It starts with Skinner's assistant leaving. Not that they realise it at the time, of course - they're much more concerned with competing for Europe, finishing on a high, and the big tests in Manchester City and Chelsea that happen to be their next matches, to comprehend what the change will mean for their team.
But it doesn't take long for the cracks to really begin to show.
It's not been a terrible start to the season for Manchester United women's team - they've definitely had worse - but it's not the start of a title chasing team, either. And without his assistant there to temper him, Skinner's frustration bleeds through more obviously.
It's subtle at first - sharper criticism, longer silences, the way his jaw clenches when someone misplaces a pass. The players notice, of course they do, but they're professionals. They've weathered difficult coaches before.
Then they lose to City. Not just lose - they're demolished, 4-0, and it's the kind of defeat that leaves bruises on your pride. Skinner doesn't speak on the bus ride home.
But it's okay. Because Leah rings her on the way back, and, God, how easy it is to forget how terribly they've played and how crap Alessia is feeling about herself when the stern England captain is telling her the silly jokes Beth Mead had been torturing them with during their morning training session, and how proud of Alessia she is, no matter the score.
How lucky she feels when Leah ends the call with a gentle good night beautiful, even if she doesn't feel like she is.
..
Next morning's training session is brutal. He makes them run until Aoife Mannion's ankle, still tender from a tackle in the match, gives out. When Alessia tries to help her up, Skinner's voice cuts across the pitch.
"Leave her. If she can't handle it, she shouldn't be here."
Alessia freezes, hand still outstretched. Aoife gives her a small shake of the head, pushes herself up alone. The message is clear: this is how things are now.
The Chelsea match is worse. They lose 3-1, but it's not the score that matters - it's how they lose. Disconnected, hesitant, playing like strangers instead of a team that's spent months building something together. Alessia scores their only goal, a beautiful curling shot into the top corner, but Skinner barely acknowledges it. Instead, he focuses on her missed chance in the 67th minute, picking it apart in the post-match analysis until her hands shake under the table.
"This is what separates good players from great ones," he says, rewinding the footage again. "This is why we're not winning trophies."
The words sting more because Alessia knows she's better than this. She has the stats to prove it - twenty goals this season, more assists than anyone else in the squad. But under Skinner's relentless criticism, every achievement feels hollow.
So, she starts staying late after training, practicing finishing drills until her legs ache and her vision blurs. Trying to ignore the players that talk of leaving. She had suspected Ona might want to go back to Spain, but Mary? Katie? Lucia?
The extra training doesn't help. Nothing helps, except the stolen moments with Leah - phone calls during long bus rides, FaceTimes when they have a free evening. Alessia's careful to make sure that, as far as Leah knows, everything is fine. She doesn't want her girlfriend to worry, not when Leah has upcoming Champions League knockout matches to fret over.
Alessia could only dream of playing European football.
The breaking point comes after a home defeat to Liverpool. It's not their worst performance - they even lead for most of the first half - but everything falls apart after the break. Skinner's substitutions make no sense, breaking up partnerships that have worked all season, and when Alessia questions one of his tactical changes, he explodes.
"If you think you know better than me, why don't you try coaching the fucking team?"
The dressing room falls silent. Alessia feels the tears building behind her eyes, and so she blinks furiously, desperate to not let him see her cry.
She drives home in a daze, barely registering the journey. The house feels too big, too empty. And she knows she should eat something, but the thought of food makes her stomach turn, and all she can do is curl up into a tiny ball on her couch, wishing to be anywhere but where she is.
She doesn't hear the door open. Doesn't register anything until there's a gentle hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice saying her name.
"Less?"
And Leah's there, still in her Arsenal hoodie and sweatpants, and the first thing Alessia feels is relief. Thank God that Leah's here, because she's not sure what would've happened if she hadn't have been.
But then, she feels terribly, horribly guilty. Because Leah can't be here – she's supposed to be in London, preparing for Arsenal's really fucking important upcoming Champions League match, not standing in Alessia's living room in Manchester.
The thought of communicating this all to Leah though, in this moment, feels too much. All Alessia can do is hide her face into her hands, and try to stop herself from crying again. Which, it feels like, is all she does now.
The couch dips beside her, and then there's a familiar warmth pressing against her side. Gentle fingers card through her hair, and the simple touch is enough to make her throat tighten painfully.
"Mary called me," Leah says quietly, and Alessia squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Of course she did. Mary, who's been watching this spiral with increasing concern, who tried to talk to Alessia about it just last week. "She's just worried about you. They all are."
"They shouldn't be," Alessia whispers, but her voice cracks on the last word, and suddenly she can't hold back the tears anymore. They come in a rush, hot and burning, and she presses her face harder against her knees, trying desperately to stop them.
"Hey, hey," Leah murmurs, and then strong arms are wrapping around her, pulling her into a proper embrace. "Come here, love."
Alessia resists for a moment, some last vestige of pride making her try to maintain control, but then Leah's hand cups the back of her head, guiding it to rest against her shoulder, and Alessia breaks.
