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The sun had only just started warming the Ciutat Esportiva slopes when Ferran and Pedri arrived at the training ground. The city was still quiet, morning haze clinging to the air, and Ferran was grateful for the silence before the noise of drills, whistles, and shouted instructions began. He glanced at Pedri, who was stretching out his shoulders beside the car, hoodie half-zipped, curls flattened on one side from sleep.
“Did you even rest?” Ferran asked, voice lazy but teasing.
Pedri yawned into his sleeve. “You kept moving all night,” he said, muffled. “Couldn’t sleep properly.”
Ferran laughed under his breath. “I was cold.”
“You were a blanket thief.”
Pedri’s tone was soft, the kind that made Ferran’s chest ache with affection. He reached over and flicked the hood on Pedri’s sweatshirt. “Next time I’ll bring two blankets to bed then.”
They walked through the gates, cleats in hand, nodding at the security guards who already knew them by name. The smell of fresh-cut grass lingered through the corridor, mixed with the faint metallic tang of equipment polish. A few of the younger players were already there, music echoing faintly from someone’s speaker.
It was a typical morning, or so it seemed.
Pedri rubbed at his neck as they entered the locker room. His body felt off - he couldn’t explain it. He’d woken with a strange heaviness low in his stomach, but it wasn’t pain. It was more like warmth, a quiet hum beneath his ribs. He didn’t mention it. He never did when his body felt strange, because footballers were always sore or tired or both.
Ferran noticed, though. He always did.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he said, hanging his bag in his locker. “Something up?”
Pedri shook his head. “Just sleepy.”
Ferran hummed and didn’t push. Still, when Pedri wasn’t looking, he watched him from the corner of his eye. Something about the way Pedri moved was softer this morning, slower, like he was conserving energy. It made Ferran’s instincts twitch, that deep part of him that always wanted to make sure Pedri was alright.
By the time the team gathered on the pitch, the air had warmed into that pleasant, early-autumn brightness that made everything feel easier. Players greeted each other, tossed jokes back and forth. Héctor Fort, one of the youngest, bounded over with his usual energy, grin stretching from ear to ear.
“Morning, viejos!” he chirped at Ferran and Pedri.
Ferran groaned. “You’re too cheerful for someone who’s about to run laps.”
“I like running,” Héctor said proudly. “Makes me feel alive.”
“Wait until you’ve done ten seasons,” Pedri muttered, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. Héctor always made him laugh, even when he didn’t mean to. The kid was all limbs and noise, still learning to balance his alpha instincts with the team’s rhythm.
As warmups began, Ferran found himself glancing at Pedri again. He couldn’t help it. It was instinct. His body stayed aware of Pedri in every moment, tracking where he was on the pitch, how he was moving, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It had always been like that between them, but today it was stronger, heavier, like something had clicked deeper inside him without his permission.
“Focus, Torres,” Gavi called from across the cones. “You’re lagging.”
Ferran snorted and pushed himself faster. But his gaze flicked back to Pedri again as soon as he finished the lap.
Coach Hansi was watching too. Not just Ferran, but the two of them together. He had a way of seeing things before anyone else did, the quiet patience of someone who had been in this world long enough to recognize patterns. There was something in the air today, something subtle.
Pedri’s scent had changed.
It was faint, just under the usual freshness of his beta scent, but there was a sweetness there now. It lingered like the smell of warmed milk and honey. Hansi caught it when the wind shifted and lifted his head slightly, curious. He didn’t say anything, only made a small thoughtful sound under his breath and scribbled something on his clipboard that had nothing to do with drills.
“Alright, warmup’s over,” he called. “Small-sided games. Keep it tight, quick transitions.”
They split into teams. Ferran and Pedri ended up together, which was normal - Hansi liked pairing them because their instincts fit perfectly. Pedri read space like poetry, and Ferran trusted him enough to play blind passes without looking.
The scrimmage started, energy quick and light. Héctor was on the opposite team, darting around like a spark. He was still laughing between plays, nudging Cubarsí, making Gavi shout at him to focus.
But then, halfway through, something odd happened.
Pedri was moving through midfield, ball at his feet, when Héctor suddenly appeared beside him. It wasn’t rough, just playful, but the young alpha leaned a little too close as he reached for the ball. Pedri laughed, trying to sidestep, and that was when Héctor froze.
His nose twitched.
Something smelled good.
He couldn’t help himself; the reaction was pure instinct. He leaned in slightly, sniffing before he even realized what he was doing. It wasn’t strong, but it was sweet in a way that didn’t fit. Like sun-warmed sugar, soft and addictive.
“Hey,” Héctor said with a grin, blinking in surprise. “Who smells so nice?”
Pedri laughed awkwardly, assuming it was a joke. “Maybe you’re just hungry.”
But Héctor tilted his head, sniffed again, and then frowned thoughtfully. He got closer before anyone could stop him, still trying to place the scent. Ferran, who was nearby, straightened immediately.
He didn’t understand why his pulse spiked. He only knew he didn’t like how close Héctor was standing to Pedri.
“Fort,” Ferran called, still smiling but his tone a shade lower. “What are you doing?”
“Smelling something,” Héctor said. “You don’t smell that? It’s like-” He paused, grinning wider. “It’s sweet. Like sugar or milk or something.”
The other players started laughing. Gavi pushed him lightly. “You’re weird, hermano.”
“I’m serious!” Héctor laughed too, though, and tried to sniff again, leaning closer toward Pedri. “It’s right here, I swear.”
Pedri blinked, unsure what to say. He could feel the warmth rise in his cheeks. The situation was ridiculous, but the attention made him self-conscious. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, backing a step away.
Ferran moved with him, almost instinctively, stepping between them. He didn’t even think. His alpha instincts surged like a tide, protective and sharp.
“Back off, Fort,” he said, still in that teasing tone but with a weight underneath.
Héctor froze, eyes flicking up to Ferran. The laughter on the field faded slightly as everyone sensed the shift.
“Relax, Torres, I’m just joking,” Héctor said quickly, grin faltering.
Ferran’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t want to growl, it would make it worse, but his chest vibrated anyway with a low sound that wasn’t entirely voluntary. It was instinctive, a warning. Quiet but unmistakable.
Héctor blinked, startled.
The sound rolled low from Ferran’s throat, and even though it was brief, it carried that primal edge only an alpha could make. Protective, territorial. It wasn’t directed in hatred, but it was clear: stop.
The kid took a step back.
Pedri blinked at him, startled too. “Ferran,” he whispered softly, like a reminder.
Ferran shut his mouth, breathing out through his nose. He realized what he had done only after the silence settled. The field had gone oddly still. Even Hansi looked up from his clipboard, eyes narrowing slightly.
Then, as quickly as it had happened, the tension broke.
Gavi snorted. “Damn, Ferran, you sound like my dog when someone touches his toys.”
The laughter came back, a ripple through the group. Ferran forced a smile and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Instincts.”
Pedri’s lips quirked, awkward but fond. “You’re ridiculous,” he said softly, but there was warmth in his eyes.
Héctor was still wide-eyed, though. He’d seen something in Ferran’s expression right before the growl, something raw and protective that had made the hair on his arms rise. It wasn’t anger exactly - it was instinct, the kind of thing older alphas carried when they were guarding something precious.
He decided maybe he didn’t need to figure out the scent after all.
“Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, backing away with a grin. “I’ll go bother Cubarsí instead.”
“Good idea,” Ferran said dryly.
The moment passed, laughter returning as Héctor jogged off. Cubarsí groaned when he saw him coming, shouting, “No, stay away from me!” and everyone laughed again.
But Ferran’s body didn’t relax right away. His instincts were still humming under his skin, hot and restless. He stayed close to Pedri, without meaning to, close enough that their shoulders brushed when they moved.
Pedri noticed, of course. He always did.
“You okay?” he murmured between drills, keeping his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.
“Yeah,” Ferran said quickly. “Just… sorry about that. Didn’t mean to…” He trailed off.
“Growl at the kid?”
Ferran winced. “Yeah.”
Pedri’s laugh was quiet, soft. “It’s fine. He’ll survive.”
