Chapter Text
Ferran has stopped questioning Pedri showing up at his door. He just smiles, steps aside, and lets Pedri in. This time, Pedri is holding a giant bag which raises Ferran’s eyebrows.
“I brought you a gift,” Pedri seats himself on the couch, reaching for the remote and navigating to a random football match. He nudges the bag in Ferran’s direction, urging him to look inside.
Ferran does, first pulling out the keychain. He throws his head back in a laugh when he realises what it is — a LEGO man with a shark costume.
“It’s you,” Pedri smiles. He had seen the shark while browsing the website looking for a cool LEGO set they could build together, since he knows how much Ferran enjoys assembling them.
“It is me,” Ferran smiles back, emotions Pedri can’t quite place dancing around in his eyes.
“Go on, take out the box, we have work to do,” Pedri teases. He realises, then, he isn’t sure whether or not Ferran already owns the one he bought. “Hopefully you don’t already have it.”
Pedri looks around, towards the shelf that holds all of Ferran’s collectibles, and doesn’t see the set he bought, which is a relief. When he looks back, Ferran has the box in hand, a thoughtful look on his face, more serious than he usually is.
“What’s wrong? Do you hate it?” Pedri asks, anxious. He had spent way too much time browsing the website, trying to decide which set to get Ferran.
“No, I love it. It’s very nice,” Ferran pauses, looking Pedri in the eye. “But you don’t even like LEGO, do you?”
“I don’t dislike LEGO. I just thought it could be a cool thing to do together,” Pedri shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, and hope Ferran didn’t catch him slipping up and almost calling their evening a date.
“Oh, so you want to spend time with me?” Ferran says, tone switching to flirtatious so quickly it gives Pedri whiplash.
Still, Pedri knows this is his opportunity, so he leans into Ferran’s space, parts his lips and, in an attempt to be seductive he hopes isn’t too ridiculous, says, “Yeah, maybe I’ll have to spend the night.”
Ferran audibly gasps at that, and turns his head around so fast, Pedri almost misses the way he’s blushing. He busies his hands with the box, the splashes of colour on the front coming into view as he takes out multiple bags.
Pedri is puzzled by his best friend’s reaction. Ferran is usually a flirt with everyone, all the time, to his own detriment sometimes. And Pedri knows Ferran finds him attractive — at the very least, attractive enough to kiss a few beers deep during trophy celebrations. That spark of hope reignites in him and he leans into Ferran’s space, sitting down on the floor next to him, purposely placing his knee on top of his best friends. He feigns innocence when Ferran looks at him, eyes wide, focusing his attention on the instructions and bags in front of them.
They keep getting distracted by the game playing out on the TV. Ferran makes a comment about the training session earlier in the day, about the positioning Flick had asked them to try out, “Marcus really is getting better at pressing, it’s impressive.”
Pedri had been holding his tongue about Ferran’s new found friendship with Rashford. It is none of his business, and it does make sense. They have a lot in common, from their time in Manchester, to the media scrutiny, to Ferran being one of the few players on the team confident enough to speak English with him. However, when Pedri had joined them in the grass for a few minutes, just to watch them train for a little bit, he had noticed the two of them have been closer than before.
“You two seem close,” Pedri comments, trying to be nonchalant, but his voice is undeniably strained.
Ferran turns his head slowly, a question in his eyes. Pedri keeps his eyes down, pretending to focus on the LEGO pieces on his hands.
“Pedri,” Ferran says, after a few moments. When Pedri doesn’t look back, he continues, “Look at me.”
When he does, Pedri’s heart skips a beat. Ferran is close, closer than he expected, searching his face for something. He must find it, because his face splits into an amused smile, “You’re jealous.”
Ferran’s chuckle is the soundtrack to Pedri’s panic because, yes, he is jealous, but Ferran isn’t supposed to know that yet. Pedri isn’t ready to confess. To be fair, he has been expecting Ferran to be the one to take the lead so he can follow him. Ferran has always been the brave one, the one who jumps in head first and pulls Pedri along.
“Pedri,” Ferran says, sugar sweet, placing a gentle hand on Pedri’s knee. “You’re my best friend. Okay?”
It’s meant to be reassuring, but Pedri it just feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He feels out of breath, the urge to up and run taking over. He shuffles away from Ferran, plasters a fake smile on his face and tries to swallow down the feeling.
Ferran is nothing if not persistent, though. He follows Pedri until they’re close once again, before gently placing a hand on the nape of his neck and playing with his hair. Despite himself, Pedri gets full-body chills, takes a deep breath and leans his forehead into Ferran’s shoulder.
“Dani almost face-planted onto a ball today,” Ferran breaks the ice with a joke, because of course he does.
