Chapter Text
The Ibiza heat hits like a wall the moment they step off the plane. Alessia tilts her face up to the sun, feeling the warmth seep into her skin after months of English rain and stadium lights. Around her, the chaos of arrival unfolds—luggage carousels, excited chatter, the slightly delirious energy of elite athletes finally allowed to let loose.
"Less! Over here!"
She turns to find Ella waving frantically from baggage claim, Taylor and Niamh flanking her like an overexcited honor guard. Aggie is already filming everything on her phone, documenting what she's declared will be "the best holiday of our lives."
"You'd think we hadn't seen each other in weeks," Alessia laughs, dragging her suitcase over. "We literally shared a flight."
"Yeah, but you were up in fancy with the old people," Taylor teases. "We were stuck in economy with the kids."
"I’m the same age as you!" Niamh protests.
"Ancient," Aggie says solemnly, then ruins it by dissolving into giggles.
Alessia rolls her eyes fondly. Being one of the older members of this particular group is still strange—she remembers being the young one, the one looking up to the established players. Now here she is, post-Champions League victory, post-Euros win, somehow one of the leaders.
Strange how time works.
"Right, villa address," Ella announces, pulling out her phone. "Beth sent it over. Says it's about ten minutes from theirs."
"Ooh, are we the fun villa or the responsible villa?" Taylor asks.
"Definitely the fun one," Aggie declares. "No offense to Beth and the others, but we're going to have way more chaos."
"That's not necessarily a good thing," Alessia points out gently, but she's smiling.
They pile into a minibus that smells faintly of sunscreen and salt air, windows down, music blaring. The driver navigates the winding coastal roads with the casual confidence of someone who's done this journey a thousand times, while Alessia watches the island unfold through the window—white buildings with terracotta roofs, palm trees, glimpses of impossibly blue water.
Her phone buzzes. The group chat.
Beth: Just arrived at ours. It's gorgeous. Pool, view of the ocean, close to yours
Keira: Viv has already claimed the best room for her and Beth. The rest of us are fighting over the scraps.
Georgia: I'm just happy to be here 🌴☀️
Leah: See you all for drinks at 6? There's a beach club Beth found
Alessia's thumb hovers over the keyboard. She types and deletes three different responses before settling on a simple thumbs up emoji. Safe. Casual. Perfectly normal.
"You good, Less?" Ella asks from beside her. "You've got that faraway look."
"Just excited," Alessia says, which is true. "Still can't believe we're actually here." "Believe it, bestie. We earned this. Euros champions - and you won the bloody Champion’s League! We're literally living the dream."
The villa, when they arrive, is everything the photos promised and more. Three levels of white stone and glass, an infinity pool that seems to spill directly into the ocean view, balconies on every level draped with flowering vines. Their rooms are spacious and airy, with gauzy curtains that billow in the sea breeze.
Alessia claims one of the upper floor rooms, drawn by the private balcony that overlooks the water. She stands there for a moment after dragging her suitcase in, just breathing, letting the tension of the past season finally start to unwind from her shoulders.
Two major trophies. Arsenal's Champions League title—beating Barcelona in Lisbon, no less. England's second Euros, where Alessia had scored in regular time in the final and then stepped up for that penalty in the shootout, her heart in her throat, the weight of a nation on her shoulders.
It still doesn't feel quite real.
Her phone buzzes again. Private message this time.
Leah: Made it okay?
Alessia's heart does something stupid in her chest. It's just a simple question. A captain checking in on her players. Except they're not at camp right now, and Leah's message came through directly, not the team channel.
Alessia: Yeah, villa is amazing. Yours?
Leah: Gorgeous. Though Keira and Georgia are already arguing about something. Can't tell if it's serious or just them being them
Alessia: Probably both 😊
Leah: Fair point. See you at 6?
Alessia: Wouldn't miss it.
She sets her phone down, smiling at nothing in particular.
"Less! Pool time!" Ella's shout echoes up the stairs.
The afternoon dissolves into the kind of perfect, mindless fun that only happens on holiday. They christen the pool with increasingly dramatic jumps, mix drinks that are probably too strong for three in the afternoon, blast music and dance on the terrace. Aggie films everything, Taylor provides running commentary, and Niamh appoints herself DJ with the dedication of someone who takes the role very seriously.
Alessia floats on her back in the pool, eyes closed against the sun, and lets herself just be for the first time in months. No training schedule. No tactical meetings. No pressure beyond deciding what to wear tonight.
"Oi! Less!"
She rights herself, treading water, to find Ella at the pool's edge with a cocktail in each hand.
