Chapter Text
It had smelled like summer the first time he met Pedri.
He always remembered the feeling of his youth club’s shirt sticking to his back under the blinding Canarian sun. It was a feeling that, one way or another, had again experienced many times. The memory, however, always had a different halo to it. Something particularly soft, hazy almost as if it had taken place in some kind of dream.
There was a lightness to the memory he had never really stopped and tried to understand. It was just a cherished moment. A moment that smelled of sea salt, sweat, sun on equipment leather, and sounded like exertion gasps and football boots worn by kids with dreams maybe a bit too big running around a pitch with no other care in the world apart from the ball they were chasing.
Ferran had always thought that was what life was supposed to be, forever. An endless journey of running with no other goal than achieving success. He soon had learnt otherwise, but by then, he was still a sixteen-year-old kid blinded by a passion people rarely understood.
That was why he ran faster than any other kid on the team. Why he got frustrated, why he had a character, why the ecstasy hit twice as hard every time he scored. People didn’t get it.
Except that day, he saw himself reflected in another kid’s hungry look. It was a more restrained way of carrying oneself, almost shy for someone that didn’t know how to look. Or what to look for. Ferran would have recognized that hunger anywhere, because he saw it every morning staring back at him from the mirror.
He should’ve felt threatened, wary, but instead adrenaline had pumped under his skin. This kid, still scrawny, only thirteen years old, watched and managed the ball like he could actually own it. It was a challenge, one Ferran was very willing to accept.
Then, after a well-fought win from his team, he looked back at the pitch and there was the kid, sat on the artificial grass, chest heaving with exhaustion, head tilted back taking in the sun. He suddenly opened his eyes, maybe because he had sensed he was being watched, and their gazes found each other. Nothing was said, they were way too far from each other for that. Ferran hadn’t felt the need to. He knew he would have all the time in the world for that.
-
One could say things hadn’t ended in the best terms with Sira.
It hadn’t been anything in particular. They hadn’t had a big fight, with screaming crying and all that stuff. Things had just turned cold, they both had felt it, and instead of cutting things off like they should have, they lingered. Ferrán had quickly realized they weren’t meant to be, but it was too comfortable, too convenient.
The fact was that Ferrán loved being loved. It took some time for him to comprehend that that love came with a price. He had liked Sira, he really had, maybe even loved her, but, just as he knew from the start and hadn’t wanted to admit to himself, they just weren’t made for each other.
It was fine, it hadn’t been the end of the world. Life had kept going. The pink press had given him some shit for it, as always, but what was knew. He would have liked to stay friends with her, but the truth is they hadn’t talked since that last ice-cold conversation, he had received no texts, no calls, and to be honest he hadn’t made any effort either.
The season was tough. Exhilarating with success, but tough still. Days melted into one another with seemingly endless training sessions, didn’t matter it was sunny or snowing, they had just lost 4-nill or won a Clasico. Strangely, he felt happier than he had in a while. Being pushed to his limits was the thing he had fought so hard to get, being good enough that he was expected to give his everything at any time for his team.
He could focus on football and only football. It helped him to keep his mind off other things he rather not think much about.
The night they won the King’s Cup had felt like a dream. The referee had blown his whistle at the end of the match and the world had just instantly went crazy. April’s nights were still cold enough to bite, but he hadn’t felt none of that then, only euphoria running through his veins, the very thing that sometimes had felt like a curse making him scream and laugh in triumph.
Like a chain reaction, he had looked around the field, searching for something, or rather, searching for someone.
He spotted him a couple of feet away, shouting at the cheering crowd, waving his fist in victory. He had ran towards him, and like he could sense him approaching, Pedri had turned around. He always turned around, didn’t he?
They needed no words, Pedri jumping into his arms as was already usual. His body heat had hit him like a wave. Amid all the noise, the strain of his muscles and the heat their effort had pumped into his body, Pedri wrapped all around him in that instant was the warmest thing Ferrán could remember ever getting in contact with. He had once burnt pretty badly his hand the first time he had cooked something by himself, but that heat had been nothing compared to how Pedri’s skin felt like. It was oppressive in the best of ways, in a way that made him want to stay trapped within it forever, just breathing in any hint of warmth he could ever get from the boy in his arms.
