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Jude knows this is a bad idea.
He knew it the second Gavi dangled the car keys in front of him with that stupid little grin, like this wasn’t a death sentence waiting to happen.
Realistically, Jude could have called his mum, or Viní, or literally anyone else with a license and a basic respect for road safety. But somehow, against all logic, against all sense of self-preservation, he let his boyfriend talk him into this.
Now he’s standing outside the car, hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether he values his pride more than his life.
Gavi sighs from the driver’s seat. “Seriously, mi corazón? You’re going to be late for your Adidas photoshoot.”
Jude knows that. But he’s also seen the TikToks featuring what Gavi’s teammates think about his driving.
Jude is physically capable of driving. He just prefers to be driven, especially after his ‘scandal’. The one from years ago, when someone caught him using WhatsApp while sitting in the driver’s seat. The internet immediately ate him alive for it.
He can handle backlash over football, can brush off articles picking apart his performances, but criticism over something as mundane as his driving? Yeah, he’d rather not live through that again. It’s easier to just let his mum or Viní take the wheel. Safer, too.
“Swear to me you’re a good driver,” Jude says, narrowing his eyes.
“Jude.”
“Swear to me, Pablo Martín Páez Gavira,” Jude repeats, using Gavi’s full name like he’s his mother.
Gavi lifts a hand in the air. “I swear.”
“On your life?”
Gavi snorts. “On your life.”
Jude mutters “God help us all,” makes the sign of the cross, and climbs into the passenger seat. But not before checking— once, twice, thrice— that his seatbelt is secured extra tight.
Gavi watches all this with barely concealed amusement, dressed in Jude’s hoodie like it somehow makes him look more trustworthy. Does he look cute? Yes. Does he look like a reliable driver? No way. “You good?”
“Just drive, Gavi.”
For the first few minutes, it’s fine. Suspiciously fine. Gavi sticks to the speed limit, turns smoothly, doesn’t even attempt anything reckless. Maybe Jude did overreact. Maybe everyone had exaggerated about Gavi’s lack of driving skills.
Unfortunately for Jude, he didn’t overreact. Everyone hadn’t exaggerated.
The moment Gavi gets comfortable, the speedometer climbs at an alarming rate, making Jude jerk back against the seat. His hand flies to the safety handle above the door, gripping it with all the strength in his body.
“Gavi!”
“What?” Gavi looks way too casual for someone who has just violated at least three traffic laws.
“Be careful!”
“I am being careful.”
“This is careful?!?” Jude barely gets the words out before Gavi weaves through traffic with the confidence of a Formula 1 driver.
The car ahead is moving too slowly for his liking, so Gavi swerves into the next lane without so much as a signal, accelerating as if he’s on a racetrack.
Jude’s stomach plummets down to his asshole. “Who do you think you are, Lewis Hamilton?”
“I wish.”
Jude, on the other hand, wishes he’d taken the bus. Or the train. Or walked. Or teleported. Anything but this.
A roundabout approaches, and instead of slowing down like a normal person, Gavi speeds up to cut in front of another car.
“Gavi, no—”
“I’m on fire!” Gavi yeses. The car barely squeezes through, tires screeching loudly as he makes the turn.
Jude presses himself against the seat, eyes squeezed shut, muttering every prayer he can think of.
As soon as he opens them, his horror multiplies.
Because Gavi, the absolute lunatic, takes one hand off the wheel.
Jude sputters. “Why are you driving one-handed?! Put both hands on the wheel, you bloody idiot!”
“I’m fine, Jude,” Gavi says, rolling his shoulders like this is a leisurely Sunday drive.
“This is not fine! You’re not fine! I’m not fine!”
“Don’t be scared, Jude!”
Jude grips the handle even tighter, his knuckles turning white. “If I die today, I am haunting you.”
Gavi presses on the brakes with too much force. Jude lunges forward against his seatbelt, cursing Gavi’s entire bloodline.
“Oh my God, Gavi, do you know what smooth braking is?”
“Not really.”
Jude gapes at him. “That’s not something to be proud of!”
But Gavi is already onto the next issue. His favorite: speeding. The moment there’s an open stretch of road, he guns it.
The engine roars, and Jude’s soul leaves his body. “You do not need to go this fast!”
His boyfriend waves him off. He is actually crazy. “I’m not going that fast.”
“Yes, you are! Slow down!”
Gavi relents, but only slightly. He lets off the gas but still takes another turn way too sharply, causing Jude to slide to the side.
“Gavi!”
“We’re almost there.”
Jude doesn’t care. Every second in this car takes a year off his life.
By the time Gavi finally pulls up to the Adidas building and parks, Jude is slumped against the seat, breathing hard. His hand is clenched around the handle, muscles aching from how hard he’s been holding on.
He makes the sign of the cross again. Gavi makes him more religious. “Thank you, God.”
Then Gavi, the absolute lunatic, has the gall to turn to him, all smug and unbothered, and ask, “How’s my driving?”
Jude stares at him, utterly flabbergasted. “Did you not see me pissing myself the entire time?”
Gavi just laughs, actually laughs. Like this was all some fun little game.
Jude has already made up his mind. Next time, his mum is driving him. He is never letting the maniac next to him drive him anywhere ever again.
But then Gavi leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Jude’s lips, warm like an apology.
And for a second— a single, fleeting second— Jude almost forgives him.
Then Gavi pulls away, looking all pleased with himself, and Jude glares.
“I am never getting in a car with you again.”