Apologies
The days following Ingrid’s confession are quiet but steady. Her body aches, every muscle protesting even the simplest of movements, and the bruises -deep purple and yellow blotches scattered across her hips, back, and arms-linger stubbornly. Each morning, she wakes up stiff and sore, flinching when she stretches too far or presses too hard against a tender spot.
Training doesn’t come easily. Her legs feel like lead whenever she runs, and sharp pain flares up whenever someone brushes against one of her bruises. The girls seem to notice, and after one particularly rough drill, Patri pulls her aside as they’re jogging back to reset.
“Hey,” Patri says, slowing her pace until Ingrid does too. “Can we talk?”
Ingrid wipes the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead, her heart sinking. She knows what’s coming.
“Sure,” she mutters.
Patri doesn’t look smug or pleased with herself. She actually looks… regretful. Nervous, even.
“Look,” Patri begins, her voice softer than usual. “About the other day… after Pere made you run those laps…” She pauses, drawing in a breath. “I shouldn’t have -we shouldn’t have -tackled you like that.”
Ingrid swallows hard, unsure of how to respond.
“I mean,” Patri continues, “I know Pere was punishing you, but we -we didn’t have to pile on like that. I guess we were just pissed off that you didn’t tell anyone what was going on with you. But that’s no excuse.”
Ingrid bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t know how to handle this -the sincerity in Patri’s voice, the apology she hadn’t expected but somehow still feels undeserved.
“It’s fine,” Ingrid mumbles, barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the pitch.
“It’s not,” Patri insists, stepping in front of her to stop her from walking away. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”
“I wasn’t,” Ingrid says quickly. “And honestly… I deserved it.”
Patri’s face twists in disbelief. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” Ingrid insists, her voice rising slightly. “I let everyone down. I ran away like a coward. I-I just…” Her breath stutters, and she shakes her head. “I deserved it.”
“You didn’t,” Patri says again, firmer this time. “But… I get why you feel that way.”
Ingrid drops her gaze to the ground, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Patri says again, her voice softer now.
Ingrid nods slowly. “It’s… it’s okay.”
The apology doesn’t fix everything -Ingrid knows that- but it helps. Because forgiveness, as difficult as it is, feels necessary. She has to forgive Patri, forgive the girls… and most of all, she has to forgive herself.
Through all of this, Mapi stays close. Not overbearing, not pushy -just… present. She’s still her usual self: smiling, laughing, making jokes that earn Ingrid’s rare but genuine smiles. The confession lingers, quiet but unspoken, yet nothing feels strained.
If anything, Mapi’s presence has grown softer.
She seems to know exactly what Ingrid needs before she even knows it herself. A nudge when Ingrid looks too caught up in her head, a hand steadying her waist during a tricky drill, a lingering hug after training when Ingrid’s body feels like it’s been beaten with a bat.
“You okay?” Mapi murmurs one afternoon after training, her arm draped lazily across Ingrid’s shoulders as they walk to the changing rooms.
Ingrid exhales, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Come over tonight,” Mapi suggests. “I’ll make pasta.”
“I’m fine,” Ingrid says quickly.
“You don’t have to be,” Mapi replies just as quickly. “I’ll make the sauce you like -the creamy one with the mushrooms. And garlic bread.”
Ingrid’s lips twitch despite herself. “You’re trying to bribe me with carbs?”
“Absolutely.” Mapi grins, giving her a little squeeze. “So? You in?”
Ingrid sighs, but it’s not heavy -it’s almost light.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m in.”
Mapi’s face lights up, and that smile -the one that scrunches her nose and makes her eyes shine- makes something warm curl in Ingrid’s chest.
*
Ingrid lingers in front of her mirror longer than she should, adjusting the hem of her shirt for the third time. The fabric clings a little closer to her skin than she’s used to, and the soft pink colour feels… different. Not bad, exactly -just different. Her hair falls naturally around her face, still slightly damp from the rushed blow dry, and her bracelets clink quietly as she pulls her fingers through the strands, trying to smooth them down.
