Chapter Text
"Alejandro, I hate you! I swear, if you don't delete that photo right now—"
Balde grinned, looking strangely unbothered by the fact that Pablo Martín Páez Gavira, AKA the locker room's resident 'Angry Bird', was about to start a physical fight. Our fierce midfielder, on the other hand, looked ready to rip his head off. I didn’t know what photo they were fighting about—with those two, it could literally be anything. But Gavi’s voice was growing too loud, the walls amplifying his screech.
"Boys, please, take it outside. Ferran looks like he’s already dealing with the biggest headache in human history," Raphinha muttered, tying his boots before standing up.
Balde and Gavi froze for a fraction of a second. Alejandro clamped his phone against his chest as Raphinha practically shepherded them out the door.
Even with the heavy door shut, their voices bled through the hallway—loud, sharp, like rhythmic drums hammering against the inside of my skull. I tried to block the noise, but my breath hitched. A sudden, intrusive memory clawed its way to the surface—an Instagram comment I had read the night before: *He's just a clown. How can anyone take him seriously as a football player?*
I hated my own mind. I truly, deeply hated it.
The edges of the locker room blurred. The fluorescent lights overhead grew blinding, burning into my retinas. Oxygen refused to reach my lungs. I was suffocating. Then, abruptly, the world went dark—someone had switched the annoying overhead light off. *Thank God*, I thought, but the comment kept chanting in my head, mocking me, even though I had scored a crucial goal in our last match. Even though—
A firm, heavy squeeze locked around my wrist, pressing directly against my pulse point.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it was Pedri. He always saved me.
Slowly, the static in my vision began to clear, though my breath remained shallow and erratic. I knew he could feel it—my heart hammering like a trapped bird against his palm.
"Ferri," he murmured, his voice a low, grounding hum. "What happened?"
I was too consumed by the stark contrast of his touch—his hand was warm, steady, absorbing the frantic vibration of my pulse. When I parted my lips to speak, nothing came out. I finally forced myself to meet his gaze. His thumb was tracing slow, deliberate circles over my skin. He didn’t push. He just waited, giving me all the time in the world.
Once my heartbeat finally leveled out, I slid off the cold bench. I kept my eyes glued to the floor as his hand slipped away, leaving a sudden, freezing void on my skin. I frantically began packing my kit bag just to keep my hands busy.
"Well... you know. The usual," I muttered, aiming for a casual tone I didn't possess. "That light was blinding, and I didn’t want to ruin Balde and Gavi’s mood when they were already snapping at each other. Gavi was screaming, and... I just remembered a comment from my latest post. Like I said, the usual. You don't have to worry."
But Pedri knew exactly how much I worried. He was far too good of a friend to let me drown in my own head.
"If it makes you feel any better, los dos are idiots," Pedri said, switching the topic seamlessly to give me room to breathe. "Apparently, Balde dug up an old photo of Gavi sleeping with his mouth wide open. I think Xavi Simons sent it to him. Now he’s threatening to show it to Ana."
I zipped my bag and turned toward the exit, Pedri falling into step right behind me, his black backpack slung low against his hip. I caught the lingering shadow in his dark eyes. He was worried. He still didn’t fully understand how often these waves crashed over me, or how lucky I felt that a single touch from him could ground me so fast. Other people sobbed, lost their senses, or hyperventilated for hours. I just needed him.
The thought brought a wave of guilt. I didn't want to burden him with the messy reality of my brain. I bet it was exhausting. I bet, sometimes, he wished he had a normal best friend—someone who didn’t crack under pressure, someone who brushed off media criticism, someone who didn't take words so seriously.
"And will Ale actually show it to Ana?" I asked, forcing a weak smile to keep the normal conversation alive.
A genuine smile bloomed on his lips, relieved to see me shifting away from the edge. "I bet he will. He’s going to feel the absolute wrath of Gavi, though."
We both chuckled softly as we stepped out into the crisp air outside the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. Pedri stole a quick glance at my face, turning his head away the second I caught him. But I always noticed. When you spend your life under a microscope, you notice every single look.
"Pepi," I sighed, adjusting my grip on my bag. "You don't need to look at me with pity. I’m okay now, vale?"
"I know," Pedri replied softly, his tone shifting back to that heavy, protective seriousness. "But what was that comment? You played an incredible match yesterday, Ferri. How can people still find room to hate?"
I didn't have an answer for him. If I started looking for one, the thoughts would swallow me whole again.
As I headed toward my car, I realized Pedri wasn't walking toward his own Cupra.
"Ferri, do you want me to come over?" he asked, slowing his pace. "We could talk about... well, this whole thing. Or we could just play some FIFA, whatever you want."
The thought of someone being so incredibly worried about me—damn. I didn't want to drag him into my own downward spiral. He was already doing so much for me. I was certain he deserved much better friends than someone as broken as I was.
"I’m okay now, Pepi, okay?" I forced a light tone. "I’m just tired. Go play some FIFA with Gavi instead. Ask him about that photo—I want to find out the whole story later."
He didn't look like he fully believed me, but he nodded anyway as we muttered our *adiós*. I got into my car, and the very first thing I did was connect my phone to the dashboard and slam the play button on my playlist.
As Maluma’s new song blasted through the speakers, I managed to forget about everything for a brief moment. The rhythm, the lyrics, the heavy bass and sharp guitar—that car was my only escape, even if just for a few minutes.
But then I got home, and the music stopped.
I fed my dog, played with him for a bit, forced myself to eat, and watched a Formula 1 race. I scrolled mindlessly on TikTok... anything to delay the moment I actually had to go to sleep.
22:38
The silence in the apartment was too loud. It wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, pressing against my chest until I could hear the rapid, sickening thumping of my own pulse in my ears.
23:43
Every time I tried to close my eyes, my brain screamed. The moment the room went dark, I felt like I was falling through the floor, dropping into a bottomless void where oxygen didn't exist.
00:46
I would gasp for air, snap my eyes open, and find myself staring at the ceiling again, my hands trembling. I was terrified of falling asleep because sleeping meant losing control.
Somehow, the sound of Gavi yelling—the exact noise I had found so incredibly annoying hours ago—was now the one thing I desperately wished I could hear. Anything to break the quiet. Reaching out with a shaking hand, I grabbed my phone, completely ignoring the toxic thoughts telling me I shouldn't drag Pedri into this.
Me [00:47]
Holaa, are you still awake?
Pepi [00:48]
Heyy, I am. Why?
Me [00:48]
I can't sleep. Wanna talk?
He read the message instantly, but the typing bubbles never appeared. He didn't answer.
My thoughts ran completely wild. *Did I scare him? Why did I do that? He’s probably annoyed. Why would anyone want to deal with someone else's mess in the middle of the night anyway?
I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand and stared blindly up at the dark ceiling. Terrific. Now, on top of being unable to sleep, I had probably just ruined things with Pedri. Wonderful. I felt my heartbeat begin to accelerate again. I tried to slow it down, holding my breath, but I couldn't stop the avalanche of panic building in my chest.
Then, cutting sharply through the suffocating silence, came a soft, familiar knock on my front door.