For Molly:

You had wanted to go out with your boyfriend, James Rodriguez, but you were stuck babysitting your younger brother. He was five year old. You two shared a father but had different mothers as your father had divorced from your mother when you were younger. You had been given babysitter duty without much notice after your father had an emergency meeting in Malaga. Your stepmother was out of the country on business, making you the quickest and easiest babysitter for your father.

Sighing, you texted James that you would have to reschedule the date two of you had planned for tonight. James said he understood and that he might come to your father's house after his practice let out, depending on when that was and how he was feeling. You knew that James and your little brother didn't really see eye to eye. Well, it was more one sided dislike.

Your brother was a staunch Barcelona supporter and disliked Real Madrid with a passion. He put more effort into bashing them than he did into his school work. You dating a Real Madrid player hadn't really settled for your younger brother. James hadn't done anything wrong or anything to your brother. It was just a Barcelona vs. Real battle.

You mostly sided with your brother, having been raised in Barcelona yourself. You didn't have anything against the Madrid guys, you actually got on well with most of them, but you were still a Barca girl, no matter what. James respected it and you were always neutral whenever an El Clasico happened, not wanting to anger your boyfriend nor your brother.

You and your brother played Go Fish with the Barcelona themed cards you had gotten him for Christmas. "Do you have any Neymar's?" he asked.

"Go fish. Do you have any Xavi's?" you returned. Your game was interrupted by an incoming call. "Hello James," you smiled. Your brother visibly frowned.

"Hey, do you want to come and get some ice cream with me. I've been craving the stuff lately," James questioned. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend. Reminding him that you were babysitting, he instantly invited your brother too.

"Let me ask him. (Y/B/N), do you want to get ice cream with James?"

"Is there going to be chocolate?" you brother countered. You repeated the question to your boyfriend.

"Yes, there will be chocolate flavored," you replied. Your brother nodded his head quickly. "We'll be out in a second." You cleaned up the cards and pulled on a jacket. Doing the same for your brother, you headed towards the door. Seeing James' car in the driveway, you unlocked the door and walked out of the house. Closing and locking the door behind you, you and your brother were suddenly pelted with white paint. You screamed as did your brother. When all was said and done, you were covered head to toe in white paint. You boyfriend and a few of his teammates peaked out from behind the house.

Seeing you and your predicament, they all laughed. You growled at them as they fell down laughing. "There, now you're both wearing the right color, Madrid white," James laughed. You growled and flung paint at them. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Or until you cover a five-year-old in paint. Delayed by overall shock, your brother's crying soon occupied the air.

You bent down and consoled your brother as James' and his teammates' smiles dropped from their faces like stones off the Leaning Tower of Pisa. "Look what you did," you growled at James, wiping the already drying paint off of your brother's face. Luckily for your brother, and the lives of James and his teammates, there was an outside shower so you wouldn't track any paint inside. You washed your brother as he still sobbed. "It's okay, (Y/B/N)," you soothed. After paint was off you and your brother, you went inside. Giving your brother a full scrub in the bath tub, you sat him in front of the TV. He had stopped crying and was now clutching his stuffed bear to his chest.

You turned on the TV to a Barcelona game rerun and went to go check on the state of your dad's front porch. Lucky for James, the paint was gone. If it was still there you would have buried him right then and there. Speak of the devil, he stepped up onto the porch. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stared up at your boyfriend. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, the boys are too, they just ran for the hills because they thought you were going to murder them," James laughed nervously.

"Who says I'm still not going to? You can be the first martyr if you want," you replied.

"We didn't mean to make your brother cry. It was just a prank because you're both Barcelona supporters," James explained.

"You're lucky you're cute because otherwise I would have dumped you by now, James Rodriguez," you joked.

"Which is why I brought chocolate ice cream and a special surprise for (Y/B/N), if you'll let me into the house," James smiled. You rolled your eyes and dragged your boyfriend into the house by his ear. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, kind of need that ear." Dragging your boyfriend into the living room, your brother looked away from the screen.

"Now, what do you have to say, James?"

"I'm sorry (Y/B/N), I didn't mean to make you cry, it was just a prank," James stated.

"It was a mean prank," your brother retorted, hugging his bear tighter.

"I know and I'm sorry. To make up for my past errors, I brought presents. Here's the chocolate ice cream I promised you," James responded, handing your brother a cup of chocolate ice cream and a spoon. Your brother snatched the ice cream and started to lick it.

"Don't get any on the carpet, (Y/D/N)," you warned your brother.

"And I have another present. You know Neymar, the one that plays for Barcelona? Well, I happen to have this. It's his if you want it," your boyfriend stated, pulling out a signed Neymar jersey. The Barcelona crest a bit crumpled, your brother shot up. He stared at is mesmerizingly. Accepting the gift immediately, your brother was giddy and quickly forgave James without a second thought.

After you put your brother to bed, which wasn't easy because he had just had ice cream, you walked into your bedroom in your dad's house which you used to live in during your teenage years. James sat on your old bed. You dragged him by his ear into the bathroom. "Now you're going to have to help me clean the paint out of my hair," you stated.

"For a price of course," James winked. You rolled your eyes and started the water.