“This is ridiculous,” Ingrid mutters to herself.
It’s just Mapi. Dinner with Mapi. Like always. She’s been in Ingrid’s apartment a hundred times before; she’s seen her at her worst, curled up on the couch in sweats and a hoodie, barely holding herself together. Ingrid doesn’t need to impress her.
And yet here she is, dressed in fitted jeans and a top that feels just a little too pretty for a casual night in.
“Pathetic,” she mutters under her breath, but she grabs her keys and heads out the door before she can second-guess herself any more.
The hallway smells faintly of spices and herbs when Ingrid steps out of the lift, and she knows immediately that Mapi’s already started cooking. She knocks softly on the door, and it only takes a few seconds before it opens.
Mapi grins, her smile easy and familiar. She’s dressed casually, in black joggers and a loose grey hoodie that’s slightly oversized -probably Ingrid’s if she had to guess. Her hair’s still damp, waves falling naturally around her face.
“Hey,” Mapi greets, stepping back to let her in. “Come on in. I’m just finishing up the sauce.”
Ingrid steps inside, toeing off her shoes and placing her bag neatly by the door. The apartment smells amazing -garlic, herbs, something rich and creamy.
“It smells good,” Ingrid says quietly, following Mapi into the kitchen.
“I know,” Mapi says smugly, stirring the pan on the stove.
Ingrid huffs a small laugh and leans against the counter, watching as Mapi adds a sprinkle of salt to the sauce and gives it another stir.
“You look nice,” Mapi says casually, not even looking up from the stove.
Ingrid freezes, her hand tightening slightly around the edge of the counter. “Oh. Uh… thanks.”
“You going somewhere after this?” Mapi asks, still too casual, like she’s not even aware of the effect her words are having on Ingrid’s rapidly beating heart.
“No,” Ingrid says quickly, maybe too quickly. “Just… felt like putting something else on. Y’know… jeans instead of sweats.”
Mapi hums, finally looking over her shoulder. She eyes Ingrid briefly, a teasing smile playing at her lips. “Trying to impress someone?”
Ingrid scoffs, feeling her face flush hot. “No,” she says, a little too defensive. “Shut up.”
Mapi laughs, turning back to her cooking. “Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “I’m just saying… you look good.”
Ingrid doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she stays quiet, fiddling with the rings on her fingers as Mapi finishes cooking.
By the time they’re both settled at the table, plates full of pasta and slices of garlic bread on the side, Ingrid’s managed to calm down a little. The food is good -really good- and she finds herself relaxing as they talk.
Mapi tells her about some disaster Patri had in the gym earlier that morning, laughing as she mimics the way Patri had nearly launched herself off the treadmill. Ingrid chuckles along, feeling lighter with every passing minute.
“So,” Mapi says after a while, her voice softer now. “How’ve you been?”
The question is casual enough, but Ingrid knows what Mapi’s really asking.
“I’m okay,” Ingrid says carefully, stabbing at her pasta with her fork. “I mean… I’m still tired. And sore.”
“I bet,” Mapi murmurs. Her eyes flicker down to Ingrid’s wrist, where faint bruises still peek out beneath her bracelets. “I’m still mad at Pere for making you run like that.”
“It’s not Pere’s fault,” Ingrid says quickly. “I-I deserved it.”
Mapi frowns. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true,” Ingrid insists. “I should’ve -I should’ve handled things better. I shouldn’t have just… disappeared like that.”
“You were struggling,” Mapi argues. “You’re allowed to have bad days, Ingrid. You’re allowed to need time.”
Ingrid shakes her head. “Not like that.”
Mapi sighs, setting down her fork and leaning back in her chair. “Look… I know you’re hard on yourself. I get it. But you can’t keep punishing yourself for -for just being human.”
Ingrid swallows hard, suddenly feeling a lump form in her throat.
“I’m just… trying,” she says quietly. “Trying to be better.”
“You are better,” Mapi says, her voice firm. “I see it, even if you don’t.”
