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1. darling
Ferran has started using random English words around Pedri a lot. At first, Pedri didn’t really register it was happening, used to Ferran just babbling about any and everything, but he eventually caught up. He didn’t really mind, since they mostly seemed to be random words he tacks onto the end of sentences, their meaning irrelevant to the context.
Until one random training session, where Pedri decides to annoy Ferran to bits, like usual. Ferran is tying his shoes while the rest of their teammates are organising themselves for their exercises, crouching down and Pedri cannot resist the urge to push him. So he does. Once, then twice, three times, giggling so only both of them can hear it.
“Stop it, darling,” Ferran says casually, without any actual bite to it, scrunching his nose as he looks up at Pedri.
Pedri has a mischievous smile when he pushes at him one last time, before Ferran gets up, picking him up by the waist and spinning them around one, two, three times as Pedri screeches.
“Put me down, Ferri,” Pedri says, breathless, between laughs.
Ferran does, gently, with a noisy kiss against his ear. Pedri hits his temple against Ferran’s chest, but before he can whine about how dizzy he is (even though he really isn’t), there’s a whistle and a shout calling for them to look forward and listen to the instructions.
“Darling, huh?” Jules approaches Pedri as they reach their team for the next round of exercises, walking in step with him. “That’s new.”
“Yeah. Ferri has gotten into the habit of just speaking English sometimes,” Pedri explains, shrugging. It is weird that Jules would bring it up 10 minutes after it happened anyway, because Ferran teasing Pedri is nothing new — they were barely friends when it started — but he shrugs it off as Jules being Jules as they start the rondo.
2. sweetie
“I think Ferran is talking to you,” Lewandowski nudges Pedri when they have a lull in the meet and greet, the fans stuck on Ferran, who is crouching down to the height of a kid who can’t be older than 7 years old.
Pedri shrugs — he hadn’t heard him, focused on trying to time his smiles and nods to the words he barely understands. The next time there’s a pause in the queue, while Pedri is signing photo cards, Ferran’s voice does register, “-dri, Pedri! Sweetie!”
“What, Ferri?” Pedri asks, turning to Ferran and feigning annoyance, betrayed by the smile on his face he can’t quite fight.
“Nothing,” Ferran is smiling at him, fully ignoring both the queue forming in front of the table and everyone else around them.
“You are so annoying,” Pedri fully smiles at that, rolling his eyes and turning back to the cards he had been signing.
Lewandowski keeps looking between them suspiciously, finally turning to Ferran, and with a questioning tone, “Sweetie?”
“Yeah, like chuche,” it’s Pedri who answers him, because Ferran seems frozen in place, face red.
Lewandowski side eyes Pedri, then focuses his attention on Ferran, seemingly noticing his reaction. Pedri can see Lewandowski is holding back a smile, and almost questions it, but they’re rushed along and, by the time him and Ferran are training, his best friend’s reaction is the last thing on his mind.
3. honey
Pedri really enjoys being in the starting eleven with his friends. Obviously, he likes starting games, period, and he gets along with everyone on the team, but something about being surrounded by those closest to him makes him relish it even more.
There’s something extra special about starting a game Ferran is also starting. It reminds him of games back home, not even played on fake grass, but concrete, improvised goal posts against random walls. Pedri especially enjoys the way they always seem to gravitate towards each other, sometimes accidentally, most times on purpose.
This game is a particularly high tension one, and Ferran has a locked expression in his face, until Pedri and Dani start talking about the NBA game they want to watch the next day. Ferran’s expression does break into a tiny smile at that, even if his eyes keep the stoicism. They are standing around in a semi-circle when Ferran approaches Pedri, placing himself behind him.
“After you, honey,” Ferran mumbles, fingers bumping softly against Pedri’s hip.
Pedri goes easily, still talking to Dani, who seems distracted by Ferran. Pedri shrugs it off and turns forward, but he can hear Dani whispering something to Ferran, who mumbles something back in a snarky tone. Pedri turns around, shushing them and is met with an amused Dani and a pouty Ferran — Pedri has to fight the urge to hug him. Instead, he knocks the front of his foot against Ferran’s shin pad lightly — something they’ve been doing for years when they need to give each other quiet reassurance, without a verbal ‘I’m here’.