But inside, Pedri felt something flutter. He couldn’t name it, but Ferran’s sudden protectiveness had sent warmth through his chest. It wasn’t the first time Ferran had acted like that, but this had been different - sharper, more instinctive, like his body had known something neither of them did.
Hansi watched from the sidelines, expression unreadable. He’d seen the whole thing. The way Ferran’s stance had changed, the subtle edge to his tone, the way Pedri’s scent had shifted again when Ferran stood close.
He didn’t say a word. Just jotted something else on his clipboard.
The rest of training went smoothly. Once the tension eased, everyone fell back into their rhythm. They ran drills, practiced short passes, played another round of small-sided games. Ferran tried to focus, but every time Pedri laughed or brushed past him, his chest felt too tight. He couldn’t explain it.
When practice ended, they jogged back toward the locker room. The afternoon sun had fully burned away the morning haze, leaving everything bright and sharp. Ferran walked beside Pedri, stealing glances now and then. Pedri was smiling again, talking with Balde about something stupid Gavi had done.
He looked fine.
Still, Ferran couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting under the surface - something quiet but real.
Hansi called after them just as they were leaving the field.
“Good session,” he said. Then, as Ferran and Pedri turned, he added in a lighter tone, “Torres, maybe next time save the growling for opponents, ja?”
A ripple of laughter followed. Ferran flushed slightly. “Yes, coach.”
Pedri covered a laugh with his sleeve.
But as they walked away, Hansi’s gaze followed them. He hummed under his breath, thoughtful again. There was something about the way Pedri smelled - soft, sweet, not quite the same as before.
He’d been in football too long not to notice when something subtle was shifting in a player’s body. He didn’t jump to conclusions, but he knew enough biology, enough instincts, to suspect that nature had its own timeline.
“Interesting,” he murmured to himself. Then he went back to his notes, pretending not to see the way Ferran’s hand brushed the small of Pedri’s back as they disappeared down the tunnel.
The mood lightened after Ferran’s little growl incident with Héctor, but the team never stayed serious for long. A few minutes later, they were back on the pitch again for a light passing circuit before cool-down. The kind of relaxed session that felt more like play than work.
Lamine was the loudest of them all.
He was bouncing around the pitch, laughing, chasing the ball like a puppy that had too much energy. He was young and full of it, never able to stop moving, and everyone loved him for it even when he was chaos in human form.
Pedri had always had a soft spot for him. Maybe because he reminded him of himself a few years ago, before the pressure and the endless attention. Maybe because Lamine never treated him like a veteran, just like an older brother who could be dragged into games and dumb jokes.
They’d been passing the ball back and forth when it happened.
Lamine made a fake step-over, Pedri reached out to block, and somehow the ball escaped both of them. They collided in the middle, tumbling onto the grass in a heap.
Pedri’s laugh came out breathless. “You’re hopeless,” he said.
“You tripped me!” Lamine said, grinning wide.
“You tripped yourself.”
They were both laughing now, grass sticking to their socks. Lamine didn’t bother getting up right away. Instead, he poked Pedri’s side, just to be annoying.
“Stop,” Pedri said, trying not to smile.
Lamine poked again.
Pedri snorted, swatting his hand away. “Stop, Lamine, seriously-”
But Lamine had already started giggling, and once he started, he never stopped. His hand darted to Pedri’s stomach, tickling mercilessly.
Pedri burst out laughing, twisting to escape. “Lamine! Stop it, I’m serious!”
“You’re laughing, so you’re not serious!” Lamine cackled, fingers digging lightly into his sides.
The two of them were a blur of laughter and limbs, rolling in the grass like kids. The others were half-watching, half-joking from the sidelines. “Get him, Lamine!” Gavi shouted. “Don’t let him win!”
Ferran was watching too, standing only a few meters away.
At first, he smiled. It was harmless, playful. Lamine was like a little brother to everyone, and Pedri was good at laughing things off. But as the tickling went on, Ferran’s smile slowly faded.
The moment Lamine’s hand brushed over Pedri’s stomach again, something inside Ferran went sharp.
It wasn’t rational. He knew that. He knew it was just Lamine messing around. But his chest tightened, instincts rising so fast it almost startled him. His pulse jumped, breath catching.
Pedri’s laughter hit his ears again - bright, soft - and it made the feeling worse.
Lamine’s hand lingered on Pedri’s stomach a second too long.
And then Ferran growled.
It was louder this time. Clearer. The sound rolled across the pitch, low and warning. It cut through the laughter instantly.
Lamine froze mid-laugh, eyes wide. Pedri stopped moving, still half-lying on the ground.
The entire pitch went quiet.
“Uh…” Gavi muttered from somewhere behind them. “Did that just..?”
Ferran didn’t even realize he had moved until he was standing closer, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His instincts screamed at him to put himself between them, to make Lamine move back, to keep anyone from touching Pedri again.
“Lamine,” Ferran said, voice low but steady.
The kid blinked up at him, still half-crouched on the grass. “What?”
“Get off him.”
Lamine tilted his head, confused. “We were just playing.”
“Get off.”
There was no edge of humor in Ferran’s tone now. It wasn’t angry exactly, but it carried something weighty that made even the pup pause.
Pedri sat up slowly, face flushed from laughter and confusion. “Ferran-”
Before he could finish, Lamine laughed again, trying to diffuse the tension. “Tío, chill, that’s my mamá,” he said, grinning. “We’re just playing. I’m not gonna do anything.”
The others burst into laughter at that. Even Balde doubled over, wheezing. “Your mamá?” he echoed.
“Yeah,” Lamine said proudly. “Pedri’s everyone’s mamá. He’s the one who tells us to eat vegetables.”
Pedri groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re all children.”
The laughter spread, but Ferran didn’t join in. He was still standing there, every muscle in his body tight, eyes fixed on Lamine. The kid’s joke hadn’t eased anything for him. If anything, it made the protective feeling worse.
Pedri turned to look at him. The glare on Ferran’s face startled him. It was darker than before, sharp around the edges, his eyes burning with something fierce and territorial.
Ferran’s cheeks were flushed, though, betraying that he was embarrassed too. He could feel the others watching him, but he couldn’t shake the instinct clawing under his skin.
Lamine noticed it too.
“Whoa,” he said, blinking up at Ferran again. “You’re serious?”
Ferran didn’t answer.
Pedri reached up, resting a hand on his arm. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice meant only for him. “It’s fine. He’s just being a brat.”
Ferran didn’t move for a moment, still locked in that protective stance. Then he took a breath and forced himself to look away.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.”
The tension eased slightly. Lamine grinned again, clearly not understanding the full picture.
“See, mamá?” he said cheerfully. “He’s just jealous.”
Pedri groaned again and threw a handful of grass at him. “Go away, Lamine.”
Lamine dodged, laughing, and pretended to reach for him again, fingers wiggling in mock-tickles.
The sound that left Ferran’s throat this time was sharper.
Everyone froze again.
It wasn’t just a warning growl. It was protective in a way that made the small hairs on Lamine’s neck stand up. Even though he knew Ferran wouldn’t hurt him, instinctively he took a step back.
Ferran’s body was tense again, every line of him saying no.
“Alright, Torres,” Hansi’s voice came from behind them, calm but firm. “That’s enough.”
Ferran blinked and realized what had happened. He closed his mouth immediately, breath coming a little fast.
Lamine raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he said, laughing a bit awkwardly. “Relax. I’m done. Promise.”
Pedri was still sitting on the grass, confusion flickering across his face. “Ferran,” he said softly. “What’s going on with you?”
Ferran didn’t answer right away. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away. “Nothing. Just… sorry. I don’t know.”
Hansi was watching again from the sidelines, expression unreadable. He’d seen everything. The growl, the way Ferran’s eyes had changed, the way Pedri’s scent had grown sweeter the closer Ferran got.
He didn’t interfere beyond that single warning. He just watched. Observed. Noted.
Pedri stood up and brushed grass off his shorts. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Ferran said, but his tone didn’t sound convinced.
Pedri frowned. “You’re acting weird.”