He had felt a knot grow in his throat. Probably because of the greatness of what they had achieved, maybe because a unconscious part of him had already realized what had been a long time coming.
He had shuddered at the feeling, not quite a well-formed thought yet, but something more real, more tangible than it had been yet up to that point. A mix of thrill, fear, and a deep-rooted emotion in his guts that had threatened to choke him. A lack of oxygen, and at the same time the first time he felt he had breathed in fresh air in a long time.
That feeling had stuck with him long after the match, and the corresponding celebration had ended. It had stuck with him that night, kept him awake, all too amazed by that new thing pounding in his chest to really feel anything else. The sheets had been cold under him, and he had felt as if his heart could burn a hole through them at any given moment.
The thing was, he had already known. He had been, somehow consciously aware that Pedri stirred something in him no other man had ever. He had been aware that they kind of had a platonic kind of friendship, one in which the line between being really close friends and some other unknown thing blurred from time to time. For some reason, it hadn’t really mattered to him until then. What if he stuck to the other boy like gum to a shoe? What if the other did the same? What if sometimes he felt a tenderness towards him with such a intensity that it hurt to even look at him? To breathe the same air as him, to laugh in the same space, while his pretty brown eyes shined with mischief and something else he had never been able to quite put his finger on? What if that made him do stupid things, like teasing him constantly, blowing him kisses that god, he hoped the other would receive with a silly grin, the one reserved for him and him only?
It hadn’t felt relevant, to want him wrapped between his arms each time he looked at him. It was just the way they were, the way they always had been, sticking together, through thick and thin, between lingering touches and longing staring.
Longing?
That was a word Ferrán never thought would apply to him. He didn’t long. He wanted something, he worked his ass of to get it, and sometimes he got it and sometimes he didn’t, but he never longed.
He wondered that night, staring at the shadows projected on his bedroom ceiling by the cars, that even in the madrugada drove through the street, if longing maybe was what he had been doing all that time, a feeling he hadn’t recognized until know and the reason he hadn’t been aware of that thing, that thing eating him away from the inside, till that night.
He tried to trace back in time the exact moment he had started feeling that way. Maybe it had been when Pedri had started laughing at his silly jokes, with that particular kind of incredulous laugh, as if almost embarrassed at himself for finding those first ridiculous attempts at friendship funny. Maybe it had been when he himself had started laughing back, at Pedri’s snarky remarks, at his occasional awkwardness, at anything really that involved him, just like a teenage boy giggling at anything his crush said or did.
The way he seemed immovable under his every touch, only reacting with playful smiles and blushed cheeks. The way he always felt solid under his hands, didn’t matter whether it was while celebrating a goal or while lovingly embracing him after a tiring training session, sinking into his hug like he had always belonged there, holding him back like he would always be there.
Maybe it had all started a hot summer evening, thousands of kilometers away from his current bed, with a boy as lovely as the sun shining on them looking back at him with an entire future written into his eyes.
-
Since that day he started noticing the small things. The details.
“Where’s your head at, man?” Pedri laughed at him, after having just missed the easiest of passes. His black locks stuck to his forehead because of the sweat, and the prettiest blush light up his face. Ferrán ached.
He shook his head in response and tried to get back into the activity.
He soon realized nothing had really changed between them. He didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, in fact, he felt more pliant and relaxed than he had before, Pedri even joking about his unusual pliability a couple of times. It seemed looking at his friend and having his breath stolen time and time again had that effect on him. Being able to touch, no permission needed, and no resistance met, had that calming effect on his nervous system. A nervous system that had been living at the edge till then, surviving off glimpses of affection he hadn’t even been aware he was furiously craving.
“Better luck next time, gorgeous.” He whispered after having won the final challenge of the day to him. Pedri tilted his head curiously, looked at him though long eyelashes, all boyish features and sharp angles, teasing smirk drawn on his lips.
“Luck? All about me is pure talent, gorgeous.” How was this boy real. Ferrán wanted to die, wanted to live just to be able to harbor the tinniest hope of one day making him his.
His. His. His.