Pedri looks over his shoulder, and Ferran is looking at the floor, a small smile tugging on his lips and, when he feels two knuckles hit the outside of his wrist he knows — his message was received.
4. handsome
Lately, Pedri and Ferran’s schedules have been in sync pretty consistently — very rarely has one of them been doing recovery and the other a regular training session after a match. However, Pedri had been rested for most of the previous game, so there he was, under the partially clouded Barcelona sun, running around with his teammates, but not Ferran.
Pedri had driven them to the Ciutat Esportiva earlier, and was set to drive them home later, so it isn’t surprising that Ferran sits down by the staff while everyone else is running drills when he’s done with his gym work for the day. When Pedri and his group are dismissed for a small break, he approaches Ferran, who is sitting on top of the drink cooler. Ferran is smiling when Pedri reaches him, knocking their knees together.
“Hey,” Ferran looks up at him, eyes squinting from the sun. Pedri rolls his eyes, but moves slightly to the left, sun now hitting his nape.
“Hi,” Pedri responds, nudging his foot against Ferran’s shin. “I would like a water bottle if it isn’t too much of an issue for you.”
Pedri is being funny, and Ferran’s smirk is answer enough when he gets up and says, “Whatever you say, handsome.”
Ferran opens the cooler, reaching down and taking out a bottle himself, offering it to Pedri before he even tries to move. Pedri accepts it, brining the bottle to his lips and squeezing the water into his mouth, keeping the eye contact with Ferran, who has a quiet, private smile on his lips — one they keep just between them as their shoulders bump against each other.
Pedri is about to make fun of Ferran for sitting there just watching them when Rashford, who was evidently standing right behind him, moves to his peripheral vision, reaches down to the cooler himself and then, turning to Ferran, says, “I don’t get special treatment? What, am I not handsome?”
Rashford has a smirk on his face and Pedri looks towards Ferran, confused, but Ferran’s expression is even more surprising — he’s opening and closing his mouth, until he finally settles on mumbling something apparently funny in English, since Rashford fully laughs before turning to Pedri with a wink and walking away.
“What was that about?” Pedri asks, nudging Ferran with his elbow.
“Oh, nothing, he was just complaining about us hogging the cooler,” Ferran answers, avoiding Pedri’s gaze. He’s clearly lying, but before Pedri can confront him about it, a voice from behind screams for him. Ferran takes his bottle, takes a swig himself and, with a wink, tells Pedri, “Go on, I’ll be here when you’re done.”
5. sunshine
Team Domino meals are some of Pedri’s favourite occasions all season, especially when they happen randomly, with a barely held together justification for it. He always has a good time, making fun of Joan with Ferran, talking NBA with the group, and teasing Jules about his latest fashion fad.
Pedri barely registers Ferran asking for something from the meal he ordered, just hums affirmatively and pushes the plate towards him, listening to the gossip Dani had found out about one of their teammates.
“Thank you, sunshine,” Ferran smiles, giving Pedri his plate back, hands brushing.
Eric, who was busy talking to Joan makes a 180º turn, eyes squinting between Ferran and Pedri rapidly, snorting out a laugh. No one else seems to be paying attention, but Pedri sends him a quizzical look that Eric dismisses with a head shake and a smile.
The conversation moves on, but Pedri can’t quite let go of the expression on Eric’s face earlier. He keeps spinning the conversation around in his mind, wondering what in his and Ferran’s interaction could’ve been that amusing.
“Can I have some of that cake, sunshine?” Eric asks when the waiter brings their desserts over, grinning from ear to ear, eyes splitting focus between Pedri and Ferran.
Pedri doesn’t really want to share with Eric — he doesn’t like sharing his food, much less his sweet treats, but he reluctantly starts to move his plate towards him. The plate barely moves before the back of Ferran’s hand hits it slightly, stopping Pedri.
“You can have some of mine,” Ferran says, cold, pushing his own plate towards Eric.