Before Ferran could reply, Hansi blew the whistle again. “Back to drills,” he called. “Five minutes on the clock!”
The players groaned but started moving again. Lamine jogged off, still laughing, calling out, “Don’t worry, mamá, I’ll stay far away!”
Pedri shot him a glare that didn’t quite hide his amusement.
Ferran exhaled and followed Pedri back toward the line of cones. The tension still clung to him like static. His instincts hadn’t settled. Even as they started moving again, he found himself glancing at Pedri every few seconds, just to check, just to make sure he was fine.
Pedri noticed, of course. “You keep looking at me,” he said between passes.
“Just making sure you’re alright,” Ferran replied.
Pedri gave him a sideways look. “You’ve done that before, but not like this.”
Ferran hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain it without sounding strange. “Maybe your heat is coming or something,” he said finally, voice quieter. “Sometimes your scent changes early. Makes me… I don’t know. React more.”
Pedri blinked, thoughtful. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “That’s not supposed to happen for another week, maybe more.”
“Maybe it’s earlier this time.”
“Maybe you’re just crazy.”
Ferran huffed a quiet laugh. “That too.”
They fell into a rhythm again, the conversation slipping into comfortable quiet. But Pedri’s mind kept circling back to the way Ferran had growled. Twice. And not small ones either.
It wasn’t normal. Ferran had always been protective, yes, but never territorial like that. He wasn’t the type. He didn’t snap at teammates for jokes, didn’t bare his instincts unless it was necessary. Yet something about this morning had brought all of that to the surface.
Pedri’s hand brushed over his stomach absently as he jogged. There was that strange warmth again, the one that had been there all morning. He shook it off. Probably just hunger.
When the whistle blew again for the next break, the players scattered for water. Hansi called Ferran over, voice even.
“Torres,” he said, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, coach,” Ferran said, straightening instinctively. “Sorry about earlier.”
Hansi nodded once. “No harm done. Just… remember, control.”
“Yes, coach.”
But Hansi’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual before he let him go.
Ferran rejoined Pedri near the benches. Pedri handed him a bottle of water without looking up. “So, coach told you off?”
“Something like that,” Ferran said, sitting beside him.
Pedri took a sip of his own water, glancing at him. “You really don’t know why you keep growling?”
Ferran shook his head. “It’s weird. I just- every time someone touches you today, it feels wrong.”
Pedri’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Even Lamine?”
“Especially Lamine.”
Pedri laughed softly, but his voice had a gentle note. “He’s just a kid, Ferran.”
“I know. That’s why it’s weird.”
Pedri studied him for a moment. There was something different in Ferran’s posture today, that subtle restlessness under his skin. It wasn’t anger. It was instinct. Pure and heavy and protective.
“Maybe it really is my heat,” Pedri said after a moment, voice casual. “Sometimes it changes timing.”
Ferran looked unconvinced but didn’t argue. “Just tell me if you start feeling off.”
Pedri smiled faintly. “You’ll be the first to know.”
That answer seemed to relax Ferran a little. He leaned back on his hands, letting the breeze hit his face. The tension in his body eased slightly, though his eyes still flicked toward Lamine now and then.
When the next drill began, they moved back onto the pitch together. Pedri’s laugh returned, light and genuine, and Ferran’s shoulders loosened as the minutes passed. The worst of his instincts had cooled, but a quiet protectiveness lingered - something primal and unexplainable.
Hansi kept watching from the sidelines. He’d been in this business too long to miss the signs. The way Ferran had reacted, the faint sweetness in Pedri’s scent, the subtle hormonal shift that only someone with experience would recognize.
He didn’t plan to say anything. Not yet. Whatever was happening would make itself known soon enough.
For now, he just made another note on his clipboard.
“Torres - overprotective tendencies today. Pedri - possible hormonal fluctuation.”
He underlined it once, small and neat, then blew his whistle again to start the next phase of training.
On the pitch, Ferran and Pedri exchanged a quick look before taking their positions again. Ferran’s eyes softened when Pedri smiled at him, the tension slowly melting into something tender.
It was still a normal day. The drills, the laughter, the familiar rhythm of football. But under all of that, something quiet and instinctive had started to shift between them, something neither of them could name yet, though Hansi already suspected.
And though Ferran didn’t understand why his instincts were screaming to protect, he knew one thing for sure.
Whatever it was, he wasn’t letting anyone touch Pedri again.
The match had been exhausting, the kind that left every muscle buzzing and every thought slowed down by adrenaline. The dressing room was alive with noise. Boots clattered to the floor, laughter bounced off the walls, someone sprayed deodorant too close to the showers and everyone yelled about it.
Pedri sat on the bench with his head tilted back, a towel draped around his shoulders, still catching his breath. His hair was damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. The match had gone well - he’d played almost the full ninety, Ferran scoring once and assisting another.
It was the kind of win that made the air hum with satisfaction.
Marc Bernal, one of the youngest, was bouncing around from locker to locker, too excited to stand still. He’d been subbed on near the end and had done well, and the older players were teasing him for it.
“Eh, look at the kid!” Gavi shouted, tossing a sock at him. “You think you’re a superstar now?”
Marc ducked the sock and laughed. “You’re just jealous!”
He was all energy, grinning from ear to ear, running on pure adrenaline. He had not yet learned what it meant to contain his instincts. Even though he was young, his alpha scent still pulsed heavy in the humid air of the locker room, strong with pride and excitement.
It was a lot for anyone’s senses, especially after ninety minutes of play.
Pedri didn’t mind it. He’d grown used to the smell of a dozen players after a match - musk, sweat, cologne, and the underlying tang of different pheromones mixing in the heat. It was a sensory storm. He was used to blocking most of it out.
Marc, however, had no such filter.
He was still learning to keep his pheromones contained, still learning how not to let them flare when he got emotional. And right now, his excitement was bleeding into the air around him, his scent bright and warm. It wasn’t aggressive, just strong, almost like sunshine and spice.
He turned toward Pedri, who was sitting near the corner.
“Pedri!” he said, voice loud and happy. “You were insane today!”
Pedri smiled, tired but genuine. “You too, niño. You made that last tackle look easy.”
Marc beamed, cheeks pink with pride. “You saw that?”
“Of course I did.”
Marc laughed and, without thinking, wrapped an arm around Pedri’s shoulders in a half-hug. It was quick, clumsy, just the kind of physical affection that came naturally to the younger players after a win. But his pheromones flared again, excitement bleeding into the air.
Pedri felt it brush against him like warmth. He didn’t think much of it. It happened all the time - young alphas had trouble controlling it, and Marc had apologized for it before.
“Good game, hermano,” Marc said, giving him a playful shake. “You killed it.”
Pedri chuckled. “Alright, alright, go celebrate somewhere else before you break my neck.”
Marc laughed again and pulled away, moving on to joke with Lamine across the room. The moment passed, the noise rising again, laughter and shouting filling the space.
Pedri didn’t even realize the faint trace of Marc’s scent still clung to him.
Ferran came in a few minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder, hair wet from the showers. He was in that calm post-match mood, the satisfied kind that came after a win and a goal. He looked around, nodding to a few teammates, and his gaze found Pedri almost instantly.
He smiled. It was automatic.
Then he stopped walking.
Something in the air shifted.
His nose twitched before he even understood why. There, faint but unmistakable, was another scent clinging to Pedri - not his, not Pedri’s usual subtle warmth. It was sharper, spicier, full of youthful energy. Ferran’s brain didn’t need long to identify it.
Marc Bernal.
It hit his instincts like a shock.
He hadn’t even meant to react, but his body tensed immediately, a low growl forming in his chest before he could stop it. The sound was quiet enough that only those nearest might have heard it, but it vibrated through the air, primal and warning.
Pedri turned, blinking up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Ferran didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked across the room, locking briefly on Marc, who was laughing near the showers with Lamine. Then back to Pedri. His jaw tightened.
“Nothing,” Ferran said finally, though his tone was rough. “You just smell like someone else.”
Pedri raised an eyebrow. “Someone else?”
“Bernal,” Ferran said simply.
