Carpools and conversations
When Ingrid finally convinces herself to get out of bed, the weight of exhaustion still sits heavy in her bones. She knows she got -what?- two hours of sleep. Maybe more. Maybe less. Her body is sluggish, her head foggy, and for a long moment, she just sits on the edge of her mattress, rubbing at her face with both hands as she tries to pull herself into some semblance of wakefulness.
Her mind is already miles ahead, fixated on the one thing she’d been dreading since last night -she was going to have to talk to Mapi today.
Starting conversations has never been her strong suit. It used to be. She used to be okay at it, decent, even. But then Isabelle got into her head and took that from her. Took so many things from her. Now, she just… avoids people. Avoids talking unless absolutely necessary. If someone else starts the conversation, she’ll respond -short, clipped, often awkward- but she’ll respond. Even then, she knows she comes off as distant, cold, sometimes even rude. But she doesn’t mean to be.
She’s just anxious.
Anxious they’ll think she talks too much, the way Isabelle did.
Anxious they’ll think her accent sounds stupid, just like Isabelle did.
Anxious they’ll realise she’s just…boring. Stupid. Not good enough.
She swallows hard, the lump in her throat thick and suffocating, and turns on the tap, letting the water heat up before she shoves her hands underneath it. The warmth feels nice against her skin, grounding her for a moment, giving her something to focus on that isn’t the mess in her head.
But then she drifts. Her thoughts spiral, racing faster than she can control, and it isn’t until a sharp, burning sensation sears through her fingers that she snaps back to the present.
She hisses, yanking her hands back. They’re red. Angry.
Shit.
Heart hammering, she fumbles to shut off the hot tap and turns on the cold instead, thrusting her hands beneath the cool stream. The relief is instant but minimal, the sting lingering despite the contrast in temperature.
She doesn’t have time to be concerned about it.
Gritting her teeth, she finishes washing up, dries off quickly, and pulls on her training kit. She doesn’t bother looking in the mirror as she ties her hair back, grabs her already-packed kit bag, and then snatches up her phone and keys before heading for the door.
She pushes the button for the elevator and immediately regrets it. Because when the doors slide open, standing inside, looking far too delighted to see her, is Mapi.
For a split second, Ingrid freezes, her entire body going rigid as the realisation crashes down on her. She wasn’t ready yet. She needed more time. Why hadn’t she waited longer? Left later? Why hadn’t she taken the stairs?
But it’s too late now. Steeling herself, she forces her feet forward, stepping into the elevator even as every instinct screams at her to turn around and bolt.
Mapi grins at her, bright and unbothered. “Good morning, Ingrid.”
Ingrid manages a tight nod. “Morning.”
She stares ahead, eyes locked on the elevator doors as they slide shut. The air feels thick, suffocating, and she can already feel the panic crawling its way up her throat.
She has to say it. She has to. But her tongue feels thick, the words sticking stubbornly to the roof of her mouth. She shifts on her feet, inhales deeply, and forces herself to just get it over with.
“…Thank you.”
It barely comes out above a whisper, strained and unnatural, and the second it’s out of her mouth, she hates it. She hates how forced it sounds, how much effort it took, how humiliating it is that something so simple is this hard for her. Her hands curl into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She doesn’t look at Mapi, but she feels the way her expression softens, the way she shifts slightly as if she wants to reach out, say something, do something.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, Mapi just smiles, her voice softer than usual. “You’re welcome.”
Ingrid swallows. Her throat is so tight it hurts.
Her eyes sting. She feels pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
When they reach the ground floor and the elevator doors slide open, Ingrid moves to bolt. She needs out. Needs space, air, a moment to collect herself before she makes an even bigger fool of herself.
But a gentle hand grasps her own, stopping her in her tracks.
She freezes, going rigid under the touch. Her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing up her ribs as her eyes snap to Mapi. The Spaniard doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t call her out on the tears burning her eyes. She just smiles -soft, patient, understanding in a way that makes Ingrid’s stomach twist- and lets go of her hand.
Then, instead of acknowledging what just happened, Mapi tilts her head, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.
