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It’s another warm Tuesday.
Else known as another day for Ferran to crash at Pedri’s house.
“Jeez, how could they just end on a cliffhanger?” Ferran yawns, forcing a blink just once or twice more after barely keeping his eyes wide around the minute mark.
He’s drained and exhausted, but he ends up humouring Pedri when he asks to watch a movie he’s been desperate to see ever since its release on some illegal website. Pedri had been bugging him about it, talking about spending time with each other, even though it should’ve been proven pretty well whenever they’re on the pitch.
Still, Ferran doesn’t really think he has a say when it comes to things like this. God, Pedri’s lucky he’s almost too irresistible. And for one, he’s got to be thankful that Ferran has a soft spot for him. Definitely.
“Shit. It’s getting late,” Ferran murmurs. He stretches his arms and yawns harder again, this time an unsatisfactory sigh as end credits roll in through the screen. “I should probably leave, right?”
His voice echoes alone.
“...Pedri?”
He's been aware that the room had been suspiciously silent or so since the last couple of hours.
He calls again. There’s no answer, nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement. But he looks to his lap because he’s familiar with a certain weight crushing them. That same weight being none other than Pedri laying on it, facing him with eyes shut a long time ago.
He’s silent and still, peacefully resting in the warm slumber. All while Ferran curses himself for staying awake throughout the meaningless entirety of the show. There’s not much he does but accept defeat.
“Pedri…” Ferran whispers. His tone tries to be as gentle as possible.
There’s a small pattern–steady rhythms of breathing as Pedri’s chest slowly rises. Then as if a balloon, it deflates when it sinks back down. He didn’t snore, neither did he budge an inch.
Pedri just so happened to be there… existing.
He’s like an exhibition that would’ve broken through contact, whether soft or harsh, that was up to Ferran to tell now that he’s decided he’s obligated not to disrupt the sleeping beauty pressuring his thighs.
Well. He wouldn’t enjoy it if someone disturbed him too, would he?
Ferran obeys. He doesn’t make a sound. He doesn't bother to move a muscle either.
Instead, he hears the faint ticking of the clock hung above the wall. The television display goes back to the home screen, flashing thousands of other movies he’ll never have the interest nor the time to watch.
Because for now, Ferran thinks he has this moment all to himself.
Like a main character. Sort of.
As greedy and selfish as that might’ve seemed.
It’s true. He’s reluctant to watch everything disappear. Something that weirdly crossed his mind.
He thinks Pedri looks the stupidest when his head bobs, fighting for his dear life to stay awake when he sits in the locker room and patiently waits for everyone else to leave before he does too. Ferran never understood why he’s always done that. But sure, he’s grateful, no man gets left behind after all.
But when it’s like this, Ferran thinks Pedri looks the cutest.
Cringe, his mind tells.
Not so much for his heart. Not really.
Now he grows curious. Curious to know what his heart says–believes.
Because Pedri’s just… there. Dreaming far, far away.
Ferran thinks he’s going insane.
The consequences of ignoring the eye bags taking form, or his heart wanting to rip right out of his ribs–whichever, he thought, isn't completely wrong. He bears them long enough to know that.
So he shifts back a bit, careful not to wake Pedri up. Just needing a more comfortable position. He panics when Pedri starts to squirm, but the exasperation flushes down his throat because he doesn’t look like he’s going to be conscious until the sun rises.
Something in his brain convinces him this was a bad idea. Really bad.
“Pedri?” Ferran mutters.
No answer, like he’d predict. He’s unsure whether to call again.
Instead, Ferran sets a palm on Pedri’s shoulder. His body is warm and fragile, so vulnerable, and Ferran doesn’t deny the desire to treasure it. His hand rests there. They don’t want to leave any time soon.
Now he’s definitely curious. Though it barely made sense to him.
It’s instinct when Ferran leans closer. Then he hears Pedri’s collected breaths, and he’s able to observe.
Ferran wants to know how Pedri just falls asleep so easily that way, wants to know why his thick brows funnily furrow as he does so, wants–needs to know why the temperature suddenly spikes and turns so tense that Ferran thinks he’ll suffocate if he doesn’t begin to act.
You’re fucking stupid, Ferran tells himself.
Why would his main focus be Pedri’s lips?
It’s like they were chanting his name out. But for whatever reason, Ferran is unsure. He’s unsure why he hated bearing the loud silence of the atmosphere.
It all eventually points toward a certain direction–to shut everything up. Without a doubt.
Ferran bit his bottom lip.
It’s not like Pedri would remember anything. He’s totally knocked out. Surely.
Just an experiment, he reassures, nothing more, nothing less.
Ferran doesn’t think he likes Pedri in any way beyond what they already established. Ferran tells himself that Pedri’s the one at fault. He just looked really, really damningly pretty, and it’s impossible to not have cherished it.
Surely.
The clock strikes exactly 2 in the morning. Usually, he would’ve been asleep at this time too.
Ferran kisses him.
The world turns slower now. It’s painfully brief before he pulls back. He had to, so he doesn’t complain. But for that split second, he remembers it fitting like a puzzle piece.
He remembers it being so right and perfect and delicate and–
“Ferran?”
His heart drops through the core of the earth.
“Huh? I mean–Yeah? You slept through the entire movie… and I was going to leave but then you… you–”
“You can do that again,” Pedri interjects. His voice is as sleepy as its owner. “It feels nice.”
Nice? Ferran scratches the back of his head. He wanted to believe it’s Pedri’s drowsiness talking. “What? I don’t–”
“The thing you did. Just now.”
Pedri’s finger lazily picks up and drags across. Ferran thinks it’s funny they point to his mouth.