Chapter Text
Soccer has been Sophia Laforteza’s favourite sport. Following her brother’s footsteps, she has always wanted to play in the Women' s Team, against other cities. After she got selected to the ‘Advanced Team’ she couldn’t be more proud of herself, especially her father who was a big soccer fan alongside her brother of course. Sophia plays for Los Angeles Football Club (LAFC) U19, known for her amazing striking skills, always being featured in the LAFC (Womens) Instagram account, and coincidentally had many fan edits on TikTok too.
On the other side of the city came Daniela Avanzini, playing for Atlanta Football Club (ATLFC) U19. Known for her amazing defending skills, she does not play around when it comes to matches, even managed to break an opponent’s ankle last season. Everyone feared Daniela, she’s the reason why her team has been on a winning streak since Weston Cup last year.
⚽︎
An email notification buzzed Sophia’s phone around 3:00 AM, lighting up the dark room with an aggressive glow. She squinted at the screen, thumb hovering over the unread message marked *URGENT: WESTON CUP MATCH SCHEDULE UPDATED*. Her stomach dropped before she even opened it. God please don’t be ATLFC, I will end myself on the spot. Sophia thought to herself.
Coach Humberto’s voice had been too cheerful at practice yesterday – that should’ve been her first clue. She swiped open the email, scanning through the text twice before her fingers clenched around her phone. LAFC U19 vs. ATLFC U19. A dry laugh escaped her throat. Of course, of fucking course. The last time they ever played together was 2 years ago during the Eastern Cup, ATLFC trashed them – beating LAFC with a whopping 12-2. Yikes…
The flight to New York was a blur of restless naps and teammates whispering behind their hands. Sophia couldn’t help but eavesdrop – “Did you see Avanzini’s tackle last season? She broke the kid’s bone!” – and pretended not to care, pressing her forehead against the cold airplane window.
The hotel was nicer than she had expected, all sleek glass and echoing lobbies.Thankfully, the hotel is a walking distance from the NYC soccer field so they didn’t need to take a coach there – Sophia does not do bus rides at all, she gets bus sick all the time. She barely had time to dump her luggage and duffel bag before Coach Humberto herded the team outside for a “Team Unity Walk”. The crisp October air did nothing to calm her nerves. Then… she saw them.
ATLFC’s red jerseys stood out like bloodstains across the park. Daniela Avanzini was easy to spot – taller than most, her blonde curly hair in braids swinging as she laughed at something her teammate said to her. Sophia’s hands curled into fists. Daniela turned, as if feeling the weight of her glare, and smirked.
Sophia’s pulse hammered in her throat as Daniela’s smirk widened, the kind of expression that promised violence masked as sport. The ATLFC defender tilted her head, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. Sophia spat on the ground between them – a habit she’d picked up from her brother – and watched Daniela’s eyes narrow.
“Watch your step, Laforteza,” Daniela called across the grass patch, voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Wouldn’t want you to trip and break something important before the match!” Her teammates snickered, elbowing each other. Sophia’s finger twitched, she could already imagine the satisfying crunch of her cleat connecting with Daniela’s shin guard.
Coach Humberto’s hand clamped down on her shoulder before she could move. “Eyes forward, Laforteza,” he muttered, steering her away. Sophia didn’t miss the way Daniela’s laughter followed her, sharp as a shattered glass.
The form assignment sheet was pinned to the lobby bulletin board, wrinkled from too many hands. Sophia scanned it once, twice – then froze, like actually froze. Room 307: Sophia Laforteza / Daniela Avanzini. Her vision tunneled. A mistake, it had to be. She then spun towards the front desk, ready to demand a room change, begging her Coach to let someone replace her, when her supposed roommate’s voice cut through the chatter. “Oh, this will be fun,” Daniela drawled, leaning over her shoulder to tap the paper with one manicured nail.
Sophia didn’t dignify that with a response, just snatched the keycard off the counter and bolted for the elevator. Daniela’s laughter chasing her like a bad omen. As soon as she swiped the keycard on the door, they were both greeted by one queen bed. What the actual fuck? Seriously? She scoffed, throwing her duffel bag onto the glass desk that almost threatened to break from the weight of it. Sophia’s eyes twitched as she stared at the lonely queen-sized bed, pristine white sheets mocking her.
