Chapter Text
College is a new world for Lotte.
Scratch that, it's a whole new solar system. The accents are different, the food is different - mildly - the time is different, the measurement system is different, the weather is different, and they call football soccer. When she goes out to training and listens to people talk they may as well be speaking in Martian. Too many times she hears 'football', gets excited, listens in, and realises it's American football and cringes inside. Even after a good six weeks at UNC, she's still making the same mistakes.
Alessia finds it helplessly funny. She's adapted effortlessly into the new solar system that is North Carolina, using football soccer football as a pathway to making new friends. Ella had obviously been teaching her tricks because she showed off a bunch of fancy skills that Lotte had never seen before and immediately had them all clamouring for her to teach them how. Lotte hovered on the edge, watching silently and learning faster than the rest of them.
"You just have to talk to them," Alessia says one morning over cereal. "They're nice really."
"That's easy for you to say. One trick and they're all falling at your feet," Lotte retorts somewhat meanly. "You're just as shy as me, but you're good at football."
Alessia rolls her eyes. "You're good at football too, Lotte. Just wait until the coaches see you play." She grins. "I'm so glad we'll get to play together all the time for once."
Lotte nods. The last time they played together was at the U-17 European Championships last October, going out in the quarter-final. It was a far cry from the World Cup for the same team, where they'd snatched third place against Norway with two goals from Niamh Charles. She's proud of those two tournaments, though. She'd had plenty of playing time and captained the team. The World Cup had been a triumph for Alessia - five goals, Golden Boot, Team of the Tournament and a bronze medal.
No matter how much the striker protests, Lotte knows that Alessia is far better at football than her. Perhaps it's because she's a forward and so she shows more outward signs of success with goals and assists. Perhaps it's because she's talented and intelligent and deadly on the pitch. Perhaps it's because she's ... Alessia.
If college is a solar system, then Alessia is the sun, Lotte reckons. She burns brightly at the centre of Lotte's world, always smiling, always shining, even on the dreariest of grey days when she's homesick or training goes badly or she regrets ever coming here, wondering if she should just have stayed at Arsenal. She burns so spectacularly that she outshines Lotte, but the older girl never cares. How could she?
At the start, Alessia was her sun simply because she was the only person Lotte knew, the only face that had a name she knew well, the person she searched for in crowded canteens or classrooms or changing rooms, the person who she saw every morning and every evening, the person who's side she stuck to so she felt a little less alone in this new foreign space.
But eventually, it begins to grow. It turns into searching for Alessia's face because it makes her smile, it turns into saying her name just for the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up when she spots Lotte, it turns into being late for classes and falling asleep late just so she can spend an extra few minutes with the blonde, it turns into sticking her side because she likes her impossibly and if she's anywhere else then Alessia overtakes her mind.
When Alessia looks at her, no matter the gaze - be it casual, cheeky, concerned, accidental, happy, sad - Lotte doesn't know where to put her hands. Her legs tremble and butterflies swarm beneath her ribs. When Alessia touches her it sends shockwaves through her skin. When Alessia hugs her, whooping after a goal or pulling her close when they say goodbye or slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walk the campus together, Lotte's whole being lights up.
It's bad.
Because Alessia doesn't tremble. Her skin doesn't warm just at the brush of a hand. She doesn't feel butterflies.
Not for Lotte, anyway.
Like most of the girls, Alessia crushes on the captain of the baseball team, who's two years older than them - a junior? Lotte still doesn't understand these names for years - and comes to watch their games sometimes. He's tall, like Lotte, and dark-haired, like Lotte, but his hair is curly and just long enough to fall over his eyes, which are a deep, soulful blue. He's much stronger than Lotte too, with muscles under the sleeves of his UNC t-shirt. She hears Alessia comment about how fit he is and resolves to go to the gym more.
To be fair, Toby is very nice. He doesn't try to tell them how to play the sport, or mansplain anything, which too many non football soccer players try to do and it pisses her off. When they win the Women's Soccer Tournament he brings flowers to the changing rooms and the whole baseball team comes out for drinks with them.
"Lotts, come and dance!" Alessia, high off tournament MVP, glory, and not much else because of the drinking laws in this country, grabs Lotte by the hands and tries to pull her out of the corner where she's standing. "We won!"
