a night away, at a destination they can choose together.

Leah is smiling, and already talking about a cottage in New Forest that one of her friends loved, as she hands him her gift - much bulkier than the one she'd received.

Luca's heart drops a little after he opens it, unsure quite what to make of things.

"You got me pyjamas." He says, trying not to make it a question.

"Mm-hm" Leah replies, then picking up on his confusion she reaches for his hand. "When the Lionesses travel you used to always wear tank tops or an old kit base-layer at night, or down to breakfast. I noticed you've been in hoodies lately instead. Those can get awfully hot to sleep in. These are linen - made in Portugal actually - they'll keep you cooler. And they're cut boxy, I hope boxy enough that . . . I thought they might be more comfortable."

Luca doesn‘t have much to say, at that. Just cradles her hand between both of his, running his thumbs over her knuckles softly.

“I did also get you that hot sauce you’ve been getting ads for all over instagram.” Leah follows up with a grin. “There’s got to be something just for fun - especially at Christmas.”

By the time they happen to say it, it already feels like a given.

They’d met up with Leah’s gran at a garden centre for lunch and a little mooch about.

They stay afterwards, just the two of them. It’s a rare sunny afternoon, surrounded by damp green quiet and endless rows of tiny early seedlings. Luka wants a basil plant to try growing one in his kitchen.

“Are you sure you want to keep it at yours?” Leah asks, walking backwards so she can face him, hands on the long racks of veg seedlings either side to guide herself. “You’re ‘round at mine so often, you might as well keep it in my kitchen instead.”

“You love that I’m ‘round at yours.” Luca grins at her.

“I love you,” she responds easily, without missing a beat.

Luca closes the distance between them, catching her hands.

“I love you too,” he replies. Her hands are a little cold in his. Her breath is warm against his cheek.

“That works out well then,” Leah says lightly - he can hear her smiling. “Lucky me.”

“Thank goodness,” she continues, walking again now but keeping ahold of his hand, “now I won't have to be careful not to say it every time we make out. Something tells me this relationship is always going to be a queer relationship, when it comes to the stereotypes about U-hauling.”

At camp, when Luca skips the showers in favour of taking one in his own private bathroom back at their hotel and Tooney makes a big show out of holding her nose on the coach, fans the air around her and just can’t seem to stop cracking jokes, Leah steps up and shuts it all down - and, months later, sits next to Luca when he comes out to Ella.

Leah f*cks up exactly once during a scrimmage, shouts “Luke, leave it, I’ve got it!” when they’re both running to clear the same ball.

It gets lost in the moment, and she’s fairly sure only Mary and maybe Hempo heard, and Lauren’s not going to pay it much mind. Luca’s face drops, though, and when she knocks on his door two hours later, after a meeting with Sarina she was barely present for mentally, he’s sitting on his bed still in his training gear.

She tugs him to the shower - dried sticky sweat all over is no condition to have a conversation in.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him from where she’s leaning against the sink, quiet and earnest over the steady stream of hot water. Luca’s turned away from her even behind the milky glass of the walk-in shower. “I… I could give you a million explanations why it happened, but I don’t think that’d help, and none of them are an excuse, either. I’m just - I slipped up. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Luca sounds slightly less robotic than he had when she first found him frozen still on his bed. “It was bound to happen at some point.”

“It’s not, and that’s alright. You can be upset with me. Hell, I’m upset with myself.”

“I’m not upset with you.”

“You look it,” Leah points out, without any bite. “And that’s - that’s okay. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t, so I’ll just, I don’t know. I’ll go sort it out with Mary, I suppose.”

“Leah.” Luca sticks his head out from the shower, frowning. “I’m not upset with you. I’m trying to figure out how to explain… all this… to Mary, because there’s no way around it. And I think it’s time to let at least some people know.”

“Alright, then,” Leah nods, the worried tension in her body rerouting itself into steely determination. “I’ll come with you - jump in if you need me to, at any point.”

When they head down to Mary’s, she seems to have been waiting for Luca at least, because she’s a bit surprised to see Leah there as well. And when Luca explains, slowly and with lots of pauses and caveats, Leah rubbing his back slowly but steering clear of where she knows the ends of his binder sit, Mary sits back and just listens.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” she says finally, when Luca sinks back against Leah, doesn’t dare to look up at Mary. “I’ve always said that it’s best to live your truth - that’s when beauty happens. I understand that it might not be the time and place you wanted this to happen, but I’m so happy you get to be unapologetically yourself, Lu- Luke? And I’m so excited to be right next to you, always.”

“Luca,” he mutters. “But Luke’s fine.”

“Course you’d get hung up on the details,” Mary huffs, but then she wraps Luca in a tight hug and draws Leah into it as well.

“Love you, Luca. Always.”

Whenever they’re in private it’s always Luca after that, with Mary. Firm and solid and almost stubborn in support.

It’s Luca with more friends, in time.

The only person that his name is a problem for is his young niece. She adjusts to him being her uncle with total nonchalance, but struggles with the new combination of vowels. One day she comes up with Lukey, and to his chagrin (and his brother’s glee) it sticks.

It’s not a nickname he would have chosen. But he adores his niece. And the memories of being Lukey before he was ever Luca, that evening in Sicily, are good, too. And there’s something about the classic experience of being christened an odd nickname by a toddler that has him easily adjusting to it. By the end of this visit the whole situation sits warm in his chest whenever his niece yells “Lukey, push!” from the swings.

There are parts that run smooth. And parts that trip him up so suddenly it feels like being slide tackled.

He can’t go to his usual hair salon. Well, he probably could , but…

Celebrity and this still-mostly-private process feel clashed together, tangled somehow suddenly, over something that was utterly routine before. Every space he can find specifically for gender-affirming haircuts is definitely a place where people follow women’s football. And the places he could go without getting recognized, he’d likely stand out for getting his first short cut.

And he’s not sure he’s ready for the questions and comments and social media buzz that would come with him suddenly having a masculine-looking hairstyle. (Thought of splitting the difference with something like a pixie cut feels worse than changing nothing at all.)

Leah offers to do it. Almost does, one evening, leaning over his shoulder as they both look at his reflection in the mirror above her bureau.

“Like this, you think?” she asks, holding his hair so that a few inches of it flop across his forehead. “Or longer to start?”

“I’m not sure.”

He holds the hair at his temples back, trying to get the look of a clipper cut close to the skin, while Leah tries a few more things with the hair at his forehead.

“Let’s not worry about it tonight.” He says finally, giving Leah’s fingers a brief squeeze before scraping his hair back into a ponytail. “I’ll figure something out.”

He doesn’t figure anything out, in the end. Just wears his hair tucked back in a low bun even more than usual, and tells himself to wait.

Leah, doing life alongside him, sometimes reminds him a lot of Leah, playing on his left side. She listens in the same sharp and focused way, even when Luca thinks she’s half distracted, and she reads between the lines the same way she reads plays or even entire matches. She sends him posts on Instagram and articles and research and documentaries when they’re apart, and sometimes when they’re spending a lazy afternoon on the sofa together. The same way she captains quietly - never pushing too far or too fast, but always present in her constant way of showing support.

She never presses Luca about the things she’s shared. But she’s ready whenever he brings them up - listening and nodding and understanding and asking all the right questions, even if she’s not sure they are, all at once.

Three weeks into his second pre-season as a Blue, Luca feels off. Not physically - spending nearly every day of their shared time off with Leah, who is just as determined to keep up with her fitness as he is had meant regular trips to the gym that are fuelled by their competitive mindset in a way so that he aces all the fitness testing and adds a new personal best here or there.

It’s just that it’s not as exciting as it used to be, developing tactics and seeing them work out, or getting to know the new transfers and going to team building activities. It’s tinted with the constant sting of small reminders that the world doesn’t see him the way he sees himself - how Leah sees him, too. It’s harder than he thought, adjusting to being called the wrong name all the time and all that comes with playing what’s labelled women’s football, especially after a summer’s worth of a break from all of it.

He packs up his things faster than usual after training and amps up his habit of being the last one in until he’s at risk of being late, most days. Maybe once the season kicks off, it’ll all feel normal again.

Four match days in, when he walks off the pitch after a win against United, the grey October skies overhead look much like he feels, and he knows that something’s got to change.

There’s nine months left on his contract with Chelsea. And he could probably snag another year’s extension - he’s still outperforming a vast majority of the contenders for his starting spot, across club and country and leagues.

It’s just that another year of hiding away, of making excuses about the showers post-practice or post-match, of let’s go, girls is just too much.

Luca goes on a bunch of long, slow runs, trying to clear his mind enough to come up with a solution, a sudden realisation of a third option that will give him the freedom he seeks.

“What’s up with you?” Leah asks him one night, when he trudges into her flat drenched and shivering from the cold rain outside, a mile or three added to his run because once he was about to turn into the road towards his home, he decided he wanted to be somewhere else much more. “You’ve been running yourself ragged - don’t think I haven’t noticed. You never do that unless there’s something up.”

It’s nothing , he wants to say, but he’s not going to start that with Leah. “I’ll tell you once I’ve taken a shower, yeah?”

“Alright.” Leah pauses, and he catches her eyes flicking down to his mud-freckled calves and soaked trainers, notices how she’s slow to meet his eyes again. “Do you want some company?”

“Not tonight, love, sorry,” Luca mutters, and Leah simply smiles, presses a soft kiss to his wet temple where sweat and rain have combined into a cold salty co*cktail of despair.

“Come join me on the sofa when you’re ready,” she says, “I’ll have a cuppa ready for you, to warm you up proper.”

“Okay.” Luca nods quietly, and he waits until he hears the low white noise of Leah filling the kettle and putting it on before he turns off the lights in the bathroom save for the dimmest one, the dying lightbulb of Leah’s so-called vanity mirror that’s fixed on the wall above her sink.

He still closes his eyes once he’s turned the shower on. He doesn’t open them again until he’s wrapped in a towel, and if he washed his body with his shampoo because he accidentally knocked the bottle of shower gel down and couldn’t make himself pat around blindly for it, so be it.

He imagines he looks much like he feels - drippy and damp and clean in the wrong way - when he pads down to Leah’s living room. His feet carry him directly to Leah’s side, where she’s sat with her legs up under a soft blanket, and then he lies down half on top of her, wet hair be damned, presses his nose against Leah’s neck and wraps his arm tight around her.

In a world of impossible choices, one worse than the other depending on the angle, she’s the only right one.

“Hey, now,” Leah murmurs, puts her phone aside and sets one hand against his cheek instead, rubbing back and forth slowly. His stubble catches on her skin just so, but it’s not enough. Luca wants it to be enough. “You’re alright, love. What’s got you so troubled?”

“I don’t want to say it,” Luca mumbles, even though he knows he’s going to. “I don’t want to make it real.”

“That’s alright,” Leah replies lightly. “We have time - you have time. I just, I don’t like seeing you like this, when something’s bothering you. Maybe just telling me would make it easier? Maybe I can help or - or I’ll just listen. Whatever you need.”

Luca’s quiet for a long while, eyes closed, simply focusing on the feeling of Leah’s hands rubbing small circles over his back and shoulders.

“This will be my final season, I think.”

“At Chelsea?”

“No, overall.”

“Okay.” If Leah’s surprised, she doesn’t let it show. “Okay. Do you want to talk about the how and why, or… should we just leave it at this, and me telling you at some point tonight how proud I am of you?”

That does get Luca to lift his head and frown at Leah. “I don’t need the whole run down of what I’m leaving behind. I’m well aware of that, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Leah replies gently. “I mean this - the courage to leave it behind. To head into something new, even if it hurts.”

“It does hurt. But I think it’ll hurt more to put off all that comes with… retiring,” Luca mutters.

“I think I know what you’re talking about, darling, but can you be a little more precise? Just so we’re on the same page,” Leah requests just as quietly, threading her hands through his slowly drying hair - his damn hair, that he’s come so close to chopping off on more than one desperate night.

“A haircut, first and foremost,” he grumbles, and Leah slides her hands down to his back almost immediately. “And- and HRT. Surgery, once that’s an option?”

“Okay,” Leah nods, he can feel the slow, thoughtful bobs of her head against his temple.

“Is it?” He lifts his head a little, searches his girlfriend’s eyes. “There’s a lot of change involved. Is that - does that not -“

“I’ve read what feels like almost all there is about HRT,” Leah interrupts him. “I’ve had a feeling you were going to go that way sooner or later. I’m just glad you’re prioritising your own well-being for once rather than just throwing yourself half across the pitch for fun or out of necessity.”

Luca takes her light teasing in stride, shrugs and grins. “Needs must. But seriously, Leah, would you be alright with - well, all that might come with it?”

“Maybe not all of it - if you stink up my apartment like a teenage boy, I might have a word. Other than that, I’m all for you truly growing into yourself - or maybe rather letting the world see who you already are.”

Luca hums, tucks his head back against her shoulder. “I might grow a full beard, you know. Just going off what Jorge’s like…”

“Is that supposed to scare me off? Thought it’s well established by now that I like your stubble,” Leah retorts, brushes her thumb against his cheek as if to double down on her statement. “I think you’d suit a beard. You’ve got the face shape for it.”

They fall asleep in a mirror image of what has become habit, that night, Luca cuddled up against Leah’s chest instead of the other way around.

When they wake the next morning, Luca’s the first one to speak.

“I have to tell Sarina.”

It comes out low and raspy, and the brief rush of happiness he feels at that only confirms the decision that’s been weeks in the making.

“Mhm,” Leah hums, kisses him quickly. “Can we have breakfast first?”

“I figured it’d have to be in person - still want you there, though. And breakfast first, obviously, for either scenario.”

Once his management is made aware of his decision and a rough timeline around his retirement is set - appearances and interviews and such - there isn’t much to do but wait until it’s time.

Luca’s never been the best at waiting, and eight more months of it feel like an impossible task.

“I’m just so ready to get started with it all,” he complains to Leah while they’re out on a walk one day. “I know it’s silly - I’ve been waiting so long, what’s another few months, really? But all I want is to do something about it all.”

“You could,” Leah shrugs. “Nothing stopping you, is there?”

“Um, league restrictions on hormone levels, one,” Luca counts. “Not wanting to come out to the public just yet, and a haircut and… all that might stir the pot a bit too much, two. I’ve already updated my wardrobe a bunch, so that’s out as well.”

“We could always go shopping for more clothes,” Leah drops in, cheeky grin and eager eyes.

“Love, your closet’s bursting at the seams - what with all of my stuff that you’ve either saved from the donation pile or just outright stolen from mine.”

“We could also shop for a bigger closet,” Leah shrugs.

“And enable you further? I’m not so sure,” Luca laughs and shakes his head. He’s fairly certain their next shared day off will be spent at Ikea.

“Anyway - I wasn’t thinking visible changes,” Leah loops it back around. “You said something about therapy before starting the entire medical process. You could get on that now, and nobody would be any the wiser. It’d be something to do, and it’d probably cut a decent chunk of the waiting time, don’t you think?”

