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It was just that Rishabh never sulked, and currently, Virat got the distinct feeling that Rishabh was sulking with him.

Normally you could crack any joke at his expense. Any meant any. He never took offence. Every one of the seniors (well, maybe not Jinks) loved teasing him, it was a foolproof way of listing the atmosphere of the room.

Rohit would take a ludicrous picture of him on a trip and straightaway post it on Instagram for the world to see, and Rishabh would whine, "Delete it, Rohit bhaiya...delete it..." But just about that. "Virat bhaiya, tell him to delete it..."

Then Virat woud check the picture and laugh, and say, "You look just like a centipede here, Rishu," and Rishabh would whine some more.

But never sulk.

Today, he was definitely sulking. Virat had dealt with enough sulky indivuals to recognize it.

And he did know the reason.

___________

"Virat bhaiya, it's missing leg," said Rishabh firmly.

Virat stared at Siraj indecisively. Siraj, who, just having compelled the captain into taking a wrong review, was grinning sheepishly, trying to convey with his eyes, It's Root, take the review, take it, take it.

With Siraj, it was always take it take it take it.

"Well," said Virat. "I guess it's worth the—" He raised his hands.

"Virat bhaiya, no, it was clearly missing—" Rishabh's restraining arm on Virat's came a second too late; the review had already been signalled.

Well.

It missed leg.

Rishabh returned to the keeper's position without another word.

There was not the ghost of a grin on his face. Rohit and Virat exchanged an indulgent smile around his head.

_____________

But Virat hadn't thought he'd taken it so much to heart, that he'd still be sulking, after having bundled England out for only a 27-run-lead; the day had ended well, their team was hopeful, optimistic, but Rishabh was sulking.

"Hey, Rishu," said Virat cautiously, entering his room that night. "Everything ok?"

"No," said Rishabh.

"Er," said Virat, taken aback at the prompt admission. I mean, people tended to say yes when asked a question like this, and would have to be coaxed an hour to admit everything was not all right. "Because of the review?"

"Yes," said Rishabh, turning his back to the door where Virat was standing.

Virat went up to sit beside him.

"Come on, I'm sorry," he said. "It was Root, I thought we shouldn't let the chance go in case—"

"There was no in case," said Rishabh sulkily. "I saw it was missing leg by a mile. I told you."

"Siraj thought it'd clip leg—" tried Virat.

"He always thinks that!"

Siraj did always think that. All bowlers wanted reviews on their own deliveries, but no one yelled like Siraj did, and no one got reviews wasted like Siraj did. That was the truth.

"I know," admitted Virat.

"You never listen to me," said Rishabh. "You never, ever listen to me."

Another truth was, Rishabh, in the past two series, had tried to refute most of Siraj's wrong reviews, and Virat hadn't listened most of the times.

Maybe they still took him lightly. Rishu, the baby of the family. What would he know?

Virat felt a prickly guilt inside.

"It's not about not listening to you. I was following my insticts...that's what I do, during DRS calls...sorry I didn't..."

"You listened to Mahi bhai," whispered Rishabh.

Virat was dumbfounded for a moment.

"You didn't follow your instincts then," said Rishabh, making to get off the bed. "None of you did. Rohit bhaiya, Jinks bhaiya, you."

Virat caught him around the waist and pulled him down again; there was no way he would let him leave in this state.

"Let me go, Virat bhaiya!"

"Wait, wait—jeez, stop struggling—"

"Let me go. I don't want to talk to you." Now Rishabh sounded close to tears.

"Rishu, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were thinking that way—"

Rishabh stopped flailing and slumped down again, his eyes closed to, Virat knew, blink back tears.

If he'd known the kid would take it this way, he'd have sacrificed his instincts a hundred times over.

"What do you want?" demanded Rishabh tearfully.

"Just that you listen to me for a while," coaxed Virat. "I truly am sorry, Rishu. I get over excited on the field after every appeal, and Siraj's excitement just makes it worse. I should've listened to you today, both times. I should always listen to you—you've got so good at judging reviews these days—"

"But you never do!"

"I know—"

"Every team listens to their keeper while taking reviews. Every team except ours." Rishabh was staring down at his knees. "Because we had Mahi bhai, who got everything correct, and we no longer have him..." At that point, he did dissolve into tears.

Virat threw his arms around him and squeezed him with all his strength.

"But we have you. It's stupid to mope about not having Mahi bhai anymore, and forgetting we have you...don't cry, kiddo..."

Rishabh was clinging onto him now.

"After all, Mahi bhai chose you," said Virat, suddenly knowing he'd found the right words. "Thousands of aspiring keeper-batsmen in the running, but Mahi bhai chose you. We chose you, all of us."

"Do you miss Mahi bhai, Virat bhaiya?"

"Oh..." said Virat, surprised. "Of course I do...I mean," he added in a mumble, "who doesn't?"

"I miss him a lot," sniffled Rishabh. "Specially during reviews."

"I miss him specially when we've lost a match," said Virat. "No one can make you feel better than Mahi bhai after a loss."

"But—but," said Rishabh, looking up in confusion. "You do that best, Virat bhaiya. Motivating after a loss. You do that better than Mahi bhai...anyone."

A speechless Virat stared at Rishabh's tear-streaked face.

"I don't think we would've won the Border Gavaskar trophy if we hadn't lost the first match, and you hadn't given us that talk," said Rishabh, suddenly sounding stubborn. "No one gives talks like you."

"Well, if you think so..." Virat absent-mindedly ruffled Rishabh's hair, the other arm still around him. "If you really do..."

Rishabh didn't seem to have realized how he had set Virat's world spinning by that sigle, unwitting observation of his.

"But during reviews," Rishabh persisted, stubborn again.

"We'll try not to miss Mahi bhai during reviews again," said Virat. "You'll judge, I'll listen to you. Just like it should be...after all, the keeper has the best view, undebated. And we'll no longer waste two reviews every match over stupid appeals. Siraj's, especially," he added, sniggering. "Done. Ok?"

"Ok," said Rishabh, smile back in place.

Virat wiped the drying tears away from his cheeks. Rishabh actually let him do it. The he glanced at the time, which was past eleven.

"Come on, we'd better sleep...we've to bat tomorrow," he said, giving the kid a last kiss on his head. "D'you want me to sleep here?"

"Yes, yes," said Rishabh. "Yes."

The thing about Rishabh was that he never pretended.

Pretty much the most adorable thing about him, the thing which him the whole country's golden baby.

Virat was smiling to himself as he drifted off, Rishabh's arm around his waist like a toddler.

But YOU do that best, Virat bhaiya.