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GERARD SMILED when he entered his room. On a hanger, right in front of him was his Christmas sweater for the contest. And once again, his goal was to win.
FC Barcelona and Real Madrid always appeared as rivals. Rival teams, rival football players. Of course, they were sometimes saying in the media that it was just a show, that they actually went along pretty well, especially the players that were reunited in national teams--mostly the Spanish one. And it was true. But once in a year, there was a real competition between all the players from both teams: it was the day of the ugly sweater party contest.
The name was pretty self-explanatory: they had to choose which one of them was wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater in the room.
Gerard had won the contest during the last four years, and of course, he wanted to win for the fifth time.
He put it on and didn't lose any more time before leaving his house. This year, the contest was at Suarez, which wasn't very far away--better than when it was in Madrid. He didn't like that city, anyway.
He was one of the last one to arrive, and he took his time to say hello to everyone--and to judge their sweaters at the same time.
"Hey, since where are your participating in the contest?" he asked Lionel, who always pretended not to hear them when they were talking about it in the changing room.
"Never, Luis just reminded me that it was free food," Lionel shrugged, which made Gerard laughed.
He sighed when he entered the kitchen. He had seen everyone but one person, and he knew that he was going to be there. He was still bitter because of his loss last year.
"Ramos, always as close to the trash as possible," he said when he saw him focused on his phone.
The madridista looked at him, an eyebrow raised. But both of them stopped trying to find a salty answer when they noticed each other's sweater.
"How..."
"I can't believe it."
"Did you follow me, Ramos?"
"You mean that you followed me. I found this sweater in a small shop in Malaga and the man said that it was the only one like that!"
Gerard shook his head. Despite the color, their sweaters were the same. "He said the same thing to be. He clearly lied to us."
"Red doesn't suit you anyway," Sergio mumbled, and Gerard laughed.
"Because you think that navy blue suit you? Do I need to remind you that it is the color of my club? Blaugrana, ring a bell?"
"We are not talking about football right now."
"Why? Because losing this contest reminds you that you keep losing el clasico?"
"I'm going to win."
"I don't think so. I've won the last four years and you won't end my streak. I want to do una manita."
"Well, game on, Piqué."
🎄
"Has everyone voted yet?" asked Jordi, looking at the box.
Most of them answered positively while the last ones were looking for a paper and a pen to do it.
"Who did you vote for?" Sergio asked Isco.
"Geri."
"What?! Why are you betraying me like that?! I am your teammate!"
"We are voting for the sweaters, Sergio, not the person wearing it. Plus, Geri is my friend as well."
Sergio kept mumbling that it was unfair, but he did not have much time: Marcelo and Coutinho got up to count the votes.
"Why is it only Brazilian people this year?" Raphaël asked.
"The rule is one player from each team, it doesn't say anything about national teams," Luis shrugged.
They started to count the votes, and unsurprisingly, Gerard won.
They ate the celebration cake while making fun of each other's sweaters--one was uglier than the others, which didn't mean that the others were pretty.
Gerard sighed when he noticed than Sergio was alone and sat next to him with his plate on his lap.
"I voted for you," he said, and Sergio frowned.
"Why?"
"Because the color of your sweater is uglier, which makes it the ugliest."
Sergio rolled his eyes.
"Doesn't sound very convincing but okay."
"Would you go on a date with me?" Gerard suddenly asked, and Sergio laughed.
"You high? I'm Sergio, Ramos, remember?"
"Would you?" he insisted.
"Where does that come from exactly? We hate each other."
"The media wants everyone to think that we hate each other because it's good for La Liga, the rivalry and so on. But we both know that it's a lie."
"Okay," Sergio smiled, "I'll go on a date with you."