"Yeah." Lotte tries to sound enthusiastic and fails miserably. "Weren't you dancing with Toby?"
The striker shrugs and pulls a face. "He's with Claire."
"Oh. Did ... did anything happen between you and Toby?"
Alessia frowns suddenly. "Why do you want to know?"
"I'm just making conversation," Lotte replies lamely. "And you looked happy, so, I guessed ..."
"I'm happy because we won the tournament, silly, not because I got off with some guy. Claire's welcome to him." Alessia squeezes her hands. "I'd much rather be spending time with you."
Lotte's heart beats faster, even though she knows she's being ridiculous. "Really?"
"What's gotten into you tonight, Lotts? Of course I want to spend time with you. You're my best friend here." She gives Lotte a bright smile, oblivious to the fact that she's just crushed her heart yet again. "Do you want to head back?"
"Yeah," she admits. "But you can stay. I'll walk back myself, it's okay. Go and celebrate."
Alessia rolls her eyes and tugs on her hand. Lotte follows her out of the door, pretending that her eye is watering so that she can untangle their hands. The air outside pours over her. The walk back to their room is short and quiet, but a nice quiet, their feet crunching in gravel. Alessia fishes the key out of her pocket and lets them in, dropping her medal unceremoniously on the kitchen table and making for her room.
"'Night, Lotte," she says, rubbing her eyes adorably.
"'Night."
Alessia hugs her, her head settling comfortably on Lotte's shoulder. The striker isn't shorter than most people - she's definitely one of the tallest in all of the youth teams that Lotte's played with her on - but Lotte has a good inch on her, maybe a tad more. It makes her feel on top of the world when Alessia hugs her like this, pressed close in the low lighting, soft hair tickling her neck.
And then, inevitably, Alessia slips away after only a few seconds, waving over her shoulder once and closing the door behind her. Lotte slumps at the kitchen table. She should sleep.
The next morning, Claire comes rushing into the changing rooms whilst they're all busy putting on shinpads and lacing up boots, ready for an informal training session that they'd organised themselves, wanting to play together whilst victory was fresh in their name.
"Oh my God," she says. "You're never going to believe what I know, you guys!"
The girls flock to her side, begging to know what she knows. She drops her boot bag onto the bench, kicks off her trainers, and takes out her kit.
"Okay, so you know I was dancing with Toby last night?" Claire pulls off her shirt and swaps it for a UNC training top, her voice muffled. "He bought me a drink and we spent ages chatting. He was so interested - he was giving me all the signals - he kept asking what I wanted to do after college. He said I played super well."
"Did you actually ..." one of the girls trails off. Claire pulls up her socks and smirks.
"We went to a quiet corner," she continues, "and I sat so close to him, and he didn't even care. I told him I thought he was super good at baseball. He returned the compliment, obviously, and I said I thought he looked really cute playing. I said we make a good pair, captain and captain, and then I leaned in and -"
She breaks off.
"What?" Alessia demands, just as hooked on the story as the rest of the girls. Lotte laces her boot quietly and switches to her other foot. Her hands fumble the threads, she doesn't know why. "What happened, Claire."
The midfielder shrugs. "He was so sweet about it, but he said he just saw me as a friend. I asked why, 'cause maybe he thought I was too young, but it turns out he's gay."
Lotte goes very, very still, and prays that nobody else notices her cheeks going pink. There's a couple of exclamations, one quiet 'I knew it' and some groans of regret.
"He's so fit though," one defender complains. "Like, someone that hot can't be gay. I refuse to believe it. I mean, we're literally all at his feet, and it turns out he swings the other way? What a waste."
Lotte's heart thumps and she feels like she might be sick. If the girls react like this about a guy, grumbling to themselves and trading their unhappiness, how would they act if they found out she liked girls? If they found out she was crushing on one of the members of their team?
"A waste of what, Ali? Your ignorance?"
The room goes quiet. Heads swing in one direction - in Lotte's direction, staring at the striker stood up beside her, fists balled, voice cool, eyes burning a glare into Ali's.
