Chapter Text
"You're looking at me like I've done something terrible "
He paused, the joking tone disappearing from his voice.
"Like I've betrayed you"
The words lingeref in the silence.
Pedri's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
His fingers curled around the controller until his knuckles turned pale.
He still Couldn't bring Himself to look at ferran
Pedri forced himself to breathe.
He could feel his emotions threatening to show, so he pushed them back down, burying them beneath the mask he worn to stay composed
Why did I have to say that?
He finally turned to Ferran, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I..." He swallowed. "I was just asking, Ferri."
Ferran held his gaze for a moment.
Then he quietly repeated, "Just asking?"
His voice wasn't sharp.
It was tired.
"You don't sound like you're just asking."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his palms together before looking down at them.
A heavy silence settled between them.
Ferran shifted on the sofa until he was facing Pedri completely.
"Something's been off since we got back," he said gently. "You've been distant."
"You barely text me anymore."
"You avoid me after training."
"And now... this."
He gestured vaguely toward the phone lying on the coffee table.
"I don't know what happened, Pepi... but I can feel it."
Pedri lowered his eyes.
He couldn't deny it.
Ferran sighed, trying to piece everything together.
"If this is because of that photo..." he began carefully, "...don't let it get to you."
"The media loves creating stories. They always have."
"It was one stupid moment between friends, and suddenly everyone thinks they know my life."
He gave a small, humorless laugh.
"It's just noise."
His fingers tapped absently against his knee before he spoke again, much more quietly.
"If it really bothers you that much..."
He hesitated.
The words caught in his throat.
"...I can..."
He stopped, clearing his throat as if he were reconsidering whatever had been about to leave his lips.
Pedri frowned.
"What?"
For a brief second, Ferran simply looked at him.
Then, without another word, he leaned forward.
A soft kiss landed on Pedri's cheek.
It lasted no more than a heartbeat before Ferran pulled away again.
"Here, Happy now"?
Pedri froze.
His mind went completely blank.
It wasn't the first time Ferran had kissed his cheek. He had done it before after important wins, during celebrations, or simply to tease him whenever Pedri looked too serious.
It had always been effortless.
Normal.
But this time...
This time, it felt completely different.
Especially after the mixed feelings of him.
Warmth rushed to Pedri's face.
His cheeks burned, and he was suddenly very aware of how close Ferran was sitting.
Ferran watched the color spread across his face before a grin slowly appeared.
"There he is," he laughed softly.
"You're definitely acting weird these days, Pedri."
He nudged Pedri's shoulder with his own.
"I kiss your cheek once and you look like your brain just stopped working."
Pedri blinked, still staring at nothing in particular.
"I..."
His voice caught.
He quickly looked away, unable to meet Ferran's eyes.
"I-I don't know..."
His fingers tightened around the controller resting in his lap.
"I'm just..."
He searched for the right word and came up empty.
"...Confused, Ferri."
The admission came out barely above a whisper.
A long silence followed before he spoke again.
"And..."
He swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"For what I said before."
He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
"I shouldn't have asked it like that."
His words stumbled over one another, quiet and uncertain.
"I... I didn't mean to make things awkward."
He let out a shaky breath, still unable to look at Ferran, afraid that if he did, the feelings he had tried so hard to hide would be written all over his face.
Ferran watched him in silence.
Pedri sat with his head lowered, his forearms resting across his knees, the controller hanging loosely from one hand. He looked smaller somehow, as though he were trying to fold himself away from the conversation.
It wasn't like him.
With a quiet sigh, Ferran reached over and gently ruffled Pedri's hair.
"Hey."
When Pedri still didn't look up, Ferran placed a hand lightly against the side of his head, guiding his face toward him.
Their eyes finally met.
"Relax, man."
A small, reassuring smile tugged at Ferran's lips.
"You didn't make anything awkward."
He gave Pedri's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Since when have things ever been awkward between us?"
Pedri opened his mouth, but no words came.
Ferran chuckled softly.
"Idiot."
There wasn't an ounce of annoyance in his voice.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"You don't have to apologize just because you're confused."
His smile slowly faded into a look of quiet concern.
"Pepi..."
"What are you so confused about?"
The question lingered between them.
From Ferran's point of view, none of this made sense.
They had just lived through the greatest moment of their careers.
They had lifted the World Cup together.
They were back home, training again, laughing, playing FIFA like they always had.