“I call dibs,” Daniela said nonchalantly, tossing her own duffel bag onto the mattress before Sophia could even blink. Sophia gaped at her, hands already twitching to throttle the taller girl. “Oh fuck no,” Sophia hissed, marching over to grip the duvet. “Like hell I’m letting you sleep on this bed.” Daniela smirked, leaning down until their noses were almost touching. “Try and stop me, princess.” And headed to the bathroom, leaving Sophia in a trance. It took everything in Sophia not to punch her right then and there. She settled for yanking the blanket off the bed entirely, sending Daniela’s duffel bag crashing to the floor with a loud thud, some of her stuff spilling out.
The first night was a disaster. Sophia had stubbornly curled up on the very edge of the mattress, back turned to Daniela like a human shield. Every shift of the mattress, every breath from the other girl had her muscles coiled tight. At some point, Daniela’s knee “accidentally” jabbed into her spine – hard. Sophia whipped around, ready to throw hands, only to find Daniela’s feigning sleep, lips curled in a smug smile.
Morning came with a bruise on Sophia’s thigh (courtesy of Daniela’s so called “stretching”) and a headache that no amount of hotel coffee could fix. She slammed the bathroom door so hard the mirror rattled, drowning out Daniela’s taunting “good morning, princess!”
The bed became their battleground. Every night, Sophia would wake up shoved halfway onto the floor, her limbs tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of Daniela’s vanilla shampoo – something she’d never admit to noticing. By the third day, she’d resorted to building a wall of pillows between them, which Daniela demolished with a single kick. “Woopsies,” Daniela had murmured, rolling onto her back with a grin that made Sophia want to strangle her with the pillow.
The breaking point came on a rain-soaked Tuesday after practice. Sophia returned to their room dripping mud, only to find Daniela already sprawled across the bed — on Sophia’s side — with her cleats still on, leaving grass stains on the sheets. Something in Sophia snapped. She launched herself at Daniela, grabbing fistfuls of her curls. Daniela rolled them over with a grunt, knee pressing into Sophia’s bruised thigh. "You’re such a fucking child, Laforteza. Do you know that?" Daniela spat, breath hot against her face. Sophia writhed, nails digging into Daniela’s shoulders. "Says the one who stole my fucking side!" Their wrestling match sent a lamp crashing to the floor before they froze, panting, noses inches apart.
And then — disaster. The door swung open to reveal their wide-eyed roommates holding pizza boxes. "Uh," said Megan (LAFC’s midfielder), glancing between their tangled limbs and the shattered lamp. "Are you guys uh- good?" Daniela and Sophia sprang apart like they’d been electrocuted. "We’re not sharing the bed anymore," Sophia announced, voice cracking. Daniela, for once, didn’t argue. She just snatched a pillow off the floor and hurled it at Sophia’s face with perfect aim.
⚽︎
The stadium lights burned like interrogation lamps as Sophia stepped onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd a distant buzz beneath the blood pounding in her ears. She kept her eyes locked forward — don’t look at her, don’t give her the satisfaction — but her peripheral vision caught the flash of red jerseys, the gleam of blonde braids bouncing as Daniela jogged past close enough for their elbows to almost brush. "Try not to cry when we win," Daniela murmured, voice low enough that only Sophia could hear. Sophia’s grip tightened around her water bottle until the plastic creaked.
The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. Sophia wove through defenders like a blade through water, her cleats biting into the damp turf. She could feel Daniela’s shadow before she saw her — a presence like a storm cloud rolling in. Their first collision came at midfield, Daniela’s shoulder slamming into Sophia’s ribs as they both lunged for the ball. Pain flared, sharp and bright, but Sophia spun away with the ball still at her feet, flipping Daniela off over her shoulder. The crowd was stoked.
By halftime, the scoreboard read 3-2 in ATLFC’s favour, and Sophia’s lungs burned like she’d swallowed gasoline. She slumped onto the bench, gulping air, when a shadow fell over her. Daniela stood there, sweat-drenched and smirking, one hand resting on her hip. "Tired already?" she taunted, flicking a piece of turf off Sophia’s shoulder. Sophia knocked her hand away. "Save your breath," she snapped. "You’ll need it when I wipe that smirk off your face." Daniela laughed, loud and mean, before sauntering back to her team.
The second half was a war. Sophia scored twice — once by faking left so hard that Daniela stumbled, the other by using Daniela’s own momentum to vault past her in a move so bold the commentators lost their minds. But Daniela retaliated: a brutal slide tackle that sent Sophia skidding across the grass, her palms scraping raw. The ref didn’t call it. Sophia spat out a mouthful of turf and glared. Daniela just winked.