"What are you talking about?" Ali protests. "All I said was, he's the hottest guy on campus, he could have anyone he likes, and he picks a guy? I mean, he changes with them. That's gross."
Alessia tilts her head slightly. "'Pick' is an interesting word to use. It implies a choice ... I don't think you've quite understood what sexuality is."
"Oh, fuck off," Ali spits. "What, are you gay too? You been staring at us all too?"
"So what if I am? What are you going to do, kick me off the team? I'm your best striker, and I think our coach would have some questions for you if you ruin your own chances by outcasting me and bringing the goal tally down to a sweet one-digit figure."
Ali's cheeks flush with anger, but she doesn't reply. She just turns back to changing. Claire peers curiously at Alessia, almost afraid, as the girls start to group back together, murmuring different conversations.
"Are you gay?" She asks tentatively. Lotte goes still again, so still she could be mistaken for a statue. Alessia shakes her head and pulls on a hoodie.
"Nah. Doesn't mean I like listening to that crap, though. She's out of order."
Claire nods emphatically and somewhat hurriedly. Lotte leans back against the wall, a half-tied lace slithering from her fingers and falling loosely onto the bench.
"Lessi," she says quietly. "I'm going to go back. I don't feel great. I don't think I slept enough last night. I'm sorry."
Alessia looks at her, concerned. "Are you sure? Do you want me to walk you back? Or do you feel really awful? I can drive you to the emergency room - or at least get you back to our room."
"No, I'm fine. Just off, y'know? I'll be okay, I'll just go back and get some sleep."
"Alright," Alessia replies reluctantly. "Text me when you get back. And if you need anything. I can skip this, it doesn't really matter."
"Skipping, are we, best striker?" Ali says snidely. Alessia doesn't even reply. "Oi, Russo, I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?"
Alessia ignores her in favour of picking up Lotte's bag and handing it to her. She gives her a smile in thanks and then walks out, her head spinning. On the one hand, she's now more terrified than ever to come out at any point in her life. On the other hand, Alessia would accept her. On the third hand, Alessia isn't gay and would probably be weirded out by knowing that Lotte likes her.
She wants to talk to someone desperately. She wonders who she could ask. There's nobody she's close enough to at UNC to bare her soul like this. Her family are a no-go. That leaves her with footballers.
She has friends from the youth teams who she knows well - Chloe, who she left playing at Arsenal, though they'd made their senior debuts in the same run of matches and sat next to each other on the bench. Alessia, obviously. Georgia and Ella, not so well, but enough that she considers them. It occurs to her that all the people she's thinking of are straight.
She could ask Lauren, she supposes, who came out by accident at the last youth camp she went to, but the young striker isn't exactly close with Lotte, certainly not so much to be woken up early to listen to her woes.
Leah ... Leah is a possibility. She's tried to be a role model for Lotte, taking her under her wing at Arsenal, showing her around and giving her tips since they both play as defenders. Leah is intelligent, and a good listener, and she's practical. She'd have some advice, but she'd help Lotte talk through her thoughts first. Lotte trusts her.
But the idea of saying the words, even of typing them, makes her feel like she's standing on the edge of a cliff. She drafts a message to Leah but it sounds ridiculous. She's being ridiculous. Everything about this is ridiculous.
She needs to get over Alessia. She has to.
She just can't. Alessia is Lotte's sun - she would die without her, however dramatic it feels. So many times she comes close to opening her mouth and saying it. Less, I love you. Less, I'm gay. Less, I understand if this will change things, but...
The sun is dangerous. It burns with a fire that kills, it scorches and hurts and leaves scars, and Lotte knows perfectly well what will happen if she comes too close and lets her feelings spill. She'll tear their relationship apart. She'll burn a hole in the bond between them, and no amount of cold water and clingfilm patches will be able to fix the hurt she'll cause them.
So instead she settles for what she has: hugging Alessia close during movie nights, the striker grabbing her hands when she's excited, admiring her friend in secret. She settles for averting her eyes in the changing room and forcing herself to look over the top of Alessia's head whenever possible, just in case something shows in her gaze. She settles for longing glances in crowded canteens and across soccer fields.
She settles for Alessia being her sun - and as for her? She settles for being a lone planet in Alessia's orbit.