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Gabriel had already traveled to the United States, Italy, France, and many other countries. Yet despite all that diversity, his favorite place was Argentina, even though it was the closest country to his home. After all, only Argentina had Franco Colapinto.
The first time he met the Argentine, Gabriel was only 7 years old. He was sulky because he wanted to go to the beach while Enzo wanted to go to a themed cafe — which, in Gabriel’s opinion, was stupid. To avoid a fight, their parents decided to split the brothers up: Gabriel would go with their dad to Playa Punta Mogotes, while Enzo would head to the cafe with their mom.
After hours of jumping over waves and sunbathing, Bortoleto was resting and enjoying his popsicle. But his peace was broken when a soccer ball came flying in his direction. The Brazilian turned around to find its owner and noticed a boy who looked to be about his age heading toward him.
— ¿Brasileño? — the boy asked, pointing to Gabriel’s cap, which had the Brazilian flag.
Gabriel nodded, making the boy smile and kick the ball toward him.
— ¿Quieres jugar conmigo?
And that was how Gabriel — despite not knowing how to play soccer or speak a word of Spanish — spent his afternoon playing soccer. Hours and hours passed in silence, broken only when the sun was about to set.
— Gabriel, let's go? — his father called out in Portuguese, already on his feet and holding the things they had brought to the beach.
The boy turned his head immediately.
— Already?
— It's getting late.
Gabriel looked up at the sky, then back at the Argentine boy in front of him. The sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, and for the first time since they had started playing, he realized he knew absolutely nothing about this kid.
He didn't know his name. He didn't know where he lived. He didn't even know if he would ever see him again. And for some reason, that thought made his chest tighten.
— Wait! — he stood up quickly, running over to his father before turning back around to face the boy.
The Argentine was still holding the ball under his arm.
— ¿Te vas?
The Brazilian nodded.
— Dad said it's late.
The boy’s expression fell, but he quickly seemed to get an idea.
— ¿Vas a volver mañana?
Gabriel opened his mouth, but didn't know how to answer. He looked at his dad, who was waiting behind him, and then looked back at the boy.
— Tomorrow? I don't know.
The Argentine stayed quiet for a few seconds. So did Gabriel. They were two seven-year-old kids from different countries, speaking different languages, with no idea how to keep in touch with someone they had just met.
Then Gabriel got an idea.
— What's your name?
The boy smiled.
— Franco Colapinto.
Gabriel repeated the name softly, as if trying to memorize it.
— I'm Gabriel. Gabi Bortoleto.
Franco repeated his last name in a completely different accent, making Gabriel laugh.
— Bor-to-le-to.
— Bortoleto.
— Gabi. Call me Gabi.
The two stood looking at each other, laughing. Until Bortoleto heard his father calling him once more to leave, reminding him of his mission: find a way to stay in touch with his new friend.
— Do you have a phone?
Franco nodded, and after a few minutes of trying to decipher numbers and using hand gestures, Gabriel passed along his home landline number to the Argentine — with a lot of faith and hope that the other boy would memorize it.
When Gabriel's dad called him a third time, Colapinto held out his hand. Gabriel looked at it with confusion before shaking it.
— ¿Amigos?
Gabriel smiled.
— Amigos.
It was a simple, childhood promise made on the sand of an Argentine beach by two boys who could barely talk without using gestures. But to Gabriel, it was important enough that as he finally walked away, he looked back several times.
As if he were afraid that none of it had been real.
⚽️
Phone calls became a regular part of both their lives. Even into their teenage years — with their own cell phones and every possible means of communication at their disposal — they still preferred calling. It was sacred. It was their thing.
While Bortoleto spent much of the year traveling across Europe competing in karting championships, Colapinto toured Argentina wearing the youth academy jersey for Vélez Sarsfield, dreaming of his professional debut.
It was during one of those daily catch-ups about their careers that Franco mentioned, unable to contain his excitement:
— We're playing an international tournament in Spain next month.
Gabriel looked up from the laptop where he was studying the circuit map for his next race.
— In Barcelona?
— Mhm.
The Brazilian immediately opened his team's schedule, nearly falling off the bed when he realized the coincidence. His next race was going to be in Barcelona.
He changed the subject right away, asking if Franco had managed to hand in his math homework, if his team had signed the new goalkeeper, and anything else that would keep the Argentine from suspecting anything about his karting race.
After so many years without seeing each other in person, Gabriel wanted to surprise him more than anything. He wanted to see his friend's reaction upon spotting him in the stands unannounced.
On the day of the match, Gabriel wore a black cap and the Vélez jersey he had received from his friend months prior, with COLAPINTO printed on the back.
He didn't want to draw attention, but he knew wearing the shirt would make it extra special. Trying to stay somewhat low-key, he sat blending in among family members, scouts, and a few fans.