Finding a list of therapists to reach out to is harder than making an appointment, Luca finds, and then three weeks is much more palatable a wait time than eight months are.

“How was it?” Leah urges when he gets home. “Quick - I’ve only got ten minutes before I have to leave for practice.”

“Good,” Luca smiles. “Really good. We talked for maybe half an hour before he said he doesn’t think my identity needs to be the main focus of it all, and if there was anything else I’d like to talk about - and so we talked through retiring some, and how I feel about that.”

And it carries on much like that - with his therapist ready for anything Luca wants to sift and work through, and only bringing his identity up when it’s relevant, when there’s certain timestamps that they’ve met that allow for progression on all things transition-related.

Leah’s there - not fully present, but hovering outside the door - when Luca tells Sarina. They’ve rehearsed the conversation plenty of times before, but Sarina throws him a curve ball.

“Yes, of course,” really isn’t the response Luca expected from his coach.

“What d’you mean, of course?” He asks, frowning.

“It’s not about your abilities, Lucy,” Sarina replies quickly and Luca manages to keep his flinching to a minimum. “If anything, I’d hoped to keep you through at least the next two major tournaments. But you’ve seemed a little restless, like you’ve got something more important to focus on. And I understand it - family is important.”

“It’s not my family,” Luca shakes his head quickly. “Well, maybe a little. The time I’ll get to spend with - doesn’t matter. It’s mostly myself, is the reason.”

“Is it your knee?” Sarina asks quickly. “Because I can have the staff - I did tell them to-”

“Not the knee,” Luca shakes his head. “Sarina, you see…”

Half an hour later, Leah marches right up to him, frowning. “What did she say? You took so much longer than Rach did. What is it?”

Luca smiles and shrugs, his eyes a little red. “Apologised for calling me - you know. Even though she had no way of knowing. Gave me a big hug and said she’s happy for me, and for us - sorry, I sort of let that bit slip as well. I’m fairly sure she’s got wikipedia or something pulled up as we speak.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Leah, she… she called me Luca, when she ended the meeting,” Luca mutters, and his eyes are wet again.

“Of course she did,” Leah laughs, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks and kissing him once, twice, quick and soft. “What else would she call you? Bronzey? That seems too cheeky for Sarina.”

Leah’s also there, tucked right against his side, when the shared post with Chelsea announcing his retirement goes up on his instagram, months later.

Together, they watch the flurry of incoming messages and comments for a few minutes before it gets a bit much.

“Can you - I want to give some thanks to the people that matter, but it’s all…”

“Of course.” Leah takes Luca’s phone easily, and it’s three seconds before the constant buzzing is silenced. She taps away at the screen for a solid ten, fifteen minutes, before she puts the device aside. “That should do it for now - you can check in the morning if I’ve missed anything. There were some French players, definitely not my expertise, that.”

He mentally thanks his teammates who retired before him. For the way they've talked, for years, about how much of an adjustment retirement is. The way they set an expectation that retiring players should go into it holding a lot of space for change.

He knows this probably isn't the kind of change they were thinking of. And also, it feels like moving into a soft and oddly sheltered chapter compared to being in the public eye every week (albeit a chapter filled with even more medical and therapist paperwork then the times he did his knee). Just him, a long to-do list flavoured equally with relief and excitement, and Leah. Always Leah.

He cuts his own hair, in the end. in the bathroom of his flat late one night - long past his usual bedtime. Though bedtime as a concept is more flexible these days than it’s been for the past eighteen years, give or take.

Long-forgotten memories bubble up, as he twists to see himself in the mirror. Of North Carolina, a handful of young queer kids crammed into the poorly lit bathroom of a shared house, the sound of scissors and laughter and stories, Death Cab for Cutie playing on the tinny speakers of someone’s laptop.

The waves and texture that he’s spent years smoothing down are suddenly alive and springy when he’s done. Everything’s a bit shaggy - longer than he’d like, and uneven from his kitchen scissors and from where he’d held off on the clippers. But he feels like he’s floating. The literal weight of his long hair, gone. The set of his shoulders and neck and jaw look different. And it’s like there’s some trick of the light happening in the mirror - glimpses of how he’s felt for so long, how he’s wanted to be seen, are suddenly right there looking back at him.

Leah calls him handsome every day now. Luca loves it and is used to it, in equal measures.

The next evening when she opens her front door to his knock, she’s glowing as she says it. And her eyes are misty.

And later that night, his head between Leah’s thighs, he discovers another reason to relish the short hair. Leah’s strong careful hands, instead of smoothing his hair down toward his ponytail, tangling in it. Playful and needy by turns. New compliments of how it feels between her fingers mixed in with the cussing and commentary of the early phases of her arousal, before that falls apart into moans.

He grimaces walking out of the little room at his doctor’s office after his first T shot and Leah worries about something having gone wrong, ready to take it up with the staff if he needs her to.

Instead, he complains that his butt hurts, and she laughs and, after checking no one’s looking, grabs it lightly. “My poor baby - lucky for you, I can help with that.”

She can’t, not really. But any excuse to grab Luca’s ass is and will be used going forward, and it does make him laugh enough to distract him from the discomfort.

He gets acne, sudden and terrible, for two weeks and then gone. Like some obligatory initial step into manhood that can never be fully untethered from adolescence.

When it clears, his skin texture is different. The change is slight, he thinks it’s damage at first - backs off from the harsher products he’d been using, and back to his usual gentle skincare. But it stays. Not bad, and not altogether unexpected, but something that he’d read about in abstract - not ever thought about for himself. The way he’s thought about facial hair, or how his posture will feel with a flat chest, or the possibility of more muscle mass across his shoulders.

It feels like nothing much else is happening. A little hungrier maybe, but he's back running again - that's to be expected. Then one morning he notices the hair on the back of his arms is darker than before. It feels wiry. He can't stop touching it for the rest of the day.

He sounds oddly hoarse at the same time as Leah’s got a cold, but he doesn’t feel sick, and then, when Leah feels and sounds better and he still sounds like he’s got a grater going at his vocal chords, his voice cracks for the first time and realisation hits.

It had never even been a question; when they move in together, it will be in Leah's flat. Her accumulated years in the place showed. It felt homey, cosy, thoughtfully put together for living - a noticeable contrast to Luca’s new-build that felt, at most, like a place to land for a bit while he was busy with the important business of football.

Leah's place also has a tiny back garden - the size of a postage stamp, but much easier when Narla is in town. And the most comfortable sofa Luca has ever encountered (though the company he keeps there might make him a little biassed). And an eat-in kitchen that Luca has been slowly taking over for months already - a slow accretion of spices, sauces, and high-quality cookware.

They'd been talking about moving in. Planning, communicating a lot, giving themselves time to work out the details before anything was urgent. There was so much change happening already - adjusting to retired life, and the whirlwind that came with his HRT - that they’d decided to not add any unnecessary stress in the form of self-imposed deadlines. It felt very adult compared to the start-of-season swirl of housing-shuffling and happenstance that had almost always made those decisions for him, before.

There was a steady softness in those conversations, too - one of the things Luca loved most about this relationship. He'd seen the new key to Leah's place - brass still shiny - in her bureau drawer one morning when she'd sent him scrounging for chapstick on her behalf while she rushed to pack for an away fixture.

It felt a little uneven, that she had a gift for him when he didn't have one for her. Even if it was a pragmatic gift - something he'd need anyway. So he did something about it - heart beating a little fast as he browsed through shops and online. He knew Leah's taste. Still, she was particular. And he hadn't bought her jewellery before.

"I have something for you." Leah tells him as they finish breakfast, a month before the move. The van is booked, and Luca has started packing boxes. Leah had insisted on helping him, but after three failed attempts that ended somewhere on or around his sofa and with his possessions only halfway to their destination, he respectfully declined any further offers.

"I know you've been using the spare just fine, but..."She fumbles in her pocket briefly, then slides it across the table until both their fingers are resting on it. The shiny brass key he'd found before, now on a handsome leather fob.

"This is about to be your home. I'm so ready for it to be our home, together. It's about time you have a key to your place."

“Lee!” Luca gives her fingers a squeeze before getting up. "I have something for you too. Uh, just a minute..."

He comes back with his jacket, digging into the pockets for the little box.

"Stand up a min? Give us your other side?"

Leah makes an intrigued noise, but turns agreeably until Luca stills her and tucks her hair back behind her ear on the side without the little Arsenal stud earring she always wears.

"Sorry, haven't done this in a minute," he fusses briefly, before Leah hears a little snic of something metal snapping closed. And then she's pulling him out of the kitchen to find a mirror.

"Luca, I love it. It's ridiculously cute." Leah leans toward the mirror to examine the earring - shaped exactly like a little gold carabiner, complete with a gate that opened and closed and tiny keys dangling from it - looped through her earlobe.

"I know we've talked about it,” Luca says as Leah studies it, “how it feels fine and also weird to be read and treated as a straight couple. But if there's anything I've learned since transitioning it's that everything is better when our identities have as much space as they need. I don't want you to have to miss out on anything that feels true to you, just because you're with me. I want you to be yourself, as loud as you want - however that feels good to you. This,” he touches the little keys so they swing a bit, “seemed like a good time to give you a token of that meaning of home."

"It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you." She leans back against him, pulling his arms to wrap around her as they look at each other in the mirror. "And also - you know that you can still carry that part of you, too, if it feels right. You know that, yeah? I mean, I can’t speak for lesbian and queer communities as some monolith, or as a group where there’s always perfect agreement about what spaces are for who. But those communities shaped so much of who you are. And they’re still around us all the time - with Viv and Bethy, and Alex is taking you under her wing about all the punditry stuff, and the way your old Barca teammates insist on taking you out dancing every time they’re in London for a match. There’s still queer space for you, with all of them. And with me. Any time that feels comfortable."

"I know, love." He kisses her cheek. "It's odd, I feel like I'm kicking myself out of queer spaces by choice sometimes. And other times they're exactly what I need. It's not the same as before, but it’s - damn, I s'pose I should have a tidy way to explain this before someone asks me about it in a presser - it's good, though. It's home. And it's good."

“Oh my god, Beth, you just can’t say that!” Viv pulls her girlfriend back by her shirt. “Sorry, Leah.”

And then Alessia is trying so politely to ask about why that’s funny (or not funny). And McCabe is loudly explaining about U-hauling and lesbians and carabiners until Kim intervenes with a level of sternness she usually reserves for team talks.

“Congratulations, Leah,” Kim says, careful and clear and three decibels too loud. “Please let your boyfriend know he has great taste in jewellery.”

Leah stays even-keeled through it all, and deftly uses the moment to rope the girls into promising to help them when moving day comes.

Luca could go for another lap or five when they go for a run together, but Leah’s had her fill so he doesn’t mention it. Turning back when they get to the usual landmark to go home to her - now their - flat.

“I’ve been so knackered these last couple weeks.” Leah grumbles that evening, taking the opportunity as usual to throw her feet up over Luca’s legs, sighing happily when he starts to dig his thumbs into her sore arches. “Preseason’s kicking my ass this year. I really shouldn’t have slacked off so much over the summer.”

“That’s alright,” Luca nods, and this time he can’t help but smile. “Maybe we can figure that out together - come up with a more balanced schedule for the winter break.”

Leah nods, head tipped back against the sofa and her eyes drifting closed.

“Or we could do stretching together instead of running.” Luca continued. “Just because I need conditioning doesn’t mean you should have to do extra miles.”

He has his eye out for a local recreational men’s side. A supportive one. Not for this year, not while his voice is cracking and his lungs feel compressed inside his binder during his daily run. But he’s keeping up his fitness. And hoping for next year.

Leah gives a discontented little sound, burrowing her free foot under him - he can never tell whether for warmth or a sort of distance-snuggling.

“I like our runs. I just don’t understand why I’m getting tired when you don’t seem even half done. I could tell you were holding back today. No offence darlin’, but you’re not the best actor.”

Luca works the tendons on the top of Leah’s foot in silence for a while.

“Have you had your iron checked recently, love? Not saying you’re sick, but if you’re struggling . . .”

Leah gives a resigned huff. “I’ll talk to medical tomorrow. I feel alright, though that’s happened before with the endometriosis stuff.”

Three days and one set of lab results later, they’re no closer to an answer.

Until one night, weeks later, Leah long asleep and Luca in a rare night-owl mood, when he decides on a whim to update the record of performance stats he’s kept on himself for the past several years. (Somewhere in the years of bouncing between teams and leagues, he’d started keeping track of things himself rather than rely on whatever system his current performance coaches used.)

Whoop band. Garmin. The usual scatter of one-off stats and reminders from his notes app. He types in the numbers with one hand, the other idly stroking the shape of the K-tape around Leah’s shoulder where she’d picked up a knock in the first Champions League match of the year. And he’s about to close the spreadsheet, except the numbers are trending the wrong way. And sure he’s been resting, but he’s been training a third, maybe half of the amount he used to, at a stretch. His performance shouldn’t be trending up.

He sleeps on it. Puzzled, but too tired to properly dig into whatever could be causing it.

Except when he mentions it to Leah in their morning shower, she makes a little sound that could be surprise or smugness or intrigue, and then runs soapy hands down his back, digging appreciative fingers into the muscles there - denser and a little more pronounced than before - and simply says “well that explains the runs, then. Can’t say I’m surprised, now I think about it.”

Luca just means to put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder when he knocks his hand against a box of tampons and only three little individually wrapped bits of cotton roll out.

Tampons go on the shopping list immediately, and an hour later, at Boots, he realises he hasn’t been in this particular aisle for months - hasn’t needed to, really.

He hasn’t had a period ever since his voice cracked, around three months into his hormone therapy. And Leah hasn’t added anything of the sort to their weekly shopping list either.

Maybe she’s switched to a diva cup or something. Either way, it takes him a minute to spot the exact size and brand that Leah is running low on, and he’s wandered up and down the aisle a couple times when a woman, twenty years his senior, approaches him.

“Do you need some help, dear?”

“What? Uh, no, I’m alright, thanks.”

He checks his phone to see if Leah’s replied to his inquiry regarding menstrual cups.

“There’s no shame in it - if anything, I wish my husband was more like you. Unscented is what you want, and just aim for the middle, if your...” A quick glimpse at his hand, “… girlfriend hasn’t given you any further instructions.”

“Just waiting on ‘em now,” Luca smiles tightly, gesturing towards his phone. “I know her go-tos. I’m not sure if she switched recently, is all.”

“Oh, good on you, love. She’s a lucky one!” The woman praises him, pats his shoulder twice. “You’re all set, then - have a good one.”

“Thanks, you too,” Luca replies automatically, and when his phone buzzes with an incoming message, haven’t switched - you don’t have to pick these up if it makes you feel uncomfortable , he finally spots the small pack he’s been looking for and smiles to himself a little bit.