Eric smiles wider, “Oh, no, I’d really like some of Pedri’s, it looks delicious.”
“You know Pedri doesn’t like sharing his food,” Ferran insists, moving his plate further.
Everyone on the table snorts at that except Ferran, who keeps his expression serious, brow furrowed.
“He just gave you food from his plate like ten minutes ago!” Eric says between laughs, echoed by everyone else at the table.
“I did,” Pedri is amused, elbowing Ferran teasingly, who does smile slightly at that.
“Well, that’s different,” Ferran says, splitting his attention between Pedri and Eric. He seems to focus on Pedri, who is trying to to reassure him with just a look.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Eric rolls his eyes, turning back to his own plate.
Ferran relaxes, finally, and pulls his plate back and then to the side, to Pedri. Pedri does smile at that, taking a spoonful of Ferran’s dessert, bumping their feet under the table. From his peripheral vision, he sees Ferran’s lips twitch up — mission accomplished.
+1. cariño
“Can I come over in a bit?” Ferran asks mid-yawn as they’re walking up the stairs to their hotel rooms — across the hall from each other, because of course they are.
Pedri hums, pretending to think about it. It works like a charm, because Ferran brings on the dramatics immediately, “Fine. I’ll just fall asleep and not show up to the game and then you can explain to everyone how it was your fault you have to play with one less teammate.”
Realistically, there are many reasons why that wouldn’t happen — Ferran could set up an alarm and Pedri would obviously notice the his absence on the bus. Still, he sighs, feigning defeat, “Okay, I guess you can come by, if you insist.”
Ferran smiles at that, leaning in and muttering, “You love me so much.”
“I actually hate you,” Pedri says, palm pushing against Ferran’s face, both of them grinning.
“I’ll see you in like 5 minutes,” Ferran says as they reach their hallway. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
Pedri rolls his eyes at that, turning around — what kind of fun could he even have for five minutes? That was barely enough time to place his stuff down.
Like clockwork, Ferran knocks on his door around three minutes later, prancing into the room and straight to Pedri’s bed.
“I didn't even have time to shave,” Pedri says, leaning against the wall separating the small hallway from the bed, a teasing smile on his face.
“I quite like the stubble, you should keep it,” Ferran lifts himself, supporting his body in his elbows, head tilting towards Pedri. He reminds him of a puppy asking for pets — adorable.
“And I like my bed,” Pedri jokes. “My mom would make me sleep on the street.”
“Oh, if only you had an handsome neighbour who would let you sleep over at his house,” Ferran suggests, eyebrows raised.
Pedri rolls his eyes at that, holding in his laughter, “Whatever, Ferri. I’m going to shave. Do not fall asleep.”
“I won’t! I’m watching TV,” Ferran says, shaking the remote he’s holding.
Ferran does, of course, fall asleep. Pedri walks out of the bathroom and his best friend is laying on his back, mouth ajar. Something squeezes inside Pedri’s chest, warmth spreading all over his body. Ferran looks so endearing, and Pedri has to fight the urge to take a picture, just for himself. Ferran moves to lay on his front, head furrowed into the pillow. Pedri takes his chance and sits on the bed, keeping a respectable distance between them.
The alarm blasting interrupts both Ferran’s sleep and Pedri’s haze — he’d definitely lost track of time just staring at his best friend.
“Turn it off, cariño,” Ferran mumbles against Pedri’s pillow.
Pedri feels himself flush red, heart skipping a beat — that same beat seems to be how long it takes Ferran to realise what he said, because he stands up quickly, eyes still droopy from sleep, and mumbles a weak ‘I have to go’ before dashing out of Pedri’s room.
The alarm keeps ringing in Pedri’s ears as he fumbles around with his phone, finally turning it off. He feels like he’s out of his own body as he gets ready and, when he walks into the bus, he’s met with Ferran and Eric sitting together already. When Eric spots Pedri, he just shrugs, giving him a sympathetic smile.
Ferran manages to speak only a few words to Pedri between the moment they walk into the locker room before the game and the moment he sprints out of there after Flick's post-match talk, at a speed Pedri has never seen from him. So, it’s safe to say, Ferran is avoiding him.