The moment the players began their warm-ups, he recognized the Argentine immediately. He had the same running style as seven years ago. The hair he was so used to seeing on video calls was now pulled back with a blue elastic headband.
Gabriel smiled to himself; even without seeing Franco's face clearly, he knew it was him. He would have recognized him even without physical features — just by his voice, his movements, or the way he kicked the ball. Seven years of following him closely, even through a screen, had made him an absolute expert on Franco Colapinto.
The game started off intensely, even for Bortoleto, who was used to watching his friend's matches. The Spanish kids were taller and weren't afraid to use it to their advantage, pushing for a physical game.
Franco, playing as a center forward, was suffering from the opposing team's heavy marking. Shoves and slide tackles that the referee feigned not seeing — and if he did see, didn't care to address. Gabriel had to take a deep breath to keep from running down to the fence to join the parents complaining about the clear referee bias.
They went into half-time tied 0–0. Franco sat on the bench exhausted and a little sore — taking that many tackles was starting to get on his nerves.
He glanced over at the stands just to see how many spectators were there, and his eyes caught a familiar figure. Even under that cap, Colapinto would recognize him anywhere.
Gabriel. Was Gabriel really here? Had he come to Spain just to see him play? He blinked slowly and looked around, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
Gabriel, realizing he had been spotted, simply smiled. He raised his hand slowly, giving a low-key wave.
Franco's heart pounded so fast he thought he was having a heart attack. After seven years without seeing his friend, he was reuniting with him in the stands of a soccer match like it was no big deal.
All his exhaustion melted away in that instant, and he came out for the second half with more energy than ever. He wanted the match to end quickly, but he wouldn't settle for a tie — he would settle for nothing less than a victory in front of Gabriel.
At the very first chance he got to score, he put it away. Goal. For a second, everything became a blur of noise. His teammates rushed toward him, but before anyone could reach him, he sprinted toward the stands.
He found Gabriel in the exact same spot. Without thinking much, he raised his hands and made a butterfly shape with them. A clumsy, crooked butterfly that looked like anything but what it was supposed to be.
He knew Gabriel would understand. Seeing Gabriel cover his face in laughter, Franco smiled satisfied and let himself be swarmed by his teammates.
⚽️
Gabriel waited outside the stadium in no rush at all. Taking advantage of being away from his dad and his coach, he bought a burger and ate it while scrolling through his phone.
The Argentine squad took almost forty minutes to leave the locker room. When Franco finally stepped out carrying his backpack, he was still chatting distractedly with two teammates.
As if sensing the Brazilian's presence, Colapinto looked up. It took less than a second to recognize Gabriel, and in that second, nothing else mattered.
He nearly knocked over a nearby chair just to reach Gabriel, who opened his arms and wrapped him in a tight hug. Right there, in his best friend's arms, time stood still. He couldn't tell how long they stayed there in silence.
— You could have told me — Franco muttered without breaking the embrace.
— Then it wouldn't have been any fun.
— I thought I got slide-tackled so hard I was seeing things.
Gabriel laughed.
— You were totally fine, you even managed to score.
Franco pulled back slightly, still holding him close, unable to hide his smile.
— Now you owe me.
— Owe you what?
— You're gonna have to win when I go watch one of your races.
Gabriel chuckled.
— Deal.
⚽️
— Monza is next week already.
In the same year Gabriel was announced as a Trident driver for Formula 3, Franco made his professional debut for Vélez Sarsfield. Now, near the end of the year, Bortoleto was leading the championship and Colapinto was gaining more and more playing time on the team.
— And what are you gonna do after you win the championship?
Gabriel rolled his eyes, looking at his friend smiling on the other side of the screen.
— If I win the championship.
— Obviously you will, Gabi. So, what are you gonna do?
— Why do you want to know so badly?
— Because I want you to come watch my games here in Argentina.
The silence on the other end of the line made Franco blush. He was just about to apologize when he was interrupted by the Brazilian's laughter.
— Ah Fran, you should've just said so from the start. Of course I'm going there to see you, even if I lose the championship.
Franco huffed, burying his face in his pillow.
— Idiot, you got me all nervous.
On Sunday, Franco watched the race on his phone, hiding in one of the stadium rooms. It wasn't the first time their schedules conflicted, but it was the first time it hurt this much.
He wished he could be there to see him lift that trophy.
A staff member eventually found him, but Colapinto refused to leave until he saw Gabriel cross the finish line and be crowned the new Formula 3 champion.
If he cried while sending text messages to congratulate Gabriel, nobody needed to know.
Two weeks later, Gabriel kept his word and landed in Buenos Aires. He had barely walked out of the airport when he was pulled into a tight hug.
— Welcome, Gabi.
The Brazilian dropped his luggage to return the embrace, completely unbothered by the people staring around them.
