I've got you - Grace Clinton

Summary: Grace and Y/n have a fight before English Camp, and now they have to find a way to make it right.

..

It had been four days.

Four days since the argument. Four days since Grace walked out of Y/n's flat with her jaw tight and her eyes flashing.

Four days of cold shoulders and awkward silences at the England camp, of avoiding eye contact across the dining hall, of teammates whispering because everyone could feel the tension.

It had started over something small—a missed call that turned into a late reply, which then escalated into Grace snapping, "Maybe I'm just not your priority anymore."

And that was it. Grace had raised her voice for the first time, and Y/n had gone quiet, the hurt blooming in her chest. Neither of them had spoken since.

It had happened before they were called up for the squad, and so, everyone noticed that something wasn't quite right between them.

Y/n and Grace weren't ones for public affection, but they were incredibly close, and it was obvious to everyone that something had shifted.

On the first day of camp, Y/n pretended she was fine. She smiled through team meals, trained like nothing was wrong, and laughed at Millie's stupid jokes.

But Grace's absence hit her like a slow, bruising ache. Grace was there at camp, of course, but they didn't share a room like they always did.

They didn't have breakfast together anymore.

They didn't walk around the city after training like they used to.

But even still, Grace was everywhere. Always close, but never quite with her. Same warm-ups, same squad, same locker room—but she never looked directly at Y/n. Never said her name.

At night, Y/n stared at the ceiling of her room, phone clutched in her hand, always waiting for a message that never came. And she wasn't going to be the one to say sorry first—absolutely not.

Beside her, Jess Park let out a loud snore, and Y/n sighed. Of course, her new roommate had to snore.

As if things weren't miserable enough already. She rolled onto her side, tucking the phone under her pillow like maybe that would make it buzz.

It didn't.

But every time Grace walked past without a glance, it was like being unchosen all over again.

Y/n and Grace had never fought like that, they were together for a year now, they only had to deal with minor arguments, but they never latest more than a day.

But now? It was bad, they were hurting each other, and none of them had the courage to do something about it.

By the time match day rolled around—a closed‑door friendly at St. George's—Y/n and Grace had barely exchanged a glance, each pretending the other didn't exist as they paired off with different teammates during warm‑ups.

Y/n was trapped in her own head; the emotional turmoil raged through her every time the ball came near, and she simply couldn't keep her focus.

Leah barked at her to get her head back in the game after another wayward pass, and Lucy offered a sympathetic tap on the back when her miscued touch gifted Germany possession.

It was one of the worst performances of Y/n's career: every misplaced pass, every heavy first touch, every fraction of a second too slow piled up like lead in her chest.

And deep down, she knew exactly who to blame—herself, for allowing her personal pain to spill onto the pitch. The emotional turmoil with Grace had taken root deep in her bones, and now it was choking out every instinct she had as a player.

And then it happened.

It wasn't even a big moment. A corner. A simple set piece. She stepped up, took a breath, and swung her leg, only to send the ball sailing awkwardly off her foot. A wasted opportunity.

The kind of mistake that usually passed without consequence, but today, it tipped her over the edge, and she was subbed off.

Sarina's voice came shortly after, calm but concerned. "Sit down, kid. Get some water, yeah?"

Y/n nodded, blinking fast, already feeling the sting behind her eyes. She jogged off, boots dragging, and slumped onto the bench.

Her chest was heaving. Her hands shook as she reached for a water bottle, but she didn't even unscrew the cap.

And then the tears came. Hot. Sharp. Relentless.

She didn't even understand why she was crying. It wasn't just the missed corner. It wasn't just the game. It was everything. The silence.

The way Grace hadn't looked at her in four days. The ache of sleeping in a bed alone when she was used to Grace's arms around her. The weight of pretending everything was fine while feeling like she was slowly cracking in half.

She curled forward, elbows on her knees, hands over her face, trying to muffle the sounds. Her shoulders shook with each breath, each broken sob slipping out despite her best effort to stay composed.

"Hey," came Jess Park's soft voice beside her. "It's okay. We all have those days, yeah?"

Y/n didn't look up. She couldn't. The embarrassment burned too bright beneath her skin, shame curling in her stomach like smoke.

She vaguely registered Maya's voice saying something motivational, but it faded into the background. None of it mattered.

After the final whistle, Y/n was the first to leave the pitch, slipping away toward the locker room while the others lingered to celebrate.

It was a closed‑door friendly, so she didn't have to plaster on a smile or answer post‑match pleasantries—thankfully, no one saw the tracks of tears still glistening on her cheeks.

She was halfway through peeling off her jersey when the soft echo of boots on concrete made her look up.

There, framed in the dim corridor light, stood Grace—her brow creased with worry, hands half‑raised as if not sure whether to reach for Y/n or step back.

"Hey," Grace said, her voice quiet and hesitant. "The others told me you were upset. I couldn't see you from the pitch... what happened?"

Y/n froze.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

Grace's eyes searched Y/n's face for a clue, and Y/n scrabbled for words that wouldn't betray how raw she still felt. She could've confessed to the ankle pain, the dizziness from the heat, how every misplayed pass echoed her own tangled emotions—but none of that mattered right now.

She inhaled, voice trembling: "You've been ignoring me."

Grace took a slow step forward. "I'm so sorry, love. I was angry—" Her throat caught. "You were angry, too. I didn't know if talking would help or only make things worse."

Y/n's heart clenched. "You left my flat that night," she whispered, voice cracking. "You walked out... then acted like I didn't exist."

Grace's lips quivered. "I was hurt," she admitted, gaze downcast, "but I never—" She closed her eyes, then looked back up. "I never stopped caring. I've missed you so much."

A soft, broken noise escaped Y/n's lips. Grace closed the last inches between them, cradling Y/n's face, brushing away her tears with gentle fingertips. "I love you," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

Y/n leaned into those hands, pressing her forehead to Grace's. The world shrank to the warmth of her voice. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered. "I never should have let it go this far."

Grace nodded, relief and resolve shining in her eyes. "Next time, we'll talk. No more silence. No more walking away."

They stayed like that for a moment—two halves mending—until Y/n pulled back to study Grace's face, still wet with tears.

"Still mad at me?" Grace asked softly, offering a shy, hopeful smile.

Y/n let out a breathy laugh. "A little," she admitted, "you did disappear in the middle of the night."

Grace grinned, eyes alight. "Fair enough."

And then, without another word, Y/n slipped her arms around Grace's waist and held on tight—finally home.

Grace kissed her temple, then her cheek, slow and soft. "I've got you."

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a/n: if you read this far — first of all, ily. second of all, feel free to let me know what you thought! i love hearing your reactions, fav lines, or just general thoughts 🫶 it really makes my day <3