Pedri’s eyes widened slightly, then he laughed, shaking his head. “He hugged me. He was excited. He doesn’t know how to control his scent yet. He already apologized.”
“He hugged you?”
Pedri looked up at him, still smiling like it was nothing. “Yeah, just a quick one. He’s a kid. Don’t get all weird about it.”
Ferran didn’t move. His shoulders were tense, eyes fixed on Marc again. He could feel the faint scent of the younger alpha still lingering in the humid air, clinging to Pedri’s skin. Every instinct in his body told him to get rid of it, to cover it with his own, to reassert some invisible boundary that his instincts insisted was there.
Pedri was still talking, still half-laughing about it. “Seriously, he’s just a pup. Don’t look at me like that.”
But Ferran wasn’t really hearing him anymore. His attention had already drifted toward Marc again.
Marc noticed.
He froze mid-laugh, sensing the weight of Ferran’s gaze. His grin faltered slightly. Ferran’s expression wasn’t openly angry - it was worse than that. Calm, focused, a silent warning written in his eyes.
Marc swallowed. He knew he’d done something wrong. He’d been warned before about letting his pheromones flare too much around teammates, especially around bonded pairs. But it wasn’t like he’d meant to. He just got excited.
Now, though, Ferran was walking toward him.
The room’s noise dimmed slightly, players sensing the tension even before Ferran spoke. He wasn’t moving fast, but there was something about the way he carried himself - solid, steady, eyes locked - that made Marc’s instincts scream at him to stay still.
Marc tried to laugh it off. “Hey, Ferran,” he said, voice too bright. “Good game, man.”
Ferran didn’t answer. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sharp. The smell of dominance rolled off him - not aggressive, but powerful, controlled, unmistakably alpha.
Marc’s shoulders tensed.
It wasn’t that Ferran was threatening him - Ferran wasn’t that kind of person. But something about the energy in the room had shifted, the invisible pull of hierarchy that existed among alphas. Marc’s heart thudded faster, instincts confused.
Ferran blinked, the fog in his head clearing as quickly as it had come.
What the hell was he doing?
He took a small step back, shaking his head as if to physically knock the instinct away. “Forget it,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s nothing.”
Marc exhaled quietly, relieved.
Ferran turned and walked back toward Pedri, ignoring the curious looks from Gavi and Balde. He could feel their eyes on him, but he didn’t care. The moment he stood near Pedri again, the tightness in his chest eased, his breathing settling back into rhythm.
Pedri looked up at him with that patient, half-amused expression he always wore when Ferran did something odd.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” he asked softly.
Ferran rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I really don’t. That was… weird.”
“Yeah,” Pedri said, voice gentle. “You’ve been acting really weird lately.”
Ferran huffed a small laugh, embarrassed. “Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.” Pedri turned slightly to face him, towel still around his shoulders. “You’ve growled at three people in two days, Ferran. You never do that.”
“I know.”
“Something’s going on.”
Ferran leaned against the locker beside him, eyes unfocused. “I just keep feeling like I need to protect you,” he said quietly. “Like, really protect you. It’s instinct. I can’t explain it. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Pedri said quickly. “Just… odd.”
Ferran nodded. “Yeah.”
The air between them settled again. The sounds of the locker room returned - laughter, the hiss of the showers, the clatter of bottles being thrown into bags. The moment passed quietly, but the confusion lingered.
Across the room, Marc was still giving nervous glances in Ferran’s direction. He looked like he wanted to apologize again but decided against it. Lamine whispered something to him that made him snort a laugh, tension easing a little.
Pedri noticed the look on Ferran’s face and nudged him lightly. “You scared him.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” Pedri smiled, faint but warm. “He’ll be fine. Just maybe… try to stop growling at the kids?”
Ferran groaned softly. “I’ll try.”
Pedri chuckled, then got up to grab his shirt. The faint scent of Marc’s energy was still there, but underneath it was Ferran’s - familiar and grounding. It felt strange to realize he could tell the difference so clearly.
When he looked back, Ferran was still watching him, eyes softer now.
“You okay?” Ferran asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Pedri said. “Just tired.”
Ferran hesitated, then reached out and brushed a bit of grass off Pedri’s shoulder that had somehow survived from the match. “Let’s go home soon.”
Pedri smiled at the simple word, home. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
As they packed up their bags, Hansi walked past, clipboard in hand. His eyes flicked briefly between them, expression thoughtful. He didn’t say anything, only gave a small nod before leaving the room.
He’d noticed it again - the subtle change in Pedri’s scent, the way Ferran’s instincts kept flaring, unprovoked. It wasn’t something he needed to address yet, but he made a mental note all the same.
Something was definitely happening.
And if he was right, they would all find out soon enough.
For now, the two of them left together, shoulders brushing as they walked down the tunnel. Ferran carried both of their bags without thinking, Pedri still half-laughing about the chaos of the locker room.
Outside, the night air was cooler, fresher. Ferran’s body finally relaxed, the noise of the stadium fading behind them. He glanced at Pedri again, something unreadable in his eyes.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked once more.
Pedri nodded. “Positive.”
“Good.”
Ferran smiled faintly, though the confusion still lingered in his chest. Whatever had been stirring inside him all day - that protectiveness, that edge of instinct - he couldn’t explain it. But as he watched Pedri walk beside him, laughing softly about something Gavi had said earlier, he knew he’d do anything to keep him safe.
He didn’t know why. He just knew it felt right.
And deep down, Hansi’s quiet suspicions were beginning to look more and more correct.
Something was definitely changing - and soon, none of them would be able to ignore it.
The break couldn’t have come at a better time. A few days off from training, the kind Hansi Flick liked to schedule to keep the squad from burning out, and for once, Pedri didn’t argue. His body had been feeling off lately, like he was running on batteries that didn’t quite fit right. The calendar marked this week as his usual downtime for his heat anyway, so he’d already been given leave. Ferran took it as an excuse to hibernate with him at home, doing absolutely nothing productive - which, for once, was exactly what they both needed.
They spent mornings on the terrace, the sunlight pouring in through the sliding doors, Ferran sprawled across the outdoor couch with his phone, Pedri in one of his oversized hoodies, half asleep against his shoulder. They made breakfast too late, took naps too early, and watched every random film that appeared on the streaming menu.
It should’ve felt perfect.
Only, Pedri couldn’t quite shake a strange restlessness. His body was warm in the wrong places, sluggish in others. He chalked it up to stress or overtraining. His heat should have arrived by now, the usual predictable rhythm he’d come to know over the years. Instead, it lingered somewhere on the horizon, neither coming nor gone.
He told himself it was fine. Things fluctuated. Bodies changed. He ignored the faint nausea that crept up in the mornings, the way certain smells - even Ferran’s coffee - made his stomach twist. Ferran noticed, of course.
“You’re pale,” Ferran said one afternoon, reaching out to touch his forehead.
“I’m fine,” Pedri murmured, leaning back against the headboard. “Probably just the food yesterday.”
Ferran frowned. “We ate the same thing.”
Pedri shrugged, soft smile. “Maybe you cooked it worse than I thought.”
That earned a laugh, a gentle nudge. Ferran didn’t press. He rarely did when Pedri didn’t want to talk about his body; he’d learned long ago that sometimes the best way to help was to stay close and wait.
The next few days passed in quiet routine. Ferran went out for a light jog; Pedri stayed curled on the sofa, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. The faint nausea persisted but never grew worse. They both figured it was stress, the body’s way of demanding rest. By the time team training resumed, Pedri felt almost normal again.
Almost.
Back at Ciutat Esportiva, the usual rhythm of laughter, cleats, and chatter filled the morning. Ferran walked beside Pedri through the tunnel, shoulders brushing, their hands almost touching before they reached the pitch. They were subtle around the others, but the bond between them was obvious in the smallest gestures - the way Ferran’s gaze always found Pedri first, the way Pedri’s expression softened whenever Ferran laughed.
Training began as usual: rondos, passing drills, tactical movements. The autumn air was brisk, and their breaths hung like mist. Flick observed from the sideline, arms crossed, his eyes sharp but not unkind. He’d been watching Pedri for weeks now - the small changes in how he carried himself, the quieter presence. The coach didn’t voice his suspicions, not even to the staff. Years in football had given him instincts for more than tactics.
