Avoidance
Ingrid grips the steering wheel a little too tightly as she pulls into the training ground’s car park. Mapi is in the passenger seat, humming along to whatever song is playing on the radio, entirely unbothered.
She always is.
And Ingrid should find that annoying -should find her annoying. But, if she’s honest, the steadiness of Mapi’s presence has become something of a comfort. Not that she’d ever admit it. She parks, shutting off the engine, but makes no move to get out just yet. She’s tired. She always is.
Mapi doesn’t say anything about it, just stretches, arms above her head, before turning to Ingrid with an easy grin.
“So,” she says, drawing out the word. “Dinner at mine tonight?”
Ingrid swallows. “Can’t,” she lies smoothly. “Frido asked me to hang.”
Mapi raises a brow, amused. “That so?”
“Yeah.” Ingrid nods, forcing herself to look at her as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Promised her yesterday.”
Mapi hums. “Mm.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and that’s somehow worse. Because Ingrid doesn’t know if she believes her. Or if she just doesn’t want to call her out on it.
Still, Mapi doesn’t push, just nods once before opening the door.
“Alright,” she says, casually. “Tomorrow then.”
It’s not a question.
Ingrid exhales, shaking her head. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
Mapi smirks. “So, tomorrow.”
Ingrid scowls. “You’re annoying.”
Mapi beams, utterly unoffended. “And you love me.”
Ingrid doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at her. Just grabs her bag, shoulders it, and climbs out of the car. But she feels Mapi watching her, like she’s trying to see past whatever Ingrid is trying to hide.
And the worst part?
She probably can.
Ingrid keeps up the act for a while, convincing herself she’s doing the right thing. That pushing Mapi away -just enough- is for the best. She still shows up for their usual dinners, still talks to her at training, still gives her a lift to and from practice. But she doesn’t let Mapi stay again. Doesn’t let herself get comfortable.
She keeps things controlled.
Predictable.
Safe.
And if that means she doesn’t sleep anymore, well -that’s fine. She gets by. A few hours here and there. It’s enough. It has to be. But Mapi isn’t stupid. She notices, and she doesn’t like it. So, she becomes more insistent. She starts asking to hang out more. Casually, at first. Then, not so casually.
And Ingrid keeps coming up with excuses. Like, ‘Frido asked me to hang out. I have to call home. I need to clean. Get groceries’.
Mapi doesn’t push. Doesn’t argue. Just hums, nods, and lets Ingrid go. But Ingrid knows. Knows Mapi doesn’t believe her. Not really. And she knows, sooner or later, Mapi is going to call her out on it.
It happens after training, in the locker room, when Ingrid is half-dead on her feet, too exhausted to think straight.
Mapi is leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, watching her.
And then-
“You’re avoiding me.”
It’s not a question. Just a statement. Blunt. Direct, and it freezes Ingrid in place, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
She swallows. “I’m not.”
Mapi tilts her head. “Really?”
“Yes,” Ingrid says, sharper than she means to.
Mapi just hums. “So, if I asked to come over tonight, you’d say yes?”
Ingrid’s stomach drops. She hesitates, and Mapi catches it.
She smirks, all-knowing. “Thought so.”
Ingrid scowls. “I’m busy.”
Mapi rolls her eyes. “Oh, right. You’ve got that thing.”
“Exactly.”
“Which is?”
Ingrid glares. “None of your business.”
Mapi just grins. “Because it’s fake.”
“It’s not fake,” Ingrid snaps.
Mapi just laughs, infuriatingly unbothered, and Ingrid hates it. Hates that Mapi can see through her. Hates that she cares so much. And hates that she almost -almost-wants to let her in.
Mapi steps closer. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
Ingrid clenches her jaw. “Do what?”
“Push me away.”
Ingrid huffs, shaking her head. “I’m not.”
Mapi just looks at her. “Yeah, you are.”
And she says it so simply, so gently, that Ingrid suddenly wants to scream. Because Mapi doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand. If Ingrid lets her in -if she gets used to her-
And then she leaves-
It’ll destroy her. Absolutely, completely, pathetically destroy her, and she’s barely functioning as it is. She can’t risk that. So, she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and mutters, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And then she walks out.
Because if she doesn’t-
She might stay.
Ingrid doesn’t realise she’s crying until she reaches her car. The tears feel foreign, trailing down her face, hot and relentless, soaking into the fabric of her hoodie as she hurriedly swipes at them. She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper, frustration curling in her chest. She shouldn’t be crying -not here, not now, not over this.
