Chapter Text
Ferran and Pedri were two famous football players who met at a very young age, when they trained together at the youth academy of a local football club. Back then, they were just two boys, united by the same dream of conquering the world through football. Talented and promising, they quickly caught the public’s attention and, consequently, sparked rumors of a supposed rivalry between them. Years later, however, they had both taken different paths in their careers.
Pedri had become one of Barcelona’s key players, cementing his place at the club over the years, while Ferran had pursued a path in Paris. From the start, the press and fans insisted on fueling a supposed rivalry between the two, turning every comparison, every contest, and every shared moment into fodder for speculation.
Now, after years, Ferran and Pedri were once again side by side, no longer the two boys who shared the same dreams, but the stars of a major World Cup advertising campaign, where they would once again wear the national team jersey and represent their nation.
♦
The studio was bustling but maintained a pleasant atmosphere. The gray walls and tall, black-framed windows gave the space an industrial feel as photographers, producers, and crew members moved about. Pedri had already wrapped up his photo shoot and was now waiting for Ferran to finish his, relaxing in the dressing room they shared. Distracted by his phone, he was doing the most of the few minutes before they were due to film their joint interview.
Pedri was well-accustomed to the routine of campaigns and interviews, but this would be the first time in years that he and Ferran were appearing together again.
He scrolled across his screen, browsing through various fan sites, and smiled as he saw both his and Ferran's fanbases going wild on their timelines. A nostalgic smile spread across his face when he came across a photo of the two of them from a shoot a few years back—back when they were just rookies at the start of their careers.
Hearing the door open, he locked his phone and looked up, smiling at Ferran. It didn't take long; shortly after, the two of them were standing before a woman accompanied by a cameraman, ready to finally record the interview.
“In old photos, you always appear very close, and people who followed that time say you were almost always together during evaluations. Was that really the case?” the interviewer asked.
“Yes.” Ferran smiled. “Even though we played different positions, we ended up being evaluated together quite often.”
“And you both managed to take first place in the evaluations, didn’t you?”
“Yes, both of us,” Pedri replied, smiling.
“That’s interesting, because you had very different playing styles. What did you think of each other back then?”
“I thought Pedri was really good,” Ferran answered, looking at him. “Maybe even too good for someone who had just arrived.”
“And I thought pretty much the same thing about him.” Pedri laughed. “I think there was a healthy rivalry between us from the start. We always wanted to do our best.”
“So maybe the rumors of a rivalry started right there?”
“Maybe for those looking in from the outside,” Pedri replied with a subtle smile. “For us, it was just football.”
"You can tell the two of you have a strong bond," the woman commented, and both nodded. "Is it true that you actually shared an apartment?"
“Yes. At first, we stayed in the training facility's dorms. After a while, when we moved out of the dorms, we ended up living together.”
“So, you practically grew up together?”
“In a way, yes.” Ferran replied, glancing briefly at Pedri. “We spent practically the whole day together.”
“And what was it like sharing your daily lives? Did you get along at home, or were there any arguments?” The interviewer asked, eliciting a small smile from both of them.
“A few” Pedri answered with a soft laugh. “Ferran was much messier back then.”
“Me?” Ferran turned to him, feigning indignation. “You were the one who took forever in the bathroom.”
The interviewer laughed.
“So, it seems some things haven't changed. Who would have thought that, after all these years, you’d still remember those details?”
“I think it’s impossible to forget certain things.” Pedri replied with a subtle smile.
“You went through a very important phase of your lives together. Is there any memory from that time that you cherish the most?”
Ferran remained silent for a few seconds before answering.
“I think it’s the simplest things, really. Having dinner after training, staying up late talking... Back then, we didn't know where it would all lead.”
“And did you imagine you’d be here today, years later, working together again? Especially after Ferran continued his career in Paris?”
Pedri glanced at Ferran before answering.
“Honestly, no. When he went to Paris, we knew things would change. Our routines, our paths... everything became a bit different. But it's good to be here. After so much time, it feels strange... in a good way.”
“And, despite all those years and the distance, do you still consider yourselves best friends?”
The two exchanged a look for a moment.
“I think some people become more than just friends.” Ferran replied, with a barely perceptible smile. “They simply become part of your story.”
"I’d like to take this moment to congratulate you on your marriage, Pedri," the woman said enthusiastically.
Pedri responded with nothing more than a reserved smile and a brief nod, offering silent thanks.
It had been just a few months since Pedri announced his marriage, a private ceremony held away from the spotlight. As expected, the news had hit the media like a bombshell. Suddenly, speculation, theories, and countless attempts to uncover the identity of the mysterious woman who had won the player's heart began to circulate.
Over the years, Pedri had been the subject of various rumors regarding his personal life and sexuality. Now, on the eve of the World Cup, this was his first public appearance since the wedding. Instinctively, his fingers brushed against the ring on his left hand, seeking a measure of comfort.
“So, Ferran, do you know Pedri’s mysterious wife?”
Pedri let out a mocking laugh. He knew the reporter had been setting the stage for that question. He glanced sideways at Ferran, who wore an equally guarded smile.
“Yeah, yeah. I know her,” Ferran replied, glancing discreetly at the camera recording the interview.
“And are you friends, too?”
Ferran raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused by the question.
“We get along well,” he answered curtly.