He tells Leah all about it, when they’re getting ready for bed and just catching up over their day, and the giddy grin Leah flashes him and the frothy toothpaste kiss that is pressed against his cheek, that he wipes off of coarse little bits of hair that are growing in, dark and sparse, yes, but undeniably present, only makes him smile wider.

“Leah, it’s Lauren - d’you want to take it?” Luca calls from the living room when he catches sight of Leah’s phone lighting up while he’s hoovering the carpet.

“Can’t - doing the dishes, can you just see what she wants and tell her I’ll call her back later?” Leah shouts back.

Luca moves quickly, slides to accept the call and greets Lauren the same way he’s done for years. “Hiya, Hempo. You alright there?”

He’s met with staccato beeps immediately.

“What the f*ck?” He mutters, and then Leah’s phone vibrates with an incoming email.

Hey Leah

A random man just answered the phone - have you been hacked or something?

lmk if I should block your number

Cheers, Lauren

Luca makes Leah dry off her hands as soon as he makes it to the kitchen. “Love, I think you’ve got to intervene before-”

“Christ, what on earth - See, this is what I meant about sensitivity training… I’ll sort it out,” Leah huffs, her phone already pressed to her ear.

“I know we just had security training, Lauren, but a significant other or family member picking up the phone doesn’t fall under that… What do you mean you didn’t think that was Luca? We saw you barely six weeks ago! … So he sounds a bit different, who else would call you Hempo, really?”

There's been so much talk about physical changes, Leah’s not fully sure what and who she’ll find once she slips through the bathroom door to check on Luca - only to find him smiling brightly at her. “What do you think? Gee said I’d suit a moustache so I figured, why not give that a try?”

“Absolutely not. Sorry, I know this is your choice and all, but - no.”

And then they grumpily suffer through three days of waiting for Luca’s facial hair to grow in again.

“There’s still some days that are harder than others - when he’s frustrated with the way his beard is growing in patchy, or he gets weird looks thrown his way in the bathroom of a restaurant. Leah’s there through all of it - listens to his frustration and then soothes it away with soft kisses and lingering hugs and dry banter that cracks him up. Even months later, in his new, deeper laugh that will randomly crack and sound higher than Lucy’s laugh ever has, like Luca just feels like Lucy, expanded - more, better, more free, containing and then growing bigger than what the world, his friends and family saw of him before.

Perhaps it isn’t the best timing from the start, when Keira phones.

Leah’s out of town for a few days of press work, and Luca is moping. Lonely in a way he was utterly unfamiliar with, before this relationship. He could finish unpacking, but doing that without Leah around to consult about whether to combine their books or keep to separate shelves feels wrong.

He ends up tackling a lingering bit of admin - the distributor of a bit of gym equipment he ordered is refusing to send him a replacement for a broken part, for some reason - as a distraction. He sets himself a deadline to have it resolved before Leah gets home.

Endless minutes on hold, bouncing from person to person, dead ends, and new calls. Giving and spelling his name more often than is comfortable - the old name, the one that’s still on all his cards. His frustration mounting every time he insists that he is, in fact, the card holder and the person who placed the order - the staffer on the other end of the line clearly not believing him.

He thinks about the way Leah swiped his phone from him, a month ago when he was having this same problem on a call with his insurance, the excuse she made about her boyfriend trying to do a nice thing for her by dealing with the bureaucracy, and how easy it all was in the end - Leah pretending to be Lucy Bronze MBE whose car got scratched, the matter sorted within minutes.

The internet people have put him on hold again. He uses the time to start on the paperwork for a legal name change, and searching for the cables for Leah’s printer so that he can print the forms.

He’s given up on the company’s hold music and is trying to troubleshoot the printer instead, when two things happen. Leah opens the door - travel-mussed and beaming at him and suddenly there - and his phone starts ringing from Keira’s number.

He almost lets Keira go to voicemail. He wants a proper hello with Leah first. But Leah spots the name on his phone and shakes her head, gesturing upstairs. He steps into the living room as he thumbs his phone open.

Leah always likes to unpack as she gets home, anyway. And he knows that the smell of dinner is strong enough that she’ll find it keeping warm in the oven and help herself if the call runs long.

“If you have a minute I have some questions.” Keira asks, once they get past the pleasantries.

“Questions?”

“About your coming out. About your not telling me earlier.”

“Earlier, I...” Luca feels taken aback. The pace of everything since he first started realising, and especially since transitioning socially, has felt like a bit of a whirlwind. He thinks back to when he’d come out to Keira. “You mean, telling Mary before telling you? She found out by accident. I thought Leah let you know…”

“No, I mean, when we were together. Why didn’t we talk about this when we were together?”

“What do you mean? I hadn’t yet… I couldn’t... “

“It all just seems really right and obvious, now that you’re out. You must have known then, at least a little bit. Was I not safe to talk to?”

He realises, only after the silence has stretched, that the time it’s taking his brain to process what Keira is implying is time that she’s taken differently. That she’s assuming that she’s right - that she wasn’t safe to talk to, and that he just doesn’t want to say it.

“It’s like the whole time we were together we were living in a flat with a secret room,” Keira continues. “And it’s not like there was anything bad in it, but it was right there the whole time, and I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know either,” he manages, finally.

“But, how didn’t you? I don’t understand.”

“And you’re saying I owe you an explanation? Because expecting me to rationalise my identity feels pretty out of line.”

The defensiveness is instinctive, but also well-worn. He and Keira had learned how to be adults together; a road too long and too bumpy to have made it out without some accreted habits of sharp words and sharper boundaries. The softness he had now with Leah wasn’t accidental - it was built with intention.

“I’m not trying to…” he can tell that Keira’s frustrated, just by the way she’s breathing. “It just feels like, in retrospect, there was this big thing that… if both of us had known we might have been about to do something. Or at least talk about it.”

“I agree. It feels like that for me, too.” He doesn’t bother to keep the edge out of his voice. Even agreeing feels like arguing, right now.

He doesn’t hear Leah come into the room, but he realises how tense he is the moment her hand is on his low back, when she shoulders some of the load as he leans into her. Not by jumping in to fix things - just through existing by him, calm and solid.

“Not to barge in, but could I suggest a break?” Leah says, loud enough for Keira to hear her as well. “Keira - would you be open to calling back midweek?”

“Sure,” Keira agrees. “I didn’t mean… I was just trying to... Take care, Luca. Talk to you in a few days.”

Luca lets himself grind out a sigh of frustration after he hangs up. Leah kisses his temple

“Hi. Welcome home,” he murmurs, after a minute or two.

“Hi yourself.” Leah presses another kiss to his shoulder. “What’s for dinner? It smells lovely.”

Keira had been polite and a little detached, back when Leah let her know that they were dating. And she had been polite and a little detached when Luca told her that he was trans.

Luca had hated it.

Polite and detached was Keira’s public face. It was her demeanour in the mixed zone. At parties that were full of too many strangers. During her first weeks with a new club.

At least, he thought, she wasn’t being polite and detached any more.

They’d done the whole sorting through the emotional bit of it regarding Leah and him being together, a few weeks after Leah had returned home - frowning and a little unsettled - from brunch with Keira.

“She took it well, I think - I don’t know. She didn’t say much, really. Said it’s unexpected but she’s happy for us if we’re happy. You know how she gets sometimes.”

And so Luca had waited for Keira to call him and then had met her for coffee at a small, nondescript place a ways off from the bustling high street.

“Let’s get right to it,” he’d started. There was no need for pleasantries - the way Keira’s mouth was on the edge of being pursed, how she couldn’t or wouldn’t smile properly, told him all he needed to know. “You’re taking an issue with Leah and I, then, am I getting that right?”

“She’s my best friend. Surely you would’ve been able to find someone else - anyone else?”

“People don’t exactly get to choose these things, as you well know.”

“Are you trying to get back at me then? For moving on faster?” Keira was properly frowning, the same bite in her tone that Luca knew fairly well from late night fights when they’d both been exhausted and fed up with one thing or another, when frustration had built up and then boiled and bubbled over. “Because that’s f*cking sh*te, towards everyone involved but mostly Leah.”

“What? No! Why would you - Jesus, Keira. It’s not like that at all. I wasn’t even… I didn’t expect any of it to happen, honest. But I’m very glad that it did, because I do really care about Leah.”

“So you didn’t fancy her all along and strung me along for the ride?”

“Of course not. Why’d you think that?”

“Dunno,” Keira shrugged. “Just very convenient timing, isn’t it? Jordan and Leah break up, and barely six months on, we… you know. And then Leah tells me you’ve been seeing each other for a while. I don’t even know what ‘a while’ means.”

“It’s only been five months, and again, very much unexpected. I- we ran into each other on a night out, and just clicked.”

“Right. After years of knowing each other.”

“Wasn’t so different with us, in the beginning.”

“That’s not the same. Leah’s…”

“…different. Yeah, to me too.” Luca had hesitated for just a moment. They weren’t strangers to verbal daggers thrown at each other, but most of those had come with the eventual reassurance that, at the end of the day, they were still each other’s person. He wasn’t able to provide the same comfort anymore.

“I know this isn’t proper etiquette for talking with your ex, but Leah’s incredibly special to me already, Keira. She’s… she makes me really, really happy, and I believe I do the same for her. All we, or all I ask is that you respect that.”

They’d left it at a hesitant truce that day, and after three awkward dinners, one with Georgia as buffer and another with Keira’s new girlfriend, and a strangely relaxed one with just the three of them, the longstanding familiarity of it all won out.

Leah had made for the bathroom, and Keira turned to him, with a tiny smile and a hand clasping his wrist to show her earnestness.

“I get it now, I think. It’s.. sickening, almost, how sweet you two are with each other. She’s, she gives you something I never could, doesn’t she? Not that I want you back, not instead of Leah. You two are phenomenal. I see that now.”

And it was Keira, as he’d known her - always a little sting to her sweetness, blunt to almost the point of brutal in her honesty.

If putting into context the end of a relationship and processing the start of a new one almost three years after the fact took three dinners and eight weeks in total, it’s no surprise that his coming out takes Keira almost a year to observe and work through enough for her to reach out finally.

“I’m sorry.” He starts, when Keira calls back on the Wednesday. He checks that his phone battery’s topped up, then turns his steps toward the edge of the town. (When Keira’s name had come up on the caller ID, Leah had sent him a questioning look. Worry and support, the reserve that still tended to come up sometimes when navigating each others’ exes, an offer to be in the conversation with him if he needed. He’d shaken his head, brushed a kiss to her hair, and slipped on his trainers.)

“No, I’m sorry.” Keira replied. “And I want to apologise. It’s not on you to sort this out for me. Especially about something that I guess you didn’t even know about, back when we were together.”

“I really didn’t.” Luca confirms. “I was… uncomfortable sometimes.”

“I know.”

It surprises him for a moment, when Keira says it. And just as quickly he realises it shouldn’t. She’d seen his every chapter, had lived them with him, for years.

“I’m scared...” Keira starts, then takes a breath and pushes on, “I’m scared I f*cked up. I keep thinking I must have missed something. That I could have supported you better or noticed more. It’s just so f*cking obvious now, how much more comfortable you are in your own skin. It feels ludicrous that we were together so long and I couldn’t see it.”

The silence hangs for a long moment after that. Luca focuses on his breathing, his feet on the cobbles, on noticing where in his body his feelings are resting - the way his therapist reminds him to.

“Kee,” he says finally, “we were spending - what - eighty? Ninety percent of our waking time on football. We were breathing it. We hardly had time to think about anything else.”

“I know. And I know that you figured this out when the timing was right for you. And the ins and out of it - when that was, or why - those aren’t my business. I just . . if there are ways I can support you, with who we are to each other now, I want in. I just . . . this feels like your most important chapter.”

“Says the woman I lifted how many trophies with?” Luca interrupts, the warm sharp edge in his voice that’s never there with Leah, but that he lets happen with Keira. An echo of the fond daily bickering they shared for years.

“Be serious , Luca.”

And there’s something about his name in Keira’s mouth, with that same edge of frustration he’s heard a thousand times before - when things felt important, or when there was too much distance between them, or when one of them was being just a little bit of a jackass - that settles him. That brings him back to how earnestly she is asking.

“Can we figure it out as we go?” He lets himself ask. “I don’t really know yet. How I want to talk about before.”

“Of course, doofus.” Keira responds. And there’s no bite to it, this time. Just fondness.

The last of the houses and shop-fronts are behind him and he’s out into the fields now - following a familiar footpath, along the early spring hedgerow, surrounded by the smells of damp earth and the first blooms of forsythia.

He’s had to have answers till now, he realises. With everybody except Leah, he’s made himself handle every coming-out and every conversation about identity and transition with confidence. Over a year of it, now. So many conversations. Even when he’s talked about the medical steps that will come next, that are inherently full of unknowns, he’s been made sure he always has answers. It’s only with Leah where he lets himself stumble. Lets her see as he feels his way through each step - the steps he can see so clearly and yearned towards, and the ones that surprise him out of nowhere.

Leah. And now Keira.

The two of them so different, but so solid as his through-line - socially, romantically, emotionally. He’d learned, when he was with Keira, that partnership could be a place to stumble and be unsure - but to be safe. And he’d tucked that away, along with any lingering feelings for her, when they’d split. And he hadn’t found that vulnerability with anyone again until that night when Leah had eased up next to him at the bar and called him handsome.

But here it is again. That safety to fumble, to figure things out. Extended past the end-date of his relationship with Keira, like some kind of emotional time-machine. Only Keira isn’t offering him a step back to the past. She’s asking to walk with him, both of them stumbling sometimes, in the present.

Luca surprises Leah during training one day - he usually stays far away from anything to do with it, unless Leah’s dealing with an injury or something. They try to keep work outside of their relationship as much as they can. When Leah spots him standing on the sideline, she shouts to halt the drill and jogs over to him - something important must be up, but Luca seems unbothered, happy even.

“What is it? What’s the emergency?”

“Oh, uh- no emergency. But… I am officially your boyfriend now,” Luca grins and holds up his brand new ID. “Picked it up just half an hour ago.”

“But they said it would be weeks!”

“I guess the whole MBE sped things up. I guess I better go sort out my name at the bank now. I'm thrilled and all, but I was sort of planning on doing all that faffing after we got back from your Arnold Clark, not before. Seems a shame I couldn't give the expedited processing to some guy who who can’t just go by ‘Doctor’ in a pinch. Ah well - might as well get started," he leaned in for a quick, sweaty hug "I might be home after you. I'll get us take-away for supper, yeah?"

“Don’t worry, I can foot the bills for a while,” Leah quips, mirth dancing around her eyes. “And don’t even think about arranging supper - I’m taking you out tonight.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.” Leah kisses him quickly and ignores the wolf whistles from her team. “I want to show off my officially and legally recognised boyfriend tonight.”