During one of the full-field exercises, Araujo went in for a challenge. It wasn’t reckless - just one of those heavy, clean tackles that sent both players tumbling. Pedri hit the grass with a muffled thud.
It wasn’t hard, not really. He’d taken worse. But instinct overrode thought; before he even processed the fall, his arms folded tightly over his middle, as if protecting something fragile. He blinked, confused at himself. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed himself upright, brushing off the grass with a small laugh.
“Estoy bien,” he called, waving off the teammates jogging over.
But Ferran had seen it.
He’d seen the way Pedri fell, the way his hands moved, and something cold and electric coursed through him. His pulse jumped. It wasn’t logic - it was instinct. Before Pedri could even stand fully, Ferran was storming toward Araujo, voice sharp.
“What the hell is wrong with you, hermano?” His words cut through the noise, startling everyone nearby. “Why would you go in like that?”
Araujo blinked, straightening, surprised. “Relax, hermano, it was clean-”
“Clean?” Ferran snapped, stepping closer. “He could’ve been hurt!”
The air tightened. Even Pedri froze, halfway between confusion and embarrassment. Ferran didn’t usually lose his temper like this. His protective streak was known, sure, but this, this was too much.
Héctor and Gavi exchanged looks. The younger players slowed their drills. Even Lamine, who’d been joking at the edge of the group, went quiet.
Araujo was about to defend himself, voice low, when something in his expression shifted. His nostrils flared slightly - just a faint change, one that most wouldn’t notice. The scent that lingered around Pedri, that subtle, sweet undertone, clicked in his mind. It reminded him of something he’d experienced before: his wife, months ago, when her scent had changed before she’d even known she was expecting.
He blinked, realization settling like dust. He didn’t know, of course. He wouldn’t assume. But suddenly Ferran’s reaction made more sense. The tension, the protectiveness, the growls during training.
So, instead of answering, Araujo lifted his hands in quiet surrender. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean it like that.”
Ferran’s jaw worked. He wanted to keep arguing, to release the irritation burning beneath his skin, but Araujo’s tone disarmed him. The fire simmered down into confusion. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.
Pedri walked over quickly, hand on Ferran’s arm. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’m fine. It didn’t even hurt.”
Ferran looked at him, guilt and instinct tangling in his chest. “He shouldn’t have gone in that hard.”
“I’ve had worse tackles from you,” Pedri said, trying for a light tone. It almost worked. Ferran’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement, but his eyes stayed dark with worry.
Flick called them back to order then, his whistle sharp in the air. “Enough, chicos! Back to work.”
The players dispersed. Pedri squeezed Ferran’s wrist once before jogging off. Ferran stayed still for a second longer, watching him go, that strange tension still humming in his chest.
💛
After training, the locker room felt unusually quiet. The atmosphere was lighter - jokes and chatter resumed - but Ferran was still wound tight. Pedri sat beside him, toweling his hair dry, trying to act normal.
“You okay?” Pedri asked, glancing sideways.
Ferran nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I just… something felt wrong when you fell.”
Pedri paused, studying him. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” he said gently. “Since before the break.”
Ferran exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, I know.”
“It’s probably just my heat coming,” Pedri offered. “That’s what you said before, remember?”
“Yeah,” Ferran muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe.”
Pedri smiled faintly. “You worry too much.”
“Maybe you don’t worry enough,” Ferran said, but his tone softened, affection breaking through the tension.
They changed quietly after that. Around them, the rest of the team joked and argued about the session, voices echoing off the tiles. Flick stood by the doorway, chatting with one of the assistants. His gaze flicked briefly toward the pair of them - the small, unspoken closeness - and the way Ferran’s posture still leaned subtly toward Pedri as if guarding him even now.
The old coach didn’t smile, but there was something knowing in his eyes.
Outside, the evening light had softened into gold. The players filtered out one by one, laughing and slapping shoulders. Pedri lingered by the exit, waiting for Ferran to finish tying his shoelaces.
Ferran looked up at him, something unspoken still hovering between them. “You sure you’re okay?”
Pedri rolled his eyes but smiled. “Yes. Stop asking.”
“Can’t help it,” Ferran admitted. “You’re acting off.”
Pedri leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his hair. “So are you.”
That made Ferran laugh quietly. He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. They walked out together, side by side. Flick watched them pass, eyes thoughtful, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at his mouth.
He didn’t say a word.
But in his head, he noted what he’d seen - the sweetness in Pedri’s scent that no one else quite seemed to recognize, the growing protectiveness in Ferran that no alpha fakes. Years in this game taught him when to intervene and when to wait.
This, he decided, was a moment for patience.
Whatever was happening between them, it would reveal itself soon enough.
The whistle blew again - short, sharp. “Break!” Flick called out, waving a hand. “Ten minutes. Water. Stretch. Cool down properly.”
The team broke into small groups, laughter starting up again as bottles cracked open and jokes resumed. But Flick didn’t move back toward the assistant coaches. Instead, he started walking toward the middle of the pitch, eyes fixed on two players in particular.
Pedri and Ferran.
Ferran noticed first. He felt the weight of the coach’s gaze before he even looked up. Something in his gut tightened - not fear exactly, just that guilty kind of awareness when you know you’ve been caught doing something you probably shouldn’t have.
He stood a little straighter, chest puffing instinctively. Pedri looked over, confused at the sudden stiffness beside him.
“Qué pasa?” he asked quietly.
“Uh.” Ferran’s throat went dry. Flick was still coming closer. “He’s coming here.”
“So?” Pedri tilted his head.
“So-” Ferran’s pulse jumped. Oh, fuck. Mister knows. The thought hit like lightning. He knows. He’s seen me losing it. He’s seen me growling at half the team. I’m screwed.
By the time Flick reached them, Ferran’s shoulders were tense, hands on his hips, trying too hard to look casual. Pedri, meanwhile, blinked up at the coach with his usual calm, unaware that Ferran was internally spiraling.
“Hola,” Pedri greeted, polite as ever.
Flick stopped in front of them, arms crossed, expression neutral but eyes glinting with that quiet sharpness that made him impossible to read.
He looked between the two for a moment. Then, to Ferran’s utter horror, he smiled. Just a small one, but enough to make Ferran’s brain short-circuit.
“How are you feeling, Pedri?” Flick asked, voice calm.
Pedri blinked. “Good! It was just a tackle, I’m fine.”
Flick nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t move away. “You sure?”
Pedri nodded again, though there was a flicker of confusion now. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Hmm.” Flick’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone stayed even. “No nausea lately? Or dizziness?”
Pedri hesitated this time. Ferran winced inwardly.
“Uh… maybe a little?” Pedri admitted after a second. “Just this week, but it’s fine. Probably just tired.”
Flick hummed under his breath, studying him with the faintest hint of amusement. “How long exactly?”
“Only a few days,” Pedri said, half shrugging. “Nothing serious.”
The coach nodded again, thoughtful. Ferran wanted to sink into the ground. Every word felt like a spotlight.
Beside him, Flick turned his head slightly, fixing his gaze on Ferran now.
“And you,” he said mildly. “What’s going on?”
Ferran froze. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Flick’s tone carried that faint lilt of amusement again, though his face stayed composed. “You’ve been… different lately. Edgy. Growling at your teammates, which is new.”
A small ripple of laughter rose from the nearby players listening in, quickly stifled when Flick’s gaze cut their way. Ferran rubbed the back of his neck, heat creeping up his ears.
“Uh… yeah,” he said lamely. “Sorry about that. Just been… on edge for personal reasons.”
“Personal reasons,” Flick repeated, like he was tasting the words.
Ferran nodded, praying the pitch would swallow him whole. “Yeah. Nothing bad. Just, uh, personal.”
The coach’s brow rose slightly, and then, to Ferran’s shock, he laughed softly. “You don’t say.”
Pedri looked between them, still completely lost. “Wait, what’s happening?”
Flick exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly now. “Nothing bad. Just checking. You two seem… off balance. Happens sometimes.”