-
It rained that week. The field’s grass was wet and slippery during training, and Pedri especially grumpy as he always was when they got that kind of weather. When getting out of the dressing room Ferrán jokingly covered the boy’s head with his hands to protect him from the raining, chasing after him with the only porpoise of keeping him dry. It got a couple of giggles from Pedri and that alone was enough to make up for the tempestuous weather.
During the break they sat next to each other on the bench, watching the rain that hadn’t weakened a bit drench the field.
“I can’t believe you don’t like rain.” Ferrán said, mesmerized by the beauty of the day’s greyness. Their teammates had gone back into the dressing room, and not a sound could be heard apart from the constant water drops against the ground.
Pedri, who, as always, was in the middle of eating a banana, swallowed and turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.
“I can’t believe you like it. Since when do you, anyway?” Ferrán shrugged.
“I don’t know. It’s just peaceful. There’s a beauty to it.” Pedri stared at him in silence, before erupting in a quiet laugh that forced a dumb smile out of Ferrán, the tips of his fingers tickling funnily. “What?”
“I didn’t know you were the kind to appreciate beauty.” He huffed another soft laugh. Ferrán frowned.
“What is that even supposed to mean?” Pedri shook his head and turned back to the field, a small smile still plastered on his face. “You’d be surprised. I’m a great beauty appreciator.” Watching Pedri’s profile, the soft curve of his nose, his eyelashes gently caressing his still wet cheeks, he didn’t even feel he was lying. He knew beauty. He knew it when he looked at Pedri.
Pedri didn’t answer, and Ferrán just stared at him in silence. Then, wanting the boy’s attention back on him again, he got closer and without any previous warning took a bit of the half-eaten banana Pedri kept holding.
Pedri groaned but his small smile, the content one, quickly returned.
“Tastes like home, huh?” Ferrán said, still chewing the fruit. Pedri bumped their shoulders, playfully, eyes still fixed on him as Ferrán had intended.
“Yes, it does.”
-
The dressing room was a whole other deal. Once he had started looking, Ferrán didn’t think he had the will to stop.
Pedri was just so close, mere centimeters away, and Ferrán damned the day he thought it a good idea to stay stuck to the Canarian even when undressed.
The boy took his shirt off, unaware of the hungry gaze of his partner, who was eating up every inch of skin he could put his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen him naked before, they had shared a locker room for ears now, but this was the first time he was actually paying attention.
Pedri’s back was soaked with sweat, turned away from him laughing at something some other teammate Ferrán couldn’t bother to identify had just said, and he craved. The boy’s muscles flexed and unflexed with every movement, all lean shapes and narrow waist, and Ferrán couldn’t fight the tentation of touching, just a little bit, something casual. So he did.
His hand splayed, he rested it just between Pedri’s shoulder blades, softly, with a gentleness that spoke of restrained desire and aching yearning. He ran out of breath.
It was just an instant, but he couldn’t help but wonder. If the rest of his body radiated the same warmth he could through his skin, if the sweat and the pretty blush extended to places he had yet to discover. If he got this sweaty during more explicit activities, if his sweat would run cold afterwards, laying all bare on sheets that would smell like sex. If he would allow him to lick him up whole, taste the salt off his skin, whether he would resist it if he did it right now.
A new question arose then. He had never been with another man, he never knew it was something he could be into until that moment. He wondered about hard muscle and even harder cock, about stubble burns and harsh hands pushing him down, and didn’t feel at all surprised when he sensed himself twitching in his underwear.
He imagined draping that back with his chest, pressing the boy against a mattress, driving him crazy, taking sounds out of him no one else had heard before.
All those thoughts crossed his mind in the brief time his hand stayed still, then he quickly lowered it, savoring every inch of pale skin he grazed in the way, and pinched him on his lower back.
Pedri yelped, adorably, and turned around, an indignant expression on his face.
“What the hell was that for?” Ferrán just grinned, that crooked grin he knew drove chicks crazy, and then lifted his hand to pinch him again on his reddened cheek. Pedri slapped him away, annoyed face eventually turning into a small smile. “Whatever man.” He said, rolling his eyes but being unable to erase the content smile that had settled on his lips.
Ferrán could have eaten him alive.
He counted it as a win.
-
Pedri called him late at night, and Ferrán quickly picked it up, half asleep, worried about what could have the younger boy calling him at such late hours.