Then — the moment. Eighty-nine minutes in, Sophia broke free, the ball a comet at her feet as she charged toward the goal. Daniela was suddenly there, matching her stride for stride, their arms knocking together like rival trains on the same track. Sophia feinted right; Daniela bit. One opening. One shot. Sophia twisted, her cleat connecting with the ball in a crack that echoed like a gunshot.
Daniela’s elbow jammed into her ribs.
The world tilted. Sophia hit the ground hard, her vision whiting out for a split second. The crowd roared — goal or foul? — but all she could hear was the wet, ragged sound of her own breathing. Then Daniela’s face swam into view, her braids dangling. "Oops," she murmured, not even pretending it was accidental this time. Sophia’s nose throbbed. Warmth trickled over her lip.
Chaos erupted. Teammates shoved between them, shouting. The ref’s whistle screamed. Sophia blinked up at the floodlights, tasting copper, as a medic hurried over. Distantly, she registered Daniela being carded — fucking finally — but the blonde just shrugged, wiping her hands on her jersey like she’d gotten them dirty.
Sophia was hauled to her feet, a pack of gauze pressed to her nose. Blood seeped through the white. Coach Humberto gripped her shoulders. "You okay?" She nodded, though her head pounded. The medic muttered something about urgent care, but Sophia shook him off. "Not yet," she gritted out. There were three minutes left. Three fucking more minutes.
Daniela was waiting when Sophia jogged back onto the field, her smirk wider now. "Should’ve stayed down," she called. Sophia adjusted her gauze and smiled back, all teeth. "Make me."
The final whistle blew with the score tied. Penalties. Sophia’s hands trembled — not from fear, but from the adrenaline still coursing through her. The teams lined up. Daniela went first: a brutal strike that rattled the crossbar before sailing in. Sophia matched her, cool as ice. Back and forth they went, until it was down to the wire.
Sophia’s turn. The crowd held its breath. Daniela stood just outside the box, arms crossed, watching. Sophia wiped her palms on her shorts, exhaled, and — missed.
The roar of ATLFC’s fans was deafening. Sophia stood frozen, her cleats rooted to the spot. Daniela whooped, slapping her teammates’ backs, before turning to Sophia with a grin that could cut glass. "Better luck next time," she mouthed.
The locker room was silent. Sophia sat on the bench, staring at the floor, her nose throbbing in time with her pulse. The door creaked open. She didn’t look up — until a pair of cleats stepped into her line of sight. Daniela stood there, still in her jersey, holding two water bottles. She tossed one at Sophia’s lap. "Drink. You look like shit."
Sophia caught it, fingers tightening around the plastic. "Fuck off."
Daniela rolled her eyes and dropped onto the bench beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Sophia tensed. "You gonna cry?" Daniela asked, voice oddly flat.
Sophia turned, ready to snap — but the words died in her throat. Daniela’s smirk was gone. Her face was unreadable. Sophia swallowed. "No."
Daniela nodded, took a sip from her bottle. "Good."
Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable. Sophia pressed the cold bottle to her nose, wincing. Daniela glanced at her. "Does it hurt?"
"Wouldn’t you like to know."
Daniela rolled her eyes again, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. Sophia studied her profile — the sharp angle of her jaw, the faint bruise forming on her cheekbone from their earlier collision. She looked... exhausted. Sophia frowned. "Why are you here? Your locker isn’t even in this room."
Daniela shrugged. "Roommate privileges."
Sophia scoffed. "Since when?"
"Since you almost broke your fucking nose." Daniela’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. Sophia blinked. Was that concern? Sophia didn’t want to know.
The silence stretched too long. Sophia took a sip of water, the cold liquid soothing her raw throat. She glanced at Daniela again — really looked at her. The ATLFC star wasn’t smirking, wasn’t taunting. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her knee, her usual bravado absent. Sophia narrowed her eyes. "What’s your deal?"
Daniela’s jaw clenched. "Nothing."
"Bullshit." Sophia shifted on the bench, wincing as her ribs protested. "You hate me."
Daniela’s fingers stilled. "Yeah," she admitted, voice rough. "But I hate losing more."
Sophia blinked. That… wasn’t the answer she expected. "You didn’t lose."
Daniela’s laugh was hollow. "Tie feels like losing when it’s you." She turned then, finally meeting Sophia’s gaze. Her dark eyes were unreadable. "Next time-”
"There won’t be a next time," Sophia snapped, because the idea of another match like this, another month like this, made her stomach twist.
Daniela’s jaw worked. "Yeah," she said again, softer. "Guess not."
