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Ingrid loved to party.
It wasn’t something Mapi fully understood, even years into their relationship. But it was a fact as undeniable as the freckles on Ingrid’s nose or the stubborn way she refused to cut her hair short no matter how much Mapi teased her about it.
Ingrid loved going out.
She loved getting ready, standing in front of their mirror, trying on outfit after outfit until she finally settled on something with a low back and maybe just a hint of glitter. She loved the ritual of it, putting on her favorite gloss, the spritz of perfume, the boots that made her taller than Frido. She loved walking into the club and feeling the bass in her chest before she even saw the DJ. She loved the press of bodies, the freedom, the wildness of it all.
And she really loved dancing.
Mapi… Did not.
For Mapi, going out meant stress. It meant squeezing into clothes that never felt quite right, standing awkwardly in groups where people shouted over music just to ask how your week was going. It meant sore feet, sticky drinks, too much smoke, and way too many people touching her. The idea of being out until four in the morning when she could be at home, curled up with Bagheera, watching some dumb show? No contest.
Ingrid and Mapi were very different in that way.
It hadn’t been a problem when they first started dating. Back then, Mapi would go out just to be near Ingrid. She’d show up to clubs in clothes that weren’t really her style, nursing a drink she didn’t really like, just so she could watch Ingrid laughing, her head thrown back, arms above her head as she danced. It was impossible not to get pulled in by her energy. And sometimes, when Ingrid spotted her standing on the side of the dance floor, she’d walk right over, take Mapi’s hand, and whisper, “dance with me.”
And Mapi always did. Because back then, being with Ingrid was still new, still an adventure.
But years passed. Their relationship deepened. They moved in together, got married, built a life filled with routines and comfort. And somewhere along the way, Mapi stopped pretending she liked parties.
At first, Ingrid didn’t mind.
“I’m going out with the girls,” she’d say, brushing lip gloss on in the hallway mirror.
“Have fun,” Mapi would reply from the couch, already half-asleep in her sweats, Bagheera stretched out beside her.
But the more Ingrid went out, the more Mapi stayed home, and slowly, the distance between their nights widened.
It all came to a head one Friday night.
Ingrid was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, wearing a tight black dress that Mapi had never seen before. Her hair was pinned up, exposing the slope of her neck. She looked stunning. And also like she was already half out the door.
“Frido, Aita, and Esmee are going to Pulse tonight,” Ingrid said, zipping up her boots. “You should come.”
“Nah. You go. Have fun,” Mapi barely looked up from the book she was reading.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. You love that place.”
“But I love you more,” the Norwegian said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s okay,” she smiled, but there was something a little tired in it. “I’m not gonna ruin your night by standing in the corner looking like I want to go home.”
“You wouldn’t ruin it.”
“Come on,” Mapi gave her a look.
“It’s just…” Ingrid sighed. “You never want to go out anymore.”
“Because I don’t like it,” the Spaniard closed the book and set it on the nightstand to give Ingrid all of her attention.
“You used to.”
“I used to do a lot of things I don’t do anymore,” she said, her voice calm but steady. “Not because I liked them, but because I liked you. I still do, but now I’m thirty and with more injuries, and I know you’ll come back home to me either way. So there’s no need to play pretend anymore.”
Ingrid flinched a little, like that landed harder than Mapi had intended.
“Okay,” she murmured, folding her arms. “So what, now I’m selfish for still liking it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re implying it.”
“No. I’m saying…” Mapi sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It’s exhausting to keep pretending I enjoy something I don’t.”
The Norwegian leaned her head back against the doorframe, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
“I just miss you out there,” she said softly.
Mapi looked up at her, at the little crease in Ingrid’s brow, at the vulnerability in her voice.
“I’m still here,” she tried gently. “Just… Not in clubs. Not until 3 a.m.”
“I know,” Ingrid swallowed. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
But neither of them knew quite what to say next.