Ingrid looks down at her plate, blinking rapidly to stop her eyes from watering.
“Hey,” Mapi says softly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Ingrid murmurs, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Mapi watches Ingrid quietly for a few moments. Ingrid’s head is bowed, her fingers nervously twisting the rings on her hand. Her shoulders are tense, and there’s a heaviness about her that Mapi doesn’t like.
Without really thinking, Mapi stands up from her chair. She steps over to where Ingrid sits, her socked feet making no noise against the floor. With a gentle nudge of her knee, she pushes Ingrid’s chair back just enough to give herself space to step in between her legs.
Ingrid’s head snaps up in surprise, her eyes wide and uncertain.
“What are you-?”
“Shh,” Mapi murmurs softly, resting a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. She keeps her touch light, giving Ingrid the chance to pull away.
Ingrid freezes for a second, her gaze flicking between Mapi’s face and her hand. Then, slowly -cautiously- she gives a small nod.
That’s all the permission Mapi needs.
Carefully, she wraps her arms around Ingrid, tugging her in close. Ingrid’s head falls directly against Mapi’s chest, and Mapi feels her exhale a shaky breath. One of Mapi’s hands cups the side of Ingrid’s head, fingers threading gently into her damp hair, while the other traces slow, soothing circles across her back.
For a moment, Ingrid stays stiff in her arms. Mapi can feel the tension in her shoulders, the way her breathing stutters as though she’s still deciding whether to allow herself this comfort.
But then, after what feels like an eternity, Ingrid’s arms slowly snake around Mapi’s waist. Her fingers curl into the fabric of Mapi’s hoodie, clutching tightly, like she’s afraid to let go.
“There you go,” Mapi murmurs softly, her lips brushing against Ingrid’s hair. “Just breathe, princesa.”
Ingrid lets out a shaky breath, her face pressing a little more firmly against Mapi’s chest. The faint scent of her shampoo -coconut and vanilla- clings to her hair, and Mapi’s fingers stroke lazily through the strands, tracing gentle lines against her scalp.
“You’re okay,” Mapi whispers. “I’ve got you.”
For once, Ingrid doesn’t fight it. She doesn’t tense or pull away. She just sinks deeper into Mapi’s embrace, her breathing evening out as her fingers unclench slightly against Mapi’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Ingrid mumbles after a while, her voice muffled against Mapi’s chest.
“For what?” Mapi asks, her hand still tracing comforting circles along Ingrid’s spine.
“For…” Ingrid trails off, her fingers gripping Mapi’s hoodie a little tighter. “For everything. For running away. For ignoring you. For being… a mess.”
Mapi’s hand stills for a moment, and she tilts her head slightly to press a kiss to Ingrid’s hair.
“You don’t have to apologise,” she murmurs. “Not for any of that.”
“I do,” Ingrid insists. Her voice is small, strained. “I -I hurt you.”
“You were scared,” Mapi says simply. “And you’re allowed to be scared, Ingrid. I get it.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with it, though,” Ingrid whispers. “I should be better than this.”
Mapi pulls back just enough to look down at her, one hand still cupping Ingrid’s face.
“Hey,” she says firmly, waiting until Ingrid meets her gaze. “You are better. Don’t you see that?”
Ingrid shakes her head slightly. “I feel like I’m just… stuck.”
“You’re not,” Mapi says, her thumb brushing gently along Ingrid’s cheek. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re getting there. Little by little.”
Ingrid exhales shakily, her eyes wet as she leans back against Mapi’s chest.
“I’m scared,” she admits quietly.
“I know,” Mapi murmurs. Her fingers resume their slow movements against Ingrid’s back. “But you’re not alone, princesa. I’m right here.”
They stay like that for a long time -Ingrid wrapped tightly in Mapi’s arms, her ear pressed against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. For once, Ingrid doesn’t overthink it. She doesn’t worry about what it means, or whether she’s letting herself get too close.
All she knows in that moment is that she feels safe. And that, for now, is enough.