A.Putellas ~ sick
The chill in the air didn’t help the ache in your chest or the weight pressing down on your sinuses, but there was no way you were going to miss watching Alexia train. Wrapped in the thickest coat you owned, with a scarf pulled tight around your neck and a steaming flask of tea clutched between your hands, you tried to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible at the edge of the field.
Alexia had been hesitant about you coming. She’d given you a look that was part amusement, part exasperation as you stubbornly insisted you’d be fine, though your sniffles and cough told an entirely different story. Still, she knew better than to argue with you once your mind was made up.
Her teammates noticed you almost immediately, their eyes darting toward you as they arrived for training. It wasn’t hard to see why. You looked completely out of place, hunched over on the bench, your nose red, eyes glassy, and an occasional sneeze echoing across the pitch.
“¿Está bien?” Ona asked Alexia as they warmed up, nodding in your direction.
Alexia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she watched you from across the field, her gaze softening despite the slight furrow in her brow. You caught her looking and waved weakly, managing a faint smile that seemed to do little to ease her concern.
Training began, and Alexia slipped seamlessly into her role. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride watching her, even if your body ached with every breath.
The cold air made you shiver, and the tea in your flask wasn’t staying warm nearly long enough. You shifted on the bench, tucking your hands deeper into your pockets in an attempt to stop trembling. A few players glanced at you as they jogged past, keeping their distance like you were a walking biohazard. Which in their defence, you most likely were.
As the minutes ticked by, your determination began to waver. Your head felt heavy, your body sluggish, and you had to lean against the back of the bench just to keep yourself upright. Still, you stayed. It wasn’t often you got to watch Alexia train, and no amount of discomfort was going to stop you from being there for her.
When training finally wrapped up, Alexia was the first to head in your direction. Her brow was furrowed in concern, her hair damp with sweat, and her hands resting on her hips as she approached. She didn’t say a word at first, simply crouching in front of you, her brown eyes scanning your face.
You tried to muster some semblance of reassurance, but all you managed was a weak smile before another shiver wracked your body.
Alexia sighed, her tough exterior momentarily slipping as she reached out to cup your cheek. Her hand was warm, a stark contrast to your icy skin, and the gentle touch nearly brought tears to your eyes.
Before you could protest, Alexia stood and carefully wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. Your body resisted at first, stiff and awkward, but she held firm, her hands sliding down to your thighs as she lifted you effortlessly from the bench.
Instinctively, your legs wrapped around her waist for balance, and you let out a quiet groan as your head came to rest against her shoulder. The scent of her shampoo mixed with the faint tang of sweat, oddly comforting as you melted against her.
“Okay,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by her shoulder. “Maybe I’m not fine.”
Alexia’s grip tightened slightly, her fingers pressing into your thighs to keep you secure as she carried you toward the changing rooms. You couldn’t understand the soft stream of Spanish she muttered under her breath, but the tone was unmistakable, half worry, half frustration.
By the time she reached the warmth of the locker room, you were completely limp in her arms, too exhausted to argue or even lift your head. She set you down gently on a bench, crouching in front of you again as she reached for your coat to loosen it.
Your eyes fluttered shut as her fingers brushed against your neck, her touch impossibly tender despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. You let out a contented sigh, leaning into her hand as she adjusted your scarf.
Alexia stood abruptly, disappearing from view for a moment before returning with a bottle of water and a towel. She pressed the water into your hands, waiting patiently as you took a few sips, then used the towel to dab at your flushed face.
The care she showed was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the stoic demeanor she usually presented to the world. It was moments like this that reminded you of the depth of her love—the way she let her walls down completely for you, even when she struggled to find the words to express it.
As she worked, she muttered something softly in Spanish, her voice laced with concern. You didn’t need to understand the words to know what she was saying: You’re going to be the death of me.
When she was satisfied that you weren’t about to collapse completely, Alexia sat beside you, her arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. You leaned into her without hesitation, your head resting against her shoulder as her fingers traced soothing patterns along your back.
The tension in your body slowly began to ease, the warmth of her presence chasing away the lingering chill. You knew you’d hear about this later—her frustration at your stubbornness, her insistence that you take better care of yourself—but for now, she held you in silence, her touch speaking volumes where words failed.