So Ingrid left either way, but not before she pressed her lips to Mapi’s cheek for a second longer than usual and murmured a sweet “I’ll always come home to you, okay?” before pecking at her lips and walking out.
And Mapi wasn’t worried. She really wasn’t.
She knew Ingrid could hold her liquor pretty well, but that didn't mean she was immune to getting drunk – especially when she was drinking with Frido, Esmee, and Aitana, three of the worst (or best, depending on how you looked at it) drinking partners.
And Mapi didn’t know they had become friends with the owner, who was a big Barcelona fan, and that they had decided the girls should get free drinks that night.
Without that knowledge, she went to bed like every other day. She left the hallway light turned on for when Ingrid arrived and made sure to already leave her water bottle by the nightstand.
But when her phone rang at 2 a.m., she immediately had a feeling she would have to pick someone up.
“Yeah?” She answered, already sighing.
“You should come get your wife,” Aitana's voice came through, sounding half-drunk herself but still coherent enough.
“Is she okay?”
“Oh yeah, she's fine,” the Catalan snorted. “Just, uh… Very in love with you. And very against… Everyone else.”
“What?” Mapi frowned.
“Just come. You'll see.”
With a half-hearted groan, the Spaniard got up more quickly than she would’ve in any other scenario, changing out of the sleeping clothes she stole from Ingrid’s drawer earlier that night. Bagheera meowed when she turned on the lights, but all Mapi did was scratch behind her ears and whisper, “Let’s go save your mama, yeah?” before she put on her sneakers.
By the time she arrived at the club, she spotted Ingrid without much effort – mostly because her wife was standing on a chair, dramatically announcing something to the group.
“So, yeah, I do love my wife!” Ingrid declared, swaying a little.
Frido and Aitana were in tears laughing, Esmee was recording, and Mapi could already feel a headache forming.
“Alright, princesa,” Mapi said, walking up and putting her hands on Ingrid’s waist. “Let's get you home.”
Ingrid looked down at her, eyes wide and scandalized. The Spaniard looked even smaller like that, and if Ingrid were just a little less drunk, she’d totally tease her about it.
But she wasn’t, so she only put both hands on Mapi’s shoulders and pushed her away.
“No.”
“No?” Mapi blinked while Ingrid shook her head, wobbling slightly.
“I’m married!” She argued when Frido tried to stabilize her.
“Oh my God,” Esmee wheezed.
“Ingrid, I know,” the Spaniard said slowly, reaching for her again. “You're married to me. I'm your wife.”
“How do you know that?” Ingrid gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at her.
Mapi stared at her for a second, as if weighing her possibilities.
“Because we had a wedding, Ingrid.”
The Norwegian squinted at her like she was trying to decide whether or not that was true. Then, in a dramatic whisper, she leaned toward Aitana.
“Is she telling the truth?”
“Yeah, she is,” the midfielder nodded solemnly.
But Ingrid frowned again, still suspicious for a moment before she seemed to let it go as she finally stepped down from the chair, only to immediately lean against Frido for support.
Mapi sighed and moved to take Ingrid's arm, but Ingrid yanked it away.
“No!”
“What now?” She rubbed her temples.
“I love my wife,” Ingrid said seriously.
“I know, amor,” the Spaniard murmured, a stubborn smile tugging on her lips.
“No, you don’t understand,” she insisted, poking Mapi’s chest. “I love her so much. And she’s so hot.” Behind them, Frido was absolutely losing it. “And I,” Ingrid continued, enunciating very clearly. “I am a faithful wife.”
“I…” Mapi exhaled through her nose. “That’s great, Ingrid, but I am your wife.”
“No,” she shook her head. “My wife is at home. With our daughter. Our black cat daughter. Being beautiful and amazing and,” she hiccuped, “...And very sexy.”
“She has a point,” Esmee said, still recording.
“Shut up,” the center-back muttered.
“Anyway,” Ingrid waved her off. “I can't go with you.”
“You can,” Mapi corrected, stepping closer.
“No,” Ingrid pouted. “Because I don't cheat. And you,” she poked Mapi’s forehead now. “Are trying to seduce me.”
