Chapter Text
The air inside Kapital was choking. Who knew the labyrinthine heart of Madrid’s elite nightlife would reek of sweat and heat? DJ Chus’ set had drawn an exclusive constellation of socialites, celebrities, and athletes into the VIP tiers, but to Gavi, the world had long lost its edges. Everything felt liquid. Neon. Vibrant. Dulled. Stretchy. The strobes bled across his vision, fracturing the lights in the room, making it all the more difficult for Gavi to find his balance.
Beside him, Lamine’s mouth was moving, but the sound arrived inside Gavi’s ears as if traveling through meters of deep water. A muffled rumble. That was when Lamine’s hand came down on Gavi’s shoulder, brutally snapping Gavi’s vision back into focus.
‘... restroom… okay?’
Okay? No, not okay.
Gavi shook his head no. A signal that seemed like a grand gesture before the spike of vertigo came crashing over him. His temples throbbed. He was not a drinker. His body thrived on discipline that included abstinence as often as possible. So the fruity concoctions he had been gulping down all night definitely disrupted something inside Gavi.
‘... need restroom… there…’
‘Fine,’ Gavi barked back, his own voice ringing in his skull like a struck bell. ‘I’m fine. Don’t need it.’
Lamine shrugged. An easy and careless gesture. He turned back into the orbit of his girlfriend, Inés, whose lips curled into a tense little smile as she glanced at Gavi’s swaying frame. Then, she dissolved against Lamine, their mouths colliding. Gavi averted his eyes, prompted by an ugly feeling of alienation that punctured his chest. He forced his gaze to scan the VIP terrace. The crowd seemed like it was pulsing rhythmically with the music. Slick bodies pressing chest to chest. Shoulder to shoulder. A heavy cadence dictated by the bass vibrating through the floorboards. Then Gavi’s eyes caught an anomaly.
A silhouette. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Standing almost infuriatingly proud. Dark hair. The pearly-white smile Gavi often saw across the pitch. One that Gavi would recognize anywhere.
Gavi squinted as the neon green light washed over the back of the guy’s head. Gavi’s heart gave an erratic leap and began hammering like Gavi was in the middle of an imminent disaster. Jude Bellingham. The name itself felt like a threat to whatever sober thought Gavi had left. A toxic cocktail of feelings washed over Gavi. Feelings he wasn't prepared to deal with. Like the suffocating jealousy Gavi had for the Madridista winning an UCL. The polite appreciation for the Madridista’s play. And beneath it all, a silent, bleeding desire that Gavi made sure to bury deep. In the darkest corners of his mind. He had to. He had to keep the shameful secret hidden. No one could find out that Gavi yearned after the man who never even bothered to glance back at Gavi.
Burning with a sudden and unexplainable upset, Gavi lifted his daiquiri and took a massive gulp. A gulp that was a catalyst. The sugary alcohol hit his stomach like liquid fire. The world tilted by forty-five degrees. A sickening wave of nausea rolled over him. His chest felt tight. He grabbed Lamine’s arm, his fingers digging into the flesh of Lamine’s bicep.
‘S-something’s… wrong with the drink,’ Gavi choked out.
Lamine pulled back, his brow furrowing as he took in Gavi’s pale, sweaty face. ‘My dude, you’ve just had way too much. Go to the bathroom and throw up. You’ll feel better.’ He tried his best to sound encouraging.
Gavi wanted to protest. He wanted to stand as defiant as he normally did. But the spin of the room silenced him. The panic tasted like copper on his tongue. Or that might have been the alcohol. He nodded dumbly toward Lamine.
‘You need me to come with?’ Lamine asked, eyes widening slightly in concern.
‘No!’ Gavi snapped, stubbornly and stupidly proud for no reason.
He set the glass down on the floor and turned. His stomach felt borderline corrosive. Gazing into the ceramic of a toilet should be his first course of action. But the alcohol had already injected a strange bravery into his veins. He didn’t take the direct route to the corridor. Instead, his uncooperative feet steered him down the longer path that cut directly behind the VIP booth. Where the silhouette stood.