They stood there holding each other in silence until they were interrupted by other travelers coming out of the terminal. Franco grabbed the bags and headed toward his car, followed by Gabriel, who was already talking endlessly about his race in Monza.
⚽️
On the day of the match, Franco made sure to show Gabriel the private box he had reserved for him. He took the opportunity to give him a mini tour of the stadium, introduced him to a few staff members who already knew the Brazilian purely from the stories they'd heard, and, as warm-ups approached, walked him down toward the locker room hallway.
Just as Franco turned to head inside, the Brazilian pulled his friend's arm, stopping him.
— Fran, wait.
Franco turned around immediately, stepping closer and taking Gabriel's hands.
— What happened? Do you want me to walk you up to the box?
— It's not that... — Gabriel lowered his head, embarrassed. — Come closer, please.
The Argentine gave his friend a confused look but obeyed, stepping as close as possible. He was just about to ask if everything was okay when he was interrupted by a kiss.
It took Franco less than a second to respond. One of his hands naturally found Gabriel's waist before he could pull away, while the other slid up to the back of his neck, drawing him close again.
When they parted, they stayed close enough that their foreheads almost touched.
— A kiss for good luck? — Franco murmured with a laugh.
Gabriel turned his head, trying to hide his blushing face.
— Idiot. You owe me a goal.
— Demanding, aren't you?
— You've never complained.
They looked at each other for a few seconds until a voice shouted from the locker room:
— ¡Franco! ¡Five minutes!
The Argentine quickly turned his head.
— ¡Yo voy!
Franco gave him one last quick peck before backing away, only turning around to enter the locker room at the last second.
Gabriel stood there for a moment, pressing a hand to his lips before letting out a soft laugh to himself.
In the end, the kiss really did bring good luck. Deep into stoppage time, Franco scored the winning goal that secured Vélez's spot in the next round of the tournament.
As the stadium exploded in celebration, he looked up for a moment at the private box where Gabriel was standing, watching him with a wide smile.
But for Franco, that wasn't even the best memory of the night. After so many years of crossing borders to see each other, making promises on phone calls, and showing up whenever they could, the best part was officially making the boy he loved his boyfriend.
⚽️
After so many years together — 13 years as friends and 5 as boyfriends, to be exact — Gabriel could read Franco just by the tone of his voice.
So the moment Franco started talking less about his matches, Gabriel knew something was wrong. Franco loved his current club, having spent three years as a starter for Atlético Madrid.
Gabriel tried bringing up topics like La Liga and other tournaments, but the Argentine would always change the subject or give short answers.
His suspicions were confirmed when, near the end of the year, Franco texted him saying he was heading to Brazil early. This was the same Franco who usually bought his tickets to Argentina a month before vacation started and cried whenever he had to leave. Bortoleto thought it was strange, but decided to let his boyfriend talk whenever he was ready.
The Argentine had landed in Brazil less than twelve hours ago, and ever since, he seemed restless. He would smile to himself while replying to texts and kept up his vague responses.
The next morning, Gabriel woke up alone to a single text message from his boyfriend:
get ready, and preferably wear your são paulo jersey ❤️
When Gabriel got into the car, the first thing he noticed was how nervous Franco was. He didn't even get this nervous before a big match.
Forty minutes later, the car turned down a street Gabriel had known since he was a little kid who couldn't even fit into a go-kart yet.
— Morumbi?
Franco spoke with the security guard at the gate and parked inside the stadium, leaving Gabriel even more confused.
— What are we doing here?
— A tour.
The Brazilian raised an eyebrow.
— A tour?
— You're always saying I've never seen the stadium properly.
— You've played here before, Fran.
— I want to see it better.
Gabriel didn't buy the excuse for a second. Still, he got out of the car and followed his boyfriend.
The two walked through the main entrance and strolled through the stadium's internal corridors. The first thing he noticed was the silence — there were a few employees here and there, but so few that they were hard to spot.
— Where is everybody?
— On break.
— And why are we here while they're on break?
— You know how it is, Gabi... people say yes if you ask nicely.
Gabriel gave him a suspicious look but chose not to say anything. The whole situation was weird enough, and as much as he wouldn't admit it out loud, he had missed coming to Morumbi to watch São Paulo matches.
For nearly an hour, they walked along the pitch, through the stands, the press room, and the hallways. Gabriel talked non-stop, sharing stories of his dad taking him to games, pointing out the section where he used to sit as a kid, and reminiscing about finals he had watched from there.
Franco mostly just listened, replying only when his boyfriend asked him a question. He was deeply in love with Gabriel, and even more so whenever he saw him talk like that.
Gabriel's eyes shone like stars. Franco felt like he was fifteen again, spending hours on the phone listening to his boyfriend explain why São Paulo was the greatest club in Brazil.
