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— Is that my shirt?
Pedri looked at the abstract design on the front of the white shirt he was wearing. It was a bit bigger than his usual shirts; come to think of it, he’d just grabbed it at random from the shared laundry basket, assuming it was one he’d bought by mistake, not realizing it belonged to his roommate.
— Sorry. — Pedri said sheepishly, a smile playing on his lips. He should have asked first, or just not worn it at all—but he’d simply thrown on whatever was handy to get breakfast ready.
—No worries, — his friend said with a shrug. — I haven’t worn it in a while.
A few minutes later, Gavi walked into the guys' apartment, breezing through the entryway and into the kitchen as if it were his own. He looked at Pedri and Ferran standing side-by-side at the counter, finishing up breakfast, and asked: — Are you wearing Ferran’s shirt?
Without looking up from what they were doing, they answered: — Yeah.
— And good morning to you too, Gavi. — Pedri added.
— Did you guys hook up? — he asked, dodging a napkin Pedri had tossed his way.
— No?! — Pedri said, frowning as he sat down at the table with his toast.
— Friends can share clothes. — Ferran said, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of the boy.
— Friends can share bodily fluids, too. Friends with benefits, ever heard of it?
— Gavi, you literally just barged into our apartment; if you say one more word about us hooking up, I’m going to punch you in the face. — Pedri said.
— Chill, — Ferran said to Pedri, sitting down in the chair next to him. — Gavi, shut up and eat.
Gavi rolled his eyes.
— I thought you guys had finally realized you like each other. — He spoke with his voice muffled by the cup of coffee, under the penetrating gaze of Pedri, who was about to throw the banana peel at him.
♦
They really ought to be used to it by now. Ever since Ferran had returned from Valencia, they had been sharing an apartment. Rumors that they were dating had spread to their friends, colleagues, family members, and even Ferran’s friends back in Valencia—though neither of them knew quite how.
They couldn't recall when, how, or why it all started; it had just happened suddenly. Everyone they knew began rooting for a romance that didn't actually exist. Friends asked if they were too shy to go public, and parents called to ask if they’d started thinking about marriage yet—leaving the guys baffled.
They should be used to it by now. Ever since Ferran returned from Valencia, they had been sharing an apartment. Rumors that they were dating had spread to their friends, colleagues, family, and even Ferran’s friends back in Valencia—though neither of them knew quite how.
They couldn't recall when, how, or why it all started; it just sort of happened. Everyone they knew began rooting for a romance that didn't actually exist. Friends would ask if they were ashamed to come out, and parents would call to ask if they had started thinking about marriage, leaving the boys confused.
Pedri often wondered: what did others see that he couldn't? Sure, they had been friends for a long time, but that didn't mean there was anything special going on. They were just two friends sharing an apartment because rent in Barcelona was sky-high; they ate meals together, went out on weekends, and occasionally argued over which movie to watch on Friday nights.
Their friendship was comfortable and easygoing. Completely non-romantic. There wasn't a shred of romantic tension hanging between them. Not that Pedri had noticed, anyway—though he wouldn't have minded—but that was a secret he kept to himself.
Pedri watched his best friend warm up his vocal cords as he prepared for an impromptu living room karaoke session; Ferran was wearing non-prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
There was a different glint in his eyes, and—holy shit—Ferran was handsome, even though his tousled hair and disheveled collar made his messy nature obvious.
Out of habit, Pedri adjusted Ferran’s collar and tried to tidy up his messy—yet incredibly soft—hair.
— Thanks, babe. — Ferran said, looking at him through the lenses.
— Fuck off. Your hair was a mess; it was bothering me.
— I know.
— If you can't keep it under control, you should cut it—though I do like it long.
Ferran just shrugged. Pedri leaned forward to touch the strands, working out the tangles.
— You look like a hobo.
The conversation ended there. Ferran hummed a melody while Pedri stared into space, mesmerized by how Barcelona’s nightlife still felt new to him.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when a pair of fingers smoothed his hair, brushing aside the bangs that had been covering his eyes.
— Now you can see me better. — Ferran smiled, turning his attention back to the song list.
♦
Ferran had never dated anyone; it was a topic he and Pedri discussed frequently.