“Yeah?” Pedri asks, resting his cheek against Ferran’s shoulder and looking up at him.
Ferran takes that as his cue to tell the story, which it is, and goes on about all the random things that Pedri missed during the training session. Pedri feels his eyes starting to droop, despite Ferran’s animated gesturing with the hand not holding him. He’s trying very hard to keep his eyes open, but the movement of Ferran’s chest is lulling him to sleep. He must actually fall asleep momentarily, because he feels Ferran chuckle and blinks open his eyes slowly, a different game on the TV.
“I should go home,” Pedri mumbles, trying to wake himself up.
Ferran opens and closes his mouth a few times, seemingly considering something, then thinking better of it and whispering, “Alright.”
“I guess you’ll have to finish assembling it yourself,” Pedri jokes as they put the pieces back into the box, hiding it from the pets.
“Or…” Ferran starts, bumping their shoulders together. “You could come over and we could keep building it together.”
He has a soft smile on his face and Pedri wants to hold onto him and never let go, just keep them sitting on Ferran’s floor, dogs sleeping to their sides, football game playing on TV forever. It’s the last thing on his mind when he finally lays down in his own bed, thinking about laying in his best friend's instead.
It’s late afternoon, one where it isn’t raining like it has been for the past days, seemingly non-stop. This might be Pedri’s last attempt at a date. It hasn’t been that long, but Ferran seems to be completely oblivious to what Pedri has been doing which is fair. Most of what he’s been trying hasn’t been completely out of character, but he’s thinking this time, we will try to make it romantic.
“Hi,” Ferran says, smiling. “What’s the plan today?”
He says like it’s an inside joke, something shared, something precious. Pedri smiles back, amused.
“I thought we could go somewhere and enjoy the nice weather,” Pedri says, pointing up at the sky and then, after noticing the very dark clouds in the distance, “Ignore those.”
Ferran giggles at that, “Alright. Let me grab my jacket, just in case.”
When they arrive at the beach, the sun is already in the horizon — pink, oranges and purples filling the sky. Pretty romantic, if you ask Pedri.
“The sunset is so nice here,” Ferran comments as they sit down, shoulder to shoulder.
“Not as nice as Tenerife,” Pedri retorts, taking the view in, smiling slightly.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ferran smiles, looking back to him. “Some guy I know keeps promising to show me around, but never does.”
“Okay,” Pedri gets up, dramatically, and reaches his hand out to Ferran. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” Ferran jokes, shaking his head in disbelief. “We have a game in two days.”
“It’s a three and a half hour flight,” Pedri shrugs. “We could go tonight and come back tomorrow before training.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Ferran says sarcastically, laughing. He looks stunning, head thrown back, the few rays of sun still lighting up the sky filtering through his hair and igniting his hazel eyes. “I’m sure Flick would love that.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Pedri conspires, like they’re little kids in the playground.
Ferran pulls him down by the sleeve of his hoodie, and Pedri goes down easily, sitting down once more. Ferran lays his head on Pedri’s shoulder for a moment and Pedri wishes he could keep them in that exact moment forever, like he always does lately any time it’s just the two of them. When Ferran starts pulling away, Pedri holds onto the back of his head, keeping him in place.
“It’s cold,” Pedri justifies himself, hoping Ferran won’t question it. He doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around Pedri’s middle, bringing them closer together, his nose nuzzled against Pedri’s collarbone over the hoodie.
They sit there for a few minutes, just listening to the waves as they slowly beat down on the sand, splashing them with a mist of salt water. Pedri feels the urge to kiss Ferran and, instinctively, almost retracts from their hug. Until he hits him — he should kiss Ferran, make it obvious that he wants something. Pedri doesn’t remember ever initiating a kiss between them outside the pitch, so he hesitantly places his lips on the top of Ferran’s hair for a split second.
Ferran freezes for an instant, then looks up at Pedri. The moment holds, one, two, three seconds. Pedri thinks this is it — the moment that changes the trajectory of their friendship forever.
And then… rain.
The skies open up above them and it starts pouring down. Ferran moves first, springing up from where he was sitting, reaching down to pull Pedri up with him. They giggle their way to the car, which gets drenched by their clothes as soon as they get into it. Pedri turns on the AC as quick as he can, and Ferran reaches to the backseat, taking the blankets Pedri still hadn’t taken home, laying it over Pedri and then himself. They’re both still smiling, warming up, when Ferran pipes up, “Nice weather, huh?”
Pedri laughs heartily at that and, even if the moment passed and his hair is still dripping water down his neck, he can’t help but feel warm all-over.