"One of these is yours. Though I've already forgotten which."
"Very professional bartending."
"I'm on holiday. Professional is banned." Ella crouches down, extending both glasses so Alessia can choose. "You doing okay? You've been quiet."
"I'm in a pool drinking cocktails in Ibiza. I'm extremely okay."
"You know what I mean." Ella's expression is gentle. "Big season. Big wins. Sometimes it's hard to switch off after all that."
It's true—Alessia's been running on adrenaline for months, the pressure of being Arsenal's key striker, of performing on the international stage, of proving herself worthy of all the expectations. The comedown after victory is almost harder than the buildup.
"I'm good," she says, meaning it. "Just... adjusting. To being allowed to relax."
"Well, you've got a week to practice." Ella grins. "Starting tonight."
At half five, they reluctantly drag themselves out of the pool to get ready. Alessia stands in the shower, washing chlorine from her hair, and tries to decide what version of herself she wants to present tonight.
She settles on high-waisted linen trousers in white and a burnt orange crop top that shows a strip of tanned stomach—casual enough for a beach club but still making an effort. Her hair falls in damp waves past her shoulders, and she keeps the makeup simple: mascara, a touch of bronzer, lip gloss.
When she emerges from her room, the others are already gathering in the main living area. "You look gorgeous!" Taylor declares, spinning to show off her outfit—a mini dress in tropical print that somehow works perfectly with her vibe.
Niamh's gone for shorts and a silk cami, Aggie for a playsuit, and Ella for a sundress that she's already worrying is too dressy or not dressy enough.
"You look great," Alessia assures her warmly. "We all do. Now let's go have the best night ever."
The beach club is a fifteen-minute walk along the coast, close enough that they can enjoy the evening air and the sound of waves against rocks. The sun is starting its descent, painting everything golden, and Alessia can already hear music drifting on the breeze.
The other villa crew is already there when they arrive, having claimed a prime spot near the bar with a view of the water. Alessia spots them immediately—Beth's distinctive laugh carrying across the space, Viv's hand resting casually on Beth's back, Keira and Georgia in animated conversation.
And Leah.
Leah, who's turned at the sound of their approach, who's smiling in that way that crinkles the corners of her eyes, who's wearing a white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to be interesting and wide-legged trousers that make her legs look impossibly long despite Alessia having several inches on her in height.
Leah, who's looking directly at Alessia with an expression that makes Alessia's mouth go dry.
"There they are!" Beth announces. "The youth has arrived!"
"We're not that much younger than you," Taylor protests good-naturedly, but she's already being pulled into hugs.
The groups merge with the easy familiarity of people who've spent months in close quarters, who've won trophies together, who've earned the right to this celebration. Drinks appear as if by magic—the club staff clearly recognizing they're dealing with the England women's football team and responding accordingly.
Alessia finds herself swept up in conversations, in laughter, in the sheer joy of being here with these people who've become family. But she's always aware of exactly where Leah is in the space—an unconscious tracking that she's never quite been able to turn off.
They've known each other for over a decade. Years of youth camps and training sessions, of watching each other grow from teenagers with potential into world-class players. Alessia remembers being seventeen and utterly intimidated by nineteen-year-old Leah Williamson, who seemed so composed, so confident, so unreachably cool.
She's twenty-six now. Leah's twenty-eight. And somehow, Leah still makes her feel like that seventeen-year-old, all nerves and wonder.
"Russo!"
She turns to find Keira approaching with two drinks, extending one. "You looked like you needed this."
"Thank you," Alessia says with genuine gratitude, accepting the glass.
"How was the flight? You lot have more fun than we did?"
They chat easily—Keira's always been good at this, at making people feel comfortable, at reading the room. It's what makes her such a good midfielder, that spatial awareness translating from pitch to social situations.
Across the bar, Keira had caught Leah's eye earlier, giving her best friend a knowing look that Leah had studiously ignored. But Keira's observant—she's been observant for a while now. The way Leah's gaze tracks Alessia Russo across a pitch, a training ground, a room. The way Leah lights up when Alessia's name comes up in conversation. The way she's been doing this for months, maybe years, and thinking no one's noticed.
Keira's noticed. She just hasn't said anything yet.
"So," Keira says to Alessia, her tone carefully casual. "Any plans for the week? Besides the obvious relaxation?"
"Not really. Just soaking it all in, spending time with everyone." Alessia's smile is warm and genuine. "It's nice to just be together without any pressure, you know?"
"Definitely." Keira takes a sip of her drink. "Though if you want any recommendations for good spots on the island, I'm sure someone around here knows it well."