He hadn’t dated even once in his twenty-odd years of life, though he’d had his fair share of casual hookups during college. He had plenty of admirers across campus, guys and girls alike, but had never tried to make anything serious out of it with any of them.
The two boys were walking along a busy street, a drink in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. The sky was a shade of gray, casting the surrounding buildings in monotonous tones, while a light breeze rose up to whisper through the trees.
It was an ordinary Wednesday, yet the sidewalks were teeming with life. There were dogs barking, restaurants filling up, and music playing from cars and shops.
Their steps were in sync as they walked toward a spot away from the hustle and bustle.
— I think it’s a waste of time. — Ferran said.
— What?
— Meeting someone, falling in love. — Ferran shrugged. — It just feels like too much effort. It would be easier to skip the whole 'falling in love' phase and just get straight to the romance.
— I agree. — Pedri said, tugging at the hem of Ferran’s sleeve—a silent signal for him to keep following. — Even though I do want to date, I can't be bothered. It’s too much talking, too many meet-ups with strangers, too many unpleasant endings. — Pedri sighed. — Or maybe I just haven't found the right person yet.
They crossed the street, chatting calmly as they nearly got lost in the crowd. Ferran kept his hands on Pedri’s waist to keep him from being swept away by the people around them.
They quickened their pace to reach the other side, where the sidewalk opened up and there were plenty of food stalls but fewer people.
— I don't mind being single. — Ferran admits. The crowd disperses, and they are free to breathe again. — I get enough love from my family and friends; I don’t need a stranger’s love.
— Dating is great in theory, but not in practice. You can make all sorts of mistakes—letting people into your life who don't actually care about you.
— Are you talking about Unai?
Ferran laughs when Pedri slaps his arm.
— Fuck off, — says Pedri, his nose wrinkling in disgust. — He was a piece of shit, and I deserved better.
— You always deserved—and still deserve—better.
Pedri chuckles softly.
— Sure, but nobody deserves me, which is probably why I’m still single.
— Oh, look at that confidence! — Ferran throws an arm around Pedri’s shoulder. — But you’re right; a good man like you deserved better than some asshole whose only line was "wanna fuck?"
— Ugh, shut up.
Pedri tosses his drink into a nearby trash can and wipes his hand on his black trousers.
— What about Sira? That high school crush you never confessed to, even though she liked you back. What was that about? Why didn't you date her?
The other man shrugs, completely ignoring Pedri’s question as he heads toward a small boutique with its doors wide open, drawing Pedri’s gaze to the clothes and accessories on display. Ferran walks up to a mannequin, takes the cap off its head, and puts it on himself.
— How do I look?
— Handsome, — Pedri replies simply.
— It suits you better.
Pedri rolls his eyes.
— You didn't answer my question.
— I’m still thinking about it, — Ferran says, moving toward another mannequin. — I don't know... it seemed unnecessary back then. It still does.
— Where do you get that self-confidence?
— I’m sort of like a love sponge. I soak up the love from the people around me—specifically friends and family. — Ferran’s eyes wander over an assortment of accessories laid out in boxes: necklaces both short and long, simple and bold. Among them, he picks out a silver necklace with an anchor pendant. — Come here. — He calls to Pedri, who promptly obeys, stepping closer so the other boy can fasten the necklace around his neck.
— It looks good. I’m buying it for you.
— No, no, no. — Pedri protests.
— I’m buying it for you. — The older boy counters, smiling at him. He looks for another necklace—one similar to the one he gave Pedri—so they can have matching ones. — It’s a thank-you for being the closest thing to love that I have.
♦
Despite what he’d said, Ferran wanted to date. He knew it was ridiculous; after all of Pedri’s questioning and years of denying romance altogether, he really ought to be content with life just as it was.
He had all the love he needed to get by—from his parents, from his motley crew of friends and coworkers—yet there was a nagging feeling deep down.
He didn’t want to fall for a stranger—that part he’d told Pedri was true—but he hadn’t voiced the fact that he did want to fall for someone. Someone who fit the criteria: knowing him inside out, completing him the way the moon completes the night and the stars.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he wanted to fall for Pedri—which meant proving their families and friends right.
Maybe it was the fact that they knew each other’s flaws. They were each other’s exception.
