#camavinga

“Cama—” she said between laughters. “Could you please stop?”

Camavinga was hitting her with a pillow, gently, of course, because he would never hurt his best friend. They had known each other for so long and despite her many attempts to annoy him, he wouldn’t fight back. He never did. He didn’t know why.

That day, Eduardo was trying skating with her. For a footballer, he had a terrible balance. While she mocked his attempt of a performance, he fell and scratched his knee. He complained like it was the end of his career.

Between a mix of a huff and a laughter, she took him to her place — they weren’t far away, after all, since it was her skate.

“When you said you had band-aids,” he said while still hitting her with the pillow. “I didn’t think it would be Hello Kitty ones! It ruins all my stylish reputation! What do you think I look like with these?” he asked, stopping for a moment to point to his wounded knee.  

Eduardo was being overly dramatic, and he knew it. It was how their dynamic worked, and he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world

“A princess?” she attempted, trying to hold her laughter.

“You’re so—” Camavinga had given up on hitting her with the pillow and threw himself on her bed.  

She could get under her skin so easily, but that was due to how much she knew him. He was sure that, at this point, they could become one. If he was blind, he could find her by the scent of her hair. And, if he couldn’t smell, Eduardo would still know her from her simple touch of her hand or by touching the strands of her hair.

Was that an appropriate thought? He had to get rid of it.

“What? Beautiful? Smart? The sweetest girl in town?” She teased him.

Maybe she was all of that. Maybe even a bit more. But it was a thought he didn’t dare to cross.

“Annoying is more suitable.” He rolled his eyes.

“My Hello Kitty princess.” She teased him and pinched his sides, making him slightly flinch and huff.

“Fine. Have your field day with your stupid band-aids. I’m going to change them when I get home.” He replied, gruff.

He wouldn’t, not at all. Not when she kneeled in front of him and made sure to take care of him. No matter how silly the band-aid was, he wouldn’t change it.

Did that mean something?

No, he couldn’t think about it. Not about his friend. Much less in her bed.

Eduardo Camavinga was a lot of things. A famous footballer, a Real Madrid player, a charmer, a funny guy. But, in his mind, above all, he was her best friend; the thought terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. He couldn’t stop thinking of her gentle touch against his skin, worried about a mere scratch on his knee that he had made a big deal of.

“Edu?” She asked, the nickname only she was allowed to use. No one else called him that. “You’re spacing out, my dear.”

They were having milkshakes while sitting on a bench at her favorite park. Slowly, Eduardo was starting to realize the number of things he did or places he went because she was happy with it, and how he learnt to love it out of her happiness.

But he couldn’t think about that. Not about her, right?

Although, he had to admit, it was pretty damn hard to not think like that when she called him my dear. He stretched his free arm, with his yellow letter jacket, and put it behind her. A common gesture.

“I was just thinking about football.” Easy escape. Camavinga could get rid of almost anything if he said it was about football. No one dared to say otherwise.

Except her, of course, because she had to be an exception for every damn thing in his life. She knew him too much. Maybe he was going mad.

“You’re a terrible liar.” She said and took a sip of her milkshake as if what she had said was nothing.

“Excuse me?” He said, almost offended. She could see right through him.

“You do this thing when you’re lying that you crease your eyebrows and look away.  Like when you said you wouldn’t buy anything expensive for my birthday.” She explained.

“You think you’re so clever.” Eduardo rolled his eyes. She wasn’t wrong. “You’re not the only one who pays attention, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?” She looked at him, defiant.

“Yeah. For example—” He leaned close to her. If he was truly observant, he would’ve realized the look in her eyes. How her pupils dilated or the way her breath hitched; how she looked from his mouth to his eyes. “The strands of your hair are tucked behind your ear, and you never do that. Besides, you ordered a cappuccino milkshake when you only drink matcha.  Doesn’t sound much like you, does it?”

She bit her bottom lip. She never would have thought he paid that much attention to her.

“First of all, matcha is heavenly. Second, can’t a girl try new stuff?” She argued.

“Sure, Hello Kitty.” He replied with a smirk, going back to appreciate the trees nearby.

“I think I more a My Melody girl.” She said, squinting her eyes, as if she was truly in deep thought about the subject. He just rolled his eyes.

“You’re annoying.” He retorted, holding back a smile. He wouldn’t change a thing about her.

They were both drunk in her room, sitting on her couch while the movie they were watching ended. They had too much of a mixture of apple cider with alcoholic drinks. Didn’t taste perfect, but they just wanted to get wasted. It was their way to relax during a Saturday night.

“You know,” Camavinga looked at her, his tone slurred. “I really like your hair. It’s so pretty and soft and—”

“I really like your mouth.” She interrupted him, not even processing what she was saying. He felt his heartbeat slightly faster, because, at the same time it could mean nothing, it could mean something. “They’re so full and look so soft, perfect to—”

She stopped mid-sentence. She couldn’t say what she wanted to say.

Camavinga leaned closer to her. It was past midnight, and he didn’t give a damn about anything else at that moment but her. She leaned right back, to his surprise.

“Perfect to what?” he asked in a whisper, as if it was another one of their secrets. Something forbidden to say.

“To kiss.” she finally replied, her voice barely audible.

And that was his doom. He couldn’t take it any longer, and he was tired of keeping his thoughts and feelings away.

He leaned closer, inches away from her mouth, closing his eyes as he tried to get courage to do what he had been wanting to for a long time. But, to his surprise, she kissed him. Her soft hands between his jaw and the back of his ear as his hands traveled to her perfect hair. Time stopped for a moment; their minds dizzy from the gentleness of the kiss. It was as if they were testing waters, to evaluate if that was forbidden or not.

It certainly didn’t taste forbidden.

“You taste like apple cider.” She whispered softly against his lips once they pulled away, looking for some air.

“So do you.” He chuckled softly.

“Even if we’re just friends,” she whispered. “We could be more than that, right?”

He opened one of his biggest smiles.