Lisbon Morning
May 2025 — UEFA Women's Champions League Final
Lisbon glowed gold outside the hotel windows.
The city buzzed beneath them — Arsenal shirts flooding the streets, chants echoing through narrow alleyways, red scarves hanging from balconies like the whole city already knew something special was about to happen.
Inside the team hotel, Leah Williamson sat cross-legged on her bed trying very hard not to spiral.
Failing slightly.
"You're doing the thing with your hands again."
Leah looked up immediately at her phone screen.
Elle smiled softly from her own hotel room across the city.
"What thing?"
"The panic tapping."
Leah glanced down.
Interesting.
She was in fact aggressively tapping her fingers against her knee.
"Right," she muttered. "That feels psychologically invasive."
"You're nervous."
"I'm Arsenal captain in a Champions League final."
"Correct."
"And last time Arsenal made one..." Leah laughed softly under her breath. "I was literally a mascot."
The words settled quietly between them.
Because that part still overwhelmed her most.
Little Leah walking onto the pitch years ago holding a player's hand believing those women existed on another planet entirely.
And now somehow—
she was one of them.
The thought genuinely made her feel sick.
Elle could see it happening in real time too.
The pressure.
The emotion.
The weight of what this meant to her.
"I don't feel real today."
The honesty in her voice softened the whole call instantly.
Because underneath the captaincy and confidence and media-trained answers, Leah still became vulnerable around football sometimes.
Not because she doubted her talent.
Because she cared too much.
"I wish I could be there," Elle murmured quietly.
Leah smiled faintly.
"You are there."
And she was.
Just not like normal.
UEFA rules meant family and partners had separate hotels and controlled access before the final.
No late-night visits.
No waking up together.
No grounding touch before the biggest match of Leah's career.
Just FaceTime.
Distance again.
And suddenly Leah realised how much she hated that.
"You know what's annoying?" she muttered.
"What?"
"I really need a hug."
Elle laughed softly. "That's devastatingly clingy."
"Yes."
No hesitation anymore.
Just yes.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
The room quieted after that while both of them simply looked at each other through screens.
And somehow even now—
months into this—
Leah still softened instantly every time Elle looked at her like that.
Like she was both extraordinary and completely human at the same time.
"You okay?" Elle whispered softly.
Leah thought about lying automatically.
Then didn't.
"I'm scared to want this too much."
There it was.
The real thing underneath everything.
Not pressure.
Not media.
Hope.
Because the ACL taught Leah how quickly dreams could disappear.
Elle's expression softened immediately.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you already won."
Leah frowned slightly.
"That feels factually incorrect."
"No," Elle smiled gently. "I mean you came back."
Silence.
Real silence.
Because suddenly Leah remembered hospital rooms.
Crutches.
Watching football happen without her.
The fear she'd never fully become herself again.
And now?
Now she sat in Lisbon the night before a Champions League final captaining Arsenal.
God.
"You know what Beth said earlier?" Leah murmured softly.
"What?"
"She told me I'm definitely crying if we win."
Elle laughed quietly.
"She's correct."
"I'm emotionally controlled."
"Leah, you cried watching a dog reunion video last month."
"That dog was missing for six years."
Very fair honestly.
The laughter softened some of the tension finally.
Leah smiled properly for the first time all evening while Elle watched her carefully through the screen.
God.
She loved this woman.
Not just football Leah.
Not just soft Sunday morning Leah.
All of her.
The little girl still living inside her ribs too.
Then quieter—
"When this is over later..." Leah hesitated briefly. "Can I find you first?"
The vulnerability hidden inside the question nearly undid Elle completely.
Because Leah never asked for people openly before.
Now she did.
"Yes," Elle whispered instantly.
Leah nodded once like she physically needed to hear it aloud.
Then softer—
"Okay."
Outside Lisbon pulsed loudly beneath warm Portuguese night while inside separate hotel rooms across the city, both women sat quietly on FaceTime unwilling to hang up first.
Like ending the call would make tomorrow arrive too quickly.
Eventually Leah smiled faintly to herself.
"What?"
"I think this is the biggest game of my life, well maybe second."
Elle tilted her head slightly.
"And?"
Leah looked directly at her through the screen.
"I'm really glad you're here for it."
And somewhere across Lisbon the morning of the Champions League final, Leah Williamson realised something terrifyingly beautiful:
for the first time in her life, the biggest dream she'd ever had no longer felt lonely.