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dontcarehowlongittakes · 4 months

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— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

yoi’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @dontcarehowlongittakes on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

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samkerrworshipper · 10 months

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pain, sweet, pain | leah williamson x arsenal team

leah’s return from her acl injury is nothing like what she wanted nor expected, but her team are there to help her up when she’s down.

content: hurt/comfort, angst, sadness, pain.

Leah’s never been a good loser.

Whether it was U8s playing with the boys, or playing for Arsenal, or playing for England.

She knows this, it’s both her biggest strength and weakness. She likes to think that it makes her a better player and person, because she experiences the highs and lows like nobody else, but realistically she knows that's just the part of her that hates that she feels so inherently deeply worthless when she team loses and it feels she's somewhat at fault.

Captain Leah would never in her wildest dreams blame a loss on anyone, because she plays an eleven person game, a team game, one person cannot take the sole blame for a whole 90 minutes plus stoppage time.

Leah, 26 year old Leah, who's just coming back from an ACL injury and feels like her world is ending, can’t do anything but blame herself.

Never in her life has Leah felt so worthless, so scared for the future.

She’s worked so hard, worked every single day of recovery, for her knee and for her mind.

She’d thought she was ready, and physically she is, but mentally absolutely nothing prepares you for the moment when you step back on the field for your first game as a starter and you play like absolute shite.

Leah’s worked for over a year, tirelessly, to get to this point, she’d dreamt about it her whole recovery, dreaming of a pinnacle, a perfect moment at the end of the treacherous path, it had seemed perfect.

Realistically, Leah knows that it was never going to look exactly like that, but she’d hoped for something more, happiness, joy, a good game, fulfilment above all else.

Yet, she’s left feeling the complete opposite.

Leah didn’t wait around on the pitch, she was inconsolable, and she knew it, she didn’t need fans seeing her vulnerable, she didn’t need Sarina who had travelled all this way to see Leah play look at Leah with that look of disappointment that you could always catch in the corner of her eye. Leah just couldn’t do it, she couldn’t ever bear to look at Kim, her captain who cared so deeply at her, she couldn’t face that, couldn’t face a woman who was the person who was supposed to keep her accountable but also pick her up when she’s down.

So Leah slips away, slips into the tunnel before she gets stuck in some stupid surface conversation with Alex or Jill, even though she’s desperate to catch up with them, she just can’t do it right now. Drawing with Man City feels like a loss, Arsenal are second on the ladder, the only team they should be drawing or losing to is Chelsea, or at least that’s what Leah’s brain is telling her.

She slips into the bathroom, going unnoticed by anybody in the tunnel and keeping her eyes on her cleats as she makes her way into the away team lockers.

Leah doesn’t sit down, she moves straight to the bathroom, stepping into the first stall and locking the door behind her before she slides down onto the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and her head down onto her kneecaps.

Leah can’t breathe, Leah can’t think, all Leah can do is sit on the floor, contemplating whether it was all really worth it, whether the fucking months of blood, sweat and tears amounted to this. She doesn’t think so, Leah’s telling herself that all of that time, all the wishful thinking, all of the bullshit that she put up with is pointless.

She is Leah Williamson, England Captain, European champion.

Yet she had never felt more like an imposter in her own body.

Alex and Beth had told her about how playing her first full game would be the best moment of her life, especially after sitting out for a whole year.

It was a big step, sure, she’d been getting on the pitch, but being on for ten minutes of stoppage time hardly counted as playing, when Jonas had told her that he planned to have her start the Man City match Leah was excited, ecstatic even, in hindsight it was false confidence.

“Le, honey, are you in there?”

Leah realises that there are tears rolling down her cheeks, subconscious tears of anguish that she hurries to swipe away with the hem of her jersey.

Leah tries to silence herself, for long enough that Lia will leave her be, but she inevitably knows that even though Lia phrased it as a question, she knows Leah is hiding in the stall.

