Soft Piano
St. Albans — Later That Week
The piano arrived on a Thursday.
Which was already ridiculous.
"Leah."
"What?"
"You bought a piano in under four days."
Leah looked deeply unashamed standing beside the delivery men while they attempted to manoeuvre the upright piano through the apartment doorway.
"It spoke to me."
"It's an instrument, not a soulmate."
One of the delivery men snorted laughing.
Leah ignored everyone completely and hovered anxiously while they moved it into the corner of the living room near the windows.
"You're stress pacing," Elle observed from the sofa.
"I'm supervising."
"You've blinked seventeen times in thirty seconds."
"There is no blinking thing."
There absolutely was.
The second the men finally left, Leah stood staring at the piano like someone seeing a puppy for the first time.
And God.
Elle had never seen her look softer.
"You love it," Elle murmured quietly.
Leah glanced back trying and failing to hide the smile already forming.
"Maybe."
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while evening settled over North London.
And underneath all the warmth of the moment sat something quieter too.
Tomorrow Elle was flying back to New York.
The thought lingered unspoken between them all evening.
Not painful exactly.
Just heavy.
Because somehow over the last two weeks, sharing space together had become frighteningly natural.
Waking up beside each other.
Coffee before training.
Elle waiting on the sofa when Leah got home exhausted.
Normal things.
Dangerously wonderful things.
"You know what's funny?" Elle asked while watching Leah sit cautiously on the piano bench.
"What?"
"You get nervous about the weirdest things."
Leah frowned slightly. "Like what?"
"You'll play in front of eighty thousand people."
"Correct."
"But performing for one American woman in your apartment terrifies you."
Leah physically looked away.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Shut up."
"Oh my God, it's true."
Leah laughed quietly under her breath before flexing her fingers once over the keys.
Then softer—
"You're not allowed judge me."
"No promises."
The first notes filled the apartment gently.
And instantly the atmosphere changed.
Not dramatic.
Not performance-level.
Just warm.
Leah played differently here than she had in the showroom.
Looser.
More relaxed.
Like she forgot to be self-conscious once she stopped thinking about it.
Elle curled further into the sofa watching quietly while soft music drifted through the flat beneath low evening light.
And suddenly this felt dangerously intimate.
More than hotels.
More than airports.
Because this was Leah letting someone into the private parts of herself she usually protected carefully.
The hidden things.
The quiet things.
"You know," Elle murmured eventually, "if football disappeared tomorrow you'd still be extraordinary."
Leah's fingers faltered briefly against the keys.
Then quieter—
"That sentence would've terrified me two years ago."
The honesty in it settled heavily between them.
Because it was true.
After the ACL, Leah clung to football like survival.
Like without it she might disappear completely.
But now?
Now there was this too.
Music.
Home.
Love.
A life outside the pitch.
Leah looked over at her then, hands still resting lightly against the piano.
"You did that."
Elle frowned softly. "Did what?"
"Made me remember there's more to me than football."
God.
That nearly broke her heart a little.
Because Leah still said emotional things so simply sometimes.
Like truths she'd only recently allowed herself to believe.
Elle stood slowly from the sofa before walking toward the piano.
Then gently sat beside her on the bench.
Close enough their knees touched.
"You did that yourself," Elle whispered softly.
Leah looked at her for a long moment.
Then smiled faintly.
"No," she murmured. "I think you loved me through it."
Silence.
Soft.
Warm.
Real.
Then eventually the quiet shifted slightly.
Because both of them were thinking about tomorrow now.
The airport.
New York.
Distance returning again.
Leah stared down at the piano keys for a second before speaking quietly.
"I hate this part."
Elle's chest tightened instantly.
Because she knew exactly what she meant.
Not goodbye itself.
The adjustment after.
The apartment feeling too quiet again.
"I know," Elle whispered softly.
Leah laughed weakly under her breath.
"It's embarrassing how used to you I got."
"That's not embarrassing."
"No, genuinely. I think I forgot you actually live on another continent."
That finally made Elle smile.
But Leah still looked sad now.
Not panicked like before.
Just honest.
"I liked coming home to you."
God.
That sentence landed painfully softly.
Because she liked it too.
More than she probably should.
Elle reached for her hand gently atop the piano keys.
"It's only a few weeks."
Leah nodded once.
"I know."
But the flat would still feel emptier tomorrow.
Both of them knew that.
Leah looked down at their intertwined hands for a long moment.
Then quietly—
"Promise this doesn't become one of those relationships where airports are the only real thing?"
Elle frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Like..." Leah searched for the words carefully. "I don't want us to only exist in visits and countdowns."
The vulnerability in the confession sat heavily between them.
Because underneath it was fear again.
Not of losing Elle.
Of wanting a real life with her badly enough that temporary no longer felt like enough.
Elle squeezed her hand softly.
"We're already more than that."
Leah looked at her carefully then.
And slowly—
finally—
she believed it.