It's innocuous enough that Alessia doesn't catch any subtext, just nods enthusiastically. "Oh, that would be great! I've never been here before."
Keira hides her smile in her glass. Subtle, Walsh. Very subtle.
The evening unfolds with the golden warmth of a perfect first night. The sun sinks lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, and the music shifts from laid-back to something more energetic. Their group gravitates to the dance floor as the beach club fills with other holidaymakers, the energy building as day transitions to night.
Alessia loses herself in it—the music, the movement, the freedom of not having to be professional footballer Alessia Russo but just Less, dancing with her friends, celebrating everything they've achieved.
She's mid-spin, arms above her head, when she catches sight of Leah across the space.
Leah, who's not dancing but standing near the bar with a drink in hand.
Leah, whose eyes are locked on Alessia with an intensity that makes everything else fade to background noise.
Their gazes hold for a long moment, something electric passing between them across the crowded floor. Alessia feels her breath catch, her movements slowing. Then someone bumps into her—Taylor, laughing about something—and when she looks back, Leah's turned away, pulled into conversation by Viv.
But Alessia's heart is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with dancing.
She needs water. Or air. Or both.
Alessia makes her way to the bar, grateful for the relative quiet away from the speakers. She's waiting for the bartender's attention when a presence materializes beside her.
"Having fun?"
It's Leah, of course it is, because the universe has a sense of timing.
Alessia turns, and Leah's closer than she expected—close enough that she can smell her perfume, something citrus and sophisticated that Alessia has been half in love with for years. Leah's looking at her with slight concern, head tilted in that way she does when she's trying to read a situation.
"The best," Alessia says, and means it. "This is exactly what we needed."
"It really is." Leah's gaze drifts to the ocean, the setting sun turning the water into liquid gold. "Feels like we've been going nonstop for months. It's strange to suddenly stop."
"Good strange or bad strange?"
"Good, I think. Just... different." Leah looks back at her, and there's something vulnerable in her expression that Alessia rarely sees. "How are you, Less? Really. It was a huge season for you."
The use of her nickname, soft and familiar, makes something in Alessia's chest flutter.
"It was big for all of us. You led us to two trophies."
"We won two trophies," Leah corrects gently. "Team effort. But you... you were incredible. The goal in the Euros final, that penalty in the shootout—I don't think I've ever seen someone so calm under that much pressure."
Alessia laughs, a little self-deprecating. "I wasn't calm. I was terrified. I just didn't let it show."
"That's the definition of bravery, Less. Being terrified and doing it anyway." Leah's smile is soft, almost proud. "And the Champions League final against Barcelona? You were unplayable."
"We all were. That's why we won."
"Don't sell yourself short. You've come into your own this season. Really stepped up." There's something in Leah's voice, something beyond captain-to-player pride, but Alessia can't quite name it. "I remember watching you at youth camps, thinking 'that girl's going to be special.'"
"You remember that?" Alessia's surprised, pleased.
"Of course I do. You scored that ridiculous goal against France, the one where you basically ran through their entire defense. You were what, seventeen? All determination and raw talent."
"I wasn't that young," Alessia protests lightly. "And you were only nineteen."
"Ancient compared to you."
"Hardly. Though you did seem so... together. Like you had everything figured out."
"Did I?" Leah laughs, but there's something rueful in it. "I was terrified most of the time. Just good at hiding it."
Alessia wants to ask more—wants to know what scared nineteen-year-old Leah, what scares twenty-eight-year-old Leah now—but someone calls Leah's name across the bar. Beth, waving her over urgently for something.
"Better go see what she wants," Leah says, something almost reluctant in her expression. "But save me a dance later?"
"Yeah," Alessia manages, her voice coming out softer than intended. "Of course."
She watches Leah walk away, then catches the bartender's attention and orders water she doesn't really want anymore, just to have something to do with her hands.
When she returns to the dance floor, Ella's there immediately, linking arms with her. "Come on! This is our song!"
It's not, really—they don't have a song—but Alessia lets herself be pulled back into the joy of it, the group of them dancing together as the sky deepens from gold to purple to dark blue. Their little crew claims their space on the floor, a bubble of laughter and celebration.
The night spins on. At some point, Leah does join them on the dance floor—her movements less wild than some of the younger players but no less confident, that natural grace she brings to everything. She ends up near Alessia during a slower song, and without discussing it, without planning it, they're moving in sync.