Waking up from surgery isn’t exactly a new feeling for Luca. He’s been through the weird haze where everything feels floaty and heavy at the same time - like his limbs are held down by an invisible weight and he’s not quite attached to his own body at the same time.

The first time he manages to open his eyes, vision slightly blurry, it’s to let a nurse check his blood pressure and give barely more than a hum and a shake of his head when he’s asked about nausea, level of pain and if he’s up for something to eat some time soon.

He pulls a face, and then drifts off again to the sound of quiet laughter and “He’ll eat - just not a big fan of hospital food, this one” somewhere off to the side.

It’s the gentle brush of a thumb against his knuckles that rouses him the second time.

“Hey,” he croaks, his mouth dry and his throat sore, and Leah looks up from her phone smiling brightly.

“Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Luca grins, lifts his arm to pull Leah closer and drops it with a wince. “Ouch.”

“You don’t want to do that, you’ve got - there’s, um, drains coming out under your arms,” Leah explains with a slightly disgusted expression as she rises and steps up to the bed.

“Oh. What?” Luca lifts his arms again as if to check for himself, and Leah is quick to press them down onto the bed.

“Don’t move your arms too much. It’ll hurt and you’re not supposed to - you don’t want to pull any stitches,” she warns him gently.

“Hmkay,” Luca nods, his eyes still a little cloudy and unfocused. He blinks up at Leah slowly, pulls his lips into a lopsided, boyish grin. “Kiss?”

Leah laughs, leans down to kiss him softly, lingers for a moment before she pulls back and taps his nose lightly.

“You’re very cute when you’re high as a kite on pain meds. Now, do you want something to drink? Your voice sounds a bit rough, darling.”

“Hurts a bit too,” Luca mutters and waves at his surroundings. “Always does after… this.”

“I know,” Leah nods, pours him a glass of water and tries to hand it to him. Luca’s hand-eye-coordination doesn’t seem to be fully back on track, though, so she helps him sit up a little and sets the glass of water against his lips, tilts it carefully until he’s emptied it with big gulps.

“D’you want more or..”

“No, thanks, I’m good.” Luca hesitates a moment, glances down at the bulky lump of an ice pack sitting on his chest under his gown. “Did they- have you, um, gotten to take a peek yet?”

“No,” Leah shakes her head with a soft smile. “I was there when they did a quick check before you woke up - apparently there was a bit more bleeding than they’d expected, but I didn’t look. I… thought you might want to be the first one to see your chest yourself.”

“You could’ve looked. You’re gon’ see it plenty anyway… If you’ll still like it.”

“Oh, Luke. Of course I will. It’s a part of you, more now than it ever was before,” Leah reassures him quickly. “And I love all of you. Every last bit.”

“That’s good,” Luca hums, his eyes slowly drifting shut again. “Come nap with me?”

“I think your doctor might not be too happy about that,” Leah points out, but she pulls her chair as close to the bed as she can and takes Luca’s hand in her own, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “But I’ll be right here, okay?”

Hours later, after the doctor’s stopped by to confirm that everything went well and Luca’s slept some more, his dinner is dropped off, and that finally gets him to wake up properly.

His face falls at the meagre two slices of bread and cheese, no butter, a small side of unseasoned steamed veggies and herbal tea.

Leah, who’d stepped out to the bathroom for a minute, can’t help but laugh at his forlorn expression.

“Not funny,” Luca grumbles. “No offence, but this is even worse than all your favourite meals.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah hums, and then she rummages in her bag for a moment before holding out a tightly packed and carefully wrapped burrito to him. “Trade? It’s definitely cold by now, but…”

“Yes - where does this come from suddenly?” Luca unwraps his surprise dinner and takes a hearty bite.

“I had a few hours to kill while you were under - and I figured I could get away with sneaking this in. I didn’t mind the food much when I was at the hospital after my ACL, and it would’ve felt wrong to eat something that has more flavour than whatever they’d bring you, so…” Leah shrugs, and then frowns slightly when she catches Luca simply looking at her instead of eating. “What is it? Is it bad? We can switch back.”

“No, it’s good - delicious. Thank you. It’s more that I just… really love you. And I feel really loved by you, and that’s… that’s a whole lot more important than everything else right now.”

Leah, as it turns out, is a master at sneaking in food. It’s usually only at breakfast that Luca has to deal with the bland meals provided by the clinic because visiting hours don’t start until three hours after the fact. She’ll ring him and ask what he’s in the mood for on her way to see him after training and never fails to deliver.

Finally, on day five, Luca answers her call with undeniable glee in his voice.

“You sound chipper. Did you finally manage to beat that Super Mario level you were moaning about yesterday?”

“Mm, no. Well, yes- but- whatever. C’mon, ask me.”

“Ask you… what?”

“What I’d like for lunch and dinner, love, what else?”

“Right.” Luca can practically hear how Leah’s rolling her eyes at him with a smile on her face. “What should I bring you today, then? If you want more lasagna, I’m sorry, Less hasn’t made any more just yet. But I can ask her if she’d mind making it for tomorrow - or share the recipe and I’ll do my best to recreate it tonight.”

“I don’t want you to bring anything,” Luca grins.

There’s a long pause. “Okay. Are they… is it pizza day or something? I don’t think hospitals ever really do those, darling.”

“I don’t want you to bring anything ‘cause you’ll be taking something.”

“Luca, babe, I’m going to need you to be a little more specific here. What’s happening?”

“You’ll be taking me. Home, that is.”

“Wait, really?” Leah’s clearly getting excited and trying to hold back - just in case, as she sometimes tends to do.

“Yes, really. Doctor pulled the drains this morning - not very fun, by the way - and apparently this means I get to leave… well, whenever, really. Got all the paperwork done and dealt with already.”

Luca can hear Leah’s car speeding up in the background.

“I’ll be right there - ten, fifteen minutes tops. See you soon, I love you, bye!”

Leah is careful when she hugs him, listens attentively as she gets one of the nurses on call to run her through the appropriate scar care and recovery timeline once more, and then no-nonsense when she carries Luca’s bag for him as they walk out of the clinic hand in hand.

She opens the door of her car for him, and Luca can tell she’s tempted to lean down and clip his seatbelt into place for a moment, but then she simply stows his bag away in the trunk and leans over for a quick peck once she’s behind the wheel.

“How’s the- seatbelt’s not too tight, is it?”

“No, I can barely feel it. The whole thing’s a bit achy anyway - I’ll be fine.”

Leah doesn’t seem fully convinced. She drives five miles below the speed limit for the entire way, brakes early and is slow to accelerate.

Luca would feel a little patronised at best and emasculated at worst, what with Leah doing all the things he usually likes to do for her - but instead he’s hit with a sudden feeling of warmth in his chest when Leah stops at a boots to pick up all the different scar treatment products and medication listed on the sheet handed to her by the nurse on the way and tells him to wait in the car, when Leah fluffs the pillows thrice before she allows him to lie down and rest on the couch back at their place.

Leah’s fussing and taking charge isn’t her trying to take away from him, it’s simply a stepping up at a time that he could probably manage alright by himself- but, as he lies back and lets Leah tuck a blanket in around him and sleep is tugging heavy at his eyes, God, isn’t it nice that he doesn’t have to.

Leah isn’t in the room when he wakes. But there’s a bottle of water and a plate of fruit and a bag of snacks sitting within reach, and a warm summer breeze is drifting through the window bringing the smell of someone’s fresh-cut lawn - so welcome after the starile days in the clinic.

his rustling about for a snack must have alerted her, because it doesn’t take longer than a few seconds for her to walk in and sit by his side on the couch.

“Did you have a good nap?”

Luca hums, reaches out to grab her hand and presses his thigh up close to her body. He hasn’t gotten to touch her nearly as much as he’s used to over the past few days, what with visitors and nurses and his surgeon popping in and out of his room at all odd hours of the day.

“Can the next one be with you, though?”

“Of course.” Leah leans down to kiss his forehead. “How’s the pain, do you need anything? Ice pack maybe, or some meds?”

“I’m fine for now, I’ll tell you if that changes,” he promises. “I just want to enjoy being home with you. I should probably call my mum in a bit - I forgot to text her earlier with all the fuss around being discharged.”

It’s not until later, after they’ve caught up on a couple of series they’re watching together and a lengthy conversation with his mum, that Luca truly looks at himself in the mirror after a trip to the bathroom.

His hair hangs in shaggy, slightly greasy strands instead of its usual floppy waves, his usually neatly trimmed stubble has grown out longer than he’s ever kept it, patchy and uneven. He’s done sponge baths as best as he could every day during his stay at the clinic, but now that he’s out of the constant pale yellow walls with the clinic’s soft, weirdly dim-but-not lighting and stood in their pristine bathroom, he feels grimy all of a sudden.

“Leah?” He calls, and, without fail, she pops her head around the door moments later.

“What is it? Something wrong?”

“No, just… I look a right mess, could you - I can take care of most of it myself, but I’ll definitely need help washing my hair,” Luca grimaces.

“Of course, my love. One half shower, half sponge bath coming right up. Let me just - can’t believe I forgot to set this out…” Leah disappears; there’s some rummaging and drawers being opened and shut again before she returns with a small plastic stool.

“Lia got me this at the advice of Beth and Viv after my ACL - makes showering so much easier.”

It’s quick work to set the shower up, and then Luca strips down with Leah only stepping in to help when he needs her to, until he’s left with only the compression bandage over his chest and Leah’s stood in front of him in her bra and her shorts.

It’s silly, probably, but it feels like the first time he ever shared his naked body with Leah in a totally non-football related way all over again.

She’s seen him plenty of times - has touched him, has helped him conceal his own flesh, has accepted his request to not be touched or even looked at on some occasions with a smile and a kiss and a promise that remains unbroken.

Luca tugs at the Velcro holding his compression bandage tight around his chest and drops it to the floor carelessly.

“Oh, Luca,” Leah whispers, and he’s pretty sure he can hear her getting choked up.

“I know it looks… I mean, it’s a giant bruise, and the swelling’s…”

“Shut up,” Leah interrupts him, and it’s so sudden that Luca’s head snaps up and he’s met with Leah’s eyes, determined and soft and brimming with tears. “You don’t get to talk this down - not when I’m admiring my incredibly handsome hot boyfriend. A bit battered, maybe, but- f*ck, Luca, I… I tried to imagine what you’d look like, after surgery, and I couldn’t really, but you… you just look fully like yourself now. You look so - I’m sorry, I can’t come up with a better term, but you look so right. I don’t know how I could ever look at you and think anything else.”

“It feels right,” Luca whispers, rough and his voice cracking in the middle of it. “I… so you don’t miss anything?”

“How could I?” Leah asks, and she’s proper crying now, as she steps close and wraps her arms around him carefully until skin meets skin and she’s flush against him, the way he’s longed to feel her ever since the first time their bodies met like this.

“How could I, when you’re exactly who you’ve longed to be now? I get the privilege to be witness to you growing into yourself, to cherish and celebrate you coming to express who you’ve always been. Why would I miss anything that held you back from that?”

“Dunno, I just thought… maybe you would.” Luca mumbles against Leah’s shoulder. “Not because you ever gave me a reason to, just, y’know. tit* are pretty nice.”

“Well, I don’t. Even though, yes, tit* are very nice - but lucky for us, we’ve still got a pair between us to enjoy,” Leah points out with an exasperated laugh, and she pulls back enough to kiss him thoroughly. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, my dirty man.”

Once it’s all done and he feels nice and clean again, freshly shaven and his hair still a bit damp, Luca requests another nap. Underneath soft linen, Leah cuddled up against his side, her head resting against his shoulder and her hand limp against his chest where she’d been tracing the edges of deep purple and green bruises visible above his bandage, the other tangled with his own tucked between their bodies, he allows himself to drift off into a more peaceful slumber than he’s had in days.

Recovery looks very different when you’re retired, Luca learns. There’s no protocols or day by day evaluations, there aren’t any physio visits pencilled in or benchmarks to meet.

The only two rules he has to stick with is no heavy lifting and no raising his arms above shoulder level for six weeks. And then he’ll be fine.

Except “fine” hits around week three, when the swelling has gone down and most of the bruises are healed, when he’s barely in pain anymore save for the few occasions where he simply reacts and forgets he’s not supposed to move his arms that way.

He’s not constantly exhausted anymore. He tags along Leah to the shop around the corner to get everything they need for dinner, and he’s perfectly fine pushing the cart and loading the car afterwards - only the light things, Leah’s keeping a close eye on that.

He can wrap his arms around Leah from behind and kiss her neck while she’s loading the dishwasher, and when she half-heartedly complains about chores and such, he simply shrugs. “I’ll get to it later - don’t you start, there’s no stretching of my arms involved whatsoever.”

Weeks later, when his scars are less angry and red and he’s been able to build some light muscle above them, Luca eyes himself critically in the mirror after a shower while Leah’s still working on rinsing out her conditioner.

“Hey, Leah, do you like my body hair? Like… all that’s been growing in?”

“I haven’t thought about it much - I don’t mind it, if that’s what you’re getting at?”

“I’m not sure I like all of it,” Luca mutters, and Leah sticks her head out of the shower, concern etched on her face.

“Okay. Um, as a whole, or… in a way that would make you regret-“

“No, “ Luca shakes his head quickly. “No. I like the way my legs look. Just, my arms, they catch me off guard sometimes - and I’m not sure about… this whole bit.”

“I do like the hair up here,” Leah mentions, out of the shower and brushing her fingers against the small bits of hair on Luca’s chest. “If you decided to shave this, though…” she trails her fingers down until they’re resting against his stomach, “I wouldn’t be mad. Like I said, I don’t mind it - but it does hide your abs a little.”

Luca laughs, loud and free, and catches Leah’s eyes in the mirror. “Shameless. Utterly shameless. Hand me the razor, will you?”

Luca’s in the stands for an early November North London derby, in the friends and family section right behind the Arsenal bench. He usually watches every game Leah plays in - finally can spend his weekends watching them now that he’s retired - except the few where the travel to and fro doesn’t make sense or his schedule doesn’t fully align. He usually sits somewhere in the back of the stands, close to centre field but a bit removed from the flurry of fans and all.

Just a few minutes out from the final whistle (after an early lead for Arsenal and then eighty minutes of intense defensive work to keep it that way) Leah’s waving him down to the pitch.

She’d been involved in several fairly risky plays, had stayed down for a good minute or two at one point after a particularly harsh tackle - but when she got up she’d aimed the thumbs-up after at the bench as much as the stands just behind it, so that can’t be it.

“Good game, congratulations on the three points,” Luca greets her as soon as they’re on even ground, slow to wrap his arms around Leah while she all but throws herself at him. Even if they’re somewhat out, on a ‘if you know, you know’ basis, they don’t usually go for big displays of affection when there are sure to be plenty of cameras aimed at them.