Pedri frowned. “I’m fine, really. I think it’s just-”
“Nausea?” Flick offered again.
Pedri huffed. “Just for a few days.”
Ferran groaned quietly, face buried in his hands. He could practically feel Flick connecting dots that shouldn’t even exist.
Flick glanced back at him. “It’s been happening for a few days, you said?”
Ferran blinked. “Uh… what? Oh. Yeah.” He laughed weakly, rubbing his neck again. “A few days.”
The coach’s expression softened, his tone now genuinely kind. “Then maybe,” he said carefully, “you both go to the doctors. Just to be safe.”
Pedri looked mildly surprised. “Oh. You think it’s serious?”
“Not at all,” Flick said. “But sometimes our bodies tell us things we don’t notice. You’ve both been working hard. No harm in a check-up.”
Pedri nodded slowly, reassured. “Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.”
Ferran gave a faint, mortified chuckle. “We’ll do that.”
Flick’s gaze lingered a moment longer - quiet, steady, but knowing. “Good.” He clapped Ferran once on the shoulder. “Try not to pick fights with half the squad in the meantime, eh?”
The teasing lilt in his tone made several players laugh outright. Ferran groaned again, covering his face. “Noted, jefe.”
Flick smiled. “Good. Get some water.”
With that, he walked off, leaving behind two very different reactions - Pedri’s confusion and Ferran’s slow-motion meltdown.
Pedri turned to him, brows drawn. “What was that about?”
Ferran stared at him. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Ferran hesitated, staring down at the grass, then shook his head. “Never mind. Hansi’s just… perceptive.”
Pedri laughed softly, bumping his shoulder. “He’s always perceptive.”
“Yeah,” Ferran muttered. “Too perceptive.”
Pedri grinned, not catching the full meaning. “Come on, protective alpha.” He said it teasingly, not realizing how it made Ferran’s stomach twist even tighter. “Let’s get water before he sends us to the medical room right now.”
Ferran rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
They walked toward the sidelines together, the hum of conversation rising behind them. Ferran’s pulse slowly evened out, though the embarrassment lingered, warm and heavy.
He could still feel Flick’s knowing look in his mind - the kind that said I won’t say anything, but I know everything.
He sighed under his breath, shaking his head. “We’re so screwed.”
Pedri glanced at him. “Huh?”
“Nothing,” Ferran said quickly. “Water. Let’s just get water.”
Pedri laughed again, easy and bright, completely unaware that half the team was still quietly snickering about Ferran’s reaction.
Across the field, Flick watched them go, hands behind his back, expression unreadable but faintly amused. He didn’t need to say anything more. Experience told him that whatever was happening between those two - whether it was instinct, emotion, or something else entirely - it would sort itself out soon enough.
And when it did, he’d be there to make sure they both stayed standing.
The next day, training had been uneventful - surprisingly so. Pedri felt physically fine, though still slightly off from the previous week’s subtle nausea. Ferran hovered close the entire session, never more than a few steps behind him during drills, a faint, almost constant alertness radiating from him. Pedri tried to brush it off, but he noticed the way Ferran’s jaw tensed whenever someone got too close, or how his eyes flicked over his shoulder to check for potential bumps and tackles.
It was sweet, in a protective alpha kind of way, and yet it made Pedri’s stomach flutter with nerves he didn’t understand. He tried not to think about it too much, focusing instead on his passing drills and shadowing Ferran as the session wound down.
By the time training ended, they were both sweaty, tired, and sticky with the remnants of the afternoon sun. Flick came over as they gathered their things, calm and precise as ever.
“All right,” Flick said, folding his paper. “You two - Pedri, Ferran - I want you to come with me. Quick detour. Nothing serious, just precautionary.”
Pedri blinked, confused. “Precautionary?”
Ferran’s gaze flicked to him, that tense edge still present in the way he moved.
Pedri frowned. “Me?”
“Yes,” Flick said, clearly expecting a follow-up. “Pedri, a few days ago, you mentioned nausea and feeling off. Let’s make sure everything’s fine. A professional check-up.”
Pedri nodded slowly, still processing, while Ferran’s protective instincts flared quietly in the background. He’d been ready for a dozen other scenarios - tiredness, minor injury, stress - but not this. He didn’t quite know why, but he felt that low, prickly edge of worry in his chest.
They walked out together, Ferran’s hand brushing Pedri’s on the way to the medical building. Pedri glanced at him, puzzled at the way his alpha seemed unusually keyed up, with a faint tightness around his jaw.
“You’re on edge,” he whispered.
“I just-” Ferran sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s just get this done.”
The car ride was quiet. Pedri tried to make small talk, pointing out a few random things outside the window, but Ferran barely responded. His focus was on Pedri, eyes constantly flicking toward him, as if measuring each small movement for any sign of danger. Pedri felt a strange mix of comfort and amusement.
When they arrived at the clinic, the receptionist barely looked up from her screen, handing them a clipboard and directing them to wait in the small, sunlit room. The walls were pale, decorated with serene landscapes, and the faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air. Pedri sat down, trying to take deep, calming breaths.
Ferran leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, giving him that faintly unreadable alpha stare that made Pedri’s stomach twist.
“You okay?” Pedri asked again, quietly.
“Yeah,” Ferran said, voice clipped. “You just… stay still. Don’t pass out on me before the doctor gets here.”
Pedri laughed softly. “You’re ridiculous.”
A nurse called them in moments later. The doctor was friendly, mid-forties, glasses perched on his nose, and a calm, professional air that seemed to smooth out all the tension in the room. He shook their hands, smiling politely.
“So, Pedri,” he began, “Flick mentioned you’ve been feeling a bit off lately. Nausea, fatigue, anything else?”
Pedri nodded, trying to organize his thoughts. “Uh… yes. Just a little nauseous, sometimes tired. A week or so.”
The doctor made a few notes, glancing between Pedri and Ferran. “Any other symptoms? Changes in… cycles?”
Pedri froze. He glanced at Ferran, who had an expression somewhere between amusement and barely contained panic. Pedri swallowed. “Cycles?”
“Yes,” the doctor said gently, “anything unusual. Even small deviations can be important.”
Pedri blinked. “Uh… kind of. I missed my heat last week.”
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. Well, we’ll run a few standard tests to rule everything out.” He paused, looking over the top of his glasses. “Including one… less common possibility, but we should check.”
Pedri tilted his head, still trying to process. “Less common?”
“Yeah,” the doctor said, voice calm, professional, not dramatic at all. “It’s not something we see often in cases like yours, but it’s simple to test. Just to be thorough. Sometimes it surprises even the most careful of us.”
Ferran’s head snapped toward him. Pedri noticed the small tightening of his jaw, the flicker of tension in his eyes, that unmistakable alpha alertness sharpening again. Pedri frowned. “Ferran?”
Ferran waved him off slightly, trying to keep his cool. “It’s fine. Just… listening. That’s all.”
The doctor reached into a small cabinet, pulling out a cardboard box, neatly labeled, with a small stack of tests inside. “I’ll send you home with this,” he said, placing it gently on the counter. “Follow the instructions, and we’ll review the results as soon as possible. Nothing to worry about. Just precaution.”
Pedri stared at the box, utterly flabbergasted. Speechless.
Pregnancy test. Now 99.99% accurate! Results in just 3 minutes!
He opened his mouth once. Then again. Nothing came out. He tried to focus on the words, the gentle reassurance in the doctor’s tone, but his mind had completely stalled.
Ferran, surprisingly, seemed slightly more composed. Not completely calm, his alpha instincts were still on edge, but less shocked than Pedri. He leaned closer to the counter, glancing at the instructions and nodding slowly.
Pedri blinked at him. “You’re… not freaking out?”
Ferran swallowed. “Not yet,” he said, voice low. “We’ll handle it.”
Pedri turned back to the doctor, wide-eyed. “Handle… it?”
The doctor smiled softly. “It’s simple. Tests first. Then we’ll know. The rest is just planning.”
Pedri’s mouth opened again. He tried to think of a question, but none came. He simply stood there, completely frozen in the small, sterile room.