Ferran didn’t like sharing clothes—not even with his siblings—but Pedri could wear anything of his for as long as he needed without getting an earful.
Pedri got stressed if woken up before 8 a.m., yet Ferran could wake him up at any hour.
They were probably made for each other; Ferran knew it—he’d felt it deep in his gut since the very beginning of their friendship—but he’d always assumed it would never go beyond brotherly love.
— So, are you going to ask him? — Gavi interrupted his thoughts.
As always, he was there to eat everything in sight. Pedri wasn’t home; he had work to finish at the office.
The apartment was quiet—the TV wasn't tuned to the channel Pedri liked—dinner had gone cold because Ferran had heated it up a bit too early, and the living room felt chilly because he hadn't turned on the heater.
— So I should just ask him out? Just like that, out of the blue? — Ferran says, swallowing hard.
— How else would you do it?
Ferran shrugs: — By dropping hints?
— Hints? — Gavi scoffs. — Haven't you been doing that for the last three years?
— What do you mean?
— Ask him out. — Gavi rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of potato with his fork and chewing loudly.
— But I don't really have feelings for him. I'm just curious—what if things don't work out?
— Give it a try first.
— And what if things get awkward?
— You guys are friends, right? — Gavi gets up from the table to refill his plate.
— And if it doesn't work?
— Then I guess you won't be friends anymore. — Gavi adds, turning his back on Ferran. — But I doubt that'll happen. You've been together for a long time; something like that shouldn't tear you apart.
♦
The two make a point of spending a few hours outdoors together on weekends. That meant heading to Pedri’s favorite park for an impromptu picnic or to Ferran’s favorite café to relax with the skyline in full view.
Today, however, they’re taking Ferran’s Toyota Corolla, windows down to let in the night chill, for a drive through the city. They pass closed shops, empty playgrounds, and 24-hour convenience stores.
They leave the suburbs and enter the urban jungle, where crowds flock to spend their weekends.
Ferran drives him to a midnight food market, where massive lines snake around the food trucks. Parking the car, Ferran announces: — Let's eat.
— Now? It’s almost half-past midnight, Ferran.
— You’re hungry, I’m hungry. I don’t see a problem. — The older boy shrugs, pulling Pedri toward the trucks.
Pedri doesn’t complain. His nose twitches at the delicious aromas of whatever food is being prepared. Plastic tables and chairs are scattered about; some are occupied by customers from various trucks, while others sit cross-legged on picnic blankets spread on the ground.
It’s Ferran who decides what they’ll eat.
— Fried food? — Pedri asks. — Are you sure that won’t upset your stomach?
A shrug and a sideways glance are Ferran’s only response. — I know you’ll want to eat with me. — Ferran smiles. — Find us a spot.
A few minutes later, Pedri spots Ferran walking toward him—careful not to drop the food containers—and sits down across from his best friend.
— Let’s share. — It was common for the two to make spontaneous decisions for each other, just as Ferran had decided what they would eat. Ferran automatically picks a french fry from the plate, dips it in ketchup, and leans over to feed it to Pedri.
This wasn't unusual. They often fed each other in the comfort of their own kitchen, especially when they couldn't finish their meals. Sometimes they shared food in the car, too—or maybe on a park bench or outside a convenience store.
Right now, however, they were in the middle of a busy area. Pedri couldn't help but notice heads turning their way; they could easily be mistaken for a couple.
He watches Ferran chew the fries; their eyes meet, and Ferran looks at him in a way that’s a bit more intimate than his usual brotherly gaze. It’s warmer and softer.
— Aren't you going to eat? — he asks.
Pedri nods.
— Of course I am, — he says, grabbing another fry. — Happy?
— Very.
— You're insufferable.
— Is that how you treat the guy who buys you food?
— Thanks for the food. Satisfied?
— Yeah. — Ferran says, popping another fry into Pedri's mouth.
After finishing their meal, the boys walked toward the pier just past the market, feeling the chilly sea breeze against their faces.
After a few minutes of silence, Ferran speaks: — Does it bother you that everyone sees us as a couple?
The question catches Pedri off guard.
— Oh... no. — Pedri shrugs, feigning nonchalance about the unexpected topic. — People have thought we were together for so long that I think I've become immune to it. So, it doesn't bother me anymore...