Leah and Lia are…. confusing.

Especially for Leah.

It’s this weird friends with benefits arrangement that somehow started after Caitlin and Lia broke up, it wasn’t very long after Leah and Jordan had broken up and one drunken celebratory night they fell into eachothers bedsheets.

It was blurred lines, sex and emotions that neither of them were ready to face.

Leah loved Lia, in so many ways, but she couldn’t do this, she couldn’t be vulnerable in front of a person that she had frequent casual sex with.

The sex was a confidence booster, for both of them, it made them both feel better, stronger, and Leah was fairly certain that Lia seeing her like this would wreck that.

“Le, baby, open up for me?”

Leah knows that she’s shaking, it’s the middle of fucking winter in London and she’s sitting in a tiled, cold bathroom in nothing more than her uniform. She doesn’t care though, she doesn’t care about anything, the only thing she is thinking about is how the fuck she is going to return to the locker rooms without looking like a complete fucking wreck.

“Leave me alone Lia, I’m fine.”

It’s a blatant lie, both women know it. The breakage and croakiness in Leah’s voice is enough of a sign.

“Don’t be like this Le, whatevers up, we can sort it out together, just open up the door.”

Leah can feel the sickness rising up in her throat, can feel the pain and anxiety coursing through her bloodstream.

“Lia I told you to fuck off, get the fuck out, I’m fine.”

Leah only just manages to get the expletives out before reaching for the bowl of the toilet, the sound of gagging filling the silent bathroom.

Leah hates the acidic flavour that rises up from her throat and directly out of her mouth into the bowl, the clear white being tarnished with the slightly orange tinged bile, Leah supposed it was probably from the gatorade that had been handed out at half time.

“Le, honey, you can open the door for me, I won’t judge you.”

Leah knows that Lia is just trying to be nice, that the Swiss woman really does have a heart of gold and would never judge Leah, not even at her darkest moment. But her mind is betraying her, everything she believes in seems false.

“Lia get the fuck out.”

It’s almost a scream, definitely a yell.

The overwhelming silence that comes after it is deafening.

Then Leah’s ears are blessed with the sound of cleats slowly trailing away from her, it’s the first time since the whistle blew at the start of the game that she feels just a smidge of peace.

Leah tries to pick herself up from the floor, at least the toilet bowl, but it’s a losing battle, the uneasiness in her stomach suddenly forcing more bile up her throat.

Leah hadn’t eaten this morning, so most of it was just bile and liquids that she’d had before the game and at halftime, it burned her throat, making the already abundant ache so much more prominent.

It’s just as Leah is finally pulling her head out, swiping her long blonde ponytail out of the way that she hears the sound of a loud and deft knock against the stall door.

“Leah Williamson, open up, right now.”

Leah’s body shivers more than it was before, whatever gods are up there, she just prays that Kim didn’t hear her vomiting, or crying, or anything.

“I’m fine Kim, leave me alone.”

Leah sounds even more of a mess than she did a few minutes ago when she was trying to convince Lia of the same thing.

“I didn’t ask if you were fine, I told you to open the door.”

Kim’s Scottish accent is so deep, so enunciated in the way it always seems to be when she’s using her stern captain's voice.

“Kim, please just leave.”

Leah is pleading, something that she hates to do, but if Kim asks her once more with that voice she knows she’s not going to resist. So she’s not necessarily pleading to be left alone, but she is pleading for Kim to not push, to not force her to do something she doesn’t want to.

“Leah Cathrine, open the door now, if I have to ask again I will exercise other options to get to you.”

Leah hates how responsive she is to Kim’s voice, she doesn’t manage to get herself up from the bowl, but she does manage to reach one of her long and gangly arms up to the lock and flip it to the side, leaving the door unlocked.

It takes Kim a total of a second to fling the door open.

She doesn’t waste time in the doorframe looking Leah up and down, she steps into the stall, locking the door behind her immediately and sitting down against the door, where Leah had previously been sat.