Everything should have been normal.
Yet somewhere along the way, Pedri had changed.
He smiled less.
He pulled away without meaning to.
Sometimes Ferran would catch him staring, only for Pedri to look away the second their eyes met.
At first, Ferran had blamed the long season.
Then exhaustion.
Then the pressure of football.
But sitting here now, watching his best friend struggle to explain something he couldn't even put into words...
Ferran realized it was none of those things.
Something was weighing heavily on Pedri.
He just had no idea what it was.
And somehow...
That worried him more than anything.
Ferran searched Pedri's face for another second before a thought crossed his mind.
"...Is this about Marcos?"
Pedri remained silent.
"...Or..." Ferran hesitated. "Is it the transfer stuff?"
The question landed like a stone in Pedri's chest.
The transfer window had been relentless.
Every day, a new headline.
Barcelona were still searching for a long-term striker, with Julián Álvarez continuing to be one of the club's biggest dreams, even as negotiations remained complicated. At the same time, rumors linking Ferran to Paris Saint-Germain refused to disappear. Some reports claimed PSG admired him, while others insisted Barcelona wanted to keep him unless he asked to leave himself.
Ferran's choice was Barcelona.
Or maybe he....
Pedri had read every article.
Then reread them.
He kept telling himself the same thing.
The club won't let him go.
Ferran won't leave Barcelona.
He won't leave... me.
He wanted to believe it.
He needed to believe it.
His throat tightened.
He can't imagine a day without presence of his bestfriend near him.
A small, defeated smile appeared on his lips as he finally looked up.
"...B-both, maybe."
The confession came out so quietly it was almost lost beneath the sound of the television.
Ferran blinked.
"...The transfer?"
Pedri gave the smallest nod.
Ferran didn’t knew what to say.
He looked down at his hands.
"... I don't like reading them."
Pedri's fingers intertwined tightly.
"I don't like the thought of... things changing."
He didn't dare say anything more.
Because if he did...
He was afraid the real reason would finally slip out.
The weight of it all pressed against him—the sharp, jagged edge of jealousy, the suffocating pull of possessiveness, and that tangled mess of emotions he spent every waking hour trying to outrun. Deep down, beneath the denial and the fear, there was a truth he couldn't silence: he was frightened to ever give a name of it.
"Both?" Ferran repeated softly.
Pedri only gave the smallest nod.
A quiet sigh escaped Ferran as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Pepi..."
"Look at me."
It took a moment, but Pedri finally lifted his eyes.
Ferran held his gaze.
"And about Marcos..."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"He's just a mate."
"A good guy. A good friend."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"But he's not... that important."
Pedri remained silent.
Ferran continued anyway.
"Not like you."
The words left his mouth before he had time to soften them.
For a split second, something shifted inside his chest.
It was strange.
A small, uncomfortable flutter that caught him completely off guard.
He hadn't planned to say it like that.
Yet hearing the words aloud, they felt undeniably true.
His eyes searched Pedri's face, hoping to see some of the tension disappear.
"I mean it," Ferran said, his voice quieter now.
"No one else is like you."
"You're the first person I call when something good happens."
"You're the one I text when I'm bored."
"You're the one I always end up looking for after training."
A breath caught in his throat.
"And you're the one I..."
The words stopped there.
Ferran's expression faltered.
He quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.
He shook his head, trying to brush past whatever had almost slipped out.
"What I'm trying to say is..."
A small smile returned.
"You're my best friend, Pepi."
"And no headline, no holiday, no teammate..."
"...is going to change that."
His voice dropped to almost a whisper.
"So... talk to me, Pepi."
"Please."
"I can't fix something..."
"...if you won't let me know what's hurting you."
"Y..you were always..with them...I thought I was being replaced—"
Pedri's voice fractured, the words catching like broken glass in his throat. He stopped, the silence stretching between them heavy and suffocating. He wanted to scream it all—how every world cup trainings felt like a slow erosion of his confidence when he watched Marc step into his space, taking his spot, sharing his laughter, ferran choosing him over Pedri without a second thought.
He wanted to tell him about the hollow ache in his chest every time he saw those stories on his phone—the bright, filtered snapshots of marcos, marc and ferran together, smiling, existing in a world where Pedri was suddenly an outsider.
Ferran shook his head without a second's hesitation.
"No one's replacing you, Pepi."
His voice was calm, steady—firm enough that it left no room for doubt.
