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He doesn’t remember exactly when it happened for the first time. He could easily find out if he dared to open the box he keeps under his bed. With a simple calculation—one gift per year—he’d know perfectly well when it all began.
But he didn’t dare.
Of course, he knew about the Catalan tradition of Sant Jordi. He always managed to save up a few euros to buy two roses, one for his mother and one for his sister. They’d wither within a couple of days, yes, but it was worth it just to see the automatic smiles that appeared on their faces when receiving the flower. And if they were happy, he was happy.
But he never received anything. He used to—his mother would give him a book—but it would sit untouched on the shelf, collecting dust. So she stopped. And Pablo didn’t blame her—don’t get him wrong—but maybe the fact that he never received anything was exactly why that first time felt so special.
He was walking down the hallway with Pedri, laughing at something and dodging all the older kids who thought they were the kings of the school. But it was a good day, and Pablo didn’t care about those guys.
He doesn’t remember exactly what he was talking about with his best friend. Probably some new video game, a classmate, or something that happened in class. It didn’t matter much, but he does remember clearly how his happiness multiplied a thousand times when he saw his other best friend leaning against one of the lockers, watching the people pass by with a distracted air.
“Jude!” he shouted, unable to help himself, waving and walking faster toward him. And if his heart jumped a little when Jude looked at him and smiled, well—we’ll pretend he doesn’t remember that either.
“Don’t yell, it’s still too early” Pedri complained, lagging behind after Pablo’s sudden burst of speed.
“Hi” Jude greeted, his smile widening even more once the younger boy was close. His gaze dropped to Pablo’s hands, raising both eyebrows. “And those roses? For me and Pedri?”
“The day this one gives us something, the world ends” Pedri joked as he caught up with them.
“Oh, do you want them? You can have them—I can always buy more later” Pablo said innocently, frowning a little but extending both roses toward them. He got even more confused when they both laughed.
“He’s joking, Pablito. Who are they for?”
“My mom and my sister” he answered, pride returning to his face as he stepped toward his locker and entered the code.
“You guys aren’t even Catalan” Pedri teased, leaning beside Jude while they waited for him.
“No, but still...”
He fell silent when the locker finally opened, his heart stopping for a second. He could hear his friends still talking, continuing the conversation, not realizing Pablo had gone completely still.
He felt his face heat up as he stared at the inside, trying to make sure it was really his locker. But there was no doubt—everything in that metal box screamed his name. The books, pencils, notes, and failed tests told him this was definitely his.
And amidst all the chaos, there stood a small rose made of candy, resting calmly among the mess.
“Pablo?” Jude asked, in a tone the younger boy couldn’t quite decipher.
Pablo jumped, quickly stuffing the two roses into the locker and slamming the door shut. He looked at his friends, nervous they might have seen what was inside, his face turning even redder under their curious gazes.
“You okay?” Pedri asked, frowning.
“Yes!” he replied, louder and quicker than he meant to. He saw Pedri open his mouth to say something else, so he jumped in, “Let’s go to class or we’ll be late!”
Without waiting for a reply, he rushed toward the next classroom, his cheeks still burning at the thought of the small gift.
That day, he made a thousand excuses so his friends would leave without him, just so he could take the three roses out of his locker unseen. He even considered throwing the gift away, but in the end, he grabbed an old shoebox and threw it in there, forgetting about it for an entire year.
Because boys don’t get roses.
The next year wasn’t much different. He didn’t remember what had happened the previous Sant Jordi, so something similar happened again.
This time, he was late. Very late, actually. He had stopped at a pretty big stand, full of all kinds of roses—even ones in different colors. That’s why he took his time choosing the two most perfect flowers he could find. And that’s also why he had to run to school.
The hallways were already empty. The only sounds breaking the silence were his shoes squeaking against the floor and his tired breaths as he ran.
He stopped at his locker, quickly entering the code while adjusting his backpack. And when he went to place the roses inside, he saw it.