Gavi wobbled, his shoulder clipping some guy in a tailored jacket, then brushing past a woman who glared at him. But Gavi didn’t care. The anxiety that usually paralyzed him in front of strangers? Not to mention in front of Jude Bellingham? Yeah, that was gone. Gavi was blissfully, beautifully numb. Drowned in alcohol and adrenaline. With every staggered step, the back of the man’s head became clearer. The crisp haircut. The posture of someone who commanded the space around him. The typical arrogance of a Madridista. It was him.
Just as Gavi came closer, Bellingham turned around. The suddenness of the movement took Gavi by surprise. His foot caught on an uneven edge of the floor. His balance vanished into thin air. He pitched forward, arms flailing in a goofy scramble to stay upright. He thankfully didn’t crash to the floor, managing to arrest his momentum by slamming his hip against a high table. But the damage was done. He had made an ass of himself.
Bellingham’s usually neutral and guarded eyes widened in surprise. His eyebrows shot up as he looked at the undignified display that was Gavi.
‘Gavi?’ Bellingham didn’t seem to believe his own eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ His voice sounded quite crisp. Not quite as slurred as Gavi would have expected, at least. His hands twitched slightly. Almost as if he were unsure if he needed to reach out and steady the wobbling wreck in front of him.
Next to Bellingham, Mastantuono and Vinícius stared at Gavi with superiority. Detached. Mocking. And Gavi hated being caught unprepared in front of Madridistas. Without a quip ready or a smartass retort. So Gavi forced his spine to straighten. Forced himself to stand proud. Desperately forced himself to regain his dignity by occupying space. As if his face didn’t burn from the inside out.
‘Yeah,’ Gavi blurted the word out loud and as clearly as he could manage. ‘Fine. Have a…’ He managed to stifle a hiccup. ‘... good time.’
Without waiting for a reply, Gavi wrenched himself away, moving with the unnaturally stiff gait of a soldier. He marched straight toward the sanctuary under the restroom sign. The moment he crossed the threshold, the bass dropped its volume. The quiet helped magically suppress the nausea. Or that might have been the humiliation. Gavi stumbled to the marble sink and gripped the edges with a ferocity that left his knuckles white. He leaned his weight onto it as if he were an astronaut battling low gravity.
Gavi looked up. The mirror showed a stranger. Even with the room spinning in slow circles, he could see his face was a luminous red. Stained by the alcohol, but deeply scorched by the shame. He let out a long breath, then grinded his teeth in anger at his own pathetic display.
And just to prove the universe was never kind to Gavi, the door clicked and swung open. Gavi’s eyes darted to the reflection. Bellingham stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him.
‘Uhm. Are you sure you’re okay?’ Bellingham asked awkwardly, his voice quite low and raspy.
Gavi’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. Why was Bellingham here? Why did Bellingham follow him? What could Gavi even say to the guy when the entire world was spinning mercilessly?
‘Yes,’ Gavi spat the word out, unable to suppress the simmering fire in his chest.
Bellingham’s presence felt like a threat. A sweet one, but a threat nonetheless. One that Gavi was nowhere near equipped to deal with right now. So he wrenched himself away from the mirror, aiming his body toward the exit. The sudden pivot sent the room into a fresh frenzy of dancing lights and shapes. And amid it all, Gavi’s foot betrayed him again, sliding useless against the squeaky floor.
Gavi braced for the impact of the tiles, but it never came. Bellingham’s hand shot out, catching Gavi firmly by the elbow. The grip was solid, effortlessly absorbing the momentum and hosting Gavi upright. Bellingham looked down at him. His brow furrowed as his eyes flicked between the empty stalls, the door, and Gavi.
‘You’re leaving?’ Bellingham asked, confused. ‘Weren’t you here to…’ he trailed off.
It didn’t matter. Gavi wasn’t paying attention. His frail focus shrunk to a single point of contact. Bellingham’s fingers wrapped around his arm. His gaze dropped, staring at he hand holding him like he witnessed an anomaly in the universe. The warmth of Bellingham’s skin bled through Gavi’s shirt, and it only served to amplify the dizziness.
Left without a reply, Bellingham’s eyes began scanning Gavi’s face, taking in the flush. ‘You really don’t look good,’ he mumbled. ‘Are you sick?’
Gavi lifted his head, the motion making his ears scream. It might have been the haze of the alcohol, but he could have sworn he saw something in Bellingham’s gaze. A subtle tightening around the eyes. That of… concern?