Ferran laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Hey. It’s okay. Really. We’ll figure this out.”
Pedri blinked up at him. “You… you think it’s okay?”
“Yeah,” Ferran said quietly, still watching him carefully. “We’ve got this. Together.”
Pedri’s stomach twisted - partly from nerves, partly from the relief in Ferran’s voice. He managed a small, shaky nod.
The doctor added a final reminder. “Follow the instructions. Bring the results back. Nothing dangerous. If they’re positive, we’ll set you up with an OB, if they’re not, we’ll look further into what might be causing the fatigue, nausea, etc..And remember - we do this all the time. No one’s judging.”
Pedri finally managed a whisper. “Vale…”
Ferran leaned a little closer, rubbing his thumb along Pedri’s shoulder. “See? Nothing to stress about.”
Pedri smiled faintly, still stunned. “Still can’t believe it,” he admitted.
“You’ll get used to it,” Ferran said, smirking slightly despite the lingering tension. “And I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”
The drive back home was quiet. Pedri kept glancing down at the box on his lap, still speechless. Ferran’s hand occasionally brushed against his, just enough to keep him grounded without saying a word.
Once inside, Pedri carefully set the box on the counter, staring at it like it was an alien artifact. Ferran leaned against the counter next to him, arms crossed, silently observing.
“This is… weird,” Pedri finally muttered.
“Yeah,” Ferran said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But manageable.”
Pedri looked up at him, eyes wide. “You’re really not… freaking out?”
Ferran let out a small, exasperated laugh. “I’m embarrassed,” he admitted. “More than anything. But I’m not panicking. Yet.”
Pedri’s eyebrows rose. “Embarrassed?”
“Yeah,” Ferran said, shrugging. “Personal reasons.” He grinned faintly, though it was still cringey. “Mostly because I look like a lunatic in front of Flick and everyone else.”
Pedri chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I can’t tell if you’re more embarrassed or protective.”
Ferran’s jaw worked. “Both. Exactly both.”
Pedri finally let out a small, quiet laugh, leaning into him. “Well… thanks for being here. Even if it’s awkward.”
Ferran’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him a little closer. “Always,” he said, voice low.
Pedri rested against him, still staring at the box on the counter. Speechless, bewildered, and entirely reassured by Ferran’s quiet presence.
Ferran, still slightly on edge but steadying, let out a soft sigh. Somehow, he had a feeling they’d get through whatever came next - together.
And somehow, he didn’t mind the embarrassment at all.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. Pedri was on the edge of the bath, a small paper cup in front of him on the counter and the pregnancy test plunged into it. Three minutes. That was all. That was supposed to tell them everything.
Ferran sat across beside him, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, leaning forward slightly, and watching. He didn’t say anything - didn’t need to. The silence was heavy in the most ridiculous way possible. Pedri could feel every second crawl, the faint tick of the kitchen clock echoing like a drum in his head.
He shifted in his seat, awkwardly brushing his hair back with a nervous hand. “This… this feels so weird,” he muttered.
Ferran didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a low hum of energy under the surface that made Pedri feel simultaneously protected and hyper-aware. He glanced at Ferran out of the corner of his eye. “We’re literally… sitting here staring at a cup of my pee,” he said, voice small and embarrassed.
Ferran’s jaw twitched. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but there was a strange smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We are.”
Pedri groaned softly, sinking further into his chair. He was entirely, utterly, impossibly flustered. And it didn’t help that Ferran’s alpha energy seemed to pulse in the air around him, a protective warmth that made Pedri feel both safe and painfully aware of how ridiculous the situation was.
Three minutes. It didn’t feel like three minutes. It felt like three hours.
Ferran leaned back slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the test, a strange mixture of calm patience and barely restrained excitement radiating from him. “Almost there,” he said, voice low.
Pedri couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, nervous and awkward. “Almost there… you mean this thing could tell us the entire future of our lives?”
“Technically, yes,” Ferran replied, tone straight but eyes sparkling with something Pedri couldn’t read. “And I’m ready for it.”
Pedri swallowed. He wasn’t so sure. Not because of Ferran, Ferran seemed… impossible to be anything other than excited, but because he didn’t know how he himself felt yet. Nervous, scared, excited, overwhelmed, a little panicked. All at once.
The timer beeped, slicing through the tension like a sharp knife.
Pedri jumped slightly, fumbling for the test. Ferran’s hands shot out instinctively to steady him. Pedri glanced up, and Ferran’s grin was that faint, slightly manic alpha grin that said he was completely invested in whatever was happening.
They both looked down at the test.
Two lines.
Pedri froze, staring at it like it was some sort of magic trick gone horribly, wonderfully wrong. Ferran’s eyes widened, shock quickly replaced by something deeper, warmer, fiercer. His chest tightened with the sort of overwhelming pride and excitement he hadn’t expected to feel so suddenly.
“Oh,” Pedri whispered. “Oh…”
Ferran’s hands flexed in his lap, then reached for Pedri before he even realized it. His voice was low, rough with emotion. “We’re… we’re gonna be parents.”
Pedri’s brain short-circuited. “I… what?”
Ferran leaned forward slightly, eyes bright, almost glowing. “I’m gonna be a papi,” he said, tone somewhere between disbelief and absolute certainty. “Vamos a tener un bebé. Nuestro bebé.”
Pedri blinked. The words didn’t register at first. His hands trembled slightly as he set the test back down. “I… the lines… it’s positive?”
Ferran nodded, voice tight. “Positive.” His alpha energy was radiating off him in a way Pedri could practically feel, a warm, protective pressure around him that made his heart flip. Ferran’s hands found Pedri’s on the table and squeezed gently. “We’re having a baby, Pedri.”
Pedri’s mouth opened, but no words came. He was still stuck on the idea that this was really happening. That the life-changing, mind-bending, terrifyingly amazing possibility was now real.
He could feel Ferran’s excitement building around him, pressing him almost physically. And somewhere beneath the chaos in his chest, Pedri realized he had been terrified of one thing - that Ferran would be upset. That Ferran would be disappointed.
But he wasn’t. Ferran wasn’t upset. He was… glowing, almost. Alpha instincts merging seamlessly with joy, pride, protectiveness. It was overwhelming.
Pedri let out a small laugh, incredulous and breathless. “I… I can’t believe this,” he admitted. “I mean… I don’t know what to say. Or do.”
Ferran’s grin widened, and without a second thought, he stood up, enveloping Pedri in a tight hug. Pedri’s arms went around him automatically, still trembling, and he realized just how relieved he was that Ferran wasn’t upset.
“I’m gonna be a papi!” Ferran repeated into his hair, voice muffled but full of glee. “Our baby… it’s really happening. We’re gonna do this together.”
Pedri laughed, soft and shaky, trying to catch his breath. “I… okay… sí…”
Then, unexpectedly, he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. Not sadness, not fear, not entirely. Just a swirling mixture of excitement, relief, nerves, and the sheer, ridiculous reality of the situation. He leaned harder into Ferran, crying softly, laughing softly, everything at once.
Ferran held him close, forehead resting against the top of Pedri’s head, whispering, “Shh… I’ve got you. We’ve got this. Together.”
Pedri hiccupped against him, voice muffled. “Lo… lo siento,” he began.
Ferran’s grin widened again. “No, no, no! Stop apologizing! I’m gonna be a papi!” He laughed, louder this time, almost maniacally happy, spinning them slightly in the hug so they stumbled out of the ensuite and fell onto the bed, arms tangled. “Our baby. We’re gonna have a baby, Pedri! Can you believe it?”
Pedri finally laughed through the tears, sniffling, overwhelmed. “I… I think so… I hope so… I just…”
Ferran tightened his arms again, inhaling that faint, uniquely Pedri scent that was suddenly more important than anything else in the world. “It’s fine, amor. Don’t think about it too much right now. Just… feel it. Feel this moment.”
Pedri nodded, tears still streaming, laughter still catching in his chest. “I… I feel it,” he admitted. “I just… it’s a lot.”
“I know,” Ferran said softly. “It’s a lot for me too.”