The silence stretched, thicker now, charged with something Sophia couldn’t name. She studied Daniela — the sweat-damp curls escaping her braids, the grass stains on her knees, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed. For the first time, Daniela looked human. Not the villain from Sophia’s nightmares, just a girl. A girl who’d tossed her a water bottle. Who’d stayed.
Sophia exhaled, long and slow. "Your elbow’s a fucking weapon by the way."
⚽︎
Dinner was a tense affair — Sophia picking at her salad while Daniela demolished a burger with the kind of aggressive relish that made the ketchup look like a crime scene. They didn’t speak, unless you counted Sophia’s pointed sigh when Daniela stole the last fry off her plate. "Oops," Daniela muttered around a mouthful, grinning as Sophia’s eye twitched.
Back in their room, Sophia slammed the bathroom door hard enough to rattle the mirror — again — before turning the shower on full blast. The scalding water did little to ease the throbbing in her nose, but she scrubbed at the dried blood crusted under it anyway, wincing as the soap stung. Toweling off, she caught her reflection in the foggy mirror: purple shadows under her eyes, her nose swollen like a failed rhinoplasty. Pathetic, she thought, reaching for her moisturiser.
The first drop hit the sink with a quiet plink. Sophia frowned, swiping at her nose — her fingers came away red. "Shit- fuck," she muttered, tilting her head back. The second drop splattered onto the countertop. Then the third. Then it was a faucet she couldn’t turn off, blood streaming down her chin, dripping onto her clean shirt. Her vision swam. The tile floor rushed up to meet her.
Daniela was halfway through texting her teammate some half-assed excuse about needing to pee when the bathroom door creaked open under her impatient shove. "Finally-" she started, then froze. Sophia lay crumpled on the floor like a discarded jersey, one arm twisted under her, blood smeared across her cheek, the sink, the fucking walls. The coppery tang hit Daniela’s nose a second later.
Her phone clattered to the tile. "Laforteza?" No response. Daniela dropped to her knees, hands hovering — don’t touch her, what if you make it worse? — before logic overrode panic. She yanked her phone off the floor, thumbs shaking as she dialed Coach Humberto. "It’s Sophia," she snapped before he could speak. "She’s- there’s blood, a lot of it, she’s not- fuck, just send help! Please!”
The ambulance arrived faster than Daniela expected. Paramedics swarmed the bathroom, bundling Sophia onto a stretcher while barking questions Daniela couldn’t answer. "I don’t know," she repeated, voice cracking. "She was fine, then she wasn’t." One medic shot her a suspicious look — like she’d done this — and Daniela’s fists clenched. "Just fix her.”
She followed the nurses out, still in her ATLFC sweatshirt. Coach Humberto tried to stop her at the elevator. "Avanzini, you can’t-" "I’m going," she interrupted, stepping inside before the doors closed on his protest.
The ER smelled like antiseptic and dread. Daniela paced the waiting room, gnawing her thumbnail raw. Nurses eyed her bloody arms but said nothing. Hours crawled by. At some point, a doctor emerged — nasal fracture, minor concussion, significant blood loss but stable — and Daniela slumped into a plastic chair, suddenly exhausted.
She didn’t leave. Not when her coach texted demanding she return to the hotel. Not when the nurses told her visiting hours were over. She just folded her arms tighter and glared until they sighed and let her stay.
Sunrise painted the hospital floor orange when Sophia finally stirred. Daniela, who’d been dozing against the wall, jolted upright at the rasp of sheets. Sophia’s fingers twitched toward the IV in her arm, confusion flickering across her face — then pain, as she tried to sit up.
Daniela moved without thinking. "Don’t," she snapped, voice rough from sleeplessness. Sophia froze, blinking at her like she was a hallucination. "What-"
"You passed out," Daniela interrupted, shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets so Sophia wouldn’t see them shake. "Lost too much blood. Doctor says you’ll live, though." She tried for a smirk, but it felt brittle.
Sophia touched her taped nose gingerly. "You… stayed?"
Daniela shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "Roommate privileges."
A nurse walked in then, checking Sophia’s vitals with cheerful efficiency. Daniela used the distraction to slip out, pressing her back against the hallway wall once the door shut. Her knees threatened to buckle. She’d seen Sophia bleed before — on the pitch, from her own elbow — but this was different. This was silent. This was sink-water pink and bathroom-tile red.
The hospital cafeteria coffee tasted like battery acid, but Daniela drank it anyway, the scalding liquid grounding her as she stared at the wall clock. 7:43 AM. Visiting hours started in seventeen minutes. She should go back to the hotel. Should shower. Should leave. Her thumb hovered over her coach’s last text:
Coach Sohey ⚽: Get your ass back here Avanzini. I mean it!