“Alright there, love?” He asks, and Leah simply huffs and unzips his jacket, presses her body against his and slips her hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Leah, seriously, is something wrong, are you-” he makes to pull back, to check her over for any visible injury or strain, and Leah simply frowns and pulls him close again, untucking his shirt at the back and sliding her hands under in search of skin.

“Stay right where you are - I’m fine, just freezing cold and you’re nice and warm.”

So Luca wraps his arms around Leah, rubs her back in the spots that his jacket doesn’t cover and then, eventually, slips it off and puts it on her. “Go talk to the fans - I know you want to interact with them, and I know they’re all dying to get a little scrap of you.”

The next day, when pictures of Leah in a nondescript black jacket amongst a group of players decked out in red and white, signing shirts and taking pictures with fans, make it to the rainbow press, Luca smirks proudly while Leah frowns at the article beneath the images.

“They’re all speculating on a transfer to - Why would I ever consider signing with Chelsea ?”

“You are in a relationship with one of their all-time star players - and they love drama. I’m just glad there aren’t any pictures of you essentially fondling me through my jeans,” Luca jokes, and Leah shrugs it off casually.

“There wouldn’t be, not without you knowing - I asked that any official pic of us together be signed off by you or your agent first.”

They exchange their main gifts at home, but show up to Luca's brother's house each with their own (separately packed) bag. Unusual for them. But the gifts from Father Christmas had to get to the stockings in secret somehow.

It’s amidst the ruckus of two small children excavating through their stockings at speed (the adults moving at a more sedate pace - but only just) that Luca pulls a pair of pyjama bottoms out of his stocking and immediately looks across at Leah.

"These feel like linen." He remarks, trying to be vague enough not to catch his niblings' attention.

"Fancy that." Leah grinns at him before whacking a chocolate orange to separate the sections. Nobody even jumps at the noise. Luca thinks, not for the first time, how well she fits in.

"No top?" He asks.

"Why would Father Christmas bring you something you wouldn't use?" She asks, unwrapping the orange - still talking once her mouth is full. "He knows you only wear shirts when you absolutely have to."

"That's old news." His mother breaks in. "Five or six years old, this one was, before I could get a shirt on 'im in summers. Every time we went to the beach he'd wriggle away from me in only shorts - so keen to be just like his brother."

"I. . . didn't remember that." Luca says.

"I thought I reminded you of it when you first told us you were a man, darling. Did I not?"

Recovery in domestic bliss works wonderfully, but once Luca is active again the same constraints from the past year start cropping up.
The second bedroom in Leah’s (now their) flat is working triple-time as a guest bedroom, a shared office for Leah’s book projects and Luca’s study of punditry, and a storeroom. There’s a perfect spot in the living room for either Leah’s keyboard or a yoga mat, but only one.The wardrobes are brimming.

By the time Luca can swing a kettlebell again they have a shared login on RightMove and are bookmarking houses.

They tour a few places they’ve found on their own, but none of them feel right.

There isn’t enough natural light, or the garden is barely bigger than the one they’ve got already. The amount of renovation work would stretch their budget beyond its generous limit, or there’s a busy street going right past the bedroom window. There’s no way their combined wardrobe would fit into the tiny walk-in, or the entire place is just too big for the two of them.

Two months in, with Leah’s season in full swing and Luca busy obtaining his coaching licence, they exchange a tired look after yet another half day off wasted looking at a house in a neighbourhood where they’d be lowering the average age by several decades if they moved in.

“You know, we could hire someone. Offload some of the whole process of looking through listings every day,” Luca suggests.

“And the scheduling too - I’m so sick of emailing back and forth with people endlessly,” Leah agrees, and that’s that settled.

The realtor they choose has a high success rate paired with short wait times. He sends them several portfolios within just a few days that look promising enough, and the few times Luca speaks with him over the phone to cracks down on must-haves and deal breakers, he seems competent and motivated enough.

And it starts out fine, really. Sure, the way their realtor, Geoff, shakes Luca’s hands firmly and claps his shoulder while he touches his palm to Leah’s for barely a second is a little strange - but the house he’s picked first for them to tour meets all of their criteria, from the outside, anyway.

The inside isn’t too bad either - Geoff isn’t shy to point out a couple of areas that need a bit of fixing-up, and Luca’s happy to chat back and forth with him about options for improvement.

He doesn’t really get to dig into the whole discussion part of fixing things, usually, even though he’s become some sort of go-to for whenever Leah or any of his friends and former teammates need something done that requires tools of any kind. He’s drilled holes into walls and levelled shelves for LJ, installed lamps for Jordan and changed Alessia’s tyres. There was one day he spent mucking about with Viv at the house she and Beth had bought, tearing out old carpet and warped wooden shelves, replacing the faux-bronze hardware on the kitchen units with something more modern, and then calling a professional to do some electrical work because neither of them dared to touch the old wiring. Leah had volunteered him for the task, and he hadn’t minded in the slightest - Viv turned out to be good company, happy to work alongside him quietly and then throw banter back and forth whenever either of them ran into an unexpected issue.

Leah looks a bit frowny, the way she does sometimes when she’s bored, and so Luca cuts short the discussion about repairing vs replacing some built-in shelves, and motions for Geoff to lead them along.

“Sorry, Lee- got carried away a bit there,” he mutters while they’re walking down the hallway.

“It’s alright. Let’s see what the rest of the house has to offer, yeah?”

They look at the bedrooms, bathrooms and the room that they’d probably turn into a home gym, down in the basem*nt but with plenty of light through several small windows.

“So, this would make for a nice man cave,” Geoff suggests, grins at Luca and lowers his voice not nearly enough at all, “for, you know, getting away from the wife.”

And suddenly, Luca feels hot and cold at the same time. He should’ve realised sooner - how Geoff only talked to him, mostly, with Leah an afterthought. How the room that could be an office was labelled as his office by Geoff, when their list of must-haves clearly stated it would have to be large enough for two entire setups. How the bathtub that’s perfect for ice baths was pointed out to him, when they only said it was a must have because one of them’s a professional athlete. How Leah was oddly quiet - didn’t offer nearly as much commentary about the space as she did before, when it was just the two of them.

“I’m sorry?” Luca replies, blood boiling beneath his skin.

“You know - gaming console, nice tv, a treadmill and some weights - when you need to get away from the wife for a bit and just be a man in peace,” Geoff tries again.

“Now why would I want that?” Luca asks, and he steps closer to Leah, wraps his arm around her for good measure while still angling his body protectively in front of her. “She’s my favourite person, and I love being around her. And you know what they say - happy wife, happy life. Does she look very happy to you?”

Geoff clears his throat awkwardly. “I suppose - well, I-”

“Exactly. She’s also paying for half of all this, so you better find something to cheer her up, and quickly.”

“Right!” Geoff nods rapidly. “I saved the best for last - let’s go look at the kitchen, shall we?”

Luca keeps his arm firmly around Leah’s waist, holds her close enough so that it’s impossible to disregard her any further.

There’s a big show of cabinet space and marble counters, the six-element induction cooktop that is integrated into the kitchen island seamlessly.

“Easy cleaning,” Geofff says. “Great for hosting team nights with a lot of hungry men attending.”

Then there’s a demonstration of how the oven and microwave fitted into a section of the cabinets would be perfect to keep dinner warm and ready for hours, if needed, and how certain appliances would fit into the space, and a special nod to a built-in spice rack just on the other side of the cooktop for easy access.

Luca can feel something building in Leah - sees a tell-tale twitch around her mouth that he’s familiar with from years of sharp wit and perfect timing, so he bites his tongue and lets her have at it.

“That’s all very lovely, Geoff, I’m sure,” Leah nods, glancing about the room. “But I’m afraid Luca here is the cook between the two of us.”

“We’ll be in touch, thanks,” Luca manages, and if he squeezes a little too hard when he shakes Geoff’s hand goodbye, whatever.

“Well, that was a bust,” Luca grumbles as soon as they’re in his car and he’s pulling out of the driveway.

“I don’t know - the garden was promising. Lots of space - lots of free space that we could fill up,” Leah shrugs. “And I like the layout of the house overall. The basem*nt room could make for a perfect home gym - cool in the summer, and there’s a heater in there to keep it comfortable during season break in the winter.”

“The walk-in was big enough,” Luca allows. “And I did like the double sink and the walk-in shower. Always wanted one of those.”

“And the kitchen - I know you were mad, but you can’t tell me you didn’t like that kitchen.”

“I did.” Luca takes a moment, shakes his head. “I do like that kitchen. And I think the house would be a perfect fit - but I don’t want to buy it through this… guy.”

He swallows what he really wants to say, and it tastes bitter on his tongue.

“You can call him a sexist prick - he is,” Leah shrugs, and that pushes Luca’s anger at Geoff back some.

“I’m sorry for not catching on sooner,” he offers, glancing over at Leah briefly. “The whole… I got carried away, with the whole renovation talk and such. And, um, I’m sorry for the machismo move about the- I don’t know, when he said man cave, I saw red.”

“It’s fine, Luke. You know as well as I do that this is just a thing that happens - that shouldn’t happen, really, but it does,” Leah points out, frowning again.

“Yes, well. It does mean I’m not comfortable giving him my money,” Luca shrugs. “We can find someone else. And there’s got to be at least one other house on the market that is as perfect as this one was.”

“I’m sure there is. We haven’t even looked through the whole range of listings ourselves, these past couple of weeks,” Leah agrees, and then Luca catches her shifting in the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye.

“There’s something else I want to talk about,” Leah starts, and Luca doesn’t quite know what else they could tackle, after a morning like this.

“Uh, okay? What is it?”

“You called me your wife earlier.” Leah sounds both soft and matter-of-fact about it - a statement that sounds like a question, or the other way around, Luca isn’t sure.

“It slipped out - he just pissed me off, with that bloody comment about getting an escape from you.”

“I mean, the guy’s clearly stuck half a century ago, but that’s not what I was getting at.”

“What is it then?” Luca glances over at Leah briefly, too short a look to really read her face beyond the soft fondness he’s grown used to.

Leah smiles, quiet, and tucks one of the strands of Luca’s hair behind his ears. It springs back forward immediately, but the weight of the motion still carries. “You called me your wife.”

“Yeah, sorry - bit soon, innit, I wasn’t thinking-“ Luca rambles, spits out whatever words come to mind first. It has only been roughly two years of them together - of Leah knowing him or about him- and while that’s enough for plenty of people to know , while he’s sure it’s enough for him to know, the flurry of change and compromise and caveats that have come with being with him have him wanting for Leah to have more time. He’s had time to process things without her - or without her being as directly involved. She deserves some extra time to catch up, if she wants.

Luca hopes she wants.

“I didn’t mind it.”

It doesn’t take more than that simple sentence for his racing pulse to slow and settle, for his chest to ache with a sudden need of something too far off in the future. He’ll blame the whiplash of it all for it, later.

“Okay…should I take a left here, take us straight to town hall then?”

“Only if you want to be left at the altar. I do have some idea of what I want my wedding to look like,” Leah retorts immediately, stubbornly furrowed eyebrows and serious undertone.

“Go on, then?” Luca grins.

Leah catches him and swats at his shoulder. “I can’t believe you!”

“What - it seems relevant that I know of these things!”

They talk about it some, a few weeks later, when they’ve switched realtors and toured and then agreed on a house they both like.

“You remember that real estate asshole who-“

“Yes. Of course. Why do you want to talk about that guy again? I thought it was good riddance when we fired him.”

“Well,” Luca starts slowly. “It’s not so much him I want to talk about, more the conversation that we had after.”

“Oh.” Leah goes quiet and still, and then she pulls back a little from where she’s cuddled against his chest in her signature spot.

“Is that alright?”

“You want to talk about getting married?”

“We did just agree to buy a house together, Lee, it’s the proper thing to do, and - it sounded like you’ve spent some time thinking about all that,” Luca points out. In the soft, dimmed light of their nightstand lamps, everything feels blurry and warm, but Leah’s razor sharp in focus.

“I have. I…” Leah shrugs, a tiny smile on her face, and her eyes go a little unfocused, like she’s seeing something that isn’t quite there yet. “I’d want something intimate. Just the family and good friends. Good people, you know? Nothing big and pompous, just something… real and true and tangible. Tasteful. Lilacs for decoration. Or something that blooms later but smells as good. Could we manage late summer, do you think, in terms of planning? Or fall right before the season starts? I want to get married when it’s warm.”

“That sounds nice,” Luca replies quietly. “Do you think around here or -“

“Not here as in London, but definitely in England. I don’t need the whole church ceremony either, unless… your gran’s into that, isn’t she?”

“I think she’d come around,” Luca grins. “So you’re thinking about getting married to me, yeah?”

“It’s the proper thing to do,” Leah quotes back at him with a smile full of joy and promise and a hint of wanting. “We are buying a house together, after all.”

It’s two weeks until Luca starts bringing up Portugal as their next major holiday destination in casual conversation.

Leah jumps at the chance all too quickly, eager to see the bits and pieces that shaped him outside of England‘s stoic, steady rain.

A week off after a short international break in February provides for a perfect opportunity to slip away for a few days, soak up some sun and warmth after months in dark and gloomy England. They book the accommodation and flights together - Leah will fly in from France, Luca from London, they’ll meet up for their layovers in Madrid - and Luca starts calling ahead the next day while Leah’s at training to set up some special additions to their booking.

When the time comes, his flight is delayed and he has to make a run for it - and when Leah’s still there at the gate, waiting for him and frowning between her phone and the clock on the wall, among the last 20 people to board despite both of them being in the first boarding group, Luca’s chest feels like it’s going to burst from the exertion and just Leah both at the same time.

“You made it! Hello, love. I’ve missed you.”

Luca ducks away a little when Leah makes to wrap her arms tight around him, glances around quickly. “I missed you too. Leah, there’s - I’m so sweaty, and there’s people all around.”

“I don’t care,” Leah hums, places a sneaky kiss on the side of his neck.

“Alright then,” Luca sighs, giving in and kissing Leah properly. He manages to keep his laughter to a snicker when Leah pulls back and grimaces slightly. “I told you I was sweaty. Hits different now that it’s not on the pitch, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t want to think about anything related to pitches for the next five days,” Leah mutters, and Luca nods quietly. A gritty win and frustrating draw, with cup knockout rounds coming up and not entirely promising standings in the league will do that.

Leah sinks against his side as soon as they take their seats, and he’s suddenly very glad he decided a spa day would be the perfect distraction for her - due to purely logistical reasons initially, but it seems like Leah needs some pampering that he can’t fully provide.

“I’ve booked you a spot for whatever you want down at the spa,” Luca mentions over breakfast the next day. While their flight had gone smooth and the transfer was fairly easy as well, Leah had crashed almost immediately after a quick dinner. “Massage, pool session, sauna, all taken care of. They can even make an ice bath work, though I know you’re not a fan of those. Might even get your nails done, their beautician comes with stellar recommendations.”