Whatever it was, it frightened Gavi. So he pulled away. Not with a clean break Bellingham would have expected when they tussled against each other for corner kicks. But with a clumsy lurch reminiscent of a small toddler that didn’t have full control over his limbs. Nevertheless, he managed to break the contact, praying that Bellingham wouldn’t make fun of him.
‘I’m fine,’ Gavi insisted, his throat dry. ‘Just… I just… needed a break from the noise.’ His heart skipped a beat at the stupid excuse he managed to bring forth.
Bellingham’s lips thinned into a straight line. He tilted his head as if studying the way Gavi’s words ran together at the edges. ‘Say, uh… How much have you had to drink tonight?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ Gavi replied proudly, puffing his chest out in a desperate bid to summon his typical bravado from the pitch.
Bellingham let out a soft sight. ‘So uhm. What exactly did you drink?’ He spoke slowly this time. Softly. Almost like he was coaxing information out of a small child.
‘Just cocktails,’ Gavi mumbled, crossing his arms to hide his trembling hands. But why? Because of Bellingham? No. The room must have been cold. Surely.
Bellingham raised an eyebrow. ‘Which one? Was it any good? Do you recommend it?’
‘The daiquiri is kinda shit,’ Gavi admitted. ‘The Sex on the Beach was okay. The Long Island was good though…’
‘You mixed them?’ Bellingham screeched, eyes widening in disbelief. ‘All of them? Why would you do that? That’s stupid!’
Shame hit Gavi for some reason. He felt hot. Like his skin was about to catch on fire. Maybe he had had a few too many, but it was none of Bellingham’s business.
‘What?’ Gavi flared his nostrils, leaning forward slightly in hopes of intimidating the Madridista. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that I can’t live a little. I can do what I want.’
Bellingham didn’t argue back. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. A faint trace of pity was noticeable in the slope of his shoulders, and that felt like a violation to Gavi. Being hated was clean. Being feared was useful. But being pitied was pathetic.
Bellingham was blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside Gavi. He turned to the sink. He twisted the tap. He let the water run, checking the stream with this index finger. When he seemed pleased with the temperature, he cupped his palm under the stream, then looked back at Gavi, gesturing with a tilt of his head for him to step closer.
Gavi blinked in surprise, then looked at the floor that seemed to rise and fall like waves. But Bellingham’s presence pulled Gavi’s reluctant feet forward anyway. Then, Bellingham’s wet hand touched his face. The shock of the freezing water against his burning skin made Gavi gasp. But he didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he found himself leaning in. Bellingham was unexpectedly tender. His fingers moved with a gentle friction, tapping the cold water across Gavi’s forehead. Down his temples. Along his flushed cheekbones. Gavi’s eyelids fluttered shut.
Standing this close to Bellingham was a hazard to Gavi’s balance. A scalding wave of heat nested itself behind Gavi’s sternum, completely unrelated to the rum and vodka and god knew what else running in his system. But it felt nice. Disturbingly nice.
‘Do you feel like throwing up?’ Bellingham broke the spell, his breath brushing against Gavi’s ear.
And that tiny little puff of air was enough to make Gavi’s knees grow weak. To make Gavi grow weak actually. Like the years he spent keeping his distance from the guy that made Gavi’s heart gallop had evaporated.
‘Not anymore, Gavi confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. He opened his eyes to meet Bellingham’s gaze.
‘It might be better for you to go rest,’ Bellingham proposed gently, his hand resuming the same tapping motion after another dip under the faucet. ‘The music isn’t even that good for you to endure this,’ he finished with a chuckle. A light and sweet sound.
A sound that short-circuited Gavi’s brain. He merely hummed in response, too busy to focus on Bellingham’s wet palm against his skin instead of producing sentences. Too busy to stop his treacherous mind from creating a forbidden fantasy. One where Bellingham’s hand slid down his neck, drew him closer, and conquered Gavi’s lips. A manic daydream induced by the intoxicating combination of Bellingham’s proximity and the alcohol.
Seeing that Gavi wasn’t producing any words and staring at him wide-eyed, Bellingham cleared his throat nervously. Worry flashed in his eyes before he turned off the tap.
‘You really don’t look that good. Are you here with someone?’