Ferran walks through the door of Pedri’s house with a comfortability that should be at least a little bit scary, but isn’t. Pedri has decided tonight is the night — he’s going to tell Ferran the little outings they’ve been going on for the past few weeks have been his attempts at flirting.
Pedri starts by hugging Ferran when he shrugs off his jacket, something so rare, that when he looks up at his best friend, Ferran’s mouth is slightly agape, confusion in his eyes. He is wearing a nice blue sweater, hair still slightly wet from the shower and Pedri wonders if it would be too much to hug him again.
“Hey,” Pedri says, deciding that yes, it would be weird, but keeping the distance between them short, a hand on Ferran’s elbow. “Dinner is almost ready, c’mon.”
As they walk towards the kitchen, Ferran seems to notice the table is set for only two people. Pedri hadn’t really tried to make it overly romantic, so there were no candles or flowers or fancy plates, but he made sure to set the table properly.
“Are your parents and Fer not eating with us?” Ferran asks, already patting Nilo’s head.
Pedri shakes his head ‘no’, turning to the stove and checking the stir-fry. He’s pretty sure the chicken is overcooked, but it smells nice enough.
“What did Rosy leave for us?” Ferran asks, suddenly hoovering Pedri, looking over his shoulder. Pedri feels himself shudder and looks up at Ferran, who is smirking slightly. It feels like the moment, but Pedri can’t force himself to do it, not yet. He has a plan. They’re going to sit down, eat their meal and their dessert, and then Pedri is going to take a deep breath and spill his guts.
“Excuse you,” Pedri says, regathering his bearings, and turning around, poking Ferran’s chest, whose expression melts into a smile instantly. “I’m cooking you a nice meal, don’t you see?”
“You cooked?” Ferran asks, eyebrows raised comically.
“Well,” Pedri is immediately bashful. His mom did help, but he did most of the work. “I made the stir-fry, but mom helped with the rice and the dessert.”
Ferran seems genuinely surprised by that, and his expression softens further, before he scolds his features and jokes, “And you’re not poisoning me?”
Pedri scoffs, lightly punching him in the arm and shaking his head, “You don’t even deserve food, I should kick you out and let you starve.”
“You would never, I’m your favourite,” Ferran says, messing with Pedri’s fringe.
“Go grab our plates,” Pedri demands, and Ferran follows easily, brining them back to him. “I was going to make it look all nice.”
“I would love to see you try,” Ferran is smirking, holding out a plate Pedri does try to make look presentable.
As they take their places at the table and Ferran takes a very brave bite, Pedri is looking, waiting for a reaction. But Ferran doesn’t give him the satisfaction, just keeps eating, challenge in his eyes.
“Well?” Pedri demands, food untouched in front of him.
“It’s the best plate of food I’ve ever had,” Ferran is being sarcastic, in that attractive way Pedri finds himself drawn to, a slight smirk on his lips.
“Whatever, asshole,” Pedri rolls his eyes, finally tasting the food himself. “It’s not that bad.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ferran is now sincere, bumping their feet together pointedly.
When they’re done with their meal, Ferran asks Pedri about his latest sponsor shoot and, as he’s starting to answer, Ferran’s phone buzzes one, two, three, four times. Pedri is annoyed enough to grab it and throw it somewhere where it won’t interrupt their evening anymore, but Ferran picks it up and smiles at the screen.
“Someone special?” Pedri asks, bitter and jealous.
“Oh, yeah,” Ferran says, visibly distracted, which makes Pedri’s blood boil. Impulsively, Pedri grabs the phone from Ferran’s hands, and places it out of his reach.
Ferran looks at him confused for a second, but his face morphs into a knowing smile swiftly.
“I just think it’s incredibly rude to be on your phone while we’re having dinner,” Pedri says, visibly annoyed, arms crossed and pouty lips.
“Oh, why? Is this some kind of date?” Ferran is smirking and Pedri wants to wipe it off his face, which is probably why the answer leaves his lips without much thought.
“Yes!” Pedri says, exasperated, before quickly closing his mouth. This wasn’t the plan. He wasn’t supposed to just it blurt out in a fit of jealousy. He hides behind his hands, groaning, and hopes Ferran will at least have the decency to let him wallow in self-pity.
He hears the chair Ferran was sitting on scrape against the floor, and his body tenses, waiting for the front door to shut close. Instead, he feels a hand grab onto his wrists and pulling them from his face delicately. Pedri looks down at Ferran, who is crouched down in front of him and smiling so, so big and beautiful. Ferran takes Pedri’s jaw in his hands and kisses him. Once, twice, three times. Pedri’s body is frozen for less than a second, then his brain catches up to his feelings and he gets up, bringing Ferran with him, arms around his neck.