Kim doesn’t say anything, pretends that she doesn’t notice the tear tracks and snot all over Leah’s face. Instead she extends a windbreaker out towards Leah. Leah shakes her head and Kim just shakes her head, still holding her arm out.

“Leah take the fucking jacket, I won’t be the one to tell your mother that you got hypothermia because you refused to put a jacket on after a game.”

Then it hits Leah, there are people here, at the game, for her.

Her mother, grandmother, father, brother.

Keira even managed to make the trip down just for this game, and yet Leah is crumpled over in a loo, having a fucking breakdown.

Kim shoves the jacket at Leah, and Leah just gives in, pulling it around her shoulders but leaving her arms out so she doesn’t have to remove them from the toilet seat, out of fear that whatever is left contained in her stomach will arise.

Leah and Kim stay that way for a while, Kim just sitting and watching Leah carefully, whilst Leah clutches onto the toilet seat.

She vomits once again, but this time it’s just stomach acid, it burns but it makes her stomach rest a little bit easier, easy enough for Leah to push herself up from the toilet bowl and rest against the wall beside her, so she’s diagonal from Kim.

“Don’t you have teammates to pep up?”

Kim just furrowed her eyebrows at Leah.

“Yes, you.”

Leah grimaces at that answer, she isn’t normally the consoled, normally the consoler, taking up the same job that Kim is right now.

“There are people who have bigger problems right now than I do.”

Kim nods, which throws Leah off a little bit.

“Yes, there are, but I think you’ve been needing this a lot longer than you’d care to admit.”

Leah can’t look at Kim’s eyes, can’t bear the amount of concern that is being directed at her, so she keeps her eyes on her cleats.

They’re muddy, and sopping wet, and Leah’s feet are shivering like crazy, her toes numb from the cold.

“Needing what?”

The question hangs in the air, empty but yet also so full with wonder.

“Needing attention, comfort, vulnerability, needing to not be the invincible Leah Williamson for a minute.”

Leah can’t disagree with Kim, even if she wanted to, it’s just a lie that Kim would catch her out on, and she’s dealt with enough disappointment today.

“I should be happy, on cloud nine, it’s my first game back.”

Leah’s voice betrays her, betrays every single thing that she’s wishing she was feeling.

“There isn’t anything you should be, there are things you can want to feel, but there’s no exact way that you should be feeling right now. Remember Viv’s comeback? Recovery isn’t linear Leah, you know that.”

Kim’s scolding her a little bit, she knows how to get through to Leah, she needs tough love, none of the soft pity bullshit.

“I played like shit, you should be yelling at me not sitting on the bathroom floor with me looking at me like I’m a kicked puppy.”

Kim cocks her head, this is how she works her way in, she doesn’t even have to ask the questions, she just slowly works the answers out, she can play the long game.

“You missed a few passes and intercepts, it's not the end of the world, so did everyone. Do you think I should be yelling at them? We had a bad game Leah, it happens.”

Kim’s words are strong, passionate, but Leah knows there is a lingering question hanging beneath them.

“Leah, how are you doing?”

It’s such a bleak question, so simple but yet so impossible to answer.

“I’m fine, I’m good, I’m back on the pitch, I’m happy.”

It’s all lies, Leah is fairly certain that she hasn’t felt fine or good in a few weeks now, and definitely not happy. She doesn’t think she deserves to feel happy, especially not when she’s been playing how she has.

“You know that you don’t have to sugar coat things with me, you don’t need to lie to me for the sake of trying to get me to leave you alone, it won’t work.”

Kim is probably the most stubborn and selfless person Leah knows, it’s normally the thing she admires most about the Scot, but right now she couldn’t detest it more.

“Leah, you do know it’s okay to be upset, or annoyed, you're coming back from a major injury, I’d be concerned if you weren’t feeling some of those things.”

