? "Rivals on the Pitch, Hearts Off It"

It started with a message.

Not during daylight, not when football was rushing through their veins or when teammates were buzzing around them.

No, it came late. Quiet. After the noise had settled.

Georgia [22:14]
Can Trump do any tricks or is he just dramatic?

Angela, curled up on her bed in her apartment just outside central Barcelona, raised an eyebrow at the screen. Her legs were tangled in a blanket. Lady, her dachshund, was curled on her lap. Trump, the schnauzer, sprawled possessively at the foot of the bed like he paid rent.

She hadn't expected a message from her.

Not tonight. Not after everything.

She waited.

Ten minutes passed before she opened her camera, tapped to record, and panned toward Trump. She whispered off-screen, "¿Trump? Gira."

With a huff, the schnauzer rolled onto his back, let out an exaggerated sigh, and froze like he'd just been betrayed by the entire world. Angela's quiet laugh came next—low, warm, involuntary.

She sent it.

Less than a minute later:

Georgia [22:27]
That's fair. I do too.
Roll over when offered ham, I mean. Not sigh like a drama queen. Usually.

Angela smirked.

She didn't reply again that night, but something about her chest felt lighter. A little less tight.

The Next Day – Barça Training Ground

The locker room was humming as always. Angela came in wearing an oversized Barça hoodie, earbuds in, eyes sleepy. Patri was already lacing her boots.

"Someone didn't sleep."

Angela dropped onto the bench beside her. "Didn't feel like it."

Salma grinned across the room. "Or maybe someone was texting her secret frenemy crush."

Angela turned sharply. "What?"

Mapi snorted. "You're so obvious, 'Gelita."

"I am not—" she began, but Ona waved her hand in mock dismissal.

"You don't stop smiling when her name comes up."

"I don't smile—"

"Liar," Jana chimed in sweetly, stuffing socks into her bag. "You do that half-grin thing. The one where you're trying not to smile but your mouth betrays you."

Angela gave up. "You're all ridiculous."

Alexia walked in just in time to hear that. "Are we? Or are we observant?"

Angela groaned, tugged her hood up, and muttered, "I liked it better when you all bullied each other."

"You're our baby," Aitana replied without looking up from her phone. "We have to bully you more."

Back in Munich

Georgia sat on the edge of the training pitch, lacing her boots slowly.

Klara dropped down beside her. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"Liar."

Georgia rolled her eyes.

Klara leaned back, elbows on the grass. "You flew into her like a wrecking ball two weeks ago. Now you're watching her dog videos and texting her late at night. That's not normal behaviour for a person you 'can't stand'."