"A massage sounds nice. But nails… I don’t know, Luke, I hardly ever get them done."

"Go on then, treat yourself. It’s all covered, and you deserve the full luxury experience and treatment of it all.”

“They always get ruined immediately, you know this.”

“Love, you’ve got a couple weeks off - better make the most of ‘em.”

“I suppose Arsenal red would be nice to show off to the girls,” Leah shrugs, and Luca’s blood runs cold. He calls the front desk immediately to make sure that magically all red tones are unavailable and, in rather rusty Portuguese, asks that the nail tech convince Leah to do something plain, because Leah definitely wandered down the hall muttering something about getting little dog decals on top of Arsenal red. There is a time and place for those and what he’s planned for is not it.

He doesn't realise just how much the hotel staff all talk to each other, and just how obvious he's being (to people who know the signs) until the front desk clerk grins excitedly at him as he’s hurrying out.

“The spa called me to check about the colours. I told them you’re doing something special - don’t worry, they’re good at secrets. You call me today, if you need any more help.”

He’s grinning, as he heads out to meet his uncle’s classmate’s neighbour.

Leah finds him by the pool late in the afternoon, one of his linen shirts knotted into a makeshift cropped look, and her easy smile and dropped shoulders are proof enough he made the right call.

“Have a good day, did you?” He asks when Leah nudges at his thigh until he makes just enough space for her to sit down next to him.

“Mhm, yeah. Did the whole thing - massage from head to toe, mud bath, all the… whatever it’s called with the diffusers and essential oils. Even got my nails done.”

“Oh, show me!” Luca reaches for Leah’s hand, and the way she drapes her fingers over his own elegantly, wiggles them a little bit, has him flashing forward a few hours with nothing but hope and determination in his chest.

The nail tech’s outdone herself - the end result is tasteful, impeccably precise and, with a little hint of pastel rainbow colours, just on the right side of making a subtle but undeniable statement.

“I love them,” Luca tells Leah earnestly, kisses her knuckles if only to hide his smile. “I love you.”

“Love you too - how was your day? Sorry I took a while, I know this was supposed to be proper quality time for the two of us,” Leah hums as she reaches up to run her fingers through Luca’s hair slowly. It’s slightly damp still, from first a shower after half a day running errands and then a quick dip in the pool.

“Good. I got a lot of things done.” Luca leans into Leah’s touch, a move so familiar by now that it’s almost turned into a habit, when Leah’s palm is rested against his head like this. “Not all work, before you call me out - look, I went to a local barber’s, they cleaned me up fairly well, don’t you think? I tried to ask about how he did the… this here,” Luca quickly runs his fingers over his jaw. “But I didn’t fully understand what he said, so it’s more trial and error for me, I s’pose.”

“I like this on you. Very sharp and sleek, it suits you,” Leah comments after taking a few moments to properly look at Luca, to brush her fingers against the bits of skin and hair he pointed out. “But I also like it when you look a bit more rugged.”

“Rugged, is that what we’re calling it?” Luca laughs.

“It is. Especially when it comes with a side of bedhead, or you coming home from a run in the rain all drenched and half covered in mud.”

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

“It’s a free show, the way your shirt’s clinging to your abs… or your shorts to your butt, depending on the wind,” Leah shrugs with a wicked smile. “Either way, it’s a win.”

“Noted,” Luca grins, glances at his watch and frowns slightly. “Uh, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, we’ve got somewhere to be in an hour. Shelve it for later?”

Leah co*cks her head curiously at him - Luca’s not usually that fussed about being on time to things, a habit that he’s carried over from years of always being the last one out of the dressing room for warm-ups and such - but he’ll have his reasons, she figures.

“Are we doing a fancy place, then?” She asks after a glance at the carefully ironed shirt hung up by their dresser once they’re back in their room.

“A fancy evening,” Luca corrects her. “I thought a bit of glamour might be a nice way to kick things off after three weeks stuck in mud and rain. I packed some dressier clothes for you, if you’d like. No pressure, just - if fancy would feel nice.”

Leah shakes her head fondly, and sets aside her jeans to root through Luca’s suitcase. She almost teases him about this suddenly intense level of preparation, but gets distracted when she realises he brought her favourite roomy cream linen suit, as well as a dress so new she hasn’t worn it out yet.

The restaurant is nice, but doesn’t quite say glamour the way some others they’ve been to did. Still, their table already has a nice Portuguese rosé sitting in a cooler on it, and the view over the coast is hard to beat.

A candle flickers in the warm, gentle breeze, and there’s a string of lights twinkling away overhead.

“They usually do a la carte here,” Luca explains after a waiter’s stopped by to pour them a glass of wine each. “But I took the liberty of calling ahead and ordering for us.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, haven’t you?” Leah laughs quietly, clinks her glass against Luca’s. “What else do you have up your sleeve?”

Luca shrugs. “Nice try - I’m not giving up my secrets so easily.”

“Alright,” Leah nods, reaches halfway across the table and then gives Luca’s hand a soft squeeze when he meets her there. “I’ll let myself be surprised.”

They eat olives and a caprese salad that has Leah nudging her raw tomatoes onto Luca’s plate, and then a woodfired pizza so toothsome it has them both silent for a while before they start reminiscing about their first pizza date in Luca’s kitchen. They have a second glass of wine to cheers to Arsenal’s still-solid hopes for the Conti Cup, and to Luca’s recent string of wins with the rec league he’s joined. And they wander back to the hotel hand in hand, a little flushed from the wine, and languid in the warmth of spring.

Their room, when they get back, is full of flowers.

“What is this? Luca, did you...”

Leah cups a delicate bloom between her hands and leans down to smell it, before opening the balcony doors to admire the bouquet, pastel roses and lilacs, on the little outdoor table.

“Luca… what is this?” Leah asks again, soft and quiet, when he joins her outside holding a small pastry box.

“Dessert.” His heart is thundering in his chest, and he hopes his smile is as easy and open as Leah’s eyes, slightly damp but wide, are.

“That’s not what I -“

“I know. I promise we’ll talk about it, but… let’s have dessert first, please?” Luca carefully places the box on the table and tugs on the elegant bow around it to open it, producing one single slice of chocolate cake and two silvery forks.

“Luke…”

“Trust me, love,” he asks, barely audible over his pulse thrumming in his ears. He hadn’t been able to taste test it earlier - the concierge had assured him it was delicious when he picked up and hid the box while Leah was still getting ready, but, well.

“Alright then,” Leah gives in and takes a small bite of the cake, and then all but lights up and eagerly goes for a second one. “This is incredible - where’d you get it?”

“I made it,” Luca smiles. “I had a busy day.”

Leah laughs around a third bite. “I can see that. How’d you even- you know what, I don’t care, as long as you make this for me again. What’s it called, so I can ask for it back home?”

“It’s called - well, the recipe was titled ‘Happy Wife, Happy Life’, and a happy life sounded really, really good to me.” Luca clears his throat and reaches for the tiny box hidden behind the vase of the bouquet, slips out of his seat and sinks down on one knee.

He’d prepared a speech, carefully wrote and rewrote it until he knew several versions of it by heart, but they all go forgotten as he looks up at Leah, frozen with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“Leah, I love you. I wasn’t looking for anything or anyone that first night at the bar, but there you were- the best unexpected surprise I’ve ever gotten. You’ve been my rock through… everything, and I couldn’t have asked for a better, more caring and loving partner by my side. I love starting and ending every day with you, whatever that looks like, and all I want is to never stop doing that. I love seeing and making you happy, and I promise to never stop doing that either, as long as you’ll have me.”

There’s silent tears running down Leah’s cheeks, and Luca swallows roughly as he opens the box and offers the ring it holds to her.

“Will you marry me?”

“On one condition - you keep baking this cake for me,” Leah manages, and Luca laughs and nods earnestly.

“Anytime you want, my love.”

He nearly misses when he first tries to slide the ring on Leah’s finger, shaking hands for both of them, and then they kiss, a little messy and tasting of chocolate and a hint of the salty tears drying on Leah’s skin.

The rest of the week in Portugal is dreamy. All lazy late mornings in bed, and sunny hikes, and half-dozing by the pool.

Leah spends the whole time figuring out all the various things Luca did to set up for the proposal and have the whole thing go smoothly. From insisting to meet his uncle’s classmate’s neighbour whose kitchen Luca borrowed to bake in, to profusely thanking the next door florist, and cheerfully stopping at the front desk every single time they leave so that the clerk that caught on before anybody else can admire the ring again.

The day after Luca proposed, the nail tech sends them a polite and carefully phrased text, along with a picture of Leah’s nails taken at the appointment, asking if it would be alright to post and tag her. They ask her to hold off on posting until they’ve officially announced, but send her back a picture taken at sunset, showing off the manicure and the ring, the subtle rainbows glinting in the golden-hour light. She also, somewhat by accident, gets the tip of her life and then some: they both secretly take care of it. (They won’t find out they both did the exact same thing until a decade later, when their niece is in early teenage love for the first time and needs to know just how Uncle Lukey proposed to Auntie Lee in excruciating detail.)

They decide to do a full on professional shoot once they go back home. They spend half an hour in the departures lounge waiting for their flight home comparing different wedding photographers’ portfolios of engagement sessions, before realising they’re going about it all wrong and calling one of the pitch-side sports photographers who has been capturing their best and worst days for years already.

Maybe doing some out-and-back runs isn't the most conventional way to shake off their nerves while the photographer sets up her lenses - the nerves that unexpectedly crop up when the pictures aren't about football or about advocacy, but are just about them. Two people. Their love for each other turned up to a volume that everyone can hear, these days. And the new ring on Leah's finger a sign of what they're planning to do about that.

But why not. They have the space for running. And they've both run for worse reasons, in worse shoes.

And maybe Luca notices their photographer dropping into her usual field-side crouch (once her finger's on the shutter and two of the world's greats are in front of her she doesn't even notice she's doing it - it's habit). And on the run back he scoops Leah, and everything's limbs and laughter and that familiar clack of the shutter and the knowledge that the feelings of this moment are being caught - just for them. The way Leah's gripping Luca's shoulder and the curve of his arm around her ribs recorded in the same precise detail as any header or long ball.

They've spent years with their every professional move documented. Streamed around the country, and then the world. Photos of wins and defeats, stumbles and silly faces, often captured by photographers whose names they don't even know, while at the same time keeping their personal lives private, avoiding paps and careful to tag Instagram locations only once back home. For safety and privacy, and also for the space and time and tender safety of Luca's medical transition.

There's a sweet shock to it, taking photos on purpose. Professional-quality ones. To share. Showing up as exactly who they've figured out they are - gender identity, feelings, all of it. With that sharp snap of the camera helping them catch it, gifting them this exact moment in time to share and to look back on.

They get plenty of offers from media powerhouses first to release a sort of tell-all about their relationship and later to cover their wedding. They choose a journalist they know and trust from years of press conferences and mixed zone interviews instead, and share bits and pieces, whatever feels comfortable and maybe important to share, for visibility and to use their voices for good. And they guest on Jen Beattie’s podcast, just the three of them for a special episode.

Luca knows Jen, of course, but he’s not nearly as close with her as Leah is. Leah’s told him that Jen’s good people, though, and Jen’s dm’ed him to ask about anything that’s off topic beforehand. The day-of, it’s good-natured ribbing, Scottish vs English and Luca somewhere in the middle, for a bit before they dig deeper - not yet toeing the line of boundaries that both Luca and Leah agreed to cross to an extent between themselves, but getting there, and then it happens.

“So, Leah- you’ve got yourself a boyfriend turned fiancé there. I know that’s caused a bit of ruckus, aside from - sorry to bring this up again, Luca - the media frenzy focused on just him?”

“I mean, yeah,” Leah shrugs, and Luca watches her closely just in case she needs him to jump in or end the whole thing. “But that’s just what happens sometimes, no? You could kiss a hundred people in a bar, and then it just so happens that the one boy in the mix is the one you fall for.”

“Over ninety nine girls?” Luca knows Jen is just playing it up - and he gets it, he knows she has to make it interesting, make it sound like it’s scandalous or something. Leah reaches for his hand under the table.

“Yes. Over anyone, really, because he’s so much more than that. He’s my best friend, he’s sweet and kind and - honestly, he’s too smart for his own good sometimes, but he doesn’t hesitate to laugh at himself either. He makes me really, really happy - and he just so happens to be a man.” There’s a tiny pause, and Luca wishes there weren’t any cameras around, because Leah so deserves a proper kiss for that. “Plus, he’s a great cook, so that helps.”

Jen cracks up and luckily tacks on only to the last little bit.

“So Luca’s on chef duties and you’re stuck with the washing up, is that how things are?”

“Yeah,” Leah nods with a small grin, and Luca isn’t fully sure why she’s not elaborating.

“So I can come over for dinner without fearing for my life now, am I hearing this right?”

“Absolutely,” Leah confirms, her smile only growing.

“Pencil me in for tomorrow then, I’ve got to see this for myself,” Jen requests, and something about her eyes tells Luca he’ll have to do some grocery shopping on the way home.

Leah messed up one time and she’ll be damned if she ever does again. Quiet confirmation to Luca that she’s got this - that she’s got him, always.

They’ll show up for one another any time - and this just so happens to be one of the times she does so for him.

Luca will redirect the photog’s attention to her on every red carpet and mention her in every interview he agrees to- and, in a weird twist, there’s a lot more requests for him rather than Leah even during major tournaments simply due to the fact that he came out.

And, really, Luca will use any opportunity he gets to show off his fiancée. And Leah is equally proud to talk about their journeys, both individual and joined, and continue to bring forth change the way they’ve done it on the field for years.

It helps, too, that their public is used to hearing nuance from them.

Football celebrity wasn't like being a movie star - with carefully planned appearances and the option to step out of the spotlight during any controversies. The public had heard both of them talk about disappointing policy decisions and poorly executed gameplans. They'd both gone in front of the camera with the iron tang taste of exhaustion in their mouths, and managed to find words that connected.

The thought that it might be trickier to talk about transition, or about a marriage that was at once both straight and gloriously queer... some friends and reporters had been concerned about that, on their behalf. But it never felt that way to them.

Luca had helped build the game from its foundations. From the Donny-Bells on a frozen pitch and extra shifts at Dominos, to booming crowds filling Stamford Bridge and Wembley. His supporters had ridden the tornado of change in the game along with him, and they adjusted to the news of more change just the same - staunchly with him, loud and a little obnoxious sometimes, and stubbornly loyal every time - as he settled into himself and introduced himself to his longtime supporters again and again. As a retiring player. As a man. A fiancé. A husband. A coach.

And Leah is England's captain. If anybody could lean toward a microphone, pick up a tangle of identity politics and unwind it into utter clarity that sex and gender and love might be personal things but that respect of those things was everybody's business, well that was going to be Leah every time. Watching her answer questions in the presser, tucking her hair back behind her ear either as a habit or to show off her ring (he’s never quite sure), he wonders a little if they could just slip away for a weekend and elope. It feels so easy, already, to describe her as his wife.