Kim’s words are reassurances, she’s trying to send Leah into a false sense of comfort, enough comfort that she’ll start to open up to Kim, that she’ll finally let all of her walls and mental barricades down.

“Kim, seriously, I’m fine.”

Kim exhales, deeply, she’s letting go of her lenient side, breathing it out and expelling the soft part of her that was dancing circles around Leah’s mental state, hoping that she’d open up on her own, but it was crystal clear that was Leah was not going to be volunteering that information.

“Leah, have you been struggling?”

It’s a blunt question, and as Leah looks up at Kim with complete shock and fear on her face she can’t find anything besides concern and questioning in her eyes.

“What does that matter?”

It’s a deflection, a weak one, an attempt at trying to pivot Kim, Leah knows subconsciously though that it’s not going to work, Kim sees through it.

“I’m worried about you, I know a lot of the team is. I know you’re struggling Leah, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Leah forces herself to take a deep breath, the unwavering depth in her Captain’s eyes is unmissable, tormenting her from a metre away.

“Leah for the last month you’ve looked like you’re on the cusp of a nervous breakdown, and that’s okay, there is nothing wrong with that. But feeling that way for a whole month isn’t normal.”

Leah knows Kim is right, the older Scot is hardly ever wrong, she’s only seven years older than Leah, but sometimes Kim seems wiser than her mother, sometimes she treats Leah like her daughter, this moment is one of those moments.

“Kim, please just leave me alone.”

Leah is pleading, begging, praying that Kim will just leave her be, stop trying to make her feel things that she doesn’t want to.

“I’ll shut up but I’m not leaving you alone, not when you feel like this.”

Leah feels like Kim knows what she’s feeling better than Leah does, and that’s a weird feeling, knowing that Kim knows exactly what swirly weird thoughts are happening in Leah’s confusing brain.

“Leah, you’re obviously not doing very well.”

Leah cuts Kim off before she can say much more, because she’s honestly sick of hearing Kim’s half lecturing half concerned voice in her ear.

“Thanks for stating the obvious Kim, no, I’m not doing fucking well, I’m pretty sure a blind man could figure it out, so please, for gods sakes, leave me the fuck alone.”

In some strange way, it’s like music to Kim’s ear, hearing Leah openly admit her problems, because it means that Kim is slowly easing her up, slowly getting her to hone in on her emotions.

“Leah, talk to me, what’s up?”

All of a sudden Leah’s face contorts into one of genuine pain, and Kim feels her gut drop for a second.

“Kim I need you to just leave me the fuck alone like I’ve already fucking asked you too.”

Kim likes to think that she’s fairly lenient, she knows how much her girls, her teammates, can take. She knows how to handle most situations, and to an outsider, in this situation they’d probably say that Kim should leave Leah alone.

Kim knows Leah, just like she knows everybody else on the team. She knows that Leah, in all of her stubbornness and masking, often needs someone there for her, although she’d never admit it.

“Leah Cathrine, you can be as angry as you’d like, but you won’t talk to me or anybody like that, especially someone who is just trying to look out for you. Now, I’ll ask you once again, and give you the opportunity to answer me honestly before I haul your ass out of here and onto the bus. Leah, you know that I would never judge you, nobody on this team will ever judge you, and if they do they’ll have me to deal with. We all love you so much, you’re our Leah, our baby girl, and we all just want the best for you.”

Leah forces herself to take a breath, she feels more tears falling down her face as Kim’s words truly start to impact her.

“Sarina’s here, and I played like shit. My knee fucking kills, the olympics are in two months and I’m playing like shit. I’ve never had anxiety, never had a panic attack besides the euro finals, and all of a sudden, I’m a emotional fucking wreck and can’t get my shit together, I need to be better.”

Kim takes a good look at Leah’s franticness, it’s so unlike her, but also not unexpected.

“Leah, take some deep breaths for me honey, use your diaphragm.”

Kim’s voice has dropped a few octaves, and it’s lost all of the tension that was previously in it.