After a full second of just staring at each other, the Spaniard sighed and decided to just go for it. She grabbed Ingrid’s face between her hands and kissed her – soft but firm, making sure the Norwegian felt it.
It didn’t last more than two seconds, but Mapi felt Ingrid melt into it, and – beginner mistake – thought that was enough.
When she pulled back, Ingrid blinked at her, eyes wide with wonder. Then, in the quietest voice possible, she whispered, “Oh my God, my wife is gonna kill me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mapi groaned.
Frido had fully collapsed against the table, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
“This is the best thing I've ever seen,” Esmee stopped recording just to make sure she had the file on the cloud before she started another video.
“Alright, princesa,” Mapi sighed and took Ingrid's hand. “Let's go home before you convince yourself you’ve actually cheated.”
To the Spaniard’s surprise, Ingrid actually followed her outside the club, not even bothering to finish her drink that still sat half-finished on the booth. Still, she went the whole way out looking around nervously.
“You won’t tell my wife, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mapi muttered, helping her out of the place. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
As soon as they got outside, Ingrid suddenly slowed down, her grip on Mapi’s hand going limp.
Mapi turned, immediately wary.
“Now what?”
Ingrid had gone from looking very sure of herself to looking absolutely devastated. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes were glassy with tears that were about to fall if Mapi said something wrong.
“I cheated on my wife,” she whispered.
“Ingrid, we just….” Mapi closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.
"She’s going to be so sad," Ingrid interrupted, her voice breaking. She stopped walking completely, pressing a hand over her mouth like she had just realized the depth of her betrayal. “She loves me so much, and I…” She sniffled. “I ruined everything.”
“Amor, listen to me, please,” she bit her lip, trying so hard not to laugh.
“I can’t believe I did this,” she went on, shaking her head in self-loathing. “And for what? A hot stranger?”
“Okay, first of all, thank you,” the Spaniard grinned. “Second, Ingrid, I am your wife.”
“No, you’re not,” she narrowed her eyes at her.
“Yes, I am.”
“No,” Ingrid said, stepping away. “You want me to think that, but I know my wife is at home, being perfect and probably missing me.”
“She is literally right here,” Mapi groaned.
“No, she’s not!” The Norwegian shook her head, her eyes welling up again. She started walking faster toward the car, her expression shifting from sadness to full heartbreak. “Oh no," she mumbled, stopping short. “She’s not even here to pick me up.”
“Ingrid,” Mapi took a deep breath, willing herself to be patient at two in the morning.
“This is my fault,” she choked out, her voice full of guilt. “She’s mad at me. She knows what I did. She…” Ingrid covered her face. “She doesn’t love me anymore.”
That did it. Mapi let out a short laugh, unable to hold it back anymore.
Ingrid gasped, eyes wide and betrayed.
“Are you laughing?”
“Yes,” she admitted, wiping at her eyes. “Because you’re being ridiculous.”
“I lost everything,” she whispered while shaking her head, looking utterly broken.
"Come on,” Mapi murmured with a roll of her eyes before tugging on Ingrid’s hand toward the car. “Let’s get you home to your very real wife, then.”
But of course that wouldn’t be easy.
At first, Ingrid refused to let Mapi hold her hand, so the Spaniard decided to just let go instead of fighting. Then, she went back to crying the second Mapi reached for the door, murmuring something about how sad her wife would’ve been if she knew she was letting a homewrecker take her home.
Mapi could only hold back her laugh.
But the real problem came when Mapi reached across Ingrid’s lap to buckle the seatbelt in, and the moment the belt clicked in, Ingrid’s hands shot up and pushed weakly at Mapi’s shoulders.
“Stop it,” she whispered in horror. “You’re really trying to seduce me. In my wife’s car!”
Mapi froze, forehead falling against the car with a thud as she tried not to burst out laughing.
“Ingrid, it’s my car.”
