Work Text:
the pretty girl.
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the friends-and-family box at Camp Nou, casting warm pools of light across the worn seats where Alora had sat countless times before. The hum of the crowd outside seeped in, a constant undercurrent to the focused quiet of those privileged enough to watch the match from here. For Alora, this seat was a throne - the familiar view point where she had spent years watching her parents dance across the pitch with effortless skill.
Mateo was already bouncing beside her, cheeks flushed with excitement, his small hands clenched into fists on his lap. Alora had taken on the role of caretaker early on, ushering him through the noisy crowds, holding his hand through matches that sometimes stretched longer than his patience, and keeping a watchful eye on him so he didn’t wander off.
Today felt different, though.
She tugged Mateo’s sleeve gently, offering a smile, but her eyes kept drifting - not to the field, not to the players warming up, but to the girl sitting next to them.
Her name was Mariana, and she wasn’t just pretty - although she was, with that effortless glow of someone who didn’t even realize the effect she had. Mariana was the younger sister of one of Pedri’s teammates, here to watch the game and support the team as always. She sat with a quiet confidence, her eyes sparkling as she laughed softly at something Mateo said.
Alora swallowed and turned her gaze back to the pitch, but she couldn’t shake the feeling - her heart fluttered like a live wire every time Mariana smiled or glanced their way. It was unfamiliar, a tickling warmth that made her palms sweat and her throat tighten in a way she couldn’t explain.
Usually, Alora was all-in on the match, eyes sharp, her mind racing with thoughts about formations and tactics. She loved football - it was in her blood, a language she spoke fluently. But today, the game became background noise, a distant echo behind the vivid presence of Mariana beside her.
Mateo, in contrast, was entirely oblivious. His excitement was raw and simple, and he leaned into Alora when she distractedly reached for his hand.
“Papi’s gonna score a goal today, right?” Mateo asked, his voice bubbling with hope.
Alora smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling slightly. “I think so.”
Mateo’s eyes darted toward the pitch just as Ferran jogged onto the field, his strong frame carrying him with effortless grace. Pedri wasn’t far behind, weaving through drills with the lightness Alora had watched a thousand times before.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Mariana watching the players too, lips parted slightly, eyes focused and bright. Alora wondered what Mariana thought about all this - the pressure, the glory, the dizzying mix of expectation and passion.
The crowd’s volume rose, swelling into cheers as the match kicked off, and Alora’s heart should have followed - but instead, she kept stealing glances at Mariana. It was curiosity, the kind that hints at a discovery you aren’t ready for but can’t look away from.
Alora chewed her lip, trying to focus on the rapid passes and swift tackles, but the warmth in her chest wouldn’t fade. She realized she wasn’t just protective of Mateo anymore, she was caught in something entirely new, and it scared her a little.
Mariana laughed softly again at Mateo’s endless commentary, then looked at Alora, her gaze gentle but piercing. “You’re really good with him.”
Alora blinked, suddenly aware she’d been staring again. “Thanks,” she said, voice a little breathy.
Mateo grinned, proud to be noticed. “I’m a good helper.”
“Definitely,” Mariana said, smiling at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
For a moment, the three of them were just there, a quiet bubble in the midst of roaring fans and flashing cameras.
Alora looked at Mariana again, her mind spinning. Was this what it felt like? The first time your heart paid attention to someone who wasn’t family?
She felt a flush rise to her cheeks and tucked a loose curl behind her ear nervously.
A sharp whistle on the pitch drew her attention back. Ferran was speeding down the left wing, chasing the ball with fierce determination, and Pedri was already coordinating a counterattack.
Alora’s eyes lit up. Football was her world, her refuge. But today, it was different, it was the stage on which she was quietly learning about the complicated flutter of growing up.
Mateo leaned his head on her shoulder, his small weight grounding her. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
Alora smiled softly. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”
Mateo squeezed her hand. “You’ll always be my best sister.”
“I know,” she whispered back.
As the match surged forward, with goal attempts, saves, and the intoxicating rhythm of the game, Alora sat there, caught between the certainty of her love for football and the dizzying new feelings Mariana had sparked inside her.
She knew one day she would have to figure it all out, the game, the feelings, the future she wanted to carve for herself. But for now, she just watched, held Mateo’s hand, and let the moment wash over her like the tide.
Because some kickoffs weren’t on the pitch. Some games started quietly, in the warmth of a family box, with butterflies in your chest and a heartbeat that felt like the first goal of the season.
- sofía ✎ᝰ.