"No one."
He held Pedri's gaze, refusing to let him look away this time.
"Marcos is my friend."
"That's all."
"Pedri when did you started thinking about these?"
He gave Pedri's wrist a gentle squeeze.
"But you..."
His expression softened.
"You're different."
"I've known you for years."
"You're the person I look for when we walk into training."
"The one I end up sitting beside on the bus."
"The first person I want to tell when something good happens."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"The people around me can change."
"Teammates come and go."
"Friends get busy."
"But you..."
He paused, letting the silence settle between them.
"You've always been my person, Pepi."
"And I don't see that changing."
His eyes searched Pedri's, warm and unwavering.
"So stop carrying all of this by yourself."
"If something's bothering you..."
"If you're scared..."
"If you're angry..."
"I'd rather hear the truth than watch you pretend you're okay."
He smiled softly.
"Because losing a match hurts."
"Losing you would hurt a hell of a lot more."
*Tell me you mean it, tell you Won't leave me and go to paris, I Don't want you to go*
Those lines,were floating in pedri's head. But he didn’t feel like to say it aloud.
*Whom I'm gonna train with, who'll drive me to the camp, who'll look after me like you do, who Will understand me like you do"?
Pedri gets emotional.
A broken sob escaped Pedri before he could swallow it back.
It caught both of them by surprise.
His shoulders trembled as he quickly brought a hand to his face, embarrassed by the sound that had slipped out. He turned away instinctively, blinking rapidly, willing the tears to stop.
They didn't.
tears rolled down his cheek.
For so long, he had carried everything alone—every jealous thought, every fear, every guilty feeling he couldn't explain. He had convinced himself he had to hide it all, that if he buried it deeply enough, it would simply disappear.
Instead...
It had only grown heavier.
Ferran stared at him, stunned.
"Pepi..."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Without thinking, he reached out and gently pulled Pedri toward him.
It wasn't forceful.
It was careful, giving Pedri every chance to pull away.
When he didn't, Ferran wrapped an arm around him, holding him loosely against his chest. His hand came up to rest between Pedri's shoulder blades, rubbing slow, reassuring circles.
"It's okay," he murmured.
"I'm here."
Those two simple words were enough.
The wall Pedri had spent weeks building around himself cracked all at once.
Another sob shook his chest.
He gripped the front of Ferran's shirt with trembling fingers, lowering his head as tears slipped freely down his face. He wasn't crying because he was sad anymore.
He was crying because, everything was too much for him to carry.
Hearing Ferran say that no one could replace him...
Hearing that he still mattered...
That he was still the first person Ferran looked for...
It untied a knot that had been tightening inside his chest for far too long.
The ache was still there.
The thought of ferran leaving him.
Ferran didn't ask another question.
He simply stayed where he was, one hand resting gently against Pedri's back, letting him cry for as long as he needed.
Sometimes, silence was the kindest comfort of all.
After a long moment, Pedri slowly pulled away from the embrace.
He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, taking a slow breath as he tried to steady himself. His cheeks were still warm, and he avoided Ferran's gaze, focusing instead on the floor.
"I..." His voice caught.
A weak, embarrassed laugh escaped him.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"I-I'm being... too clingy."
The words sounded wrong the moment he said them.
Ferran frowned.
"No."
His brows drew together as he studied Pedri's face.
"What is going on with you?"
There was no frustration in his voice.
Only concern.
"You've never acted like this before."
He leaned forward slightly, searching Pedri's eyes.
"And you know what?"
"I'm actually glad you're being honest."
"At least now I know something's been bothering you."
He paused before speaking more gently.
"I just wish you hadn't tried to carry it by yourself."
Pedri looked down at his trembling hands.
"I didn't know how to explain it..."
His voice was barely audible.
"I still don't."
Silence settled between them again.
Ferran let out a quiet sigh.
"...I'm sorry too."
Pedri looked up.
Ferran offered him a small, apologetic smile.
"I haven't been around as much as I should've."
"I kept saying, 'later,' 'next week,' 'after training'..."
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely guilty.
"I didn't realize how much I was disappearing."
"It wasn't because I didn't want to spend time with you."
"It was just..."
He searched for the right words.
"...Life got busy."
"But that's not an excuse."
His eyes met Pedri's again.
"I should've noticed you were struggling."
"I should've checked on you sooner."
A faint smile returned to his face.
"So..."
