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The living room was cozy, late afternoon light slanting in through the half-drawn curtains of Ferran’s apartment. A pile of folded Barça training gear sat on the armchair, untouched. The TV was on, showing old match replays. Ferran sat curled up on the couch in a thick hoodie and a blanket over his lap, looking for all the world like a housecat recovering from surgery. Which, in fairness, he was.
Across the room, Pedri was kneeling by his overnight bag, methodically packing his things for the away game in Bilbao. Shampoo, socks, cleats, training bib. Ferran watched every movement like he was mentally tracking each item for signs of betrayal.
“You’re really going,” Ferran mumbled, voice muffled behind the hoodie’s collar.
Pedri glanced over without pausing. “We have an away match, sí. Kind of how the league works.”
Ferran frowned. “Unai Simón is going to be there.”
Pedri blinked. “He plays for Bilbao. Of course he’s going to be there.”
Ferran slumped lower. “And you’re going to be in the same stadium as him. For ninety minutes. Just you. And him. And his stupid gloves.”
Pedri zipped his toiletry kit shut a little louder than necessary. “Ferran.”
“He always pats you on the head after matches,” Ferran accused. “Like you’re a golden retriever. You smile at him.”
“He’s polite.”
“You and him did the euro trophy photoshoot together, ” Ferran sat up slightly, eyes narrowed.
“You literally with me on the pre euro photoshoot too, being in frame for my injury rehabilitation documentary.” Pedri said, eyebrows raised.
Ferran shrugged. “That was adorable.”
Pedri walked over to him with slow, fond steps, setting the bag down beside the couch. “You’re being jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Ferran said, even though he clearly was. “I’m… vigilant.”
Pedri sat on the edge of the couch, leaned close until their foreheads almost touched. “Are you afraid he’s going to head-pat me into falling in love with him?”
“I’m afraid he’s going to save your shot, wink at you, and steal your heart. Those keeper gloves hide wicked intentions.”
Pedri laughed under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re mine,” Ferran replied instantly, a pout forming. “And you’re going to Bilbao without me, with your fluffy hair and soft little smile and your thighs that never quit—”
“Ferran.”
“—and you think I’m not supposed to be worried?”
Pedri pressed a kiss to the corner of Ferran’s mouth, quick and reassuring. “You’ll survive. I’ll text you after the match. And Unai’s not even my type.”
“Really?”
“He’s too tall.” Pedri tugged gently at Ferran’s blanket. “I like guys with dramatic jealous streaks and recent abdominal trauma.”
Ferran smirked. “That’s me.”
“Exactly.”
As Pedri stood and reached for his bag again, Ferran called after him, mock-dramatic. “If he even smiles at you, I’m posting that video of you crying at our movie night.”
Pedri didn’t even flinch. “Do it and I’ll tell everyone you have a Sims family named after the Barça squad.”
Ferran gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
.
It was late by the time they made it to bed. The flat was quiet, lights dimmed, the soft hum of Barcelona nightlife just a murmur beyond the window. Pedri was already under the covers, hair damp from his post-shower routine, scrolling through his phone with lazy flicks of his thumb.
Ferran shuffled in wearing an old Barça training tee and a pointed frown. “I’m glad you will not celebrate with Unai tomorrow, at least,” he announced, completely unprompted.
Pedri blinked. “Are you still on that?”
Ferran slid into bed with a dramatic sigh, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “He’s a professional goalkeeper. He can catch crosses and feelings, apparently.”
Pedri snorted, setting his phone aside. “You’re being insane.”
“I’m being observant, ” Ferran insisted, turning onto his side to face him. “He always hugged you like he meant it, like he doesn’t want to let go.”
Pedri rolled his eyes, laughed softly and turned toward him, poking at Ferran’s chest.
“Do you want a hug, is that what this is about?”
Ferran huffed. “Maybe.”
Pedri sighed fondly and pulled him in, wrapping his arms around Ferran’s middle and tucking his head under his chin. Ferran melted into it immediately, long limbs curling up like a cat finally granted warmth.
“I’m a better hugger than him, right?” Ferran mumbled into Pedri’s shoulder.
“You’re different,” Pedri replied, voice muffled by Ferran’s hair. “You’re mine.”
That made Ferran go quiet for a beat, then he shifted just enough to press a kiss to Pedri’s collarbone.
“Also,” Ferran said with sudden gravity, “I need a goodnight kiss. To balance things out. Just in case Unai is dreaming about you right now.”
Pedri rolled his eyes again but leaned in anyway, brushing a soft kiss to Ferran’s lips. “There. Balanced.”
