𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚 || 𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙤 𝙜𝙖𝙫𝙞

𝘁 𝘄 𝗲 𝗹 𝘃 𝗲

DEEP CUTS
"her voice is my favorite song and her eyes are my favorite painting"

~mallory~

somehow gavi and i managed to sleep in the same room peacefully without clawing each others throats out.

we did get in a teeny argument about pillows because he claimed he needed three to be able to sleep properly. which i considered unfair because we only had four and i thought it was only right for us each to get two.

he snapped at me and somehow we ended up on the topic of pedri and who he likes better. i eventually had to leave the room because he was pissing me off so much and i was so close to punching him as hard as i could.

i ventured around the dark camp nou corridors and curiously explored the rooms id never been inside of, for a while to cool off. when i returned gavi was already asleep, so i was very grateful i didn't have to deal with his infuriating attitude and bullshit.

this morning when i woke up, the mess of brown hair beside me was absent, so i'm currently strolling into the bathroom with a small smile on my face, humming the lyrics to a song softly.

on my walk last night i managed to find some extra clothes in some random medical and office rooms on the second floor i've never even been in before. i'm sure the workers won't mind if i borrow a few sets.

i took another shower and get dressed quickly. when i return back to the locker room, gavi was lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, feet crossed, and staring up at the ceiling.

he turned to me when the door creaked opened, but quickly looked back at the ceiling, uninterested. "here's your sweatshirt back." i chuck the sweatshirt at him and he catches it with ease, sitting up.

"you keep it." he throws it back at me and i stare across the room at him unphased as i don't attempt to catch it and it falls to the floor by my feet. "i don't want to wear anything that you did." he rolls over on his side and goes back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

i stare at his back for a couple seconds with a wierd expression before kicking the sweatshirt towards the other side of the room and shoving an airpod in my ear. i was also able to find a charger last night so i got to charge my phone. apparently pablo did too.

"anyways, i'll be on the pitch if you need me." he hums quietly and i walk out of the locker room, pressing play on my spotify playlist, turning it to full blast.

i'm pretty sure i'll be deaf by the time i'm thirty because i constantly have my airpods in at full blast. i'm always listening to music, i can barely survive a day without it.

i walk onto the pitch, the morning dewy grass tickling my ankles. i pull my hair into a messy ponytail on my head and stuff my phone into my pocket before taking off down the pitch.

i decided if i'm going to be stuck at camp nou anyways, i might as well make the most of it. and what better way to start a beautiful day except a little run.

i do laps around the field, sprinting on the goal lines and jogging at my preferred pace on the touchlines.

i discard my sweatshirt by the bench as i start to get hot, leaving me in only a black sports bra and black sweatpants with a small barca crest by the pocket. even though it's quite cold here considering it's winter, running in a sweatshirt and sweatpants isn't very appealing.

i do a couple more laps until i notice pablo standing by the tunnel with his hands on his hips. he watches me curiously as i get closer to the corner flag he's near. "creep." i breathe out, with a small laugh once i'm close enough that he can hear me.