"From now on..."
"No more letting weeks go by without FIFA."
"And if you're overthinking something..."
He nudged Pedri's shoulder lightly.
"You tell me."
"Deal?"
For the first time that evening, the heaviness between them felt just a little lighter.
Ferran watched him carefully.
The tears had stopped, but something was still weighing on Pedri. He could see it in the way Pedri kept twisting his fingers together, in the way he refused to hold eye contact for more than a second.
He wasn't done talking.
"I know there's more," Ferran said quietly.
His voice was gentle, patient.
"There has to be."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"I'm right here, Pepi."
A small pause.
"Did something happen?"
His mind searched for every possibility.
"Is everything okay with your family?"
Another pause.
"...Or..."
He hesitated.
"...Is it something with Ale?"
"Nothing with Alejandra."
The words came out sharper than Pedri intended.
The room fell silent.
Pedri's eyes widened slightly.
"...Sorry."
He immediately looked away.
"I didn't mean to snap."
Ferran blinked before raising both hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay." A faint smile crossed his face. "Not Alejandra."
He let the subject drop without another question.
Another silence settled between them.
Pedri drew in a slow breath.
"I..."
His fingers tightened around each other.
"It's..."
He searched for the words, but they refused to come.
"It's complicated, Ferran."
His voice cracked.
"It really is."
Ferran's expression softened even more.
"C'mon..."
A nervous laugh escaped him, though the worry in his eyes remained.
"You're starting to scare me."
He shifted a little closer.
"You don't have to explain it perfectly."
"You don't have to make it sound logical."
He shook his head gently.
"I don't need the right words."
"I just need your words."
He reached out again, resting a reassuring hand on Pedri's forearm.
"So just..."
"Say it."
"Whatever it is."
"Whatever you're feeling."
His thumb brushed lightly against Pedri's sleeve.
"I can take it."
His eyes never left Pedri's.
"And I want to hear it."
The room grew quiet once more.
This time...
The silence wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
Pedri's heart pounded so hard he was sure Ferran could hear it.
The words were there.
Somewhere.
Locked behind a fear he couldn't untangle.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing.
His throat tightened until even breathing felt like an effort.
How was he supposed to explain something he didn't fully understand himself?
He wasn't even sure what he was feeling anymore.
Jealousy.
Fear.
Relief whenever Ferran was beside him.
An ache whenever he wasn't.
They had become so tangled together that he couldn't tell where one emotion ended and another began.
And that terrified him.
Because every time he got close to the truth, he instinctively stepped back.
As if giving those feelings a name would make them real.
As if saying them out loud would change everything between them.
He wasn't ready for that.
Maybe...
His recent nightmare.
Ferran leaving him,leaving Barcelona.
Maybe he never would be.
Pedri lowered his head, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
"I can't..."
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I don't know how to explain it."
He laughed softly at himself, though there was no humor in it.
"It doesn't even make sense in my own head."
His fingers tightened around each other until his knuckles turned pale.
"I think..."
He paused again.
Then slowly shook his head.
"No."
Another long silence.
His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"Can I..."
He swallowed.
"...Can I tell you another time?"
There was something almost pleading in his voice.
"I just..."
He searched for the right words one last time.
"I'm scared that if I say it now..."
He stopped himself before the sentence could go any further.
His eyes closed briefly.
"...I'll say it wrong."
He wasn't lying.
But it wasn't the whole truth either.
The truth was that he was afraid of what he might finally admit—not just to Ferran...
But to himself.
The days that followed slowly slipped back into something familiar.
Not perfect.
But familiar.
Whenever neither of them had training or media duties, Ferran somehow found his way to Pedri.
Some days they wandered through the narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter, getting completely sidetracked by tiny bookstores and old cafés hidden between centuries-old buildings.
Other afternoons, they strolled along Barceloneta Beach, shoes in hand, letting the cold waves wash over their feet while arguing over absolutely nothing.
They spent an evening sitting on the steps of Bunkers del Carmel, watching the sun sink behind Barcelona's skyline.
Some nights were quieter.
They would order takeaway, spread it across Pedri's coffee table, and spend hours playing FIFA.
Ferran still celebrated every goal as if he'd scored it himself.
Pedri still complained that the game was scripted whenever he lost.
Little by little...
The tension between them began to soften.
It didn't disappear completely.
There were still moments when Pedri caught himself watching Ferran for a second too long before looking away.