Not touching, but close. Close enough that Alessia can feel the heat radiating off Leah's skin. Close enough to see the faint freckles the sun has brought out across her nose. Close enough that when Leah's hand brushes her arm—accident or intent, Alessia can't tell—it feels like electricity.
"Having fun?" Leah asks, having to lean close to be heard over the music.
"The best," Alessia replies, equally close, her lips nearly brushing Leah's ear. "You?"
"Yeah," Leah says, and her voice is slightly breathless. "Really good."
They're interrupted by Taylor crashing into them, laughing about something, pulling them back into the group chaos. But for the rest of the night, Alessia's aware of Leah in her orbit—dancing nearby, catching her eye across the space, smiling in a way that makes Alessia's stomach flip.
From the edge of the dance floor, Keira watches her best friend with knowing eyes. She's seen Leah dance with teammates before, seen her at clubs and parties and celebrations. This is different. The way Leah gravitates back to Alessia like a compass finding north. The way her whole demeanor softens when Alessia smiles at her.
Keira sips her drink and says nothing. But she files it away, this confirmation of what she's suspected for months.
It's nearly 2 AM when they finally stumble out of the beach club, drunk on cocktails and joy and the sheer relief of being young and alive and victorious. The two villa groups split up with promises to meet for a beach day tomorrow, hugs that last slightly too long, the kind of sentimental goodbyes that only happen when everyone's just the right amount of tipsy.
Alessia hangs back as her group starts the walk home, and finds herself level with Leah, who seems to have done the same thing.
"Good first night?" Leah asks.
"Perfect first night," Alessia confirms.
They walk in companionable silence for a moment, the sound of waves and distant music following them. The moon is bright overhead, turning everything silver and strange.
"Less?"
"Yeah?"
Leah looks like she wants to say something, the words right there, but then Keira's calling for her and the moment passes.
"Night, Russo," Leah says instead, that soft smile again. "Sleep well."
"You too, Williamson," Alessia says warmly. "See you tomorrow."
Alessia watches Leah jog to catch up with her group, heading in the opposite direction toward their villa. Then she turns to find her own crew waiting, Ella already linking arms with her.
"Best night ever," Ella declares as they walk. "And we have six more of these!"
"Six more nights of you lot trying to get me to do shots," Niamh laughs.
"You loved it and you know it," Taylor counters.
They chatter all the way back, replaying moments from the night, already planning tomorrow's beach day. Alessia listens, contributes, laughs in all the right places. But part of her is still on that dance floor, standing close to Leah, feeling that almost-touch of hands.
When they get back to the villa, everyone's tired but happy, claiming bathrooms and bedrooms with good-natured shoving. Alessia goes straight to her room, but instead of collapsing into bed like her body is begging her to, she's drawn to the balcony.
The moon is nearly full, painting silver across the water. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear music and laughter from other holidaymakers. The night is alive with possibility.
Movement catches her eye, and she looks over to see a figure on the balcony of the neighboring villa. Even from this distance, even in the moonlight, she knows.
Leah, standing there, looking out at the same ocean.
As if feeling Alessia's gaze, Leah turns. Finds her. Across the space between villas, they look at each other.
Alessia raises a hand. Waves, her smile soft and genuine.
Leah waves back, and even from here, Alessia can see her answering smile.
They stand there for a long moment, just looking, something unspoken passing between them in the Mediterranean night.
Then Leah points to her phone, and Alessia's buzzes a moment later.
Leah: Can't sleep. Too much excitement for one day
Alessia: Same. Brain won't turn off
Leah: Tomorrow will be easier. Once we settle in
Alessia: I hope so. Today was perfect though
Leah: It really was. Sleep well, Less
Alessia: You too, Lee. Sweet dreams
Alessia stays on the balcony long after Leah has gone back inside, phone clutched in her hand, heart doing complicated things in her chest.
Twelve years. That's how long she's known Leah Williamson.
And somehow, standing here in the Ibiza moonlight, everything feels different. Like standing on the edge of something new, something both terrifying and wonderful.
She's probably just tired. Probably just the emotion of finally being able to celebrate their victories properly. Probably just the magic of a first night in paradise with her favorite people.
Probably.
Alessia goes to bed with a smile on her face and Leah's goodnight text still glowing on her screen.
Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to relax, to celebrate, to enjoy this hard-earned break.
She's not thinking about the way Leah looked at her across the dance floor.
She's definitely not thinking about how close they stood, how her skin tingled when Leah's hand brushed her arm.
She's absolutely not replaying every moment of their conversation at the bar, analyzing every word, every smile, every almost-meaningful pause.
(She's thinking about all of it. Every single moment. And she falls asleep still smiling.)