This time, it wasn’t a candy rose. What rested in the chaos now was a plush rose, a bit messy, clearly handmade by whoever had given it to him.
He didn’t even feel embarrassed this time—just angry. He shoved his own roses into the locker and slammed it shut, ready to run to class again.
“Again?” he heard.
He jumped, spinning quickly and pressing his back to the locker. He sighed in relief when he saw his best friend there, smiling playfully at the scare he’d accidentally caused, leaning forward slightly with curiosity.
“Idiot!” Pablo exclaimed, placing a hand over his chest, his heart racing. He didn’t know if it was from the fright or something else. “Are you late too?”
Jude hummed, tilting his head, ignoring the question.
“Last year you got one too, didn’t you?” he said, switching to a more teasing smile. “I saw it. You did a terrible job hiding it.”
“It’s nothing” Pablo muttered, brushing past him and walking toward class. He heard Jude following behind.
“It’s cute” Jude said in a calm tone. “It looked like something made by a primary school kid, but it had charm.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not funny” Pablo snapped, the anger and embarrassment bubbling up again. “It’s probably someone playing a dumb prank on me.”
Jude fell silent for a few seconds. So long, in fact, that he didn’t speak again until they reached the classroom door. He grabbed Pablo’s hand just before it touched the doorknob.
“Maybe it’s not a prank. No one would put that much effort into a joke.”
“Maybe not” Pablo murmured, feeling the tingle in the hand still connected to Jude’s. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt a strange sense of loss when he forced himself to pull away. “But whoever it is should say it to my face next year.”
As much as Bellingham wanted to respond, he had to hold back when Gavi opened the door, interrupting the class and asking for permission to enter.
And no matter how angry Pablo was, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. He dug through the mess under his bed and stuffed the rose into the shoebox with such force that a petal came loose.
He didn’t have the heart to leave it broken either, so a few hours later he fixed it and placed it back inside—this time, much more gently.
It was in the third year when everything changed.
He had spent the whole morning avoiding his locker. As tempted as he was to open it and see if there was a new rose inside, he forced himself not to go. He tried to keep his mind distracted so he wouldn’t think about it, and it wasn’t too hard.
He remembered Aina perfectly. Short, green-eyed, with curly brown hair; smart, kind, sweet. She was an incredible girl, always there for her classmates.
And obviously, she had to like Jude.
He saw them as soon as he walked into class with Pedri. The English boy was leaning on a desk, with her in front of him, rocking on her heels and hiding a big red rose behind her back. Pablo remembered holding his breath when Aina handed it to him, and Jude—being the good guy he is—received it with a sideways smile and a soft thank you.
“Sorry if this seems weird” she mumbled, her face completely red from embarrassment.
“It’s not weird, Aina. Thank you, really. It’s beautiful.”
Pablo froze for a few seconds, unable to take his eyes off those two people now sharing a shy smile. His chest hurt, his head was foggy. And when he felt the sting in his eyes threatening to bring tears, he decided to get out of there.
He didn’t know why it affected him so much. It had nothing to do with him. Jude wasn’t his. And Aina was a good girl. But seeing the rose in Jude’s tanned hands brought a strange pang, a cold emptiness in his stomach. A dull, unjustified rage.
He kept walking. Fast. Ignoring the confused calls from Pedri. Pretending he hadn’t seen anything, and that if he had, he didn’t care. And even though his mind was still in that classroom, his legs led him to the place he’d been avoiding all day.
He stopped in front of the locker, feeling his heart slam against his chest with every beat. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.
He didn’t know what to expect. And still, just like every year, it was there.
This time it was a white paper rose, made from folded pages of what seemed to be an English book. The letters danced among the creases and twisted edges, creating new phrases Pablo couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t perfect—there was a badly cut corner, one fold deeper than the rest, or a drop of dry glue in the center. Still, he felt warmth growing in his chest.