Unfortunately for him, Pedri is his ride home that day.
Pedri reaches Ferran not even thirty seconds after he bolted out of the locker room. He's leaning against a wall, looking at his phone like it personally offended him, “You ready to go?”
“Oh,” Ferran seems genuinely startled by Pedri, a terrified look on this face. He schools his expression, a forced smile making his way to his lips. “Someone is coming to pick me up, don’t worry.”
“What? Why?” Pedri demands stepping forward, crowding Ferran against the wall.
“I thought I should give you space for a little while,” Ferran mumbles, taking a step back and avoiding Pedri’s eyes.
“I don’t need space,” Pedri insists, taking one more step forward. “What’s this about, Ferri?”
Ferran seems to regret bringing the subject up, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing. Someone passes by them, wishing them a goodnight, and that appears to shut Ferran off further. Pedri rolls his eyes, grabs his best friend’s wrist, and drags him towards a secluded area where they won’t be interrupted.
“Hey,” Pedri tries, an attempt at sincerity very foreign in their friendship. When Ferran’s eyes still haven’t met his, Pedri taps his knuckles against his best friend’s chest. “Look at me, Ferri.”
Ferran closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, like he’s bracing for impact. He holds Pedri’s wrist, keeping it against his chest, like a lifeline.
“I called you cariño,” Ferran starts, low, finally looking at Pedri. “I fucked it all up. You weren’t supposed to know. Now you’re going to hate me forever.”
“Ferri,” Pedri tries, the need to soothe Ferran overwhelming.
“No, I-,” Ferran’s desperation is clear in his voice, breath ragged. “Just give me a moment, okay? I’ll let you go in a second, I promise.”
“Ferri,” Pedri gives it another shot, but Ferran interrupts once more.
“I’m sorry, Pedri. I just got used to it, pretending was so easy, you know, because, well, you don’t really speak English so it couldn’t hurt, right? But of course I would slip up eventually, I should’ve thought about it and now I ruined everything, I’m so sorry,” Ferran is rambling, barely breathing through it, eyes frantic.
“Ferri-”
“You’re right, I should go,” Ferran drops Pedri’s hand and tries to get past him. Pedri moves to stop him, hand against his chest. He feels how erratic Ferran’s heartbeat is, how fast his chest is moving. And that, somehow, is what pushes Pedri forward.
He stands tall on both feet and places a peck on Ferran’s lips. Ferran’s eyes are opened wide, with what Pedri hopes is surprise and not disgust. He waits one, two beats and, when Ferran doesn’t say anything, it’s Pedri who pleads, “Say something.”
Instead, Ferran moves his hands to the nape of Pedri’s neck, presses their bodies together against the wall, and kisses Pedri. Really kisses him, like he means it, like he’s been waiting for it, like he needs it. Pedri doesn’t hesitate in wrapping his arms around Ferran’s neck, holding him in place. Realistically, he should be more scared than he is — as hidden as they appear, someone could make a wrong turn and catch them, or maybe there are cameras somewhere filming them right now. Still, when one of Ferran’s hands travels down to his hip, searching for the seam of his hoodie and then up his skin to his waist, Pedri can't find it in himself to care at all. Instead, he shivers, mouth disconnecting from Ferran’s, lips hanging open.
“Ferri,” he sighs in the space between them, taking Ferran in. Ferran keeps his eyes closed, catching his breath, before blinking them open as he puts some distance between them. Pedri takes the way Ferran’s hands feel against his skin as the last push he needs to say the words he has had stuck in his throat for weeks, months, years, “I really like you a lot.”
Ferran’s face in that moment may be the most beautiful thing Pedri has ever seen — he has teary-eyes, a flushed face, messy hair from Pedri's hands, lips parted turning into a grin so bright Pedri is sure he could live off it for the rest of his life. And, when Ferran kisses him again, more teeth knocking against each other than lips, from both of their toothy-grins, whispering sweet words against his mouth, Pedri is grateful he took the leap.