— Can you see it?
— See what?
— Can you see us dating? — Ferran asks, and a wave of embarrassment washes over Pedri.
Pedri steps away from the pier's safety railing, his hair tousled by the strong breeze. The boy's silence made Ferran anxious; he wouldn't be able to handle rejection.
That fear rose to the surface, fueled by the uncertainty of Pedri's words.
— To be honest... — he said, oblivious to the internal battle raging within Ferran, who was anxiously picking at his fingernails. — I've been thinking about this a lot.
Then, an awkward silence settled between them. Ferran had so much to say; he wanted to tell him that he was the only one he couldn't stop thinking about—that it was driving him crazy. A flood of thoughts he’d kept hidden for years bubbled up, but his tongue was frozen with fear.
— I think I'm starting to like you as more than a friend. — Ferran said, his voice trembling. Pedri felt his heart tighten in his chest. That confession was the last thing he’d expected to hear from his best friend. It came out of nowhere, leaving him wide-eyed and momentarily speechless.
Suddenly, Ferran started to laugh.
— Are you messing with me? If you are, you're taking it too far. It's not funny. — Pedri says.
The other's laughter slowly died down.
— Of course not. Sorry, your expression was hilarious—I couldn't help it. Is it really that surprising?
— Of course it is. You're saying this out of the blue.
— Okay, sorry about that. But I was serious.
Once again, Pedri felt tongue-tied. Mixed emotions filled his heart. He didn't know what to do or say. So, he lowered his gaze, letting the silence slowly tighten around them until Ferran broke it.
— So, what do you think? Should I pursue this or give up?
His face was serious; no trace of his earlier laughter remained in his voice or expression. Ferran looked at the boy standing just a few meters away, noticing how his naturally pink lips were turning purple from the cold and his knuckles were white from gripping the hem of the jacket—his jacket.
Honestly, Pedri had never given much thought to his feelings for the other boy until now; he simply knew he liked him a lot and that Ferran had always been important to him.
If he told him to give up, he might regret it. On the other hand, what if he pursued those feelings and things didn't work out? It would end their friendship, and he didn't want to lose Ferran forever.
All this uncertainty frustrated him, making him feel like he was on the verge of losing his mind. He couldn't decide right now.
— Can you give me some time to think about it? — he asked.
Ferran sighed.
— Alright, I'll give you three days. Give me your answer on my birthday.
Pedri looked at him in a panic. — What? Three days?
— I want to know if there's hope before my feelings for you get too deep—and for the record, they're growing fast. So, three days is enough time.
Saying he was starting to like him was a lie; he had begun feeling that way a long time ago.
Pedri couldn't find the words to argue. So, he took a deep breath, calming himself down.
— Okay. On your birthday, then.
— It's up to you now, whether you give me your heart or break mine as a birthday gift. — Ferran said, wearing his signature smile. And Pedri just wanted to punch that annoying smile right off his face.
♦
It was Ferran’s birthday; Gavi had organized a surprise party at the guys' apartment and invited a few other friends.
Pedri sat on the sofa, watching Ferran chat animatedly with their friends. They made eye contact; Pedri nodded toward the small balcony, then stood up and headed out.
The cold night air embraced him, and a few seconds later, he heard the sound of the door closing.
— So... — Ferran said.
— I don't think we can be friends anymore. — Pedri said, his voice trembling.
— What? Why? — Ferran asked, his voice equally shaky and a bit louder than he’d intended.
— Because friends don't feel the urge to kiss each other until they're breathless.
He walked slowly toward him, getting close enough to feel the other’s warm breath. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.
Ferran reached for the younger boy's hand and interlaced his fingers with it, then pulled back to look at that angelic face, wiping away a solitary tear that had rolled down his cheek and resting his hand there.
— So our friendship ends here. — Pedri said, kissing his lips.
They both pulled apart at the sound of a pop, looking back into the apartment through the glass door just in time to see confetti littering the floor where Gavi stood grinning, accompanied by shouts from their other friends.
— Have you got no shame? Has anyone ever told you that you're a weirdo? — Pedri snapped. — For God's sake, Gavi.