When the elevator dinged.
Yoonchae and Megan burst out, their LAFC and ATLFC jackets clashing horribly under the fluorescent lights. Yoonchae cornered Daniela to a wall like a heat-seeking missile. "You." Her finger jabbed Daniela’s chest. "What the FUCK did you do to her?"
Daniela didn’t flinch. "Saved her life, probably." The lie tasted bitter. Megan grabbed Yoonchae’s elbow before she could swing.
Sophia’s room smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers when Daniela slipped back in. The IV drip continued clicking as Sophia picked at her breakfast tray — untouched eggs, cold toast. She looked up, eyes narrowing. "You came back."
Daniela tossed a stolen pudding cup onto the tray. "Jesus, you look like shit."
Sophia caught the pudding cup with her fingertips, the plastic cool against her skin. She turned it over once — cherry, her least favorite — but peeled the lid off anyway just to give her hands something to do. "You're an asshole," she muttered, spooning a glob of gelatinous red into her mouth. It tasted like cough syrup and regret.
Daniela snorted, dropping into the chair beside the bed. "And you're a shitty patient." She stretched her legs out, crossing her ankles, her muddy sneakers dangerously close to Sophia's pristine white sheets. Sophia eyed them, then Daniela's face — the dark circles under her eyes, the way her braids were coming undone at the roots. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
A nurse came in with a fresh bag of saline, shooting Daniela a disapproving glance. "Family only," she said pointedly.
Daniela didn't move. "We're roommates."
The nurse arched her brow. "And?"
Sophia cleared her throat, wincing as the movement tugged at the tape across her nose. "She's my emergency contact," she lied smoothly, watching Daniela's eyebrows shoot up. The nurse hesitated, glancing between them — Sophia in her hospital gown, Daniela in her bloodstained ATLFC hoodie — before sighing and swapping the IV bag. Daniela waited until the door clicked shut before turning to Sophia with a slow, dangerous grin. "Emergency contact, huh?"
"Shut up," Sophia muttered, stabbing her pudding cup with unnecessary force. "It was the first thing that came to mind." Daniela's grin widened, and Sophia resisted the urge to fling the spoon at her head. The silence stretched, thick with something unfamiliar, until Daniela reached over and plucked the pudding from Sophia's hands. "Hey!"
"You're eating it wrong," Daniela interrupted, scraping the sides of the cup with surgical precision. "Gotta get all the-" She froze mid-sentence, her face doing something complicated as she stared at the spoon. Sophia followed her gaze — the metal glinting under fluorescent lights, the way Daniela's fingers tightened around it just a fraction too hard.
The realisation hit like a slide tackle. "You're scared of hospitals," Sophia said, not a question. Daniela's jaw clenched. "Fuck off." But she didn't deny it, just shoved the pudding back into Sophia's hands with more force than necessary. Sophia studied her — the way Daniela's knee bounced now.
A monitor beeped. Somewhere down the hall, a PA system crackled to life. Sophia took a slow breath, the scent of antiseptic burning her nose. "When I was seven," she started, picking at her blanket, "I broke my arm during a match. My brother carried me to the ER, covered in mud, screaming at the nurses in three languages." Daniela's knee stilled. Sophia didn't look up. "Turns out I was fine, just a fracture, but he wouldn't leave. Slept in that plastic chair for two days until they discharged me." She chanced a glance at Daniela. "He still hates hospitals."
Daniela's fingers tightened around the armrests, her knuckles bleaching white against the cheap plastic. "Yeah, well," she muttered, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor, "your brother sounds like an idiot." The insult lacked its usual venom. Sophia almost smiled — would have, if moving her face didn't feel like glass shards under her skin.
The pudding cup sat between them like a peace offering gone sour. Daniela flicked it with her thumbnail, watching the red jiggle. "You gonna eat that or what?"
Sophia shoved it toward her. "You take it."
Daniela hesitated — just a fraction — before snatching it up and demolishing the rest in three messy bites. Sophia watched her lick cherry residue off her thumb with the same aggression she reserved for slide tackles. Some things never changed.
⚽︎
The hotel room smelled like stale pizza and unwashed jerseys when Sophia finally limped back in, her nose throbbing beneath fresh bandages. Daniela was already sprawled across the bed (their bed) flipping through TV channels with the kind of aggressive button-mashing that made the remote creak. She didn’t look up as Sophia dumped her meds on the dresser with a clatter.