Moments when his heart did something strange every time Ferran smiled at him.
But for now...
He chose to lock those feelings away.
Not because they had vanished.
Only because he wasn't ready to face them.
So he laughed.
Teased Ferran back.
Pretended everything was the way it had always been.
And for a little while...
It almost felt true.
Another afternoon, they rented bicycles and set off along the Passeig Marítim, the sea stretching endlessly beside them. The Mediterranean breeze carried the scent of salt through the air, ruffling their hair as the wheels rolled smoothly over the sunlit promenade.
Palm trees swayed lazily overhead while joggers, families, and tourists drifted past, enjoying the warm Barcelona afternoon.
"Bet I can beat you to the end," Ferran called over his shoulder.
Before Pedri could answer, Ferran pushed harder on the pedals, laughing as he pulled ahead.
"Oh, you're impossible," Pedri muttered, chasing after him.
For a moment, he forgot about racing.
His eyes settled on Ferran instead.
The wind swept through Ferran's messy hair, strands dancing freely across his forehead. A pair of dark sunglasses rested on his nose, reflecting the sparkling sea beside them. The loose white tank top he wore fluttered slightly with the breeze, catching the golden afternoon light.
He looked...
Happy.
Handsome.
Completely carefree.
The sound of his laughter carried through the air, light and effortless.
Without meaning to, Pedri found himself smiling.
A familiar warmth bloomed quietly in his chest.
His heart gave the smallest, unmistakable flutter.
He hated how naturally it happened now.
How simply looking at Ferran was enough to make his pulse quicken.
*Don't.*
He forced his eyes back to the road ahead.
*Stop doing this*.
But another laugh escaped Ferran, and before Pedri realized it...
He was looking at him again.
"You're staring!" Ferran shouted with a grin.
Pedri blinked, immediately looking away.
"I was watching the road."
"Liar."
"I was."
"You nearly rode into a bench."
Pedri scoffed, trying to hide the heat creeping onto his face.
"I definitely didn't."
Ferran laughed so hard he almost lost control of his bike.
"You took a shortcut back there!"
"It wasn't a shortcut."
"It absolutely was."
Their laughter echoed along the promenade, drawing amused glances from passing tourists as they continued racing beneath the warm Barcelona sun.
After spending the afternoon wandering through Park Güell, the two of them climbed back into Ferran's car as the golden evening light settled over Barcelona.
The city buzzed outside the windows, scooters weaving through traffic while the streets glowed beneath the setting sun.
Pedri relaxed into the passenger seat.
Or at least...
He tried to.
The moment Ferran accelerated onto the main road, Pedri shot him a look.
"Ferri..."
"What?"
"Slow down."
Ferran let out a short laugh, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel as he guided the car around a bend with practiced ease.
"I'm not even going that fast, Pedri."
He shook his head, amused.
"You're just dramatic."
Pedri let out an offended scoff.
"Dramatic?"
He tightened his grip on the door handle as the car rounded another corner.
"You just took that turn like you were trying to win the Champions League."
"I call it confidence."
"I call it terrifying."
Ferran laughed again.
"You're too slow, you know that?"
"Says the man who's trying to send us into the next life."
"I've driven you home a hundred times."
He spared Pedri a quick glance before looking back at the road, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You know I'm a professional."
He reached over with one hand and gave Pedri's shoulder a light nudge.
"Not a tortoise like you."
Pedri swatted his hand away.
"Keep both hands on the wheel!"
"See?" Ferran chuckled. "You're worrying for nothing. My one hand is enough"
He paused just long enough for Pedri to relax.
Then added with a perfectly straight face,
"Besides... if we crash, at least you'll die doing what you love."
Pedri narrowed his eyes.
"...And what's that?"
"Complaining."
For a heartbeat, Pedri simply stared at him.
Then he burst into laughter.
"You are unbelievable."
"I know."
"And you're buying me dinner next time for saying that."
"Only if you admit I'm a better driver."
"Never."
Ferran grinned, the laughter lingering between them as the city lights flickered on one by one, carrying them through the familiar streets toward Pedri's house.
By the time they reached Pedri's house, the sky had turned a deep shade of blue, the last streaks of sunlight disappearing beyond the rooftops.
The moment they stepped inside, Pedri's dog came running across the floor, tail wagging furiously.
Ferran laughed.
"There he is."