When they finished their lap, Franco pointed toward the tunnel leading to the locker room. Bortoleto didn't think twice before heading down, remembering like it was yesterday being a child stepping into that very locker room to take a photo wearing Rogério Ceni's jersey.
The locker room was completely empty — just like the rest of the stadium. Gabriel walked slowly, taking in every detail and occasionally taking photos.
He sat down on one of the benches for a moment, smiling to himself. Franco stayed near the door, simply watching and waiting for Gabriel to take it all in.
When he noticed Gabriel had walked around almost the entire room, he spoke up:
— Gabi.
— Hm?
— Don't you want to take a photo with a jersey?
— Hm? Why so sudden?
Franco pointed to one of the hangers.
— I thought that one looked really nice.
Gabriel turned his head, but it took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing. He stepped closer to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
It was a São Paulo jersey just like all the others. But what made it different was the name printed on the back: COLAPINTO.
Bortoleto looked at the jersey, then at Franco, and back at the jersey again. His head was starting to spin from shaking it so much, but he couldn't form any words.
Franco approached with a smile, running his hand over the jersey before looking at his boyfriend again.
— I signed with São Paulo. As soon as the transfer window opened mid-season, but I insisted on coming only next year. I wanted to tell you in person.
Gabriel finally managed to take a step forward.
Then another. He stopped right in front of his boyfriend, pulling him into a tight hug, as if afraid all of this was a dream.
— You... — his voice cracked. — You're gonna play here.
Franco gave a quiet laugh, wiping away the tears streaming down the Brazilian's face.
— I am.
Bortoleto squeezed him even tighter, trying to hold back his tears and failing miserably.
— I thought you were going to renew in Spain... W-why São Paulo? As much as I love my club, I'm sure you had better offers...
Franco smiled gently and showered his boyfriend's face with kisses, stopping only when Gabriel began to laugh.
— You know our relationship isn't the most conventional in the world, and with the distance, it's hard to be romantic sometimes.
— I am super romantic — the Brazilian interrupted playfully.
— Of course, babe, you're the best boyfriend in the world. But unfortunately, I'm not as romantic as you are. So when I got the offer from São Paulo, I knew I had to take it. I know how much you love this club, sometimes even more than you love me, and I thought I could show you how much I love you by helping your team win the Brasileirão, the Libertadores, and every championship in the world.
Gabriel laughed out loud and pulled back just enough to look into his boyfriend's eyes. A smile broke out automatically.
— I want to marry you so badly.
— Aww Gabi, don't ruin my other surprise.
— What? — The Brazilian broke the hug, stepping back and looking at his boyfriend in shock. — Franco, what?
The Argentine laughed.
— I'm kidding, Gabi. No more surprises today.
⚽️
The following weeks went by quickly. For the first time in many years, they had a real vacation. Gabriel went with Franco to his official presentation at São Paulo, watched his first training sessions from a corner of the training ground, and took the time to catch up with family, friends, and the quiet routine they rarely got to enjoy for long.
It felt strange to wake up knowing that, at the end of the day, they would both return to the same house and the same bed. Deep down, that was the best part of his day.
Shortly before pre-season started, they decided to spend a few days in Argentina. Even though Gabriel had visited Argentina numerous times, Franco insisted on visiting his favorite childhood spots.
On their last evening before heading back to their respective commitments, they decided to walk along the beach in silence. The sea was calm, and there was hardly anyone around.
— I remembered the beach being bigger, — Gabriel remarked. — I used to be terrified of getting lost.
— When we were seven, it seemed massive.
Franco was gazing at the horizon when he noticed Gabriel had gone completely silent.
— What's wrong?
The Brazilian took a deep breath. Noticing his silence, Colapinto turned around, confused. His heart almost stopped when he saw Gabriel down on one knee, looking up at him.
— Gabi...?
Bortoleto pulled a small blue box from his pocket and stared at it for a few seconds before letting out a nervous laugh.
— Fran... I had prepared a whole speech. But standing here, looking at you, I forgot every single word.
Franco covered his face with his hands to hide his laughter.
— And you still claim you're the romantic one...
— In my defense, I've never been this nervous in my entire life — he took a deep breath. — Fran... you are the person I love most in this entire world, and I can't imagine a future where you're not by my side. I don't want a future like that to exist. I want you next to me every single day. So... Franco Colapinto, will you marry me?
The Argentine didn't even answer verbally — he simply dropped down to his knees to be at the same eye level as his now fiancéand kissed him. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against Gabriel's.
— I would marry you in every single lifetime.
The two remained there, watching the sun disappear over the horizon. Eighteen years earlier, two kids had become friends without even being able to speak the same language.
Neither of them could have ever guessed that an afternoon spent playing together in silence would actually turn out to be the very first chapter of the most important story of their lives.