The sobs wrack through her body violently, months of pent-up frustration and pain pouring out all at once. She clutches at Leah's hoodie, fingers digging into the soft material as if it's the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. And maybe it is, because right now everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
They stay like that for a little while, Leah's hand running soothingly up Alessia's back as the younger woman’s tears wet the front of her hoodie. It's only as Alessia begins to hyperventilate that Leah loosens her grip.
“You’re okay, baby. Deep breaths for me.”
Alessia draws out a shaky breath, and Leah begins to stroke her hair.
“That’s it. Nice deep breaths.”
Alessia tries to speak, to explain, but the words get tangled up in her throat, coming out as broken, gasping sobs instead. Leah just holds her tighter, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her hair, anywhere she can reach.
"I'm supposed to be better than this," Alessia finally manages to choke out, the words wet and broken against Leah's neck. "I'm supposed to – I should be able to handle it. I'm not – I'm not some rookie anymore, I should–"
"Stop," Leah cuts her off firmly, but her touch remains gentle as she pulls back just enough to cup Alessia's face in her hands. Her thumbs brush away tears that are immediately replaced by fresh ones. "This isn't about being able to handle it. What he's doing isn't okay."
Alessia tries to look away, but Leah won't let her. Those blue eyes that can freeze opponents in their tracks are soft now, filled with a mixture of concern and barely contained anger that makes Alessia's heart clench.
"Mary told me what happened today," Leah continues, her jaw tightening slightly. "And about Aoife. And the Chelsea match." Her thumb traces Alessia's cheekbone gently. "Why didn't you tell me it was getting this bad?"
The question makes fresh tears spill over. "You have enough to worry about," Alessia whispers. "The Champions League, and the title race, and – and I didn't want to be another burden–"
"You are never a burden," Leah interrupts, voice fierce despite its softness. "Less, look at me." She waits until Alessia meets her eyes again. "You are never, ever a burden to me."
Fresh tears spill down Alessia's cheeks. "I feel... I feel like I'm drowning, Lee. Every training session, every match – it's like I'm just waiting to make a mistake, waiting for him to point out everything I'm doing wrong, and I can't... I can't..."
Her voice breaks completely, and Leah pulls her close again, pressing a fierce kiss to her temple. "I know, love," she murmurs. "I know. But you're not alone in this anymore, okay? I'm here."
"You can't stay," Alessia protests weakly. "You have training tomorrow, and–"
"I already called Jonas," Leah says, running her fingers through Alessia's hair. "Told him I had a family emergency. He's given me tomorrow off." She presses another kiss to Alessia's temple. "You're more important than one training session."
The simple statement makes Alessia's breath hitch, and she burrows closer into Leah's embrace, seeking out the comfort she's been denying herself for so long. Leah adjusts their position slightly, leaning back against the arm of the couch and drawing Alessia with her until she's practically lying on top of her, face pressed into the crook of her neck.
"When was the last time you ate something?" Leah asks softly, one hand still stroking through Alessia's hair while the other traces soothing patterns on her back.
Alessia has to think about it, which is probably answer enough. "I... had a protein bar after training?"
She feels Leah's sigh more than hears it. "Okay. In a little bit, I'm going to order us some food. That little Italian place you like is still open." Her arms tighten slightly. "But right now, I just want you to let me hold you for a while. Can you do that for me?"
Alessia nods against her neck, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess, I'm sorry you had to drive all this way, I'm–"
"Don't apologise," Leah cuts her off gently. "Not for this. Never for this." She presses her lips to Alessia's hair. "Do you know how many times you've been there for me? After losses, after injuries, after that horrible World Cup final?" Her voice softens further. "Relationships aren't about keeping score, Less. They're about being there for each other, through everything. The good and the bad."
Something in Alessia's chest cracks open at that, and she starts crying again, but it's different this time – less desperate, less painful. These tears feel more like release, like finally letting go of a weight she's been carrying for too long.
Leah just holds her through it, murmuring soft words of comfort and pressing gentle kisses to her hair. Her presence is steady, unwavering, and Alessia gradually feels herself starting to relax for what feels like the first time in months.
"Hey," Leah says softly, rousing her slightly. "Let me order that food, okay? You need to eat something."
Alessia makes a small noise of protest when Leah shifts, not wanting to lose the contact, but Leah just presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises. "Just getting my phone."
True to her word, she only moves enough to fish her phone out of her pocket, keeping Alessia cradled against her with her free arm.
But after she's ordered the food, Alessia's eyes widen. "You hate all of that food!"
Leah taps her gently on the nose. "Sometimes we do things we hate for the people we love."
The words are casual, thrown out like they're nothing special, but they make Alessia's heart skip. Because that's Leah all over - stern and cool on the surface, but capable of such profound tenderness it takes Alessia's breath away.
"I love you," she says, because she needs Leah to know, needs her to understand how much this means.
Leah's expression softens, the way it only does for Alessia. "I love you too. More than you know."