He crouched down immediately, scratching behind the dog's ears while the excited little animal bounced around him, demanding more attention.
"Missed me, didn't you?"
The dog answered with an enthusiastic bark, earning another laugh from Ferran.
"Traitor," Pedri muttered with a smile. "He likes you more than me."
"I mean..." Ferran shrugged dramatically. "Can you blame him?"
Pedri rolled his eyes.
After another few minutes of playing, Ferran stood, dusting off his jeans before fishing his car keys from his pocket.
"Well..."
He stretched his arms above his head.
"You're still buying me dinner next time."
He pointed a finger at Pedri.
"And don't think I've forgotten."
With a grin, he turned toward the front door, one hand already resting on the handle.
"See you tomorrow, Pepi."
"...Fer."
The nickname stopped him.
Ferran looked back over his shoulder.
"Hm?" he raise his eyebrows.
Pedri stood a few steps away, suddenly unsure of himself.
His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie.
"I..."
The words barely left his lips.
He glanced at the floor before looking back up again.
"Do you..."
His heart beat a little faster.
"...Do you have anything to do tonight?"
Ferran blinked.
"Tonight?"
A smile spread across his face.
"Yeah."
He pretended to think for a moment before answering with complete seriousness.
"I've got plans."
Pedri's expression fell almost instantly.
"...Oh."
"With my bed."
Ferran couldn't hold back a laugh. Winking at him.
Pedri let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.
There was a brief silence.
He swallowed.
Then, almost under his breath, he quietly asked,
"...Stay tonight."
The words were so soft that Ferran almost thought he'd imagined them.
"What?"
Pedri's cheeks warmed.
This time, he forced himself to say it a little louder.
"...Stay."
"Just... for tonight."
Tonight, the plans changed.
The takeaway they had planned to order turned into Ferran attempting to cook in Pedri's kitchen.
It ended with flour on the counter, too much garlic in the pasta, and Pedri laughing so hard he had to lean against the fridge to catch his breath.
"You distracted me."
"I was standing on the other side of the kitchen."
"Exactly."
After dinner, they wandered through the house with mugs of hot chocolate, talking about everything and nothing.
Old academy stories.
Embarrassing interviews.
The World Cup.
The teammates they missed.
"Rashford"
For the first time in weeks, the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had.
No awkward pauses.
No invisible wall.
Just...
Them.
___________
Much later that night, they climbed onto the rooftop terrace with two blankets thrown over their shoulders.
Barcelona had finally grown quiet.
The city lights shimmered below them while the warm summer breeze carried the distant sounds of traffic through the streets.
Above them, the sky stretched endlessly, scattered with countless stars.
Pedri rested his arms on the railing, tilting his head back.
"I always forget how many stars you can see from here."
Ferran smiled, following his gaze.
"When I was little, I used to learn their names."
Pedri looked at him.
"You did?"
"Yeah."
Ferran pointed toward a bright star hanging low above the horizon.
"That's Vega."
Then, tracing another part of the sky with his finger, he continued,
"And over there... that's part of the Summer Triangle."
Pedri watched him instead of the stars.
The way Ferran's eyes lit up whenever he explained something.
The quiet excitement in his voice.
The soft smile that appeared without him even realizing it.
It made something warm settle inside Pedri's chest.
"You know..." Ferran said after a moment, still looking up at the sky, "my dad once told me sailors used the stars to find their way home."
Pedri followed his gaze.
"Does that actually work?"
"I don't know."
Ferran chuckled.
"But I always liked the idea."
He looked at the brightest star again.
"No matter how lost you get..."
"...there's always something above you pointing you in the right direction."
The words drifted into the quiet night.
Pedri swallowed.
His eyes slowly moved from the stars...
...back to Ferran.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the sentence lingered in his mind.
Maybe people could be like that too.
Maybe...
Sometimes, home wasn't a place.
Sometimes...
It was a person.
He never said the thought aloud.
Instead, he leaned back against the railing beside Ferran, close enough that their shoulders brushed every now and then as they searched the sky together.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
They didn't need to.
The stars filled the silence for them.
The conversation drifted away with the breeze.
They stopped trying to fill every silence.
Some silences were comfortable.
This one was.
Pedri pulled the blanket a little higher over his shoulders as the night air cooled. Without thinking, Ferran reached over and tugged one corner of it toward himself, wrapping them both in the same blanket.
"You steal everything," Pedri mumbled.