“It’s hers,” Ingrid insisted, her eyes glassy with both alcohol and heartbreak. “Everything is hers. I don’t deserve to be in it after what I did.”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” She lifted her head slowly, giving her a long look.
But Ingrid wasn’t finished. She leaned back dramatically against the seat, one hand pressed to her chest like she’d been mortally wounded.
“She’s so beautiful, María. My wife. And kind. And she smells so good. And she always remembers to bring me my water bottle before we leave for training,” she sniffled. “And now she’s going to leave me because I was weak.”
That was it — Mapi completely lost it. She doubled over as soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, laughing so hard she had to cover her face with her hands.
“You think this is funny?” Ingrid gasped, betrayed. “I ruined our marriage!”
“Amor, listen to me, please,” Mapi finally managed to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “You didn’t ruin anything. You kissed me. I am your wife. This whole drama is just…” She gestured wildly at Ingrid’s devastated expression. “…Happening inside your head.”
“…No,” Ingrid squinted at her, lips wobbling.
“Yes!” The Spaniard groaned, starting the car.
“No,” she repeated stubbornly, shaking her head. “You’re a beautiful stranger. A temptress. A...”
“Don’t say mistress, Ingrid.”
“Homewrecker,” Ingrid finished, almost proudly.
~
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Ingrid had gone quiet, staring sadly out the window like a character in a soap opera. When Mapi parked, Ingrid turned her big, heartbroken eyes on her.
“…I can’t go inside.”
“Why not?”
“Because my wife is in there. And I can’t look at her knowing what I’ve done.”
Mapi dropped her head back against the headrest and muttered, “I married a dramatic Norwegian, this is my life now.”
Then, with infinite patience, she leaned over, unbuckled Ingrid’s belt, and tugged gently at her hand.
“Come on, princesa. Let’s go inside so you can apologize to your wife. She’s waiting for you in bed.”
“She knows?” Ingrid gasped, horrified.
“Oh, she knows everything," Mapi smirked, opening her own door.
It took them just one elevator ride until Ingrid had fully spiraled. She barely looked around as Mapi helped her inside, her shoulders slumped in absolute defeat.
As soon as she stepped into their bed with no wife in it, she let out a tiny, pained noise.
Mapi, who had been about to guide her toward the bathroom, froze completely.
“What now?”
“She’s not here,” Ingrid clutched at the front of her dress.
“Oh my God,” Mapi dragged a hand down her face. “Ingrid, who do you think drove you here?”
Ingrid didn’t answer. She was looking around the room, lower lip wobbling.
“She didn’t wait for me,” she whispered. “She didn’t… She didn’t even leave a note.”
“Amor,” the Spaniard tried, her voice half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “I am your wife.”
But Ingrid didn’t seem to hear her. She turned, taking a few wobbly steps toward the bed before stopping.
“I don’t even deserve to sleep here,” she mumbled. “I should sleep on the couch. No. The floor.”
Mapi sighed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly toward the bed.
“Sit.”
Ingrid barely put up a fight. She sat at the edge of the bed, still looking completely heartbroken.
Mapi stepped between her legs and ran her fingers through Ingrid’s hair for a few seconds, just letting her cry quietly for a moment before she spoke again.
“Okay, princesa , listen to me very carefully,” she said, cupping her face. “I’m your wife. You did not cheat. You just got very drunk and forgot who I was for a second.”
“You promise?” Ingrid blinked up at her.
“I promise,” Mapi smiled softly.
Still, Ingrid didn’t seem fully convinced. Her face crumpled, and before she could react, she buried her face into Mapi’s stomach, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.
“I love her so much,” she mumbled into Mapi’s shirt.
“I know, mi amor,” she placed one hand on Ingrid’s head, the other rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I know. She loves you too.”
“I don’t want to lose her,” Ingrid tightened her grip.
“You won’t,” Mapi said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Ingrid just hummed, already starting to doze off against Mapi’s stomach while the Spaniard smiled, shaking her head. Married woman behavior.
