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Don’t talk, take my hand and let me hear your heart beat
Pedri was experiencing extreme muscle discomfort in his left thigh. He noticed it halfway through training, a sudden tightness that pulled sharply every time he accelerated. At first, he ignored it—he always did. Pain was part of the job, part of the rhythm of his body, something he’d learned to live with. But this was different. This wasn’t the familiar soreness of overworked muscles. This was sharp and insistent, radiating down his leg in a way that made his stride falter.
Still, he pushed through.
It wasn’t until the final drill ended and the adrenaline began to wear off that the pain truly settled in. His leg stiffened almost immediately, the muscle tightening so hard it made his breath hitch. Pedri slowed, then stopped altogether, hand instinctively reaching for his thigh.
And that’s when Ferran saw him.
Ferran had been laughing with one of the trainers, towel slung over his shoulder, when his eyes flicked across the pitch and landed on Pedri standing alone, weight shifted awkwardly to his right side. The smile slipped off Ferran’s face instantly.
He crossed the distance in seconds.
“Hey,” Ferran said softly, voice dropping into that tone he only ever used with Pedri. “What happened?”
Pedri tried to wave it off, but the movement sent another sharp pulse through his leg. He winced before he could stop himself.
Ferran’s jaw tightened. “Pedri.”
“It’s just my thigh,” Pedri admitted quietly. “Left one. It tightened up.”
Ferran didn’t hesitate. He slipped an arm around Pedri’s waist, grounding him before he could even think to protest. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s sit.”
They ended up in a quiet corner of the locker room, away from the noise and chatter. Pedri lowered himself onto the bench slowly, biting down on his lip when the movement pulled at the muscle again. Ferran knelt in front of him immediately, concern written plainly across his face—no attempt to hide it, not with Pedri.
“You should’ve told me,” Ferran said, hands resting carefully on Pedri’s knees.
Pedri sighed, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
Ferran looked up at him, eyes soft but serious. “You’re my boyfriend. Worrying about you is kind of my thing.”
That made Pedri smile faintly, even as the pain throbbed through his leg.
Ferran reached for the medical kit, movements practiced but gentle. He rolled Pedri’s shorts up slightly, exposing the tense muscle beneath. The skin was warm to the touch, the muscle visibly tight.
“Pedri,” Ferran said quietly, falling into step beside him as they left the pitch. “You’re limping.”
Pedri tried to smile, tried to make it look casual. “I’m not.”
Ferran didn’t argue. He just reached out, fingers brushing Pedri’s wrist, grounding. “Sit down,” he said, not unkindly, but firm in a way Pedri had learned to trust.
They ended up in the quieter corner of the locker room, the hum of distant voices fading into the background. Pedri lowered himself onto the bench with a sharp inhale he couldn’t quite hide this time. Ferran crouched in front of him immediately, concern written all over his face.
“Left thigh?” Ferran asked.
Pedri nodded, jaw clenched. “It’s… bad. It tightened up all of a sudden.”
Ferran exhaled slowly, steadying himself before gently rolling Pedri’s shorts up just enough to see the muscle. He didn’t rush. He never did when it came to Pedri. His hands hovered for a second, as if asking permission.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Ferran said.
Pedri swallowed. “It already does.”
Ferran’s touch was careful at first, warm palms pressing lightly against the tense muscle. He could feel how tight it was beneath his hands, the way Pedri flinched despite trying to stay still. Ferran adjusted instantly, easing the pressure, thumbs moving in slow, deliberate circles.
“You should’ve said something sooner,” Ferran murmured.
Pedri huffed a quiet laugh. “You know me.”
“I do,” Ferran replied softly. “That’s why I’m saying it.”
As Ferran worked, Pedri leaned back against the lockers, eyes slipping shut despite himself. The pain was still there—sharp, insistent—but Ferran’s touch gave it somewhere to go, something to soften it. Each careful movement felt like reassurance, like being told he didn’t have to handle everything alone.
Ferran grabbed a cold pack from the medical kit and wrapped it in a towel before pressing it gently against Pedri’s thigh. “This might sting at first,” he warned.
Pedri hissed, fingers gripping the edge of the bench. Ferran’s free hand immediately found his knee, steady and grounding.
“Breathe,” Ferran said quietly. “With me.”
Pedri did. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Slowly, the sting dulled into a manageable ache.