Ferran smiled.
"You weren't using this side."
"I was."
"You absolutely weren't."
Pedri rolled his eyes but didn't bother pulling it back.
Instead, he shifted a little closer.
Not enough for anyone to notice.
Just enough that their shoulders rested lightly against each other.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
Above them, the stars burned quietly against the dark sky.
"You know," Ferran said after a while, "people always say stars die."
Pedri glanced at him.
"But most of the stars we see are already gone."
He pointed toward the sky.
"Some of that light has been travelling for hundreds... even thousands of years."
Pedri looked back up.
"So..."
"We're seeing the past."
Ferran nodded.
"The star might not even exist anymore."
"...But its light keeps reaching us."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Pedri watched the sky.
"So..." he murmured, "something can disappear..."
"...and still leave a part of itself behind."
Ferran smiled faintly.
"I guess."
"I always thought that was kind of beautiful."
"If the star is already gone..." he said softly, "...then all you're left with is its light."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"You keep looking up because it still feels close."
"But one day you realize you've been
admiring something that isn't there anymore."
He tried to see it the way Ferran did.
But all he could think about was the
emptiness that came after.
Pedri wasn't sure he agreed.
He thought it sounded lonely.
"Maybe the light is enough for some people."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it carried more sadness than warmth.
"But..."
"I'd rather have the star."
His only star is ferran.
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He wasn't talking about the sky anymore.
He was talking about the people he loved.
About the fear of watching someone slowly
drift away while holding onto memories that still shone brightly.
Because memories were warm...
But they could never replace someone's presence.
After another quiet stretch, Ferran leaned back on his hands.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Hm?"
"What do you think makes someone... home?"
Pedri blinked.
"Home?"
"Yeah."
Ferran shrugged.
"People always talk about finding a place where they belong."
He looked out over the sleeping city.
"But I don't think it's a place."
Pedri stayed quiet.
"I think..." Ferran said slowly, "home is wherever you don't have to pretend."
"Where someone knows every version of you."
"The happy one."
"The annoying one."
"The one who doesn't know what they're feeling."
"And they stay anyway."
The words settled softly between them.
Pedri felt something tighten in his chest.
Without thinking, his hand slipped between them, resting on the blanket.
A moment later...
Ferran's hand found it.
Not deliberately.
Not dramatically.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither of them moved away.
For a few seconds, they simply stayed like that, the backs of their hands touching beneath the blanket.
A tiny point of warmth in the cool night.
Pedri lowered his eyes to their hands.
His heartbeat quickened.
He could have pulled away.
He didn't.
Neither did Ferran.
They hold hands.
The grip was tight.
Ferran leans in and gave a kiss on pedri's forehead, then cheeks.
Pedri leans into his touch.
Warm.
Like home.
Above them, shooting star crossed the Barcelona sky.
"Make a wish," Ferran whispered.
Pedri smiled to himself.
He already knew what he would wish for.
He just wasn't sure it was a wish the universe could grant.
Pedri closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, the world fell away—the city lights, the breeze, the quiet hum of Barcelona beneath them.
Please...
Don't let Ferran leave Barcelona.
The wish came so naturally it startled him.
He didn't wish for trophies.
Or another World Cup.
Or even for himself.
Just...
Let him stay.
A small pang of guilt settled in his chest.
It felt selfish.
Maybe Ferran had dreams that reached beyond Barcelona.
Maybe leaving would make him happier.
And here he was, silently asking the universe to keep him close.
Beside him, Ferran closed his eyes too.
His wish was simple.
For his family to stay healthy.
For his teammates to stay safe.
For another successful season.
For the people he loved to be happy.
"Done," Ferran said, opening one eye before looking at Pedri with a grin.
"So..."
He nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
"What did you wish for, huh?"
Pedri laughed quietly, shaking his head.
"Why would I tell you?"
"You know it won't come true if you say it out loud."
Ferran gasped dramatically.
"Keeping secrets from me now?"
Pedri smiled—a small, genuine one.
"Some wishes are better left unsaid"
The house had fallen silent.
Only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds of the city drifted through the room.
Ferran had fallen asleep almost instantly.
He lay sprawled across Pedri's bed, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, breathing slow and steady. Every now and then, a soft snore escaped him, making Pedri fight back a smile.
He looked...
Peaceful.
Completely unaware of the storm he had spent the evening calming.