But Ferran didn’t let him pull away. His hand slid up to cradle the back of Pedri’s head, fingers threading into the soft curls there.
“No, no. That was a team hug kind of kiss. I need something more... exclusive.”
Pedri blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the shift in tone, and then Ferran was kissing him again—deeper this time. Slow and claiming. Like he had all night and didn’t mind proving a point with every gentle pull of his lips.
Pedri made a soft, surprised sound against his mouth, one that only seemed to encourage Ferran. He moved closer, crowding Pedri against the pillows as the kiss grew more intense. When he finally broke it, Pedri was breathless, flushed.
“Ferran—” he started, but then Ferran’s lips were on his neck.
Not hurried. Not rushed. Just slow. Hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed just beneath Pedri’s jaw, his thumb still brushing slowly at the nape of Pedri’s neck.
“You know what Unai can’t do?” Ferran murmured, between kisses. “This.”
Pedri squirmed under him, laughter bubbling up despite the flush warming his cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m territorial,” Ferran corrected, grinning, and leaned in to the soft spot just below Pedri’s ear. He sucked slowly, deliberately, enough pressure to make Pedri whine and try to pull away.
“Ferran—”
But Ferran didn’t stop. His mouth lingered, warm and focused, pulling a deep flush of blood to the surface. Then—just as the tension settled into something softer—he gave the faintest nip, more annoying than painful, right at the center of the forming bruise.
Pedri yelped, smacking his arm. “Ow! Did you just bite me?”
“Just a little,” Ferran said, way too pleased with himself. “Think of it as… shark mark.”
Pedri let out a shaky breath, his hand curling in the front of Ferran’s shirt. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Ferran said, pulling back slightly to admire his work, “here you are. Still mine.”
Pedri looked at him—eyes warm, cheeks red.
Ferran smiled and pulled Pedri into his arms again. “Sweet dreams, mi amor. Try not to hug anyone taller than me.”
“Can’t promise that,” Pedri muttered, yawning into Ferran’s shoulder.
.
Pedri was in the Bilbao’s locker room bathroom, towel slung low around his waist, steam still curling in the air after a hot shower. He leaned over the sink, dragging a razor carefully across his jaw with practiced ease. It wasn’t until he tilted his head to catch the light better that he froze.
Right below his ear, just visible above his collar when he stretched— a faint, purple bruise.
His eyes widened. “ Joder.”
He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting it like it had betrayed him personally. The mark wasn’t huge, but it was definitely there —blatantly so, now that his stubble was gone. No wonder his friends had given him that weird little smirk after training.
He pulled his towel tighter with a groan. " Ferran, I’m going to kill you.”
He called Ferran for a video call later that night. Ferran answered in bed, hair messy and flopped to one side, a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach. He looked entirely too proud of himself for someone who was recovering from surgery.
“You shaved,” he said immediately, noticing the smooth jaw. “Looks good. Clean.”
Pedri shot him a glare through the screen. “You’re unbelievable.”
Ferran blinked, all innocent. “ What did i do?”
“You know exactly what,” Pedri hissed, shifting so only half his neck was in view. “I looked like I’d been attacked by a needy vampire in training today.”
Ferran grinned, unbothered. “A very affectionate vampire.”
“People noticed!”
“Well, maybe now Unai will back off,” Ferran said, with a completely unjustified sense of triumph. “You think I did it for fun?”
“You absolutely did it for fun!”
Ferran shrugged, spooning more cereal into his mouth. “Also to mark my territory. Same difference.”
Pedri let out a groan, flopping back against his pillow at the hotel. “This is so embarrassing. Do you know how hard it is to explain why your neck looks like you lost a fight with your boyfriend’s mouth?”
“I hope you didn’t explain at all,” Ferran said cheerfully. “Let him wonder. Let the whole team wonder.”
Pedri covered his face with one hand.
“You’re the worst.”
“You miss me though,” Ferran said, voice dropping just enough to sound smug again.
Pedri peeked at the screen between his fingers. “Shut up.”
Ferran grinned, soft around the edges now. “I’ll shut up if you send me a picture of the hickey.”
Pedri stared.
Ferran blinked. “For documentation.”
Pedri stared harder.
“…Fine. For science.”
Pedri hung up on him.
Ten seconds later, Ferran got a selfie of Pedri looking pissed off but still devastatingly cute, the faint purple mark visible under his jaw. The caption read: You owe me.
Ferran grinned so wide it almost hurt his stitches.