“Everyone on the team thinks I’m weak, stupid and weak, fucking useless.”

Kim stops Leah’s ramble before she takes it too far.

“Leah, listen to me. You are not weak, or stupid, or useless, or anything that your brain is telling you. You are recovering from a devastating injury. You are not perfect. You are doing your best.”

Leah looks up at Kim, with big doe eyes full of tears, she looks so helpless, like a young child.

“You are Sarina’s captain Leah, she’s going to pick you for the olympics. She’d be crazy not too, and if she doesn’t, which isn’t going to happen but with the off chance, then we can go watch them, or we can stay in London and work on your recovery. There will be people around, friends, family. You will not be alone.”

Leah doubts Kim, even though her captain sounds so sure she can’t help but feel a little bit insecure. Millie’s been doing her job for almost a year now, and she’s been doing a bloody good job of it, it makes Leah wonder if Sarina is even going to want her back, especially when her and Millie play the same position on the pitch.

“Leah, honey, I say this as someone who loves you and cares about you more than you’ll ever know. If your knee is hurting, then you should be telling the trainers, and not pushing it. You know your body, and if it’s hurting you need to rest. I know that you want to be playing, and you're finally allowed to so it’s this big deal, but you need to listen to your body and not hurt yourself further. I don’t want to have to tell Jonas and the trainers that you are playing through pain, so I need you to do it, before I bench you for endangering yourself.”

Kim hates how broken Leah looks, and if she could she’d pick Leah up and give her a big hug and say sorry for everything that she’s going through, and she’ll get to that, but right now, Leah is the most impressionable, and this is Kim’s chance to get through to her.

“Leah, every single person on this team loves you, no matter what. This team, this family, all of the love is completely unconditional, you don’t have to put on a brave face for them, I can guarantee you that if we walked into that locker room right now all they would want to do is make sure that you are okay. Nobody is here to condemn you, or make you feel like shit. We all care about you Leah, we’re all worried about you, not mad or angry.”

Leah looks up at Kim, her wobbling bottom lip between her teeth and tears, she looks so gutted, so much smaller than she really is.

“I failed them.”

It’s the first words that have left Leah’s mouth in a while, and it sends a sob barrelling directly from her lips.

This sob, this breakage, this sign of outward weakness speaks volumes to Kim, and it has her scooching over so she’s sitting beside Leah, their shoulders brushing up against each other. When Leah leans into the contact Kim raises one of her arms, putting it across the back of Leah’s shoulder blades and bringing the younger defender into her body.

Kim leans down, pressing her lips to Leah’s forehead, letting them linger for a little bit.

“Leah, honey, no matter what, you could never fail any of us, even if you had ten own goals in a final, none of us could care less, your our Le, our super star. You could never fail us.”

Leah forces herself to take a deep breath, to compose herself, Leah Williamson does not cry.

Except today, today she does, for so many different reasons, and yet absolutely no reason.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anybody, everyone needs me to be good, everyone expects me to be good.”

It’s like a mantra to Leah, a reminder, it’s her bible.

Leah Williamson does not lose, Leah Williamson does not disappoint, Leah Williamson cannot be a failure.

Yet today, it feels like she’s done all of those things, and it’s too much for her, too much for her heart to handle.

“Leah, I’m not wanting to rush you, we can sit here for as long as we have to for you to feel better, but the bus is waiting for us, and I know the girls really want to see you. Plus, my old lady knees are starting to cramp up in here.”

It’s lighthearted, but Leah feels the pressure fall down on her chest like a stack of heavy bricks.

Kim sees the change, and she does exactly what Leah needs, she brings her into her lap for a bone breaking hug.

“They’re going to be mad.”

Leah’s voice is a murmur, low and so quiet that Kim almost misses it.