"Move," Sophia muttered, nudging Daniela’s knee with her own.
Daniela kicked her shin lightly — not hard enough to bruise, just enough to sting. "Make me."
Sophia exhaled through her teeth and collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, her body screaming in protest. The bed dipped between them. The TV flickered to a sports channel — of course — highlighting ATLFC’s latest win. Daniela’s smirk was audible. Sophia snatched the remote and changed it to a cooking show with violent precision.
"Bitch," Daniela muttered.
"Asshole," Sophia shot back automatically.
Silence settled, thick with exhaustion and something else Sophia couldn’t name. She stole a glance at Daniela — really looked at her — for the first time since the hospital. The ATLFC star’s braids were fraying at the ends, her hoodie sleeves stretched from nervous tugging. There was a faint tremor in her fingers as she scratched at a peeling sticker on her water bottle.
Sophia blinked. Daniela never fidgeted.
"You’re staring," Daniela said without turning.
Sophia's fingers tightened around the remote, her thumb hovering over the channel button just to spite Daniela further. "You don't even watch cooking shows," Daniela snapped, reaching for it. Sophia jerked her arm back, but Daniela was faster — her hand closed around Sophia's wrist, their skin sticking together with leftover hospital antiseptic and sweat.
"Give it," Daniela growled, twisting Sophia's arm at an angle that made her hiss. Sophia retaliated by digging her nails into Daniela's forearm, watching with satisfaction as red crescents bloomed beneath her fingertips. Daniela didn't let go — just shifted her weight, knees bracketing Sophia's hips as she wrestled the remote free. The plastic cracked under their combined grip, batteries scattering across the sheets like shrapnel.
For a heartbeat, they froze — Daniela straddling Sophia's waist, her breath coming sharp and fast; Sophia glaring up at her, chest rising against Daniela's with every furious inhale. The cooking show host's voice droned on about rosemary reductions, absurdly cheerful against the tension thickening the air.
Then Daniela moved.
Not to hit her.
Not to shove her off the bed.
She kissed her.
Hard. Messy. All teeth and desperation, like she was trying to exorcise something violent from her bloodstream. Sophia gasped against Daniela's mouth — wrong, this is wrong — but her hands fisted in Daniela's hoodie anyway, dragging her closer. The remote clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Daniela's knee dug into Sophia's bruised thigh as she deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing the seam of Sophia's lips with a taunting familiarity. Sophia bit down, hard, and Daniela groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating against Sophia's teeth. It was nothing like their usual fights.
When they broke apart, Daniela's braids hung like a curtain around Sophia's face, her pupils blown wide. "Fuck, I’m sorry, " she breathed, lips swollen. Sophia could taste blood and the phantom cherry cough syrup from the hospital pudding. Her pulse hammered against Daniela's palm where it had somehow ended up pressed against her throat.
Daniela's thumb brushed the bandage on Sophia's nose, feather-light. "Does it-"
Sophia yanked her down by the hoodie strings before she could finish. Their teeth clacked together, clumsy with adrenaline. Daniela laughed against her mouth and Sophia wanted to strangle her. Wanted to crawl inside her ribs and stay there. The contradictions burned hotter than the pain radiating from her nose.
Daniela’s words landed like a slap — cold, sudden, and sobering.
The silence stretched between them, thick as the blood still crusted under Sophia’s nails. Daniela hovered above her, lips parted, her breath coming in ragged bursts that ghosted over Sophia’s swollen mouth. The cooking show’s upbeat music clashed violently with the static roaring in Sophia’s ears.
"You-" Sophia started, but Daniela cut her off with a sharp shake of her head, her braids brushing Sophia’s cheeks like whips.
"Don’t." Daniela’s voice was rough, her fingers tightening where they’d somehow tangled in Sophia’s hair. "Just don’t fucking talk."
Sophia should’ve shoved her off. Should’ve kneed her in the ribs and laughed when Daniela crumpled. Instead, she arched up, catching Daniela’s lower lip between her teeth hard, relishing the gasp it tore from her throat. Daniela retaliated by yanking her head back by the roots, exposing the column of Sophia’s throat to her biting kisses.
The bedsprings groaned beneath them as Daniela rolled them over, pinning Sophia’s wrists to the mattress with single-minded focus. Sophia bucked against her, their sweat-slick skin sticking together in the humid room. "Fight me," Daniela murmured against the shell of her ear, her knee pressing insistently between Sophia’s thighs. "Come on, fight me Laforteza."