But as much as she just wanted to crawl into bed with Ingrid, she knew the Norwegian was in no state for that yet. So Mapi held Ingrid close for a little longer, letting her nuzzle into her stomach, before finally sighing.
“Alright, princesa, time for bed,” she murmured, gently pulling Ingrid back.
Ingrid made a small whimper of protest but let Mapi help her sit up straight. Her eyes were droopy, her face flushed from alcohol and tears and love.
“You okay?” Mapi asked, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
Ingrid nodded, but then frowned.
“Wait. Do I have to sleep alone?”
“No, you don’t,” she bit back a smile.
“Okay, then,” Ingrid sighed in relief and slumped forward into Mapi again, pressing her forehead against her stomach.
“Come on, let's get you changed.”
Getting Ingrid ready for bed was a process.
First, the dress.
“I love this dress,” Ingrid mumbled, looking down at herself as Mapi worked to unzip it.
“I know, amor.”
“It’s so pretty,” she swayed a little. “Do you think my wife liked it?"
“She loved it,” she reassured, slipping it off Ingrid’s shoulders.
“Good,” Ingrid sighed dreamily. “I want her to think I’m pretty.”
Mapi had to physically bite her lip to stop from grinning again.
Next, the makeup.
Ingrid sat on the closed toilet lid in their bathroom, eyes half-lidded, as Mapi carefully wiped her face with a makeup remover wipe.
“You’re so gentle,” she murmured when she felt Mapi’s fingers holding her chin up.
“Well, yeah, I love you,” Mapi hummed.
“You do?” Ingrid blinked up at her, suddenly glassy-eyed again.
“I do, Ingrid,” she sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead that made Ingrid melt, her arms wrapping lazily around Mapi’s waist.
“You’re so good to me,” she mumbled into her stomach again.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Mapi chuckled, rubbing her back.
By the time Mapi got them both into bed, Ingrid was extremely clingy.
She had wrapped herself around Mapi before the Spaniard even got fully under the covers, her face pressed into Mapi’s neck, arms tight around her waist.
But Mapi only huffed, adjusting until they were both comfortable.
“Alright, you good now?”
Ingrid nodded against her.
“Mmhm.”
They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment. For that long moment, Mapi was finally thinking the war was over, that Ingrid would pass out in a second, and that her only problem from now on would be to deal with a hangover and a moody Ingrid, but that was considerably easier than a “I cheated on my wife” Ingrid.
So she closed her eyes, already half asleep…
“I missed you,” Ingrid mumbled suddenly.
“You were literally out for like five hours,” Mapi peeked one eye open.
“Too long,” she hugged her tighter.
“I’m here now, princesa,” she smiled, kissing the top of her head again.
Ingrid sighed in relief, snuggling even closer.
“I love my wife,” she mumbled sleepily.
“She loves you too,” Mapi grinned, holding her impossibly closer.
~
It was about an hour later when Mapi woke up again, but this time it wasn’t because Ingrid had said something or because she had moved too much.
It was because Ingrid was not in their bed.
The bathroom door was open and the lights were off, so she wasn’t peeing or vomiting. The glass door that led to the balcony was closed too.
Before Mapi could even get up properly to think about where Ingrid could be, she heard a tiny, muffled sound coming from down the hall. So, with a sigh and a look at the clock on the nightstand – 4:23 a.m. –, she padded quietly to the living room.
And there she was.
Curled up on the couch like a punished cat, in one of Mapi’s hoodies that nearly swallowed her whole, knees tucked up to her chest, and eyes red and glossy. She was holding a throw pillow so tightly it looked like it had just confessed to something unspeakable.
“Hey,” Mapi said softly, suddenly very worried. “What’s wrong?”
Ingrid lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red, and the moment she saw Mapi, fresh guilt seemed to flash across her face. She sat up straighter, wiping at her cheeks in a panic, but her voice came out wrecked.
“María, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She blinked, her brain still fogged with sleep.
“I…” Ingrid swallowed hard, fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt. “I cheated on you.”