“Can I give you a ride?” she asks, casual, like she’s not offering Ingrid a lifeline. “Makes sense to carpool since we’re going to the same place.”
Ingrid swallows, shifting on her feet. She wants to say no. She should say no. But her mind is blank, her exhaustion too heavy, and she doesn’t have the mental capacity to come up with an excuse, and so she just nods. Mapi grins and gestures for her to follow, leading her to a small, slightly battered car that Ingrid assumes must belong to her.
She unlocks it with a click of the fob, then, instead of just getting in, moves to the passenger side and holds the door open for Ingrid. It catches her off guard, because no one’s done that for her before.
Not even Isabelle, in the beginning.
The thought alone makes her stomach churn, so she shakes it off, ignoring the urge to say something and simply nodding her thanks instead. She forces what she hopes is a genuine enough smile onto her lips as she slides into the seat, taking quiet note of the fact that Mapi doesn’t move until Ingrid is fully buckled in.
Only then does she shut the door and round the car to the driver’s side.
The second the engine turns over, music fills the space around them -some Spanish song Ingrid doesn’t recognize but appreciates nonetheless. The noise is grounding. She tries to settle into the unfamiliar seat beneath her, muscles tight, shoulders still drawn up around her ears. It wasn’t even ten a.m. and she already wanted the day to be over.
Mapi talks as she drives, which shouldn’t surprise Ingrid really. She makes idle, slightly boring conversation before asking about her night.
“What did you get up to?” she asks, glancing at Ingrid briefly before turning her attention back to the road.
“Not much,” Ingrid admits, fingers picking at the hem of her hoodie sleeve. “Just…ate. Slept.”
“Exciting,” Mapi teases, her grin easy, playful. “Did you sleep well, at least?”
Ingrid hesitates before shaking her head slightly. “Not really.”
Mapi frowns at that. “Bad dreams?”
“No,” Ingrid says quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
Mapi hums, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “Happens to me too, sometimes. Too much on your mind?”
Ingrid doesn’t answer, just shrugs, and thankfully Mapi doesn’t push. Instead, she just keeps talking, carrying the conversation effortlessly, answering the same questions Ingrid had forced herself to offer her in return. Her responses are much more enthusiastic, words spilling from her lips in a steady, animated stream.
“I watched this really terrible movie,” she says, shaking her head in exaggerated dismay. “I thought it was going to be good -like, a classic, you know? But no, horrible.”
Ingrid huffs a quiet laugh despite herself. “That bad?”
“So bad,” Mapi insists, glancing at her again with a dramatic sigh. “You ever seen that one where -wait, you like movies, right?”
“I…guess?” Ingrid says hesitantly.
Mapi gasps. “You guess?”
“I don’t watch them much,” Ingrid clarifies, looking down at her lap. “Not really.”
“Oh, that is tragic,” Mapi says, shaking her head as if genuinely pained by the thought. “We need to change that.”
Ingrid blinks at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Mapi says breezily, though the mischievous glint in her eye says otherwise.
Ingrid doesn’t know whether to be intrigued or concerned. The drive is over quicker than she would have liked, and when they finally pull up outside the training ground, she reaches for the door handle. Before she can push it open, Mapi reaches over and taps her thigh, just once, with the tip of her pointer finger.
“If you ever need to talk,” she says, voice light but earnest, “I’m here.”
Ingrid barely manages to nod, throat tight, words stuck behind her teeth. Mapi just smiles at her once more before climbing out of the car. Ingrid exhales, forehead pressing against the window for a brief moment before she forces herself to follow suit. It was clear Mapi knew something was going on with her. Clear she hadn’t done a good enough job at hiding it, and it makes her chest ache in the most horrible way.
She tells herself to she’s going to burrow deeper. Hide it better so Mapi didn’t become anymore suspicious.
*
Training was… too much.
Ingrid couldn’t focus, couldn’t settle. Her mind raced with every small mistake, every misplaced pass, every second she hesitates when she shouldn’t have. And the worst part?
She could feel Mapi watching her.
Not in a cruel way, not like she was waiting for her to mess up -but it still makes her overthink. Makes her hyperaware of her every movement, of the way her body feels too stiff, too awkward, like she wasn’t quite in control of it. And then she did mess up. She lets a pass roll right past her and was too slow to react, too caught in her own head to move in time, and Pere noticed.