Ferran starts smiling, until he eventually giggles, leaving one last peck on Pedri’s lips and separating them. Pedri actually pouts at that, which doubles Ferran’s quiet laughter as he leaves a quick kiss on his forehead.
“Pedri, stop pouting like that,” Ferran chuckles, fingers still holding onto Pedri. “You know it’s my weakness.”
Pedri pouts further, whining, “Why can’t we keep kissing?”
“Because,” he pauses, pulling Pedri’s hair away from his forehead. “We need to talk and if we keep kissing, we will get carried away.”
“You promise?” Pedri smirks, leaving a kiss against Ferran’s jaw, who sighs, closing his eyes.
“You’re so difficult to resist,” Ferran whispers as Pedri continues his attack on his neck.
“Then don’t,” Pedri whispers against his skin, and feels more than hears Ferran’s chuckle.
Ferran’s eyes look very gentle when he pulls Pedri away from him, rubbing his hands up and down Pedri’s arms soothingly. “Let’s go to the couch.”
When Ferran starts moving towards the couch, pulling Pedri along with him through their joint hands, Pedri can’t help but start spiralling. Maybe Ferran is getting ready to let him down gently, say that yes, he’s physically interested in Pedri, but that’s it, he doesn’t want anything else. Ferran sitting down and keeping a reasonable distance between them doesn’t help.
“I owe you an apology,” is what Ferran says instead, shocking Pedri’s system. Those are not the words he expected to leave his best friend's mouth.
“You’ve already apologised to me,” Pedri says, confused.
“Not really,” Ferran smiles sheepishly. “If we’re going to take this any further, we need to be honest with each other.”
Pedri nods, because he wants that, more than anything.
“I was being honest with you when I told you that me being with a guy would be way worse for you than for me. I know you’ve seen how things have been these past few weeks, how vile social media behaves when someone isn’t the picture perfect image of what they consider masculine,” Ferran pauses, looking down at his hands. “I don’t want us, you, to be hated on because of me.”
“Ferri,” Pedri starts, scooting himself closer and grabbing Ferran’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “I was being serious when I said I would never run away from it. Especially now. And it wouldn’t be because of you. It would be because they’re idiots.”
Ferran has a cautious expression on his face while he searches Pedri's, looking for something he doesn't seem to find, because it morphs into a mischievous look in Ferran’s eye and a slight smirk on his lips, “Careful, it’s starting to sound like you want to date me.”
“I’ve been trying!” Pedri says, joke exasperation in his voice.
“Really? I had no clue,” Ferran is being incredibly sarcastic, a strained laugh in his tone, a smile on his face.
Pedri gasps, exaggerated, pushing Ferran’s shoulder, but keeping their hands locked in place, “You knew?”
“Not the whole time,” Ferran says between laughs, soothing his thumb against Pedri’s wrist. “The stargazing made me suspicious, but the sunset at the beach was a dead giveaway.”
Pedri blushes at that, looking away, before pushing Ferran down on the couch, whose back hits the cushions. Pedri lays on top of him, tickling his side, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Ferran holds Pedri’s face between his hands, and kisses him softly. Pedri is ready to forgive and forget, hands moving to Ferran’s hair, when he jokes, “I wanted you to work for it. I quite enjoyed being the one being sought after instead of following you around like a lost puppy.”
“Couldn’t wait very long,” Pedri teases — they had been at the beach only a few days earlier.
“You’re too irresistible,” Ferran is kissing up and down Pedri’s neck, who is trying very hard to keep them on track and not lose himself in his best friend’s arms.
“When you said take this further,” Pedri interrupts himself with a gasp when Ferran bites down on his jaw tenderly. “What did you mean exactly?”
Ferran freezes below him, hands stopping their movement around his hips and looking Pedri in the eye. He looks less confident than Pedri has ever seen him and, impulsively, Pedri blurts out, “Be my boyfriend.”
Ferran’s face splits into a smile and he tears up, before enthusiastically nodding and kissing Pedri on the lips, then on the nose, the cheeks and the forehead, “Of course.”
Pedri sits up on his lap, pulling Ferran up with him, and they just kiss for a while. Pedri wants to make up for lost time, but they have the rest of their lives. Pedri is giddy with the thought, but still separates them, whispering against Ferran’s lips, “We didn’t eat dessert.”
Ferran’s eyes darken immediately, his hands tightening around Pedri’s waist, lips parted.
“I-,” Pedri looks away, laughing. “I meant the brownies my mom made, you freak.”
Ferran hides his face against Pedri’s neck, who can feel the heat radiating from the blush in his boyfriend’s face and the words he mumbles against his shoulder. “You love it, though.”
“I do,” Pedri says, sincere. He does. “Let’s go eat.”