Her breathing is shallow, shaky, as she yanks open the driver’s side door and slides into the seat. She grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white, trying to steady herself, trying to stop the trembling in her hands. It’s fine, she tells herself. She just needs a second. Just needs to breathe.
And then-
Shit.
Mapi.
Ingrid had taken Mapi to training today.
Which means she has to take her home.
Her stomach twists.
She can’t just leave her stranded. She won’t.
But that means-
That means she has to pull herself together. Has to make sure Mapi doesn’t see. Because if Mapi sees, she’ll ask, and Ingrid doesn’t have the strength to answer.
With a sharp inhale, she rummages through the glove compartment and yanks out her sunglasses, shoving them onto her face even though the sun has already started to set. Maybe it’ll hide the redness in her eyes, the damp streaks on her cheeks.
She’s barely had time to compose herself when she hears the quiet thump of Mapi’s kitbag hitting the boot. Ingrid stiffens, her fingers flexing against the wheel, and a second later, the passenger door opens and Mapi slides in beside her. She doesn’t speak, but Ingrid feels her looking. It’s suffocating -the weight of it, the unspoken concern pressing against her ribs.
The car is too quiet.
Too still.
Ingrid grips the wheel tighter, keeping her gaze locked forward. She wills herself to stay composed, to ignore the way her whole body feels like it’s vibrating with exhaustion. She swallows against the lump in her throat and turns the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life, and she pulls out of the lot, keeping her eyes on the road.
Mapi doesn’t say a word.
But she’s still watching.
Ingrid can feel it. Can feel the way Mapi’s gaze flickers to her hands, which are still trembling slightly, to the tension in her jaw, to the way she’s holding herself too rigidly, like she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart entirely. Her stomach churns.
She hates this. Hates how much Mapi sees. Hates that she even cares.
The drive is quiet. Unbearably so. Ingrid’s head is heavy, thoughts swirling like static, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight she can’t shake. Her body is drained, her eyes burning with the effort of keeping them open. She can still feel the dampness of her tears drying against her skin, the sting of them lingering, and she wonders-
Does Mapi know?
By the time she pulls into the garage, her hands ache from how tightly she’s been gripping the wheel. She shoves the gear into park and bolts. Out of the car before Mapi can stop her, shoulders hunched, steps hurried as she makes her way toward the door to the apartment building.
But Mapi is faster. Quicker than Ingrid expects. She moves around the car with purpose, stepping in front of Ingrid before she can escape. Blocking her path, and Ingrid freezes. Heart pounding. She could push past her. Could force her way inside and pretend none of this happened.
But then-
Mapi reaches up. Slowly. Carefully, and pulls the sunglasses from Ingrid’s face.
Ingrid flinches -instinctively, involuntarily- but Mapi doesn’t react. She just tucks the sunglasses into her pocket, her movements gentle, deliberate.
And then she sees.
Sees Ingrid’s puffy, bloodshot eyes. The lingering wetness on her cheeks. The exhaustion written into every inch of her face.
Mapi’s brows furrow, her expression softening, and Ingrid-
Ingrid hates it. She clenches her jaw, turns her head away, as if that’ll somehow make her less visible. As if it’ll stop Mapi from seeing just how fucking pathetic she is. But Mapi doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand answers.
She just…moves closer, and then, slowly, gently, she reaches out to pull Ingrid into her arms.
Ingrid stiffens. Her whole body goes rigid, instinct screaming at her to pull away, to put distance between them, to run. But Mapi doesn’t move. She just holds her. Not tightly, not forcefully. Just…enough. Enough to let Ingrid know she’s there. Enough to let Ingrid choose.
And Ingrid knows she shouldn’t. Knows she should step back. Should push her away. But she just-
She can’t.
Her body sags before she can stop it, her face pressing into Mapi’s shoulder as her fingers curl weakly into the fabric of her hoodie. She’s still tense. Still wary. Still half-expecting Mapi to let go, to pull away, to leave.
But she doesn’t. She stays. And Ingrid?
Ingrid just lets herself fall. Lets herself be held. And she knows she’ll regret this later. Knows she’ll hate herself for it. Knows it’ll only make things worse. But right now…
Right now, she just needs it.
And so for the first time in longer than she can remember-
She lets herself be held.