“Ingrid, concentrate,” his voice rings sharp across the pitch. “We need you to be switched on. Pay attention.”
Her stomach drops.
The world tilts.
Because now, suddenly, everyone was looking at her. She can feel their gazes, burning against her skin, some curious, some sympathetic, some just watching. Her throat tightens. Tears burn at the backs of her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. Instead, she stares hard at the grass beneath her boots, hands curling into fists, nails digging into her palms.
She hates this.
Hates being seen like this.
By the time Pere calls for a water break, Ingrid barely holds it together long enough to turn and run. She didn’t walk, didn’t even jog -she sprinted back inside, through the empty hallways, until she reaches the changing room and all but collapses onto the bench in front of her cubby. Her heart pounds violently against her ribs, hands shaking as she tears open her kitbag, rummaging desperately for something, anything, to keep herself grounded.
But there was nothing.
No distractions, no lifeline.
Her vision blurs, her breath coming too fast, too shallow, and before she could stop them, the first hot, humiliating tears slip down her cheeks. She sucks in a sharp, broken inhale, barely holding back the sobs clawing their way up her throat-
Then the sound of cleats against the tile make her flinch.
Someone was coming. She panicks, wiping furiously at her eyes, trying to school her face into something neutral, something that wouldn’t show, but it was useless. And then-
“Ingrid?”
Her breath catches.
The door creaks open, and when she glances up, she saw Mapi peeking inside, expression soft with concern. The second their eyes meet, Mapi steps in fully. She shuts the door gently behind her, taking in Ingrid’s tear-streaked face, the way she was sitting hunched over, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to make herself smaller.
“Ingrid,” Mapi murmurs, voice quieter now, like she wasn’t sure how much Ingrid could take.
She takes a step forward, slow, measured, like she was testing the waters, like she wasn’t sure if Ingrid would let her in but was determined to try anyway, and that’s when Ingrid loses it. A sharp inhale shudders through her chest, and before she can stop it, a sob wrenches free.
She turns her face away, humiliated.
She hates this.
Hates being this weak.
Hates that Mapi was seeing her like this.
But Mapi doesn’t flinch. Didn’t judge her. Didn’t say anything stupid like what’s wrong or why are you crying? She just sits down beside her. Not too close. But close enough.
And then, gently, “It’s okay.”
Not what’s wrong? Not what happened? Just it’s okay. Like it was allowed. Like she was allowed.
Ingrid clenches her jaw, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. “It’s not okay.”
Mapi tilts her head. “Why not?”
“Because I messed up,” Ingrid chokes out, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I can’t-I just-“ Her breath hitches, her hands gripping her knees too tightly.
“I’ve only been here three days,” she mutters, shaking her head, voice thick with frustration, “and I’m already screwing up.”
Mapi was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “You think one bad training session means you’re screwing up?”
Ingrid swallows. “It’s not just one.”
“Okay,” Mapi nodded, as if considering. “Two bad training sessions?”
She says it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t something Ingrid should be tearing herself apart over, and maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t. But it feels like it. Mapi sighs, shaking her head, before resting a warm hand on Ingrid’s knee, light but steady.
“You’re allowed to struggle,” she says simply. “You just moved to a new country, joined a new team. That’s a lot.”
Ingrid clenches her jaw, staring down at the floor.
“It doesn’t feel like an excuse,” she mutters.
“Because it’s not an excuse,” Mapi agreed, “it’s a reason.”
Ingrid looks at her then, eyes rimmed red, mouth pulling into a frown.
Mapi just smiles.
“You’re gonna be fine,” she assures her. “You just need time.”
Ingrid swallows, throat tight. She wants to believe her. Wants to let herself trust that it was true. And when Mapi gave her knee one last reassuring squeeze before standing and holding a hand out to her, Ingrid hesitates…
Then reaches for it. Just for a second. Just enough to let Mapi pull her to her feet. Mapi’s grin softens.
“Come on,” she says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get back out there.”
Ingrid exhales slowly, and then, before she could change her mind, she followed.