They stayed like that for a while—no rush, no words that weren’t necessary. Ferran kept one hand on the ice pack, the other occasionally brushing Pedri’s knee or shin, reminding him he was there. Pedri watched him through half-lidded eyes, noticing the way Ferran’s brows were drawn together in concentration, the way he treated this like it mattered.
Because it did.
“I hate feeling like this,” Pedri admitted eventually, voice low.
Ferran looked up at him then, expression soft but certain. “Your body isn’t letting you down. It’s asking you to listen.”
Pedri’s throat tightened.
Ferran shifted closer, resting his forehead briefly against Pedri’s knee. “And you don’t have to listen alone,” he added.
When Ferran finally helped him stand, Pedri leaned into him without hesitation. Ferran wrapped an arm around his waist, steadying him, careful to keep the weight balanced.
“We’ll tell the physio,” Ferran said. “You’ll rest. I’ll make sure you actually do.”
Pedri smiled weakly. “You sound like a doctor.”
Ferran squeezed his side. “I sound like someone who loves you.”
As they walked out together, slower than usual, Pedri realized the pain was still there—but it didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. Because Ferran was beside him, steady and warm, making space for him to be human.
By the time they got home, the adrenaline had completely worn off.
Pedri barely made it through the front door before the ache in his thigh flared again, sharper now that his body had finally slowed down. He hissed softly, instinctively reaching for Ferran’s arm as his leg threatened to give out.
“I’ve got you,” Ferran said immediately, tightening his hold around Pedri’s waist. “Easy. We’re home.”
The apartment was quiet, lights dim, the familiar calm settling around them like a blanket. Ferran kicked the door shut behind them and guided Pedri toward the couch, moving slowly, carefully, as if one wrong step might make everything worse.
“Sit,” Ferran murmured, pressing a kiss to Pedri’s temple once he was safely settled. “Don’t move.”
Pedri smiled weakly. “Bossy.”
Ferran huffed out a soft laugh. “You love it.”
Pedri didn’t argue.
Ferran disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and painkillers, setting them on the coffee table. “Drink first,” he said, holding the glass up to Pedri’s lips when he hesitated. Pedri took a few slow sips, grateful for how Ferran didn’t rush him, didn’t make him feel guilty for needing help.
Once that was done, Ferran knelt in front of him again, fingers gently brushing Pedri’s calf before moving up to his thigh.
“Same spot?” Ferran asked.
Pedri nodded. “It’s worse now.”
Ferran sighed quietly, not frustrated—just concerned. He grabbed another cold pack from the freezer, wrapping it in a soft towel before pressing it carefully against Pedri’s thigh.
Pedri leaned back into the couch, eyes falling shut as he breathed through the initial sting. Ferran settled beside him this time, guiding Pedri’s leg so it rested across his lap. One hand stayed on the ice pack; the other threaded gently through Pedri’s hair, slow and soothing.
“You don’t have to be brave here,” Ferran said softly. “This is home.”
Something about that made Pedri’s chest ache in an entirely different way.
“I hate feeling useless,” Pedri admitted quietly. “Like I’m just… broken.”
Ferran stilled, then shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Pedri’s shoulder. “You are not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re hurt. That’s not the same thing.”
Pedri swallowed hard.
Ferran kissed his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, slow and lingering. “And you’re never useless to me. Even if you couldn’t play for months—” he pulled back slightly, making sure Pedri was listening “—you’d still be you. And I’d still love you.”
Pedri turned his head, eyes shining. “You make it really hard to spiral.”
“Good,” Ferran murmured, brushing a thumb beneath Pedri’s eye. “That’s my job.”
They stayed like that for a while, the apartment filled with nothing but quiet breathing and the faint hum of the fridge. When the cold pack lost its chill, Ferran replaced it with a warm blanket, tucking it around Pedri’s legs and pulling him gently against his chest.
Pedri sighed as Ferran’s arms wrapped around him, solid and familiar. His thigh still ached, but it was dull now—manageable.
“You’re going to rest tomorrow,” Ferran said, voice low and steady. “No sneaking extra stretches. No trying to ‘just check’ how it feels.”
Pedri smiled sleepily. “You’re really committed to this.”
Ferran pressed a kiss into his hair. “I’m committed to you.”
Pedri shifted carefully, curling into Ferran’s side. “Stay like this?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ferran replied without hesitation.
As Pedri’s breathing evened out, exhaustion finally claiming him, Ferran stayed awake a little longer, one hand resting protectively on Pedri’s thigh, the other holding him close. Pain could wait. Right now, Pedri was safe, warm, and loved—and Ferran intended to keep it that way.