The moonlight spilled through the curtains, tracing soft lines across Ferran's face. His hair was slightly messy from where he'd kept running his fingers through it earlier, and without his usual grin or constant teasing, there was something quietly gentle about him.
Pedri looked away before he could stare for too long.
He unlocked his phone instead.
His gallery was filled with today's memories.
A blurry selfie at Park Güell.
A photo of Ferran laughing with flour on his cheek in the kitchen.
The two bicycles resting against the railing by the beach.
The skyline from the rooftop.
One by one, Pedri scrolled through them.
It felt strange.
Just a few days ago, he'd been carrying a weight so heavy he thought it would crush him.
Yet somehow...
Today had felt light.
Not because his feelings had disappeared.
They hadn't.
If anything, they had become clearer.
But for the first time, he hadn't felt alone with them.
His thumb paused on another picture.
It was Ferran.
Looking away from the camera, smiling at something Pedri couldn't even remember saying.
Without realizing it, Pedri zoomed in slightly.
His eyes lingered on the photo longer than they should have.
A warmth spread quietly through his chest.
He lowered the phone and glanced at the real Ferran sleeping beside him.
Then back to the picture.
Then to Ferran again.
The two versions blurred together—the smiling face on the screen and the peaceful one only a few inch away.
Pedri let out the smallest breath.
His heart still fluttered every time he looked at him.
That hadn't changed.
Maybe...
It never would.
He locked his phone and rested it on the bedside table.
For a long moment, he simply watched Ferran sleep, a quiet smile finding its way onto his lips.
Whatever tomorrow brought...
Tonight, Ferran was here.
And somehow...
For now, that was enough.
Pedri lay on his side, the blanket pulled loosely over him, his gaze fixed on Ferran.
He was asleep.
Completely.
A few strands of hair had fallen across his forehead, his breathing slow and even. Every now and then, another quiet snore escaped him, followed by the slightest twitch of his nose.
Pedri smiled despite himself.
"...Idiot."
The word came out so softly it was almost swallowed by the silence.
His smile slowly faded.
His heart began to pound again.
There was nowhere left to run.
For weeks...
No.
For months.
He had buried every feeling the moment it appeared.
He had called it stress.
Exhaustion.
Overthinking.
Anything but the truth.
But the truth had followed him everywhere.
To the World Cup.
To China.
To every training session.
To every headline with Ferran's name beside someone else's.
He finally understood why Marcos had bothered him so much.
Why the transfer rumors had made his chest ache.
Why every time Ferran laughed with someone else, a quiet voice inside him whispered, What if one day he doesn't need me anymore?
The real fear had always been losing Ferran.
Losing the one person who had quietly become the center of his world.
The real fear was what he felt for ferran.
Pedri shut his eyes.
A shaky breath escaped him.
The realization settled over him so gently that it almost hurt.
It wasn't just jealousy.
It wasn't possessiveness.
Those feelings had frightened him because they came from somewhere much deeper.
Every smile from Ferran could brighten his day.
Every absence could hollow it out.
His happiness had started depending on someone else...
And that terrified him.
Slowly, he looked at Ferran again.
Moonlight rested softly across his face.
So close.
Close enough that Pedri could reach out and brush the strand of hair away from his forehead.
He didn't.
Instead, tears gathered quietly in his eyes.
He laughed once under his breath—a small, broken sound meant only for himself.
"So that's why..."
The whisper barely existed.
"I've been in love with you."
Saying it, even if only to the darkness, felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff.
The words didn't make him feel lighter.
They made everything painfully clear.
He loved Ferran.
Not as a teammate.
Not only as a best friend.
He loved the way Ferran laughed before anyone else did.
The way he always looked for him after matches.
The way he could make an ordinary day feel unforgettable.
The way simply hearing "Pepi" in Ferran's voice made something warm bloom inside his chest.
And suddenly...
Every moment from the past few months made sense.
The jealousy.
The fear.
The ache whenever Ferran wasn't beside him.
The relief whenever he was.
A tear escaped before Pedri could stop it, sliding silently down his cheek.
He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"...This is bad," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"You're my best friend."
"And I..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
He simply watched Ferran sleeping peacefully beside him, his chest tightening with a bittersweet warmth.
For the first time...
Pedri stopped lying to himself.
And somehow, admitting the truth felt both like freedom...
...and the beginning of heartbreak.
He knows something bad is coming.