⚽︎
The morning light cut through the hotel curtains like a spotlight, illuminating the wreckage of their ceasefire — rumpled sheets, a broken remote, and Sophia's discarded bandage crusted with dried blood. Daniela was already dressed when Sophia blinked awake, her cleats laced tight, fingers drumming against her thigh as she watched Sophia stir with an unreadable intensity.
"Game's in two hours," Daniela said, tossing Sophia's jersey at her face. It landed softly, smelling of cheap hotel detergent instead of the usual pre-match adrenaline. Sophia sat up slowly, her nose throbbing — but when her fingers came away from the fresh trickle of blood, Daniela was there before she could react, pressing a sheet of tissues to her face with surprising gentleness.
"Stop poking at it," Daniela muttered, her thumb brushing Sophia's cheekbone as she adjusted the pressure. Sophia froze, half-expecting a jab about weakness, but Daniela just frowned at the red staining the tissues. "You're gonna bleed out on the field at this rate."
Sophia batted her hand away, ignoring the way Daniela's fingers lingered a heartbeat too long. "I'll live," she snapped, but her voice lacked its usual venom. Daniela rolled her eyes and chucked the bloody tissues in the trash, then tossed Sophia a clean jersey.
"Get your ass up bitch, coach is waiting for us," Daniela said, turning toward the door before Sophia could say anything.
The stadium lights burned Sophia's eyes as they stepped onto the pitch, the crowd's roar washing over them in waves. Daniela jogged ahead — then doubled back when Sophia didn't immediately follow, her cleats skidding on the turf. "You good?" she asked, voice low enough that only Sophia could hear.
Sophia wiped her nose with the back of her wrist and shoved past her. "Mind your own game, Avanzini." But when Daniela's hand briefly gripped her elbow to steady her after a sharp turn, Sophia didn't shake her off.
The whistle blew. Sophia charged forward, her body moving on autopilot — dribble, pass, pivot — but her focus kept fracturing. Every time she glanced up, Daniela was there, hovering just outside her periphery like a shadow.
Halftime found Sophia slumped against the lockers, pressing a cold water bottle to her throbbing nose. Daniela dropped onto the bench beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. "Still breathing?" she asked, nudging Sophia's ankle with her cleat.
Sophia kicked back harder than necessary. "Fuck off." But when she lowered the bottle, Daniela was already holding out fresh gauze — where the hell had she gotten that? — her expression unreadable beneath the fluorescent lights.
Sophia’s vision blurred at the edges as the final whistle screamed through the stadium — another loss, another fucking Daniela victory. The ATLFC star was already being hoisted onto her teammates’ shoulders, her grin slicing through the floodlights like a knife. Sophia’s nose throbbed in time with the crowd’s chants, fresh blood trickling past her taped gauze. She fucking did this on purpose, Sophia thought, wiping at her face with a shaking hand.
The locker room door shattered against the wall as Sophia kicked it open. Her cleats came off next, hurled at the metal locker with enough force to dent the thin metal. One bounced back — narrowly missing Daniela’s temple as she stepped inside. "The fuck-" Daniela ducked, but Sophia was already spinning on her, fists clenched.
"Happy now?" Sophia’s voice cracked, raw from shouting. "Got your fucking win AND my nose?" She gestured wildly at her face, the bandage peeling at one corner. Daniela’s jaw tightened, her own knuckles scraped raw from the game.
"I told you," Daniela said slowly, like Sophia was a grenade with the pin pulled, "it’s not what it looks like."
"Bullshit!" Sophia slammed her palm against the lockers, the vibration rattling up her arm. "You elbowed me-"
Daniela moved before Sophia could finish — not with a punch, not with a shove, but with two hands fisting the front of Sophia’s jersey as she crushed their mouths together. The impact knocked Sophia back against the lockers, her bandaged nose brushing Daniela’s cheekbone in a way that should’ve hurt but didn’t. Daniela kissed like she played soccer — all teeth and elbows and no remorse, her tongue licking into Sophia’s mouth with a taunt that made Sophia’s stomach flip violently.
Sophia bit down hard on Daniela’s lower lip — a reflex, a retaliation—but Daniela only groaned and pressed closer, her thigh slotting between Sophia’s legs with bruising intent. The metal lockers rattled behind them as Sophia twisted her fingers into Daniela’s braids and yanked, but Daniela didn’t pull away. Instead, she sucked Sophia’s tongue between her teeth and bit down just enough to make Sophia’s knees buckle.