Gavi’s mind flickered to Lamine. Lamine, who would laugh his ass off if he were to see him now. Lamine, who would tease him mercilessly if he ever found out a touch from Bellingham was all it took for Gavi to crumble. His pride reasserted itself.
‘No,’ Gavi lied. ‘I came alone.’
Bellingham’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘Okay, uhm. I can take you. What hotel are you staying at?’
Gavi opened his mouth, but the name was gone. Lamine had made the booking. The details of his accommodation were trapped somewhere behind a thick wall of rum and vodka.
‘Oh! A-at the M… Me… ri… me… a…’ he stammered, this tongue uncooperative in producing a single name, no matter if the wrong one.
Bellingham watched him struggle, obviously assuming Gavi was too drunk to remember his own name, let alone a hotel name or a street address. He rubbed the back of his neck in what seemed like an anxious gesture.
‘Listen… do you want to crash at my place for the night?’ Bellingham averted his eyes. ‘It’s fairly close.’
Gavi’s jaw tightened rigidly to keep his breathing from sounding as ragged and desperate as it suddenly felt. Behind the pure shock at Bellingham’s proposal, a breathtaking flare of joy erupted somewhere deep inside. A place not corrupted by the alcohol’s toxic influence. A place untouched by the riot that was tearing through every fiber of Gavi’s being. A place where his sensible self remembered their rivalry. A place that automatically populated Gavi’s thoughts with a polite refusal his mouth was forced to expel.
‘No, no. It’s fine. You shouldn’t ruin your night for me. Keep partying,’ the words tumbled out unpolished.
Bellingham tutted. ‘I told you, I’m not really into the music anyway,’ he said, gesturing vaguely behind him from where the muffled bass still thudded. ‘I only came because Viní dragged me here. I don’t mind an excuse to leave,’ he chuckled weakly.
The offer was too sweet. The temptation too big. The prospect too enticing. Gavi should have spent more time making it seem like he was weighing his options. Like he was debating with himself. But he just nodded. Possibly with a dumb look on his face. Immediately, he could taste the bitter defeat on his tongue. He shouldn’t have given in so easily to Bellingham. He shouldn’t have accepted. He shouldn’t be blushing like an idiot again. ‘Okay, just… Maybe I do need to take a leak, after all.’
‘Okay,’ Bellingham said, his posture relaxing as he stepped back toward the door. ‘I’ll go let the guys know I’m taking off. Meet me outside the main entrance, okay?’
‘Yeah.’
Gavi stumbled into the nearest stall just as Bellingham made his leave. He pissed the alcohol out, but that didn’t seem to sober him up by much. He washed his hands, staring at the wild-eyed man in the mirror. Was he really doing this? Was he really throwing all caution to the wind and just… going to Bellingham’s house? Spent the night there? Gavi wasn’t particularly known for his finesse or wit but this was stupid even by his standard. So stupid that he burst back into the neon-drenched club, navigating the sweaty crowd with a singular focus. The exit.
The cool night air hit Gavi’s still damp skin, and it managed to carve away some of the thickest layers of the fog. He spotted Bellingham instantly. Bellingham was leaning against a railing under the amber glow of a streetlamp, his thumb scrolling idly on his phone. When he looked up and saw Gavi, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He slipped the phone into his pocket and nudged his head toward the adjacent street.
‘Uber’s arriving here,’ Bellingham explained, brow knitting as he focused on the exact little pin on the app.
Gavi fell into step beside him, his shoes scraping clumsily against the cobblestones. His world has lost its coordinates. But he followed the heat of Bellingham’s body. Stupidly so. Recklessly so. As expected of a drunkard perhaps. The drunk leading the drunk maybe? Maybe? Bellingham seemed weirdly sober.
‘Did you drink tonight?’ Gavi blurted out, his voice a little too loud in the open air.
‘A couple of Cuba Libres,’ Bellingham replied, not looking over.
‘And you’re not sick?’ Gavi inquired, feeling profoundly wronged. How was Bellingham that alert and smooth after alcohol and he wasn’t?
‘No.’ A trace of amusement colored Bellingham’s tone. It sounded both nice and infuriating at the same time. ‘Because I don’t mix my drinks.’
Gavi let out a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically as he muttered a curse under his breath. A curse that Bellingham seemed to ignore. Bellingham stopped at the corner of the sidewalk, and Gavi’s momentum carried him a step too far before he awkwardly halted, turning back. If Bellingham noticed, he was quiet about it.
