JFK
Leah booked the flight before she could change her mind.
That was probably the only reason she actually got on it.
Because somewhere between leaving Glastonbury and sitting alone in Heathrow at four in the morning, panic kept trying to convince her this was insane.
What if Elle didn't want to see her?
What if too much damage had already been done?
What if Australia and distance and silence had finally broken something between them permanently?
Leah spent seven hours across the Atlantic spiralling quietly in business class while pretending to read the same page of a book for nearly an hour.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
By the time the plane landed at JFK, New York was drowning in late summer rain.
Fitting honestly.
Leah stood outside the terminal in a grey hoodie and baseball cap clutching her suitcase while yellow taxis blurred through wet streets around her.
And suddenly fear hit properly.
Because this wasn't theoretical anymore.
She was actually here.
For Elle.
Not football.
Not work.
Love.
The thought alone terrified her slightly.
—
Elle almost didn't answer the door.
Not because she was asleep.
Because she genuinely thought she was hallucinating when the intercom buzzed at midnight.
"Hello?"
Static crackled briefly through the speaker downstairs.
Then—
"It's me."
Elle froze instantly.
Her heartbeat stumbled so hard it physically hurt.
Because she knew that voice.
Even exhausted.
Even shaking slightly.
Leah.
For one second she genuinely couldn't move.
Then suddenly she was sprinting barefoot through the apartment toward the elevator.
The doors opened downstairs.
And there she was.
Rain-soaked hoodie. Tired eyes. Suitcase beside her.
Looking terrified.
And God—
Elle's chest cracked open instantly.
Leah looked up slowly when she saw her.
Neither spoke at first.
Because suddenly weeks of distance and hurt and missed calls sat between them heavily.
Then Leah said the only honest thing she had left.
"Grace kissed me."
Silence.
Real silence.
Rain hammered outside the apartment lobby windows while New York traffic blurred through the dark streets beyond.
Elle stared at her.
Not angry.
Just stunned.
Leah swallowed hard immediately.
"I stopped it."
Still silence.
"I got on a plane straight after."
Her voice cracked slightly now.
And suddenly Elle saw it fully:
Leah looked wrecked.
Emotionally wrecked.
Like Australia and grief and pressure and guilt had finally caught up to her all at once.
"You flew here?" Elle whispered softly.
Leah laughed weakly under her breath.
"Think that part's becoming a pattern."
But the joke didn't land properly.
Because Leah looked too close to falling apart.
Elle stepped closer slowly.
"What happened?"
And finally—
finally—
Leah stopped pretending she was okay.
"She kissed me and all I could think about was you."
The honesty in her voice nearly undid Elle completely.
Because Leah still spoke about love like confessions dragged painfully out of her chest.
Leah looked down briefly at the floor.
"I think I've spent weeks losing my mind because I was scared Australia changed me."
Rainwater dripped slowly from the sleeves of her hoodie onto the lobby floor.
"But it didn't."
She looked back up finally.
Eyes red.
Exhausted.
Certain.
"It just made me realise I don't know how to exist properly without you anymore."
God.
Elle physically stopped breathing for a second.
Because maybe this was what loving Leah really meant:
waiting for her to find her way back to herself.
Even when it got messy.
Even when it hurt.
"You should've told me you were drowning over there," Elle whispered softly.
Leah nodded once.
"I know."
"And you should've answered your phone."
"I know."
"And disappearing emotionally for weeks is incredibly annoying."
That finally earned the smallest laugh.
Tiny.
Broken.
But real.
"There she is," Elle murmured softly.
Leah looked at her helplessly then.
And suddenly all the exhaustion and grief and fear sitting inside her finally cracked open completely.
"I'm so in love with you," she whispered.
No walls.
No carefulness.
Just truth.
"I think it actually scares me."
Elle's eyes stung instantly.
Because Leah Williamson — emotionally guarded, composed, impossible Leah — had flown across the world in the middle of the night just to tell her that.
Elle crossed the final distance between them without another word and kissed her.
Warm.
Certain.
Home.
Leah physically melted against her immediately like she'd been holding herself together for weeks and finally didn't have to anymore.
When they pulled apart, Elle rested her forehead lightly against hers.
"You're an idiot," she whispered softly.
Leah laughed shakily. "I know."
"But you're my idiot."
And standing there in the middle of a New York apartment lobby while rain hammered outside and exhaustion blurred the edges of everything, Leah realised something life-altering:
she hadn't flown to New York to save the relationship.
She'd flown there because Elle had already become home.