Leah rationalises the afternoon of browsing fashion sample sales as a break from wedding prep, and also simultaneously as shopping for the honeymoon. Luca doesn’t entirely buy that both things can be true at once, but he doesn’t care. Leah is drifting along the racks of clothes, expression focused and fingers curious against the fabric. He loves watching her like this; he couldn’t be happier.

It’s kind of nice to be in these types of places, these days. He always liked the play of colours and textures - he’s enjoyed exploring his own style more since surgery, and his own wardrobe is finally filling with clothes he’s comfortable in. It feels easy now, to tag along with Leah - to wander shops full of beautiful bits of gauze and glitter that he can admire without having to think about them in relation to himself. He likes considering the hand-feel of a cashmere sweater with Leah, or admiring how the tailoring of a blazer nips her in at her waist.

“Would I wear these, babe? I like the colour.” Leah holds up a loungewear set in a delicate knit. “In the winter maybe?”

“You’re usually cold - you always go for the fleecy stuff,” he reminds her.

“I s’pose.” She sighs. “And once we get a puppy I’ll be getting muddy whenever it rains anyways.”

He traces his fingers over a bralette, enjoying the silky fabric.

“You mentioned honeymoon shopping,” he murmurs.

“Oh you like those, do you?” Leah asks, leaning against his shoulder, subtly flirting with him still, even though it’s been years now. Even though they have a wedding date set and a caterer booked, and an appointment with a lawyer next week for an extremely un-sexy prenuptial agreement. Even though, when it comes to Leah, he is the surest thing he could imagine.

“You’d look stunnin’ - no pressure though.” He wants to kiss her right there in the shop, but makes do with smiling against her hair.

“I’ll try them.” Leah is still leaning against him as she sifts through the small pile, choosing colours.

“So would you like a fashion show?” Leah asks as they take off their coats in the front hall of their new house, amid the small scatter of shopping bags.

Luca hums a little, finding himself in Leah’s personal space as he straightens up from putting his trainers on the shoe rack.

“We could do that.” He set his hands on Leah’s hips. He loves how cropped t-shirts mean there’s nearly always a warm strip of skin right there, to find with his palms. He gently steers her a couple of steps back until she’s leaning against their new front door. “Or we could do other things, and the clothes could be a surprise.”

She smiles at that, running her thumb carefully along the angle of his collarbone and down the centre of his chest - pausing at the dip below his sternum for a moment before smoothing down his abs until she can pull him closer by his trouser pockets.

She tilts her face up towards his, leaning almost for a kiss but going for his ear instead - kissing the curve of it.

It’s a trademark Leah move but still startles a little gust of held breath out of him. He slides his hands further under her shirt, finding the small of her back, loving the feel of her breasts pressed against the flatter plane of his chest.

“I’m always up for a surprise,” she murmurs, and works her mouth down the tendons of his neck.

When their wedding day comes, they don't get ready together (superstition and all that, though Luca cites tradition), but Leah finds herself rather crossly holding her phone, pointed away from her, as Luca on FaceTime talks her cousin through how to get her hair to do the thing she liked, that they'd practised at home.

Luca gets ready with his brother, their smiles mirrors of each other as his brother fixes a sprig of flowers in Luca's button-hole and tugs at his tie. “Where’d you learn how to do this, now? I know I had to ask Grandpa.”

“Random youtube video,” Luca admits sheepishly, shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“It’s wonky, is what it is. Here, let me show you.”

Jorge takes but two tugs to the fabric to completely undo Luca’s tie, and Luca’s about to protest when his brother tugs here and pulls there and then, calmly and step-by-step walks him through tying the long sliver of fabric into a knot suitable for the occasion.

When it’s time for the first look, in a corner of the gardens they’re using for the ceremony, Leah is so caught off guard by Luca - how snazzy he looks in his tailored suit, how he stands still and easy and confident but she can tell he’s a bit nervous from the way he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other - that she stubs her toe against… something and curses quietly. And Luca turns around much sooner than he’s supposed to, and they don’t get a proper first look until after he’s checked thrice that she’s really okay.

The first frames their photographer captures of them together look, for all the world, like a player and a physio assessing an injury mid-match. Leah on an old stone bench planted ‘round with flowering cosmos and love-in-a-mist, her dress hitched up and her leg stretched out in front of her, and Luca with his hands wrapped fully around her foot - frowning a little, and obviously in the middle of asking her a question.

A shot of them with Luca carefully slipping Leah’s shoe back onto her foot after checking her for injury, Leah looking down at him with a half- exasperated, half- blindingly in love smile. They post that on their socials, with Luca captioning it “…if the shoe fits #cinderella”

A soft peck at the end of the ceremony, and Georgia stage-whispers "Really?? Come on." loud enough for every one to hear. And then their second kiss is longer, Luca dipping Leah a little.

“Sorry, I’ve got to - there’s someone I have to say hello to,” Leah says suddenly, when Luca’s halfway through a pleasant conversation with one of Leah’s aunts who he hasn’t gotten to meet properly outside of their wedding yet.

He’s not sure who or what could make his wife dart from his side, but it must be important, so he smiles his apology and promises to resume the conversation later - and then kicks into a near sprint when he sees Sarina standing near the floral arch that marks the entrance to their private party, Leah half a dozen steps ahead of him.

“You made it!” Luca beams, and hugs Sarina close after Leah does. “We weren’t sure - what with the FIFA conference -”

“Nonsense,” Sarina shakes her head, clasps both of their hands together in her own. “I would not have missed this in the world. Now, Leah, let me- Oh, that is gorgeous. Look at the cut- and it suits you so well!” She compliments the new addition to Leah’s ring finger, much like she had months ago, when Leah showed up with new bling after a week away with Luca.

When Sarina turns her head and looks straight at Luca, lets go of Leah’s hand and cradles his left hand carefully, flashes him a bright smile, he has to bite back tears.

“You did so well. And look at this - such a fine piece of craftsmanship. It suits you handsomely.”

“Thanks, Sarina,” Luca chokes out, and Leah echoes the sentiment as Sarina joins their hands in her own once more, glances back and forth between the two of them for a moment, sincere and earnest.

“Now, you two - do right by each other. Take each day as it comes and never lose track of what’s to come. Always remember that marriage, like love, isn’t a state - it’s a choice that needs acting upon it every day.”

Jill claims a speech - because of course she does. Spends most of it liberally and lovingly threatening both of them, about what she’ll do if they ever hurt each other. In big-sister mode as usual. She gets away with it, of course. Though Leah does overhear her brother mutter to Jorge “Well I guess that’s our job done then.”

They don’t do a proper cake because what in the gendered bullsh*t with the cutting and such - they hand out cupcakes to everyone instead, Leah to Luca’s family and friends and vice versa.

They do have the traditional first dance. But Luca's - or, now their - niblings don’t care about formality. The four of them end up jumping around in a circle while the slow romantic song is still playing. Leah watches Luca pull out his goofiest dance moves to make the kids laugh, and almost misses her own father tapping her shoulder for a dance.

A quiet moment with Jordan, for both of them - “I’m sorry I didn’t catch on earlier, mate. I’m so, so glad that you’ve ended up so happy” with Luca, when they’re both leaning against the bar waiting for drinks to bring back to their partners, and then with Leah, while there’s some outdated music playing for the elderly folks to get their fill.

“It’s a bit odd, all this, innit,” Jordan starts, and Leah nods and smiles slowly.

“A little bit. I’m glad you came, though. I know we haven’t been - I wouldn’t have held it against you, you know.”

“I know,” Jordan nods. “But Luca’s my - he’s one of my oldest mates. You know we promised each other, ages ago, we’d be each other’s maid of honour? Clearly, that’s not going to happen now, given all the… anyway. I’m glad you’ve found what you wanted all along, and I’m pretty sure he has too.”

“And so have you,” Leah adds, quiet and serious. “Don’t think I’ve missed your plus one - I ran into her earlier, for just a second, caught us both off guard. Please give her my best, and Luca’s as well, I’m sure.”

“Did you?” Jordan smiles, shrugs, glances around for her girlfriend in the crowd and then, suddenly, lights up. “Ah, I best get on that right now - cheers, Leah. I really am glad you got really dang close to your dream wedding.”

“It’s the lack of lilacs, isn’t it?” Leah laughs, and long-held memories of first disclosing this to Jordan and easy agreement that fizzled out bitter and stale over time resolve into thin air.

“Only you could wish for both lilacs and a late summer wedding at the same time,” Jordan half-grumbles, half- grins, and then she nods somewhere over Leah’s shoulder. “You did fine - both of yous. Can’t say I expected it, not that I’ve been involved much over the past few years.. But I want to catch up on that, if that’s alright.”

Luca zones out of his uncles’ conversation discussing the real estate market - how they all got there from chatting about the league, he doesn’t know - because Leah’s carefully clipping her necklace around their niece’s neck, on loan for just a little while.

And then Keira - who catches up with Luca’s family for most of the night and, when Leah finally runs into her in the bathroom, can’t hide the faint tan line and indent on her ring finger. “Shut the f*ck up,” Leah gasps, and Keira tries to awkwardly explain that she didn’t want to take away any attention, that it’s all very fresh and new and they haven’t told anyone but their families - and then Luca comes looking for his wife, ever concerned, Leah spills immediately and they all hug, quick and tight and honest joy between them.

At some point, both their dads approach them hesitantly but with urgency written in their eyes.

“Sorry to interrupt, but. . .“

“You’re going to miss your train. We’ve already sorted the luggage.”

“You really do have to go now.”

They leave with their chests close to bursting and a shower of love and cheers - and some crude comments thrown in, courtesy of LJ and McCabe, that are chastised immediately by former and current teammates.

Once they’ve made the overnight train that’ll take them right down to Marseille, Luca looks around the small cabin that makes their bedroom for the night and laughs a little as he loosens the tie around his neck. “Not exactly your traditional wedding night accommodations, is it?”

“Please,” Leah groans from where she’s sitting on the small bed. She’d changed her heels for a pair of comfy trainers hours ago, but her feet still hurt from being whisked from here to there all day. “There’s no way anyone is having sex on their wedding night. Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Dead on my feet,” Luca admits, shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up carefully on the hooks by the door. “I mean, I’m up for it, if you want to, but -”

“But you’d rather just sleep? Me too,” Leah cuts in and then winces when she tries to undo her hair. “Ow. Christ - what’d she do with this?”

“Here, let me help,” Luca offers quickly, slips off his shoes and climbs onto the bed behind Leah, carefully pulling one hairpin after the other out of her visually simple but structurally complex updo, easing down one freed strand after the other.

“I know I told you before, but you looked incredible in your dress. I almost regret helping you take it off,” Luca mutters, later, when he's finally stretched out on the slightly too firm mattress, with Leah tucked against his chest and the steady soundtrack of the train rushing through the night.

“You’re one to talk - that suit looked impeccable on you. I would’ve married you just for the way you looked, when I walked down for the whole first look thing - actually, I’m fairly sure it’s why I stubbed my toe. You had me all distracted.”

“Is that so?” Luca grins. “Good thing I made it all better right away, then.”

“I think that might be one of my favourite memories of tonight,” Leah tells him. “How you didn’t even care about any of the optics, and just were there for me, as soon as you realised something was wrong. Like you’ve been since the first night.”

“Stubbing your toe is your favourite memory?” Luca frowns slightly. “What about the - I thought the dancing was much better than that.”

“Well, what’s your top three, then?” Leah challenges him, tapping his chest once, twice, before she catches his hand that’s wrapped around her and tangles their fingers.

“Your smile, when you saw me waiting for you in front of all our loved ones,” Luca recounts. “That solid half hour you spent just with my - our niece, just because she ran up to you and said she liked your necklace. And - god, can I really just get three?”

“Give me three, and then you’ll be allowed more,” Leah gives in with a laugh and an eyeroll. “Just know I’m claiming as many favourites as you do.”

“Okay, okay,” Luca grins and leans down to kiss his wife - his wife - for a long moment. “Number one has to be just after the ceremony was over - how you smiled at me.”

“That’s a good one,” Leah notes. “That’s one of my favourites too - how happy you looked.”

“Not your top one, though?” Luca asks lightly, with honest curiosity. “What’s the top spot, then?”

“Honestly?” Leah gives a small, quiet recollection of bliss, smile. “How you disregarded everything we’d planned and paid for, when you heard me curse at that stupid uneven stone on the path to you, before any of the other things happened. I felt the same way then as I did when you said ‘I do’.”

Luca scrolls through the list of things to do and see they compiled ahead of time, complete with links to websites for booking tickets or transportation, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm the next morning.

“So, there’s… a couple museums fairly close by, and the rental for boats seems to have some openings,” he suggests. “Or, you know, we could have a beach day. Rest our legs?”

Leah scrunches her nose a little. “Anything else?”

“Um, there’s the hike we talked about - going past all those caves that looked cool?”

Leah shrugs half-heartedly. “Maybe, yes.”

“Or we could… there’s a rental place for bikes not too far,” Luca mentions. “Anything sound particularly good to you?”

“To be completely honest,” Leah sighs, slumps back in her chair. “I don’t want to see or hear or be around people today, at all. Yesterday was a lot - I loved it, I loved seeing all our friends and family and the dancing and catching up, but it was a lot.”

“God, I know,” Luca groans. “I love our people, and I love being around them - but I’m so glad it’s just the two of us here. I’m not sure I could hold a full conversation without imploding, honestly.”

“Can we just have a quiet day, today?” Leah asks, and Luca nods eagerly.

“A quiet day sounds perfect.”

And so they spend the day reading and napping - sometimes together at the same time, sometimes with one of them careful to turn pages because the other one is snoozing away without a care in the world.

And then, once they're both rested and it's time for their dinner reservation, they're hungry for something else entirely and rush through the four course meal with quick back-and-forths. Luca tackles anything that is either raw or strong in flavour while Leah forks down his pasta and sides as fast as she can within the rules of basic etiquette.

“Did you want the turbot or-”

“Trade for the bread you’ve got there.”

A waiter approaches them with a small selection of wines in a cooler, and Luca, after a couple of phrases exchanged in French, asks Leah if she wants another glass of wine.

“I’m good,” Leah replies quickly, and then takes a moment to reconsider, “or, you know, actually, can you ask if they have any champagne? We’ve toasted to everyone but ourselves, with just us, and that just doesn’t feel right.”

Luca switches back to French and while Leah doesn’t understand much or any of it, she does recognise the joy in Luca’s eyes when he glances over at her and says something about “ma femme”.

Their champagne is served with a slice of chocolate cake on the house, and they grin at each other before they dig in.

“Oh, this is really good,” Luca mutters before he’s even fully swallowed the first bite.