Mapi stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.
“I kissed someone,” Ingrid’s voice cracked. “And I knew I shouldn’t, but I was drunk, and I tried to stop it, but I didn’t stop fast enough, and now I can’t even remember her name and…” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “I love you so much and I ruined everything.”
The Spaniard just stood there in the dark, staring at her crying wife who had apparently cheated on her...
With her.
She pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. She did. She really tried. But it bubbled up anyway, sharp and incredulous and absolutely out of place in the middle of Ingrid’s existential spiral.
“You’re laughing?” Ingrid’s eyes widened. “I cheated on you and you think it’s funny?”
“Amor,” Mapi finally stepped forward and crouched in front of her. “You didn’t cheat.”
“I did!” She insisted, voice cracking. “I kissed someone else!”
“You kissed me, Ingrid,” she smiled so softly it almost hurt.
Ingrid froze.
“I was the woman at the bar,” Mapi explained gently, brushing a tear from Ingrid’s cheek. “You were trying to push me away the moment I got there because you were so determined not to cheat on me... Even though I am your wife.”
There was a long, silent pause.
Then Ingrid whispered, “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I remember the woman,” she said desperately. “She had brown eyes, a sharp jawline, tattoos, and this stupid little smile…”
“That’s me, amor.”
Ingrid blinked at her. Then again.
“No.”
“You’re describing me, Ingrid,” Mapi’s grin widened.
The realization hit her like a truck. Ingrid made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, grabbed a throw pillow, and screamed into it.
Mapi burst out laughing, not caring about the neighbors.
“I hate you,” Ingrid mumbled from inside the pillow.
“You love me,” Mapi replied, tugging the pillow away and sitting beside her. “And I love you, even when you accuse me of trying to seduce my own wife.”
Ingrid let her bury her face in Mapi’s side again, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist like a child clinging to a stuffed animal after a nightmare.
“I really thought I lost you,” she whispered. “I woke up and I remembered the kiss and I thought... I ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, mi amor,” Mapi kissed the top of her head, holding her close.
They sat there like that for a while, Mapi rubbing circles into Ingrid’s back, Ingrid sniffling quietly into Mapi’s shirt, until the tension slowly bled out of her.
Finally, Mapi stood, tugging gently at Ingrid’s hand.
“Come on, faithful wife. Let’s get back to bed.”
“I’m never drinking again,” Ingrid muttered, but she got up anyway.
“You said that last time.”
“This time I mean it.”
“You always mean it,” she just smiled and kissed her temple again.
Back in bed, once she’d helped Ingrid out of the hoodie and tucked the blanket around her, Ingrid immediately curled up against her again, even clingier now than before, arms around Mapi’s waist, face pressed into her chest like she needed the reassurance of skin and breath and heartbeat.
“Don’t leave,” she mumbled.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
Mapi tightened her arms around her and whispered into her hair, “I promise, mi esposa fiel.”
That earned her a pinch in the sides, but she smiled either way.
~
The next morning, Ingrid woke up slowly, her head pounding, her body still tangled with Mapi’s. She let out a groggy sigh, burying her face deeper into Mapi’s chest.
“Bon día, princesa,” Mapi murmured, her voice warm with amusement.
“Too loud,” Ingrid groaned.
“Poor thing. Hangover kicking in?” The Spaniard laughed, running her fingers through Ingrid’s hair.
“Shut up,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer.
“Oh, so now you wanna be close to me? That’s interesting,” Mapi smirked.
“What?” Ingrid frowned but didn’t move.
“Oh, nothing,” she sighed dramatically, stretching beneath her. “Just funny how last night you didn’t even wanna look at me.”
“What do you mean?” The Norwegian furrowed her brows, still too sleepy to fully process what Mapi was saying.
That’s when Mapi realized Ingrid didn’t remember a thing.
Not the bar. Not the way home. Not the tears on the couch at four in the morning.
So she knew to use that in her favour, just so she’d have a little bit of fun.