He picked it up with one hand. And, clutching the makeshift stem in his fist, he let the tears fall freely down his cheeks.
He ran away. Even when he passed Jude, who was trying to hide the big rose behind his back, he simply dodged him and left.
That’s when Pablo admitted it to himself. No matter your gender, you deserved to receive a rose on April 23rd. But Pablo, in a selfish thought, only wanted roses from one specific person—not someone anonymous.
There were several roses after that. One made of clay, another drawn on a mug. They all ended up in the same shoebox, hidden somewhere under his bed, though they invaded his mind at least once a day.
He didn’t know if he wanted to know who was behind those gifts. Of course he was curious, but he felt like he had idealized that person so much that he was scared they wouldn’t live up to his expectations.
It could still be a prank. Or a girl from another class he probably didn’t know. It could even be someone from his own.
It was his last Sant Jordi at the school. Again, he didn’t know what to expect as he walked toward his locker, which he only kept for that day, since it had been a long time since he actually stored anything inside. But he would never admit that.
His hands trembled as he entered his code. The same one he had kept for years. The same one that mysterious person had somehow figured out. And holding his breath, he opened the small door.
Nothing.
There was absolutely nothing. Maybe a little dust, if anything, but nothing more.
He let out a shaky sigh, gripping the edge of the door. Disappointment surged through him, dark thoughts clouded his mind, and pain settled deep in his chest. But why did it hurt so much if he never expected anything?
He closed the locker gently, pushing it until the soft click was heard. He leaned his forehead against it and closed his eyes, trying to accept that maybe it had all been a joke after all.
“Pablo.”
He jumped at the sound of his name, turning around almost immediately. It felt like déjà vu to see Jude there, just like a few years ago, looking at him with that sideways smile that drove him crazy. He tried to ignore the pain he felt upon seeing a rose in his hands.
“Hey, hi” he murmured back, not really in the mood to talk. That seemed to make Jude’s smile grow wider.
“Why so sad?” he asked, though he clearly already knew the answer. Pablo rolled his eyes and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.
“Another new admirer?” he said, dodging the topic, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. Jude chuckled, playing with the peculiar rose in his hands.
“Not really” he said, suddenly nervous and vulnerable—something rare for him. “Im gonna give this one to someone.”
It hit him like a slap in the face. He knew one day Jude would fall in love with someone, but knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Oh” he murmured, feeling the lump in his throat grow and his eyes start to sting. “Who’s it for?”
As if he had been waiting for that question, Jude’s nervous smile grew. And with trembling hands and his heart in his throat, he raised the rose toward him.
It was a black fabric rose, with the petal edges embroidered in bright gold. The stem was gray, matching the careful color palette of the handmade flower. It was almost perfect, with barely any imperfections, though every detail showed it had been crafted by hand.
“It’s beautiful” Pablo forced himself to say, his urge to cry stronger than ever. “I’m sure whoever it’s for will love it.”
And as if he had just said the funniest joke in the world, Jude burst out laughing. Pablo blinked several times, confused, watching for several seconds as his best friend laughed until he calmed down.
“I’m glad you like it” he said, the nerves seemingly gone with his laughter. Now his smile was teasing. “There’s no rose in your locker, right?”
Pablo frowned, opening his mouth to respond, but then closed it. Jude looked at him with a special sparkle in his eyes, patiently waiting for him to connect the dots.
No rose in the locker. He was handing him one. Handmade, like most of the others. He was always nearby when Pablo picked them up. As if... As if he wanted to see his reaction.
“You...” he murmured, but the lump in his throat kept him from going on. With a small cough, Jude helped him.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. At first, I did it because, I don’t know, I saw you with the roses for your mom and sister, and I thought someone should give you one too. And then... I liked seeing you open the locker. I liked thinking you smiled. I liked you.”
The world stopped for a second. Or at least that’s how Pablo felt. He swallowed hard, unable to find the words. Everything inside him was a mess—nerves, joy, relief, disbelief. And then, something stronger: pure emotion.