‘The driver should be here in two minutes,’ Bellingham announced, reading off his screen.
Gavi nodded. His head was beginning to feel heavy. Like a bowling ball was balancing itself on his shoulders.
Bellingham cleared his throat. ‘So, uh,’ he began quite shakily, looking out into the street traffic. ‘How come you’re even in Madrid?’
‘The concert,’ Gavi replied, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he felt jittery making small talk with a Madridista.
Bellingham turned his head to look at Gavi, and Gavi found himself mesmerized by the way his eyes caught the light of the streetlamps around them.
‘Oh! In that case, I’m sorry. It sucks that you’re sick and can’t stay until the end,’ Bellingham offered sympathetically.
Paradoxically, the sympathy managed to ignite a fresh surge of panic within Gavi. Like his brain was just now catching up to the fact that he was leaving Kapital. With Bellingham. To Bellingham’s place. In theory, at least. Bellingham could take Gavi pretty much anywhere and Gavi would be none the wiser. This was Jude Bellingham, for fuck’s sake. A man from a rival team. From the rival team. The man Gavi secretly liked and openly hated. The man Gavi didn’t know what to expect from. This wouldn’t end well. Gavi knew as much. So why was he going through with this?
A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, pulling Gavi out of his turbulent thoughts.
‘You should take the passenger seat,’ Bellingham proposed. ‘Less likely you’ll throw up if you can see the road.’
Without waiting for a reply, Bellingham stepped forward, and opened the front door. Looking straight at Gavi, he nodded his chin toward the interior. Gavi swallowed hard, but he couldn’t argue with that logic. He nodded dumbly, and swung his frame into the front seat, and offered a quiet greeting to the driver. Bellingham slid into the back seat, and greeted noticeably louder and clearer. But the driver bore the expression of profound, late-night boredom. The kind of expression that showed the man was done with this job. Gavi reached for the seatbelt. His fingers felt too stiff yet too loose as he stabbed the metal tongue into the clip three times before it finally clicked.
The car took off, drifting smoothly into the night. Gavi didn’t even have the time to admire the Madrid streets under the moonlight. A sharp vibration in his pocket made him flinch. He dragged his phone out, squinting his eyes as the letter danced in front of his eyes.
Lamine
r u ok in there?
Lamine
do u need help?
Shit. He had forgotten about Lamine. Too late to turn back now.
Gavi
i’m fine
Gavi
i’m off
Lamine
off?
Lamine
off to where? 🤨
Gavi could never tell Lamine the truth. Or anyone else for that matter. Lamine might think Gavi had gone mad and stage an intervention. Or he might think Gavi was being kidnapped and call the police. Or he might taunt Gavi until the end times for even entertaining a Madridista over this.
Gavi
just needed to leave
Lamine
i feel like i should come after u
Gavi
no need
Gavi
i’m with someone
Lamine
oh
Lamine
OH
Lamine
my man! 👏
Gavi
yeah
Lamine
riiiight then 😏
Lamine
have fun
Gavi
thanks
Gavi shoved his phone back inside his pocket, and stared out the window. It was calming given the silent ride. Watching blurred lights of the city distracted Gavi from the bitterness that began to simmer beneath all that alcohol-induced numbness. He was trapped inside a car. A car heading toward Bellingham’s place. A place where things would be awkward as fuck. And with the way the wheels were turning, Gavi knew he had no other choice but to brace himself for the fallout of his stupid decisions.
When the car finally slowed, Gavi’s chest tightened automatically. The car pulled up to a gated estate nestled in what Gavi could only assume was one of Madrid’s exclusive neighborhoods. Bellingham led him through a beautifully arranged patio, the air smelling faintly of wet grass. Desperate to puncture the silence between them, Gavi cleared his throat.
‘Nice house,’ Gavi chirped.
‘Thanks,’ Bellingham said simply. His fingers flicked over a keyless lock, and the door clicked open. He stepped inside and held it. ‘Come on in.’ He gestured for Gavi to follow.
Gavi stepped inside the minimalist foyer, and kicked off his shoes. Bellingham straightened his spine after neatly removing his own shoes, and turned back toward Gavi, his eyes scanning Gavi’s still pale face.