Pedri looked up at him, still stunned, and Ferran leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “But we’ve got this. All of it. Together.”
Pedri laughed again, shaky and small. “Yeah… together.”
They stayed like that for a long minute, simply holding each other, the bedroom quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and their mingled breaths. The test sat on the counter, almost forgotten now, but it didn’t matter. The moment wasn’t about the piece of plastic. It was about them.
Ferran pulled back slightly, eyes bright, grin still wide. “Our baby’s gonna be so lucky,” he said softly. “I already love them so much.”
Pedri blinked at him, a small sob escaping with his laughter. “So do I… I do. I really do.”
Ferran’s grin softened into something tender, careful. “Then let’s start this adventure. Together. Every step.”
Pedri nodded, wiping his eyes, still half in disbelief. “Together,” he echoed.
And in that moment, laying on their bed, arms wrapped around each other, both speechless in their own ways, the world outside didn’t matter. They had each other. And now, they had a future they couldn’t have imagined - one they would face side by side.
Ferran squeezed him gently one last time. “Papi. That’s me. I’m someone’s papi.”
Pedri laughed through tears, shaking his head. “Yeah… I guess you are.”
And for the first time in days, in a week, maybe even a month, Pedri felt completely, utterly, overwhelmingly… safe.
Even in the face of the near-impossible.
The October sun was bright over Ciutat Esportiva, the air just crisp enough to make everyone a little restless before training. Most of the squad was already out on the pitch, stretching, passing the ball around, chatting.
Except, two players were missing.
Pedri and Ferran hadn’t come out yet. They’d been in the medical building for almost half an hour, and every passing minute only made the group outside grow more dramatic.
“Maybe Ferran’s thigh’s acting up again,” Lamine said, frowning as he bounced the ball against his knee. “He didn’t look hurt yesterday, though.”
“He didn’t,” Héctor replied, brows drawn together. “But Ferran looked… tense? Maybe something serious happened. They’ve been in there forever.”
Ronald glanced at the closed doors, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “If it was an injury, the doctor would’ve called someone by now.”
Marc Bernal sat cross-legged on the grass, chewing on his lip, looking vaguely guilty for no reason at all. “What if it’s my fault?” he blurted suddenly. “Like… what if I made him sick or something? Because of… you know.”
Lamine threw him a look. “You didn’t give him the flu, hermano, calm down.”
Everyone laughed a little, but it didn’t stop them from glancing back at the building again. The group was fidgeting, whispering, kicking stray balls around - until Gavi wandered up from the other side of the pitch, a grin stretching across his face like he was physically bursting with something he wasn’t supposed to say.
“What’s going on?” Ronald asked him. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Gavi just rocked back on his heels, hands behind his back, looking exactly like a kid who’d found out about a surprise before Christmas. “Oh, no reason,” he said, voice sing-song and not at all convincing.
Héctor narrowed his eyes. “You know something.”
“I might,” Gavi said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, grin widening.
Marc looked up. “Is Pedri okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Gavi said, eyes bright. “He’s more than okay.”
Lamine frowned. “Then why are they still in there? Flick looked serious when he called them in.”
Gavi bit his lip, trying so hard not to explode with the secret that it was almost painful to watch. “I wasn’t supposed to tell,” he said quickly, holding up his hands, “but-”
Everyone leaned in immediately.
“-but what?” Héctor pressed.
Gavi’s grin was impossible to contain now, his voice a half-whisper, half-shout. “Pedri’s pregnant.”
There was a collective beat of stunned silence. A literal, full-body pause as every single person froze.
Lamine blinked once. “What?”
“Pregnant,” Gavi repeated proudly, puffing up his chest like he’d just announced a national victory. “They just found out this week. Ferran told me this morning because I’m basically their firstborn. Like a practice child, you know.”
The entire group burst into overlapping noise - shock, laughter, disbelief, questions all at once.
“You’re joking,” Héctor said, pointing at him. “You’re actually joking.”
“Nope,” Gavi said with a satisfied little pop on the p. “Totally serious. Mister knows too. That’s why they were with him earlier, he’s making sure everything’s fine.”
Marc let out a low whistle. “Oh… oh, that explains so much.”
Lamine blinked again, replaying the past week in his head. “Wait… so that’s why Ferran kept growling every time someone got near Pedri?”
“Exactly,” Ronald said, realization dawning. “I tackled Pedri last week, and Ferran almost bit my head off.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “And I thought he was just being dramatic.”
“I thought he was just tired,” Héctor said, laughing now. “But that makes sense. The way he looked at me that day? I haven’t been that scared since I got yelled at in my first match.”
Lamine leaned back on his hands, still half-laughing, half-processing. “I literally called Pedri ‘mamá’ as a joke,” he said slowly. “And now… oh my god, it’s real.”
Gavi doubled over laughing. “See? You were right without even knowing it.”
Marc rubbed the back of his neck, still looking a bit sheepish. “Okay, but now I feel even worse about that hug after the game. Like, I was just congratulating him, I swear.”
Ronald clapped him on the shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry, kid. Ferran almost killed me, too, and I wasn’t even hugging him.”
Héctor stretched his arms over his head, exhaling loudly. “Damn. Ferran’s gonna be a dad. That’s actually crazy.”
“Papá Ferran,” Gavi corrected, laughing, “He said it like that. You should’ve seen him this morning, walking around like the proudest alpha in Barcelona.”
Everyone started laughing again, the tension completely broken now, replaced with the kind of awe and amusement that came with realizing their teammates’ lives had just changed completely.
“I can’t wait to see how protective he gets now,” Lamine said, grinning. “He’s already bad enough.”
“Oh, he’s gonna go feral,” Héctor agreed. “Someone’s gonna sneeze near Pedri and Ferran’s gonna throw hands.”
Ronald chuckled. “We should probably… not tease him too much.”
Gavi tilted his head, still smiling. “Maybe a little. But only a little.”
They were still laughing when the doors to the medical building finally opened.
Ferran and Pedri stepped out into the sunlight, side by side. Ferran had one arm loosely around Pedri’s waist, that unmistakable mix of calm pride and quiet protectiveness in every line of his posture. Pedri looked healthy, bright-eyed, a little shy, and just the tiniest bit overwhelmed.
The moment the others spotted them, the group went silent - for all of two seconds.
Then Lamine shouted, “Congratulations, mamá!”
Pedri froze mid-step, eyes wide. Ferran blinked once, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then the whole group erupted into laughter, applause, and shouts of felicidades! echoing across the pitch.
Pedri turned bright red immediately. “Who told you?”
“Gavi,” everyone said in unison, pointing.
Gavi held up his hands, still grinning proudly. “I had to! I couldn’t hold it in!”
Ferran sighed, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “You really are our practice kid,” he muttered, ruffling Gavi’s hair as he passed.
Gavi beamed. “Told you.”
Héctor shook Ferran’s hand, still laughing. “So that’s why you’ve been acting like a guard dog lately.”
Ferran chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… instincts. Guess they knew before I did.”
Ronald gave Pedri a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Congrats, hermano. You’re glowing.”
Pedri laughed softly, cheeks still pink. “You all sound like gossip magazines.”
Marc, standing slightly behind the group, gave a sheepish wave. “Sorry again for, uh… you know. Accidentally invading your space last week.”
Pedri grinned. “Don’t worry about it, Marc.”
Ferran raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, don’t worry, this time.”
That sent the group into another round of laughter.
The mood on the pitch was light, buzzing with energy. The disbelief had faded into genuine happiness, and even Flick, watching from across the grass, couldn’t hide his small smile.
Ferran leaned down, murmuring near Pedri’s ear, “Told you they’d take it well.”
Pedri glanced up at him, soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Guess you were right.”
Ferran’s arm tightened just slightly around him. “Always am.”
And as the team gathered around Pedri, almost smothering him in the centre of a group hug, still teasing and congratulating, Pedri felt a warmth settle in his chest - the comfortable kind that came from being surrounded by people who loved them, chaos and all.
Ferran caught his eye and grinned, proud and unguarded.
It wasn’t just about them anymore.
It was about family.