Row Seventeen
Meadow Park — Saturday Afternoon
Leah didn't know Elle was there.
That was what made it worse.
Or maybe better.
Elle sat three rows from the back in Row Seventeen, wearing a black beanie pulled low over her curls and one of Leah's old Arsenal scarves tucked into her coat pocket.
Nobody recognised her.
Well, almost nobody.
A teenage girl two seats over had squinted suspiciously for nearly ten minutes before whispering to her friend:
"Isn't that Elle Smith?"
Her friend looked over once.
"Nah."
Elle exhaled in relief and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the pitch.
Because honestly?
She had no idea what she was doing here.
Three days ago she'd been in Leah's apartment falling asleep wrapped around her.
Now she was secretly attending an Arsenal match alone in North London like some emotionally unstable undercover agent.
This was not normal behaviour.
The stadium buzzed around her as players emerged onto the pitch for warmups.
And then—
There she was.
Leah.
Not in the starting eleven.
Not even in boots.
Instead, she walked out alongside the squad in a long Arsenal coat, black leggings, and white runners, her ACL brace still visible beneath the fabric when she moved too quickly.
The sight hit Elle harder than expected.
Because for a second, instinctively, she'd looked for Leah on the pitch.
Captain. Centre-back. Controlling everything.
But Leah stopped near the bench instead, greeting staff members before lowering herself carefully into her seat beside the rest of the injured players.
Still part of it.
Still central to it.
Just... unable to play.
And somehow that hurt more to watch.
God.
Leah still looked beautiful though.
Blonde ponytail pulled through the back of a navy cap. Hands tucked into sleeves against the cold. Laughing quietly at something Alessia Russo said beside her.
But Elle noticed the other things too now.
The stiffness when Leah stood.
The way she instinctively rubbed at her knee during breaks in play.
The frustration hidden underneath the smile whenever the camera briefly showed her on the stadium screen.
Before New York, Leah Williamson had been untouchable to Elle.
England captain. Arsenal star. Headlines and interviews and impossible confidence.
Now?
Now Elle knew how deeply football lived inside her.
Knew how restless Leah became when she couldn't train properly. Knew she stayed awake watching match clips at two in the morning pretending she was "just analysing shape." Knew how much it quietly killed her not being out there with them.
And suddenly seeing her stuck on the sidelines instead of leading from the pitch made something ache painfully in Elle's chest.
Because that was Leah's world.
And right now she was forced to watch it from the outside.
The crowd erupted as Arsenal nearly scored during warmups and Leah instinctively half-rose from her seat before sitting back down again with an annoyed little shake of her head.
Elle smiled sadly to herself.
Even injured, Leah couldn't stop being a footballer.
—
The match itself was chaos.
Fast. Loud. Aggressive.
Elle barely understood half the tactical side honestly, but she understood Leah.
Understood how often the younger players still glanced toward the bench during stoppages looking for her reaction.
How she stood constantly despite the physios clearly wanting her sitting.
How animated she became after missed chances, arms moving as she spoke to players coming over for water breaks.
Leadership didn't disappear just because she couldn't play.
If anything, it became more obvious.
And God.
Watching Leah after knowing her privately ruined her completely.
Because now Elle noticed things nobody else probably did.
The way Leah pulled her sleeves over her hands when anxious.
The little habit of twisting her rings absentmindedly during tense moments.
The forced calmness whenever cameras pointed toward her.
Human things.
Real things.
Not captain things.
At halftime, Elle checked her phone.
Three unread messages from Leah.
Leah:
Miss you already and you literally left this morning.
Elle smiled helplessly.
Another:
Leah:
If Grace Carter appears in my apartment again I'm moving country.
Elle laughed quietly.
Then the third message sent only minutes ago:
Leah:
You'd look fit in an Arsenal jersey btw.
Heat climbed instantly into Elle's cheeks.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
She typed back quickly.
Focus on football, captain.
Three dots appeared immediately.
I'm literally not even playing and somehow you're still distracting me.
Elle bit back a grin and locked her phone just as second half began.
Leah had no idea she was here.
No idea Elle was sitting hidden in the stands watching her every expression with her heart lodged somewhere dangerously high in her throat.
And honestly?
Elle kind of loved that.
Until—
Around the seventy-minute mark, Leah looked up toward the crowd during a stoppage while absentmindedly sipping from a water bottle.
And froze.
Very slightly.
Barely noticeable to anyone else.
But Elle saw it immediately.
Because Leah had spotted her.
Even across an entire stadium.
Their eyes locked for half a second.
Then Leah's entire expression changed.
Confusion—
then disbelief—
then the slowest, softest smile Elle had ever seen.
Oh no.
Elle physically covered her face with her hands laughing silently to herself.
Because now Leah definitely wasn't paying attention anymore.
Sure enough, thirty seconds later one of Leah's teammates came over to say something and Leah completely missed half the conversation.
Katie McCabe actually snapped her fingers in front of her face.
Leah blinked like she'd just returned to earth.
And somewhere in Row Seventeen, Elle Smith smiled so hard her cheeks hurt while injured Arsenal captain Leah Williamson sat on the sidelines trying desperately to focus on football with the girl she was falling in love with secretly watching from the stands.