The taste of blood — copper and salt — mingled with Gatorade and sweat. Sophia could feel the rapid-fire thud of Daniela’s pulse where her palm was pressed against the column of her throat, could feel the way Daniela’s breath hitched when Sophia scraped her nails down the sweat-slick skin of her back. It was nothing like their fights on the pitch. This was surrender and conquest tangled together, a grenade rolled between them with the pin already pulled.
Daniela broke away first, her chest heaving, her mouth swollen and slick. "Shut up," she panted, pressing her forehead to Sophia’s. "Just- shut the fuck up for once."
Sophia should’ve kneed her in the ribs. Should’ve laughed in her face. Instead, she dragged Daniela back in by the waistband of her shorts, their teeth clacking together in a way that would’ve been awkward if it didn’t send a jolt of electricity straight to Sophia’s groin. Daniela made a noise low in her throat — half-growl, half-moan — and shoved her hand under the hem of Sophia’s jersey, her fingers splaying across the sweat-damp skin of her stomach.
The hotel room door slammed shut behind them with a force that rattled the framed landscape painting. Daniela was already stripping off her jersey, the fabric sticking to her sweat-slick back as she wrenched it over her head with a grunt. Sophia watched the muscles flex between her shoulder blades, the way her black Calvin Klein bra clung to the dip of her spine. Her mouth went dry.
"Stop staring," Daniela muttered, tossing the jersey at Sophia's face. It smelled like grass and salt and something uniquely Daniela — a scent Sophia had come to recognise in the suffocating intimacy of shared bedsheets and stolen showers.
Sophia caught the jersey before it could hit her freshly re-taped nose. "Wasn't."
Daniela turned, her eyebrow arched in that infuriating way that made Sophia's fingers twitch with the urge to either punch her or well — fuck. The bruise on Daniela's collarbone was darkening, a dark purple that matched the one no doubt blooming across Sophia's ribs. They'd left marks on each other that had nothing to do with soccer cleats or elbow strikes.
The bed creaked as Daniela flopped onto it, sprawling across the mattress like she owned it — like she owned Sophia — her bare feet brushing Sophia's thigh. "You gonna stand there all night?"
Sophia's grip tightened around the jersey. The fabric stretched between her fists. Daniela watched her through half-lidded eyes, her tongue darting out to swipe at the split in her lip — Sophia's doing — before she patted the space beside her. "Come on, Laforteza. Or are you scared?"
That did it. Sophia launched the jersey back at Daniela's head, but Daniela caught it effortlessly, laughing as Sophia climbed onto the bed, her knees bracketing Daniela's hips. "Shut the fuck up," Sophia growled, gripping Daniela's wrists and pinning them to the pillow. Daniela bucked beneath her, but Sophia held fast, her thighs squeezing tight — just like on the field, except now Daniela was gasping for entirely different reasons.
Daniela's grin was all challenge. "Make me."
Sophia did — with her mouth, biting at Daniela's jaw before sealing their lips together in a kiss that tasted like blood and stolen victory. Daniela arched beneath her, her wrists flexing in Sophia's grip, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she hooked her ankle around Sophia's calf and yanked, flipping them in one fluid motion that left Sophia blinking up at her, breathless.
"Better," Daniela murmured, leaning down to nip at Sophia's earlobe. Sophia's hips jerked, unwanted and unavoidable. Daniela's chuckle vibrated against her throat. "Knew you'd break first."
⚽︎
The airport bathroom smelled like disinfectant and desperation, the fluorescent lights flickering ominously above the row of stalls. Sophia locked the door behind them with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing like a starting whistle. Daniela leaned against the sink, arms crossed, her ATLFC hoodie zipped up to her chin — as if that could hide the fresh bite mark blooming beneath her collarbone from last night.
"Last chance to say you'll miss me," Daniela said, her smirk not quite reaching her eyes.
Sophia scoffed, yanking her LAFC cap lower over her bruised nose. "Keep dreaming, Avanzini." But her fingers lingered on the door handle, white-knuckled.
Daniela's gaze flicked to the overhead speaker announcing final boarding calls. Her throat worked — once, twice — before she grabbed Sophia's wrist and shoved her against the tiled wall. The impact rattled Sophia's teeth, but Daniela's mouth was already on hers, hot and punishing. Sophia bit back a groan as Daniela's knee pressed between her thighs, the rough fabric of her joggers dragging against sensitive skin.
The sink faucet dripped before Daniela pulled away, her breath ragged. "That's how you say goodbye where I'm from," she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.