— What? — Gavi spread his arms, completely unbothered. — I'm just celebrating.
— With confetti?
— It's a special occasion.
— You're insufferable.
— And you’re dating your best friend. I guess we’re all happy today.
The shouts from the other friends grew even louder, making Pedri hide his face in his hands.
— I’m going to my room.
— Oh, no, you’re not. — Ferran grabbed his wrist before he could open the door.
Pedri looked at his hand and then at Ferran’s face. The smile that spread across the other’s face made his heart race again.
— What?
— You just kissed me, and now you want to run away?
There are about twenty people looking at us.
— Twenty-three. — Gavi corrected from across the room.
— Shut up, Gavi! — This time, it was Ferran who spoke.
Laughter filled the apartment.
Ferran let out a soft laugh, still holding Pedri’s hand.
— So... — he murmured, leaning in close enough for only Pedri to hear. — Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?
Pedri raised an eyebrow.
— Shouldn’t you ask that after kissing me?
— I was nervous.
— You? Nervous?
— Very.
Pedri let out a low laugh. — Idiot.
— So?
Pedri looked down at their intertwined hands and then back up at him.
— Yes, Ferran.
A smile instantly lit up his face.
— Yes?
— Yes.
Ferran squeezed his hand.
— Finally.
— Don’t start.
— I’ve been waiting for years.
— And I’m starting to regret it.
— Too late.
Before Pedri could answer, Gavi appeared between them, holding a drink in each hand.
— A toast to the slowest couple in Barcelona.
Pedri took one of the glasses and raised it.
— A toast to you learning to respect other people's privacy.
— Not gonna happen.
Everyone laughed again. Pedri shook his head but couldn't hide his smile. And, for the first time, he didn't mind one bit.
♦
Pedri woke up and headed straight for the kitchen, still sleepy, finding Ferran making coffee. He stopped in the doorway. Because, for the first time, there was something strange about that completely normal scene.
Ferran looked at him.
— Good morning, mi amor. Is that my shirt?
Pedri stared for a few seconds. Experiencing a moment of déjà vu, he looked down; the white shirt carried the Valencian's scent—a mix of citrus and wood—clinging to the younger man's slender frame.
— Yeah. Don't do that.
— Do what?
— Call me that.
— But you're my boyfriend.
— I know.
— So what's the problem?
— I'm not used to it yet.
Ferran started to laugh.
— After years of being mistaken for my boyfriend, you find it strange now?
— Because now it's true.
Ferran stepped closer and planted a quick kiss on his forehead, handing him a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Pedri rolled his eyes and took a sip.
— I'm already starting to regret this.
— Liar. — Ferran carefully took the mug from Pedri's hand ignoring his protests and set both mugs on the counter, freeing his hands to finally embrace the Canary Islander. He ran his hands along the other man's waist, pulling him closer, before lifting him up in one fluid motion and setting him onto the counter, taking care not to knock into the mugs.
— Maybe. — Pedri says in a low, almost whispered tone, clutching the neck of his boyfriend.
Ferran smiles before leaning in to kiss him. The kiss starts off chaste and innocent, but it doesn't take long to deepen. Pedri wraps his arms around Ferran’s neck while the other keeps his hands firm on Pedri’s waist, pulling their bodies even closer.
When they pull apart for a few seconds just to catch their breath, Ferran kisses him again, this time planting lingering kisses across Pedri’s face and neck, eliciting a soft sigh from him.
Until the sound of the front door completely snaps them out of their trance.
Gavi comes into Pedri’s line of sight, and for a few seconds, he just stares at the boy standing in the kitchen doorway.
— Gavi. — Pedri shouts, causing Ferran to look back to see what was happening. — Out. Now.
— But I’m hungry. — the younger boy replies in a petulant voice, pointing at the table.
— Out. Now. — Ferran starts to laugh as Pedri grabs a dish towel and tosses it in Gavi’s direction.
— Fine, fine... I just wanted my bacon and eggs. — he says, defeated, as he closes the door.
The click of the door causes Ferran and Pedri—still breathless and flushed—to look at each other.
Ferran, a goofy smile on his lips, gazes at the other.
— We’re changing the lock. — Pedri says.
Ferran simply nods in silence before kissing his boyfriend again.