"You know,” she grinned. “I showed up to take care of you, like the perfect wife I am, and you," she poked Ingrid’s ribs. “Kept pushing me away. Because, and I quote, ‘I love my wife very much.’”
She felt Ingrid’s entire body tense in a matter of a second, and she could tell the moment the memories came rushing back.
“Oh my God,” she lifted her head slightly, eyes still half-closed, lips parted.
“Oh yes, amor. Oh my God indeed,” the Spaniard beamed.
“Tell me I didn’t,” Ingrid groaned, pressing her forehead into Mapi’s chest.
“Oh, you did,” she laughed, rubbing her back.
"How bad was it?" she asked hesitantly, knowing Mapi was going to milk this for the rest of the day, maybe of their lives.
“Well, let’s see…” Mapi hummed. “You refused to leave the bar with me because you were married and a faithful woman.”
“Fuck,” she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Oh, it gets better,” Mapi continued cheerfully. “When I kissed you to prove I was your wife, you gasped and whispered, ‘Oh my God, my wife is gonna kill me.’”
“Please stop,” Ingrid let out a muffled groan against Mapi’s skin.
“Nope,” she said, grinning. “You also got really sad when we got home because, and I quote again, ‘She’s not even here to pick me up.’ ”
“María,” the Norwegian whined, gripping her waist in protest.
“And!” Mapi ignored her, voice absolutely gleeful now. “You dramatically said you didn’t deserve to sleep in our bed because you cheated. And then you woke up in the middle of the night crying because you actually believed you cheated on me with me.”
“I hate myself,” Ingrid groaned louder, hiding her face completely against Mapi’s chest.
“I don’t. I think you’re adorable,” she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.
“I’ll never drink with Frido again.”
“Oh, I hope you do,” Mapi snorted. “I need more content like this.”
Ingrid sighed again, tilting her head just enough to peek up at her.
“Are you ever gonna let this go?”
“Never,” she smiled sweetly.
“I hate you,” Ingrid groaned and collapsed back onto her.
“I love you too, my very, very loyal wife,” Mapi kissed the top of her head, still grinning.
They stayed in bed for a little longer before Mapi got up to get them something to eat and helped Ingrid to the couch. But between the pounding in her head, the dry mouth, and Mapi’s never-ending teasing, she was beginning to consider exile as a valid option. Maybe she'd move to a remote cabin in Norway and never return.
“Amor,” Mapi called sweetly from the kitchen.
“What now?” Ingrid, curled up on the couch with a blanket over her head, groaned.
“I made you coffee,” she sauntered over with a mischievous grin.
“...That’s suspicious,” she peeked from under the blanket.
“What? I can’t be a loving wife?” The Spaniard gasped dramatically.
“You have an agenda.”
“I always have an agenda,” Mapi placed the coffee in front of her before sitting down beside her, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “So, tell me, mi amor, at what point last night did you start thinking I was a stranger trying to seduce you?”
“I knew you were my wife,” Ingrid let her head fall back against the couch.
“Did you?” She smirked. “Because I remember you in the car looking at me all wide-eyed and whispering, ‘Please, I love my wife, don’t do this to me.’”
“I knew you’d never let this go,” the Norwegian groaned, face hidden on her hands.
“You cheated on your wife, Ingrid,” she leaned in, voice teasing. “This is serious.”
“I kissed you.”
“That’s what all cheaters say,” Mapi clicked her tongue.
With very much effort, Ingrid picked up a pillow and launched it at her. Mapi caught it with a laugh, barely fazed.
“I hate you,” she grumbled.
“And I love you, my very dramatic, very drunken, very in love wife,” Mapi, still grinning, reached out to tug Ingrid closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“...I’m never drinking again,” she sighed heavily, letting herself be held.
“Oh, you will,” she snorted. “And I’ll be right there, ready to remind you how you almost divorced me in a bar because you loved me too much. And I have proof on video. Esmee recorded it.”
“ESMEE DID WHAT?”