“Leah I can promise you nobody in that room is going to be mad at you, proud, happy, overjoyed, yes. But one hundred percent not mad. We’ll go out there, get you changed out of these freezing clothes, you can talk to whoever you’d like to. We’ll leave the changerooms, there will probably be people there to talk to you, maybe Sarina, maybe so people from the press, probably your mum. Talk to whoever you want to, then we’ll hop on the bus and get back to the hotel. Okay? I just need you to be brave for me and do it, because I know you can, all of us girls know you can, okay?”

It takes Leah a little bit to nod in agreement with Kim, but eventually she does, her head lifting from its spot buried in Kim’s windbreaker.

“C’mon then, let’s get you up.”

Kim uses all of her strength to lift herself up off the floor, the pre match soreness has settled into her bones and muscles and she makes an internal joke about the old age really starting to get to her.

Once she’s stood up properly she reaches to pull Leah up, even if her back is aching and her knees are sore.

Leah’s unsteady on her legs, like a baby with sealegs, or a newborn baby horse. Kim has to quite literally manhandle Leah into leaning onto her, her arms wrapped around Kim’s much smaller form.

It’s uncomfortable, but Kim makes do, unlocking the stall and dragging Leah over to the sink.

“Wash your face off honey.”

Leah takes one look at herself in the mirror and is instantly shocked, her eyes are thoroughly red rimmed, puffy and altogether Leah just looks like a complete mess.

She leans down to the sink, turning the faucet and washing some of the ice cold water over her face. It doesn’t do much, it doesn’t really do anything besides wipe the tear stains from her face and make a little bit of the redness subside. Not enough to make it look like she hasn’t been crying herself sick, and definitely not enough to make it look like she has her shit together.

She wants to tell Kim to go ahead without her, but one look at the Scottish captain through the mirror tells Leah that anything she says is going to be useless.

So she swallows and spits a little bit of water to clean the acid taste from her mouth and then she stands herself up, righting her uniform and leaning herself back onto Kim, her legs and stomach feeling as uneasy as her current metal state.

When Kim makes it to the door of the bathroom, Leah feels her stomach drop, plummeting to her feet. Kim doesn’t hesitate, even with Leah draping her studs down against the concrete.

Leah keeps her head down, completely ashamed and unable to look at the faces of any of her teammates.

Kim leads her over to her cubby, sitting her down on the seat gently before sitting herself down in front of Leah, pulling off her soaked cleats and leaving them on the floor for later.

“Leah, honey, look at me please.”

Leah struggles to take her eyes from her lap, where her hands are sitting, fiddling aimlessly with the skin around her nail beds.

She eventually does though, keeping her eyes solely focused on Kim’s face, not letting her eyes travel to any of her teammates.

“You need to get changed, but my knees are really sore so I don’t think I can hold you up by myself, I need to go see one of the trainers. Who would you like to help you?”

No one.

That’s the answer that bounces around Leah’s head.

“I can do it myself.”

Leah’s words come from a stubborn mindset, the mindset that is making her feel even sicker for being so openly vulnerable.

“How about Viv and Beth, or Katie, or Jen?”

Leah hates all of the options, because they all include her having to be vulnerable with more people.

“I can do it myself.”

Kim rolls her eyes, her face still as stern and set as ever.

“It’s not up for argument Leah, I’m going to go get Viv, okay?”

If Leah had to make a choice, it would have been either Beth or Viv, because both of them have been through what she has, but Viv is the better option, because she won’t try and make jokes with Leah.

So Leah allows Kim to get up from the floor in front of her, and wander off to wherever she has too, to find Viv.

It’s about thirty seconds later that a pair of white nike shoes show up beside Leah’s sock covered feet.

“Leah, liefje, kom voor mij op?” Leah, love, stand up for me?

Leah’s not fluent in Dutch, she can’t speak a word of the language besides some simple conversation and basic terms of endearment, but for whatever reason she understands Viv perfectly.

Using the wall of her cubby as a crutch, she stands herself up, looking at Viv with a lot of questioning in her eyes.