Pedri had to suppress another smile. He knew Ferran well enough to tell when he was losing his patience.
“Is that all?” the woman persisted, laughing. “You seem quite intimidated.”
“We’ve known each other for years,” Ferran replied, looking at Pedri this time. “It’s normal.”
The gaze lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make Pedri’s chest tighten. He quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his own hand.
“Will we ever get to meet the mysterious Mrs. González?” The woman turned to Pedri.
“Someday,” he replied, offering a polite smile.
“You’re being quite mysterious today, Pedri.”
“I think some things can remain private,” he answered, keeping his smile in place.
The reporter seemed to accept the answer, though she didn’t give up entirely.
“Well, at least we can say Ferran knows her.”
“I can say that,” Ferran replied calmly.
Pedri turned his face toward him.
There was something about the answer that bothered him. Not because of the lie, they were used to that by now, but because of the ease with which Ferran said those things on camera, as if everything between them could be reduced to an old friendship.
“And what about you, Ferran?” the woman continued. “The photos of you and Sira have been causing quite a stir on social media. It seems the fans approve of a potential relationship between you two.”
This time, Pedri went completely still.
Ferran’s smile faded, too.
“We’re just colleagues. Nothing more than that,” he replied, keeping his voice steady and confident.
“Are you sure?” she teased. “Because you look pretty close in the photos.”
Ferran let out a soft laugh but didn’t answer right away.
Pedri recognized that silence.
It was the same silence Ferran fell into when he was trying not to say something he might regret later.
“I am,” he finally answered. “People like to make up stories based on photographs.”
“So, is there no chance we’ll see the two of you as a couple?”
“No,” Ferran replied quickly.
Pedri felt his fingers tightening around his ring.
“Understood. I think the fans will be disappointed.”
“They’ll get over it,” Ferran joked.
The crew laughed, and the tension seemed to ease.
But Pedri didn’t laugh.
Because beneath that casual answer lay something only the two of them understood.
The interview continued for a few more minutes, shifting to the campaign, the World Cup, and their reunion after so many years. When the cameras were finally turned off, Pedri exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Finally,” he murmured.
Ferran chuckled softly beside him.
“You were nervous.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
Pedri shot him a sharp look.
“So were you.”
“Me? Never.”
“Liar.”
Ferran smiled.
For a few seconds, they just stared at each other—no cameras, reporters, or people watching their every move.
Then Ferran’s gaze dropped to Pedri’s hand.
To the ring.
“You’re still wearing it.”
Pedri looked down at his own finger, then back up at him.
“That’s what it’s for.”
“I know.”
The silence that followed was unlike any other.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
And, for the first time that afternoon, neither of them had to pretend.
♦
“I can’t believe she managed to turn an interview about the World Cup campaign into an interrogation about our personal lives.” Pedri grumbled as soon as he got into the car, shutting the door harder than necessary.
Ferran, already settled in the driver’s seat, shot his husband an amuse d look before starting the car.
“You knew she was going to ask.”
“Knowing that doesn’t make it any less annoying,” Pedri replied, crossing his arms. “The campaign was about the World Cup, the national team, and the two of us working together again after all these years. And she spent half the interview trying to figure out who my wife is.”
“Technically, she did manage to find out that I know her.”
Pedri turned to look at him, incredulous.
“Ferran.”
“Hey, it’s not worth it,” he murmured.
With his free hand, he took the wedding band out of his jacket’s inner pocket and slipped it back onto his ring finger.
Pedri watched the movement in silence. As soon as Ferran moved his hand back to the gear shift, Pedri held onto it, interlacing his fingers with Ferran’s.
“I wish I could show everyone the wonderful person I married...” he murmured, looking down at their joined hands. “I hate that you have to take off your ring.”
“I don’t like it either,” Ferran replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “But this time it was necessary. It was an interview with both of us. It would’ve looked suspicious if we’d both shown up wearing our wedding bands.”
Pedri scoffed.
“That woman has no shame. Asking things like that as if I wasn’t right there, listening to everything.”
Ferran let out a low laugh and nodded.
“We handled it well,” he said. “Rick’s going to be proud.”
Pedri nodded, picking up his phone without letting go of his husband. He opened a social media app and scrolled until he stopped at a specific post.
“People have started coming up with theories about us.”
He turned the phone toward Ferran. The post featured a series of photos of the two of them over the years, highlighting occasions where they were both wearing the same type of gold ring. Among them were a few shots from that day’s interview, capturing the lingering glances they had exchanged without realizing it.
But what really caught the fans' attention was the very fact that Ferran wasn't wearing his wedding band.
“They’re asking why you aren’t wearing the ring, since you never take it off for anything.” Pedri scrolled down, suppressing a smile. “And they also want to know who ‘Mrs. González is.”
Ferran raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Mrs. González...” he repeated, a teasing note in his voice. Pedri chuckled softly.
"They’re truly obsessed."
"Little do they know..." Ferran began, moving a little closer to him. "...that you’re the one with my last name, Mr. Pedro Torres."
Pedri smiled, finally letting go of the annoyance caused by the interview.
"You’re ridiculous."
"And you married me anyway."
"Unfortunately."
"Liar."
Pedri laughed and squeezed their interlaced fingers even tighter. For a few minutes, it didn’t matter what the press said, how many theories popped up, or how many times they’d still have to hide their wedding bands.