“You’re an idiot” he finally said, voice trembling and with a huge smile he couldn’t hold back.
“A little bit, yeah, maybe” Jude replied, smiling too, now that he saw Pablo’s reaction. “Can I finally give you this one, in person?”
Pablo nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears and a smile wider than ever. Jude handed him the rose, and this time, Pablo took it with both hands. As if it were the most delicate thing in the world.
“Thank you” he whispered, holding the flower close to his chest.
“You’re welcome.”
He wanted to say so many things. That he liked him too, that he’d been in love with him for years, that he had prayed it was him behind the roses. But he couldn’t. So, feeling like he was about to cry, all he could do was throw himself into his arms and hug him tightly.
Jude let out a soft laugh, full of happiness and relief, hugging him back just as tightly and burying his face in the crook of Pablo’s neck. And if a couple of tears fell from both of them, well—we’ll just pretend not to remember.
The alarm rings softly, with a song Pablo picked without thinking much, and that now reminds him of slow mornings with Jude. The kind where they spend minutes and minutes hugging, sharing lazy kisses and deep-voiced whispers, with silly laughter.
Wanting to recreate one of those mornings, he stretches his arm, turns off the alarm, and rolls over looking for the familiar warmth of his human radiator.
But it’s empty.
He frowns, still half asleep, and lifts his head. The balcony door is slightly open, letting in a warm breeze that smells like city and spring. He stretches before getting up, dragging his feet to the balcony where he finds him. Barefoot, in pajamas, with a cup of coffee in hand and his gaze lost in the rooftops. The sun kisses his skin and makes his curls shine, as if this were all a dream.
“What are you doing up so early?” Pablo asks, voice raspy, hugging him from behind. Jude smiles without looking away from the sky, placing his free hand over his boyfriend’s, stroking his skin with his thumb.
“Today is Sant Jordi.”
“And that means you can’t sleep?” Pablo jokes, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“It means I have something for you” Jude replies, gently stepping out of the hug and turning around.
He pulls a fabric rose from his pajama pocket. It’s white, with red-embroidered edges and a small tag sewn onto the stem that says: To the love of my life. Happy 4 years.
Pablo smiles, standing on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s scruffy chin. He takes the rose carefully, as if it were made of glass, and walks back inside to place it next to the others resting in a crystal vase on the desk: one made of wrapping paper, one of felt, another with dried petals from their first trip together... and all the ones Pablo once kept in a shoebox.
“How many are there?” Jude asks, leaning on the railing.
“Eleven” Pablo replies almost instantly. Because this time, he didn’t need to open the box and count them to know. Because this time, he counted and treasured them as his most precious possession.
“And you keep them all.”
“Yeah. Because they’re from you” Pablo says, turning to him.
Jude stepped closer with a silly smile, pressing their lips together for the first time that morning. He kissed him slowly, tenderly, their tongues dancing a perfect waltz.
"Happy four years" Pablo whispered, forehead resting against his, a teasing little smile decorating his lips. "Though it could’ve been a lot more if you’d dared to tell me sooner."
"Look who’s talking. You fell in love first and never had the guts to admit it."
"That’s not true! I told you I don’t even know when I fell for you. That doesn’t mean it happened first."
"Probably the moment you saw me. I tend to have that effect on people."
They kissed again, this time with more hunger, with Jude grabbing Pablo’s thighs to lift him and toss him onto the bed, where the younger one let out a playful laugh and pulled him into another kiss.
One of his legs dangled off the edge of the bed, and his foot bumped into a small box. He smiled against Jude’s lips, pushing the box further under the bed with his heel. Because some traditions were never lost. And even if there were no more roses, Pablo now hid letters he wrote to his boyfriend. So that, one day in the future, he could receive a rose and gift him a book full of those letters.
To celebrate, in his own way—and fully—the tradition of Sant Jordi.