“I don’t know - yours was better,” Leah replies nonchalantly, and then leans over to feed Luca another bite of cake. “I’d choose yours over this any day.”

“‘Course you would. You married me,” Luca nods, and then smiles, reaches for Leah’s hand and lifts it to his lips. “You married me,” he repeats, slowly and with emphasis on every word, like anything else would somehow discredit the fact.

“I did,” Leah confirms, smiling a touch smug and a lot blissful, and she glances at the half-finished piece of chocolate cake, the barely sipped champagne. “Do you think it would be terribly rude if we - I mean, I’ll so have to walk this off, or else I’ll be asleep before soon, but-”

Luca rises to his feet. “Can I walk you home?”

Leah looks up at him, and Luca knows she’s going to say yes, obviously, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that seems a bit cheeky.

“Only if you promise to stay the night this time around.”

It makes him laugh, quick and sudden, until Leah’s hand is firmly in his.

“You know I’ll always stay the night - we do share a bedroom in the house we bought together, back home,” he points out.

“Shush, I’m trying to be romantic here,” Leah huffs, rolling her eyes fondly.

“Ah, well then - romance away. It’s been a while - a whole 36 hours since the single most romantic moment of my life, you know,” Luca grins, takes the small shove at his shoulder for a steady, firm kiss in return that soon turns into two, three five, until they stop at every corner to make out, hands drifting further and further, each draw back harder than the one before.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" Leah asks at some point, eyes closed and fingers soft in his hair.

"We've talked about this - you know I barely do."

They have talked about this. Too many times for Luca to feel embarrassed or guilty about it any more.

"I was so nervous Lee, I was almost out of my body from it. You were exactly like I knew you on the field, but times a thousand. The way you leaned into me as we danced, didn't hesitate to touch me, the way you kept kissing my neck. . ."

"That you remember your neck but not your mouth," Leah smiles the slow, easy smile he'd never seen until they got together - the smile he sees every day now. "Guess I'll just have to remind you."

"Now that we're married," he asks, cradling Leah's jaw as she angles toward him, "can I keep getting first kisses? Will you give me a first kiss every month? Every week maybe? We could set a reminder."

"You, my husband," and God, does that word sound shiny-new and good and exactly who he wants to be, "get a first kiss every single day."

“What the… this looks nothing like… shouldn’t have added the bloody chocolate,” Leah mutters, five minutes away from being frazzled over whatever she’s got cooking in a pan, looking back and forth between it and what must be the recipe for it on her phone.

“Morning, Love, can I help?” Luca asks cheerfully, only to be met with a spatula waved in his face.

“Out - away with you. I’m trying to surprise you, here. Back to bed you go.”

“Alright, then. Can I at least- “

“No, nope. Out.”

“Fine,” Luca nods, willingly follows his wife’s orders until-

“Ow, sh*t. Oh- bloody well done, Williamson, lovely job,” it sounds from the tiny kitchen of their rental, entirely too sarcastic for it to be acceptable. He’s back in the kitchen in a heartbeat, and when he wraps his arm around Leah, she doesn’t shoo him away again.

“What’s the matter?”

“The pan - it’s too sticky, and the… I was trying to make pancakes, be all sweet and put blueberries and chocolate, I know you love them both,” Leah explains, wrapped up in frustration first and sinking against Luca’s embrace second.

“You made some very delicious-looking pancakes,” Luca praises her.

“They look straight out of a horror film, Luca,” Leah protests, refusing to fully look at the mess of purpley-blue and brown splotches that have bled all over the dough.

“They might, right now - the secret to them is to cover ‘em in whipped cream. No way to make them look good without that… they taste better, too, that way.”

Given all his experience being long-distance with Keira, and all of last season when he and Leah were on largely opposite schedules, Luca’s surprised how hard Leah’s preseason hits him.

Granted, they’re just coming off an entire summer of spending every possible minute together - the job as pundit he managed to land allowing him to travel with the team while they competed in the World Cup, and his ties to the team blurring and bending the strict rules of who’s allowed to spend how much time around the players and staff, and then, after two weeks of finalising details and putting out small fires left and right, their wedding and three weeks of uninterrupted honeymoon bliss.

There’s a lull in Luca’s workload once they get back - the slow time before the season translating to a drought of punditry work. And his rec league starts later than the pros - it fills him with an itchy feeling that he should be practising. It reminds him too much of the early days, everyone semi-pro, when wildly different levels of training and funding shaped the end-of-season table in a way that talent could hardly touch.

Leah’s gone for hours every day, coming home tired and talked-out and tossing her sweaty gear seemingly all over the house. It’s not technically everywhere, but they’re discovering that their new house was definitely not designed with an athlete’s volume of gear in mind. They’ve both grumbled about it, but Luca is acutely aware that he’s grumbled more. Maybe it’s the house being so echoing empty during the day - just him and the managed chaos of practice gear and its accompanying smells reminding Luca that he’s not on the pitch yet. By now they’ve got a general plan for how to tackle the distances between the front hall storage, the bedroom laundry hamper, and the washing machine. But they can’t make it to Ikea together until next month. One - soon-to-be two - people’s worth of practice gear might as well be ten, for the way it clogs the hall and smells up the bedroom hamper. Luca knows it’s bothering him more than Leah, with the amount he’s home. And for some reason the smell of it - that’s bothered him even less than usual the last year or so - is vividly annoying again. Maybe it’s the way Maybe Luca’s going to have to have a word with Adidas because no socks should ever smell that bad. His own Nike ones certainly never did.

“They’re all over mud. I can’t put them next to… damnit…” is all he hears back, before she’s clattering up the stairs toward their bedroom.

He sighs, knowing that if her boots are muddy her damp training gear will go into the hamper on his side of the bedroom, somewhere between the shirt he spilled some tea on earlier and his sweatshirt that Leah’s been changing into over the last few days and that won’t be smelling too fresh anymore now.

Sure enough she pads downstairs in his jumper, kissing him lightly before hoisting herself with a groan onto the counter and popping the lid off the closest pot to smell dinner.

She’s a bit dissociated after - staring into the middle distance, wrinkle between her eyebrows more pronounced than usual.

He gives it a minute, stirring the lentils and opening a tin of coconut milk. Time and waiting nearly always work, when Leah is fractious. Even with annoyances like under-designed storage or a long day at Colney, just being close enough to coregulate is usually enough to settle her.

Tonight she’s still frowning as he holds out the spoon for her to taste, and gives a small huff as she hands it back. Classic Leah. The Leah from the back line, when they’re losing - a few minutes from throwing her arm up for the ref, or maybe yelling. Leah from the meeting rooms of Saint George’s Park, worn and irritated from the accumulation of Captain duties that she wouldn’t trade for the world, but that nevertheless take her away from the pitch.

When she starts to zone out again Luca realises he has to poke the bear.

“Leah, what.”

He keeps his eyes on the stove as he asks. Partly to make sure the curry doesn’t stick, partly to give her space.

“It’s fine.” She sounds brusque.

“ Lee. . .”

“Could we have some meat? Please? Or - you know what, never mind. I can chuck something in the air fryer. Don’t worry about it.”

“Leah. If you need different food just tell me. Don’t skulk around apologising. Can we just talk about it? The macros in this are. . .”

He can hear the way she deflates, even without seeing it.

“I know the macros in that are going to be perfect. Your cooking for me is alway perfect. You’re doing all this… stuff ,” she gestures around the kitchen - the table set for dinner, the temporary coat rack half-assembled in the corner, “and I’m dragging in, all mud and mess and hunger and inconvenient. And I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want us to be like this - all uneven. I haven’t seen you in hours, and I miss you, and all we’ve talked about is the mess of my f*cking football boots and my silly f*cking food things. . .”

“Leah, Lee...” He turns the stove off and manages to fit his hips between her knees as she rambles, finding her thighs with his palms and smoothing down them, hoping the muscles - pumped from the gym or tense from being anxious, he’s not sure which - would relax. “It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. I miss you too - so much it feels silly sometimes. Your food things aren’t silly - tell me what you need?”

“It feels silly. You’re taking such good care of me.”

“Not if you need something different, I’m not.”

“It’s,” her hands find his shoulders, grasping a bit aimlessly. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the new cookbooks, and it smells good, really, it’s just... it’s been some type of rice and beans for four nights running, Luke. And it’s like... with pre-season my body feels like the only way I’ll be full is if I can gnaw on something. And my brain is all… I miss you, but after dealing with the girls all day the last thing I can do is be more social at home. And you’re doing all the cooking and housekeeping stuff. And I know it’s temporary, but it feels all backwards.”

Her hands are in his hair by now, the wavy tendrils grown a bit long since the wedding, enough that she could wind them in her fingers.

“Yeah. Me too. I know.” He agrees, tilting her to slump against him, relieved as the muscles in her thighs and back finally start to relax. “Sorry to get tetchy about the gear situation again - I didn’t mean to get all housekeeper on you.”

“You’re right though.”

“Oh I know.” He chuckles, and she joins him, laughing damply. “Can’t promise I won’t keep grumbling ‘til we get it sorted.”

“That’s fair.” She responds, digs her face into his shoulder. He can feel the damp a little against his neck.

“And food... “

“No, never mind that,” she interrupts him, sitting back up, earnest now. Luca has seen his wife shut down many a conversation, in press availabilities or with young players too rambunctious the night before a match. As always, he’s grateful that when her walls go up he somehow always ends up inside them with her, rather than shut out.

“Leah, love, would you let me mind it though, please?” He thought back through the week. The cookbook of vegan curries - a wedding gift - that he’d been working through since the Sunday before. “I get it - I’ve been there, feeling like a bottomless pit during preseason. I’ll slow down on the vegan food.”

“Every other day, maybe?” Leah suggests.

“How about once a week,” Luca counters. “At least until we’re both fit again. How about some chicken tonight - and we could do some potato smileys on the same pan? Cheer you up a bit?”

“But, you shouldn’t have to take care of me this much.” Leah’s smiling at the solution, at the thought of her comforting favourites, but her tone is still anxious. She brushes her hair out of her face as she sits up, face still a little damp, and the brief glint of her wedding band in the soft light of the kitchen almost has Luca smiling.

They might be having a rocky night - but this is his wife, that he’s working out issues with.

“Lee, my love,” Luca finds her hands and laces their fingers. “Do you remember sneaking in my favourite foods to me, after surgery?”

“The way you packed an extra suitcase to the World Cup so I’d have my favourite snacks.” Leah joins in. “And when you asked how to get on my physio’s schedule to make sure you understood that new hip mobilisation protocol. And the year you spent sussing out the vegetables I actually like. And you figuring out how to do my hair for our wedding.”

“I hope you wear it that way again - it looks so good. Remember that candle you brought to my old apartment? And that whole scar care station you set up after surgery...”

The reassurances run long, and dinner is late that night. The chicken isn’t very seasoned, and the curry (a side dish now) a little burnt.

And Leah’s still a little zoned out with exhaustion once her head hits the pillow. But when Luca joins her she rolls into him, nudging his arm out of the way to claim her usual spot against his chest - her fingers tracing random patterns against the dark line of hair at his belly button, and across his scars, and along the curving line of his ribs. Low on words, but present. Together.

When Luca asks what time she needs to be up so he can set the alarm on his phone accordingly and thumbs through his own calendar, he curses quietly.

Event tomorrow
Endo - T shot 9:30

“What is it?” Leah mumbles sleepily, and Luca makes to soothe her with a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Nothing, love, just - I forgot I’m due for my t shot tomorrow, so my hormones are all out of whack. Not an excuse, just maybe a bit of an explanation? I really should’ve kept an eye on it more, or realised sooner that it’s been affecting me maybe.”

“I- huh.” Leah frowns a little. “I didn’t know you didn’t realise - your sleep’s been terrible. And you’ve been so restless lately, always elbow deep in one thing or another at all hours of the day it seems like.”

“Has it really? I… guess I should start tracking that again. Sort of stopped when I retired ‘cause I figured I didn’t need to… anyways, promise to keep more on track with all that from here on,” Luca hums, shrugging. “And the keeping busy - I know we’ve been spoiled over the summer, the amount of time we got to spend together. It’s just, I don’t have much to do, while you’re gone most of the day and come home tired, so I needed something to keep me busy, I suppose.”

Leah sighs quietly, tucks her head back against his chest into the spot that’s long been hers. “This feels like a tomorrow issue to sort out - that alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” Luca murmurs into her hair. “Eight for the alarm, then? I’ll drive you to training after my shot - pick you up for lunch after?”

Leah hums quietly, and Luca knows from experience that he’s got maybe thirty seconds before she’ll be fully out.

“I love you,” he whispers, drops a kiss on the crown of Leah’s head for good measure.

“Love you too,” Leah mumbles against his bare chest, and he can feel more than hear the sentiment.

Leah wakes in the middle of the night, thirsty. When she returns from the kitchen, a bottle of water taken from a fridge that’s stacked with more fresh fruit and produce than she could’ve ever imagined, she’s eager to climb back into bed next to Luca, her husband of almost a year now.

She allows herself a moment of just looking at him, sleeping peacefully in the dim light of the waning moon. His hair messed up and his eyebrows thicker than they used to be, the sharp angles of his nose and jaw. His lips slightly apart and a hint of stubble on his chin. His face is turned towards her even in his sleep, and as Leah settles back in and wraps an arm around his waist, Luca frowns and half- blinks his eyes open.

“You’re cold. S’the… ‘nother blanket?”

“I was up, just getting some water,” Leah whispers back. “Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“Mkay,” Luca sighs, but he makes sure to pull Leah close before he drifts off again, and he’s really too close for Leah to look at him any more, but it doesn’t mean that she can’t draw upon years’ worth of memories of Luca’s smile and laugh and the way he looks in a fitted tank top and loose joggers.

Lucy - or rather, Luca before she knew he was Luca - sometimes pops up as well, and years later, it almost feels ridiculous grouping it all together, just like it would’ve felt ridiculous if someone had told her after the Euro’s win that within a few years, she’d be married to a man and have bought a house with him, ready to settle down and all.

And yet, there she is, in the bedroom of the house she bought with her former teammate, who’s also her husband - and so much more than that, because they always say you should marry your best friend and obviously Keira didn’t meet her at the altar - but these days, Luca would beat Keira there either way.

“You should sleep too, love,” Luca mutters into her hair, and Leah presses a soft kiss to his bare chest and snuggles closer until she’s comfortable.

“In a minute. I’m just taking in the moment,” she replies quietly.

“Wha’s… to take in?”

“Just you, and us, and how we ended up here. It’s all very good, don’t worry.”

“M’not worried, I love you… ‘n you love me.” There’s a little pause. “Bit worried ‘bout your feet. Might be icicles. Give ‘em here… warm them up.”

“Just go to sleep, my silly, sleepy, stubborn man,” Leah laughs quietly and tucks her feet between Luca’s calves.