‘Do you feel like throwing up right now?’ Bellingham inquired curiously, yet surprisingly gently.
Gavi’s stomach did a violent flip at that sound, but he knew it wasn’t the alcohol his body was reacting to anymore. These were nerves. ‘No,’ he lied, keeping his chin up.
Bellingham nodded with an almost imperceptible smile, and pivoted toward a corridor. ‘Come on,’ he invited. ‘You should eat something.’
That was definitely not what Gavi expected. He expected… well, nothing much. But definitely not Bellingham feeding him.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Gavi protested as politely as he could, scurrying behind Bellingham toward what was obviously the kitchen. ‘Besides, I think I’m taking enough advantage of your… hospitality.’
Bellingham laughed. A soft laughter that echoed in the quiet house. He didn’t look back. ‘I can’t risk being an asshole to a rival, now can I?’ he jested. ‘You’ll talk to the press, and it’ll be enough to ruin my reputation.’
That couldn’t be why Bellingham was nice. That was Gavi’s only fear right now. The fear that Bellingham would tattle to the press that Gavi got drunk in the middle of Madrid and accepted a ride back to Bellingham’s place like a cheap offering. And yet a small, completely involuntary smile cracked through Gavi’s anxious expression as he followed Bellingham into a massive, squeaky clean kitchen.
‘Please. Sit,’ Bellingham gestured to a high barstool at the island.
Gavi relented and dropped onto the faux leather seat, leaning his elbows on the cool stone counter. It helped keep his upper body stable. Bellingham moved almost gracefully across the kitchen. The kind of grace that bordered on domestic comfort. One so different from the one Bellingham displayed on the pitch. Same confidence, less machismo. Bellingham opened the refrigerator, extracted two eggs, and placed them in a small pot. He filled it with water from the tap, set it on the stove, and pressed a few buttons until the water began to hiss.
The silence stretched again, and Gavi couldn’t help but wonder if Bellingham would rather have the quiet or wanted to give Gavi to the chance to keep his mouth shut in case he felt like vomiting.
‘Do you always invite drunk people back to your house?’ Gavi dared to ask, his eyes tracking Bellingham’s hands with childlike curiosity.
Bellingham laughed again, seemingly pleased, and picked up a loaf of bread and a long knife. ‘I’m not that charitable, no.’ He cut four slices of bread.
Gavi frowned. The answer was vague. The kind of answer that slid off like water. He wanted more. He wanted to understand whatever cosmic coincidence pulled them together tonight.
‘We’ve uhm… we’ve never really talked before,’ Gavi noted, his voice dropping an octave. ‘Not outside of El Clásico.’
Bellingham paused, the knife resting against the cutting board. He looked at Gavi, his lips curving into an enigmatic smile.
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Bellingham said with a casual cadence.
‘Uhm, sure,’ Gavi grunted, his irritation slipping through uninhibitedly thanks to the alcohol. He hated how vague that answer was. ‘But you just let me into your house. What if I am a violent maniac?’
Bellingham let out a louder chuckle as he turned back to the fridge. ‘I already know you are a violent maniac. I already played against you, remember?’
The amusement in Bellingham’s voice was obvious as he pulled out a large tomato and a handful of arugula, moving to the sink to rinse them. Gavi had to let out another rough grunt of approval, though a knot of dissatisfaction remained tight in his chest. Bellingham turned off the water, shaking the moisture away. Then his eyes locked onto Gavi’s.
‘I could ask you the same thing, you know. How come you accepted to come here?’
The question hit Gavi as if Bellingham had sucker punched him. His intake of air felt painful. His throat felt dry. The real answer burned at the tip of Gavi’s tongue. He had accepted because he was genuinely drawn to Bellingham. Because he genuinely wanted to be closer to Bellingham. Because the alcohol made him stupidly optimistic and dangerously stupid about the whole situation. But Gavi couldn’t say that. He could never say that.
‘I’m drunk,’ Gavi mumbled, dragging the syllables into a loose drawl. He averted his gaze to watch the water in the pot begin to bubble frantically. ‘I’m prone to stupid decisions now, no?’
Bellingham’s lips curled into a smirk. It was quite a precious look. He turned back to the cutting board, the knife slicing through the tomato with rhythmic snaps.