Buns
Mapi’s morning started like every other training day, except for one glaring, frustrating difference—Ingrid wasn’t there. When she woke up, Ingrid’s side of the bed was empty and cold, and she remembered the soft apology whispered the night before about Ingrid needing to leave early to deal with a family emergency. Mapi hadn’t thought much of it at the time, half-asleep and curled into Ingrid’s chest, mumbling her own sleepy reassurance. But now, as she sat in the changing room, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her hands tangled in her own hair, she realised just how much she relied on Ingrid.
She grumbled under her breath, tugging at her hair with a distinct lack of grace. Her usual bun, the one fans recognised her for, felt impossible. She twisted her hair this way and that, trying to mimic the neat, secure style Ingrid always gave her. But no matter what she did, it wasn’t right. Her hands felt clumsy, uncooperative, and every time she thought she’d nailed it, she’d catch sight of some rogue bump or uneven section.
“Mierda,” she hissed, yanking the elastic band free and starting over again.
Her teammates threw her amused glances as they passed on their way to the pitch, some even teasing her lightly. “Need help, Mapi?” someone called, Aitana, probably and she scowled in her direction.
“No,” she snapped, though her tone lacked bite. She didn’t want anyone else touching her hair. This was Ingrid’s thing. Ingrid’s hands, steady and sure, always worked through the tangles and smoothed her hair into perfection. Ingrid, who never rushed, even if they were running late. Ingrid, who hummed softly under her breath while she worked.
After what felt like the fiftieth attempt, Mapi gave up. She tugged her hair into a messy ponytail, muttering curses under her breath as she did so. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. It wasn’t like she was playing a match today anyway. She stomped out to the pitch, her bad mood written all over her face.
Training was a disaster. Her ponytail kept loosening, strands of hair sticking to her neck and face as she ran. She was distracted, irritated, and it showed in her performance. By the time the session was over, she was sweaty, annoyed, and more than ready to go home.
When she finally pushed through the door of their shared apartment, the sight that greeted her was unexpected. Ingrid, who she thought would still be out dealing with her family emergency, was sprawled out on the couch, a thick book resting on her chest. Her legs were stretched out, bare feet propped on the armrest. She looked peaceful, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration as her eyes scanned the page.
Mapi didn’t say a word. She dumped her training bag onto the floor with a loud thud, kicked off her trainers haphazardly, and marched straight to the couch. Ingrid looked up just in time to see her coming, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.
“María, what—” Ingrid’s words were cut off as Mapi all but collapsed onto her, the force of it knocking the book out of her hands and leaving Ingrid slightly winded.
“Ay,” Ingrid managed, her voice breathy as she adjusted to the sudden weight pressing down on her. “What happened to hello?”
Mapi buried her face in Ingrid’s neck, her arms wrapping tightly around her. “You left me,” she mumbled.
“I told you I had to go,” Ingrid replied softly, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on Mapi’s back, trailing soothingly up and down. “Are you okay?”
Mapi lifted her head just enough to glare at Ingrid, eyes narrowed. “No estoy bien,” she declared, her tone dramatic.
Ingrid raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. “And why is that?”
“My hair,” Mapi said simply, as if that explained everything.
Ingrid blinked, her confusion evident. “Your hair?”
“Yes, my hair!” Mapi pushed herself up slightly so she was straddling Ingrid, gesturing to the messy ponytail. “It’s a disaster. I couldn’t do the bun, Ingrid. I tried and tried, but it looked terrible every time. I had to go to training like this!” She tugged at the ponytail for emphasis, her frustration clear.
Ingrid bit back a smile as she sat up, her hands moving to gently frame Mapi’s face. She gently tucked the baby hairs hanging there back behind her ears with the tips of her fingers, thumbs gently swiping over her cheekbones. “It’s just training, amor. No one cares about your hair.”
“I care,” Mapi huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “And the girls laughed at me.”
“They laughed because they know you’re being ridiculous,” Ingrid said as her hands came down to give the thighs on either side of her hips a squeeze, her voice teasing.
Mapi’s pout deepened, and Ingrid couldn’t help but chuckle softly. She leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to Mapi’s nose. “Come on, let me fix it for you.”
Mapi hesitated for a moment before sighing dramatically and sliding off Ingrid’s lap. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to Ingrid, and Ingrid moved to sit behind her, her legs bracketing Mapi’s sides.
Ingrid ran her fingers through Mapi’s hair, her touch light and familiar. She worked silently, smoothing out the tangles and brushing the strands into place. Mapi relaxed under her hands, her shoulders losing their tension as Ingrid’s gentle touch worked its magic.
“You’re spoiled, you know,” Ingrid said after a moment, her tone light and teasing.
“Sí,” Mapi agreed without hesitation. “But it’s your fault. You started doing my hair, and now I can’t do it myself.”
Ingrid laughed softly, securing the bun in place with a few deft movements. “There,” she said, patting Mapi’s shoulder. “All fixed.”
Mapi turned to look at her, settling on her knees in between Ingrid’s legs with small smile tugging at her lips. “Gracias, Princesa,” she murmured, her arms wrapping around Ingrid’s waist.
“You’re welcome,” Ingrid replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Mapi’s lips.