Viv doesn’t wait for permission, she just reaches for the bottom of Leah’s jersey, lifting it up until Leah’s forced to put her arms up so Viv can pull it over her head.

Before leah’s left shivering, Viv’s helping her pull a long sleeve top and hoodie over her body, making her once freezing body a little bit warmer.

Once Viv has the hoodie pulled around Leah tightly she moves to her shorts, once again not waiting for permissions and tugging them as well as her compression shorts down.

Before she tugs the sweatpants on though, she secures a knee brace and ice pack to Leah’s knee.

Leah’s almost embarrassed about the fact that she nearly moans when the ice makes contact with her knee, the cold contrast feeling so incredible on her inflamed and sore skin.

Viv then moves onto the sweatpants, pulling Leah’s feet through the bottoms of them and then pulling them up and over her knees gently before securing the pants loosely around Leah’s hips.

Once her clothes are on, and Leah is feeling a little bit happier and spacey from the welcome warmth, Viv sits her back down on the bench.

She pulls Leah’s socks off, dutch simplicity leaving her lips as she gently applies, newer and softer socks to Leah’s feet, Viv’s warm hands gently rubbing over Leah’s feet as she pulls the socks over her toes and ankle, before pulling out a pair of ugg boots that Leah has never seen before and tugging them onto her feet.

Normally, Leah would revolt against the break of uniform, but she’s too tired, too vulnerable, too broken to care.

Viv can apparently tell, because in a few seconds time there is a group of girls flanking her, all with the same soft, calm expressions on their faces.

Katie, Beth, Viv, Jen and Lia.

“Hey baby girl, time to get you to the bus hey?”

It’s Beth’s gentle voice, quiet and soft.

“M’ sorry.”

It’s the only thing going through Leah’s brain, endlessly repeating like a record that keeps replaying.

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for and we’ll talk about it on the bus, but we just need to get you there, okay? So Viv and Jen are going to help you, Katie will grab your things and I’ll make sure that any press stragglers stay away, okay?”

Leah feels defeated, and broken, but she nods anyway.

Jen and Viv reach down to pull her up, Beth leading the way out of the change rooms and back into the tunnel. Luckily, there are no stragglers, and the trip is fairly easy, Kim joining the group somewhere along the way with ice packs secured to both of her knees but she looks as if she's in good enough spirits.

They manage to manhandle Leah onto the bus and into a seat, cocooned between Kim and a window.

Kim whispers sweet nothings in her ear the whole ride home, reassurances that Leah doesn’t really hear with her ringing ears.

It’s actually Viv who brings Leah out of her trance, pulling Kim out of her seat beside her so Viv can sit down.

Leah, liefde, listen to me for a second please.”

Leah takes a deep breath.

“You did everything you could have, we all did everything we could have, this is not your fault nor your burden to take. None of us will accept you taking the burden for this. You can’t allow yourself to, because this,” Viv’s hand falls on Leah’s puffed up knee, covered with an ice pack, butLeah understands what she means.

“Is not going to get better if you don’t allow yourself to heal mentally. We’re all here for you, we’re all going to carry you when you are down, please Leah, for me, for your mum, for anybody, just let yourself rest. We’ll review, and as a team we will get better, but we need you beside us getting better as well, we need you out here leading the team, like we all know you can. Take a night, reflect and then come back tomorrow with the mindset that you have something to prove, to us, to Jonas, to Sarina, yes?”

Leah looks at Viv, looks at how genuine she is, how she definitely knows exactly what Leah is feeling.

The words linger for a few seconds, before a mass of Arsenal hoodies are piling on top of Leah and Viv, a struggle of arms and hands securing themselves around Leah.

It’s warm, happy and loving.

It’s everything that Leah has been working to create in this environment for years, not for herself, for everyone around her. But having it come back to her, it hits her like a freight train, and suddenly, or not so suddenly, Leah realises that she’s not doing everything by herself, she doesn’t have to when this is her team.

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