“Pedri? What is going on?” He immediately asked, sitting on his bed and trying to wake himself up as fast as possible.
“Ferri, I need your help.” Ferrán nodded, then realized the boy couldn’t see him.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Do you know how to bake muffins? I promised my mum I’d make them for my cousin’s birthday, but I’ve already baked like three batches, and they taste weird.”
There was a pause.
“Have you followed the recipe?” Pedri huffed, as if annoyed that Ferrán was making such dumb questions.
“Of course I have.”
“Okay, hold on for a second, I’m gonna put you on video.”
He went downstairs to his kitchen while Pedri’s face appeared on his screen, seeming a bit distressed despite his best efforts. He looked soft, like all those times he had slept over at Ferran’s and sprawled on the sofa in his pajamas, all relaxed and pliant, like he belonged there.
“Hey, I’m sorry I woke you up, by the way.”
“Yeah well,” he said while stepping into the kitchen and turning on the lights, which blinded him a bit. “You ow me.”
-
Ferrán was hosting a party in occasion of winning the King’s Cup. After all, you don’t win a final against Real Madrid every day.
His house was buzzing with activity, everybody was there, even coach, who usually abstained from attending those kinds of event. There also were a couple dozen people he didn’t know, but he had given his friends the freedom to invite whoever they wanted. He hadn’t been planning on throwing the biggest party of the century, but he had felt cheerful enough to organize a little gathering, and once he had announced it Gavi had taken over the planning and things had spiraled out of control.
He would have felt annoyed under any other circumstances, but the guys deserved it, and he was content leaning on his living room wall, watching his friends get wasted, occasionally chatting with the once who still were sober enough to maintain a conversation, and sipping on his beer.
There was only one thing missing.
“Where are u?” he quickly texted Pedri, checking the hour. It was 1 am, an hour had passed since the party started. “Ur missing all the fun. And the mister shaking ass on the dancefloor.”
“What are you doing there?” Raphinha approached, more than a little tipsy. He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the center of the room, where everyone was chanting a Bad Bunny song that was blasting through the speakers and that Ferrán had been forced to listen so many times he already knew the lyrics by heart. “This is your party. It’s your responsibility to keep us entertained.”
Ferrán laughed. “My responsibility?”
“Well, yes. Who’s going to do it otherwise? Frenkie?” The Brazilian snorted. Ferrán laughed again.
“Hey, don’t underestimate Frenkie, you know he’s got rhythm in that dutch body of his when he wants to.” He still let himself be dragged to the dance floor, deciding to forget about Pedri for the moment. He was usually late to places anyway.
Ferrán must have drunk a bit more of beer than he had thought, because he rapidly lost track of time, joining his friends on their drunken chants until his throat hurt. It was then, when he excused himself to go and grab a glass of water to the kitchen, that he realized Pedri still hadn’t arrived.
He turned on his phone. 2:34 am. He had a missed text from his friend from about an hour ago.
“sorry, don’t think i can make it. head’s aching like a bastard.”
Ferrán tried not to be disappointed and failed. It didn’t really matter; he would see him at training on Monday, but still, without him it felt like there was something missing. He didn’t have someone to tease, to share stupid jokes with, to make his heart pound with shared looks and smiles.
He sighed, texting back a reply. “K. Hope ur feeling better tomorrow:))”
He waited for a while, seeing if the other boy would answer. When he didn’t, he guessed he would have already gone to sleep. He then opened social media and scrolled a bit through Twitter, feeling the tiredness of the week suddenly weighing down on him. Then, his thumb froze mid scroll, heart sinking.
“Pedri spotted a couple of minutes ago with a girl leaving a Barcelona restaurant. Is this the midfielder finally getting a girlfriend? Leave your thoughts in the comments!”
He suddenly felt a bit ill. There was an strange kind of pressure in his chest, and he rubbed it with his hand to try to make it go away. It didn’t.
He locked his phone, leaning on the kitchen counter and staring at the dark window in front of him. He heard a restrained laugh come out of his mouth, barely skipping through the knot tied in his throat. He harshly rubbed his face until his skin felt raw, trying to snap out of it.
Weirdly, he felt as if he had just lost something. He felt hollow.
God, he was so dumb.