Work Text:
March 2027
“Okay, everything is diced up. What should I do now?”
Joan’s voice sounded just the tiniest bit metallic as it came out the speakers of Eric’s phone that was precariously propped up against the jar of salt on his kitchen counter.
It was the beginning of March, and even if it was Thursday and neither of them had a match to play until Sunday, the harsh temperature, still too cold both in Madrid and Barcelona, didn't really encourage either Eric or Joan to go outside tonight and hang out with their groups of friends.
The two had texted in the morning, before Eric went to training and Joan to his routine physio appointment. It was just a few texts; a pair of ‘good morning’ followed by a selfie of either one of them – Eric still sitting in his car, frowning with the bottom half of his face covered by his scarf, and Joan already lying on the stretcher, with a cute pout on his lips and a peace sign half out of frame – some complaints about the bad weather and then a few witty remarks about their upcoming games.
Nothing out of the ordinary, by now.
What came as a surprise to Eric, though, was later that afternoon, when his phone started ringing where it rested on his coffee table while he was sitting in the armchair, quietly watching some highlights and statistics on his tablet about Sevilla, the team Barça would face that weekend.
He grabbed his phone, and he hated how quickly his face opened up in a smile without even thinking about it when he read Joan’s name on the screen.
The video call had started with Joan sprawled out on his couch, complaining and bitching around about the thunderstorm that was hitting Madrid and how terribly bored he was, home alone and with nothing to do. Eric knew this was the furthest from the truth; he had already heard quite a number of stories about how good Joan was at finding stuff to spend the time doing, whether it was completely re-organising his living room furnitures from scratch (which he was very proud of the result, thank you very much) or learning how to play the ukulele (which he had totally failed, Eric had the chance to state thanks to the audio messages Joan used to send him from time to time).
“I’m going crazy, Eric, I swear. I can't do this. I’m dying.”
Eric had laughed at how dramatic his friend was, always needing something to do to let his overwhelming energy out – Joan remembered him a lot of Ferran, in this sense – and only for a split of a second, Eric’s heart had quickened its pace as the thought of Joan preferring to talk to him rather than doing anything else hit him harder than it needed to.
They easily fell into a quiet conversation, then, light and trivial as always, which made Joan calmer as the minutes passed.
It was astonishing how quickly Eric was able to do that. All it took was a fond smile and the soft sound of his voice talking about whatsoever, and Joan was completely done for, relaxing into the feeling of safety Eric provided him.
The knowledge of it – of how much power Eric held onto him and his mood – was definitely scary, but apparently just not enough for Joan to put an end to their forced friendship. He wasn't sure he could’ve done it even if he actively wanted to, to be honest, and all in all, the whole thought of not having Eric in his life at all was a much scarier one for Joan, anyway.
Eric was happily listening to him babbling about his childhood in Sallent, reminiscing the way he used to spend his time there, when Joan started talking about his favourite dish that his mum used to make him for dinner when the weather was bad like tonight. Joan had gotten lost in the memories of it, his eyes sparkling as he remembered the cosy atmosphere that filled the room as he watched his mum cooking while he did his homework on the kitchen table, and Eric cursed the screens and all the kilometers standing between them for not allowing him to cradle Joan into his arms like he was aching to do.
“I could teach you how to cook it, if you want.” Eric’s tone was lightly shy, almost uncertain, and when Joan just looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, Eric dreaded the thought of having crossed that invisible line they had reluctantly traced somewhere between their hearts. Maybe this was too much. Too intimate, perhaps?
He frantically tried to find the right words to turn his suggestion into a joke, but Joan spoke first.
“Shut up, there’s no way you really know how to make xamfaina, Garcia.” The smile that opened on Joan’s face was teasing, but his eyes were lit with something fond and soft that warmed Eric’s heart even more than six hundred kilometers away.
“Fuck you, I told you my mum taught me and my sister all her cooking secrets. Also, it’s not even that hard to make, tonto.” Eric smiled, glad that the tone of the conversation had steered to ‘teasing friends’ again; Joan’s gaze from before was beginning to dangerously flood his stomach with a fondness he couldn't bear right now.
So here they were, standing inside their respective kitchens, while Eric talked Joan through his mum's recipe as they cooked together. Joan had obviously made fun of him as soon as Eric had worn his old apron his sister had gifted him with his name embroidered on the front, and Eric had obviously told him to fuck off, but his stomach had twirled and his cheeks had blushed anyway when Joan’s eyes softened for a moment before he they darkened with mischief again and he hit him with a ‘So you’re going to boss me around, now? I like it’.
“Okay, now you have to take a pot, just like this one,” – Eric leaned down toward the camera of his phone to show the kind of pan he was holding in his hand to Joan, while the latter kept listening to him surprisingly attentively. – “And put it on the stove on low heat. Add some olive oil and the garlic you chopped earlier, then stir gently.”
Joan watched Eric slowly do everything he was also telling him so he could copy his actions; he moved around with so much ease and Joan had to remind himself all of this had a pure educational purpose when he mourned that the angle of the shot showed mainly the pot rather than Eric himself. He did have a great visual on his hands, though, which he was definitely not complaining about.
“Okay, done. Now what?”
Eric chuckled softly at Joan's eagerness but it didn't surprise him he would bring his excited-puppy energy also in the kitchen.
“Now, while we wait for the garlic to get lightly brown, take the tomato and grate it into a small bowl.”
Joan happily followed the order, complaining only once about the absolute dangerousness of this task.
“I almost grated my fingertips off, Eric! I need them to play!” His stressed tone made Eric laugh fully and loudly, shaking his head as he kept working on his own tomato. God, he really was overly dramatic.
“That’s ‘cause you are too psyched, like a golden retriever puppy. Cooking requires calmness and discipline, Joan.” Eric didn't look at his phone while he fakely scolded him, so he didn't see Joan’s expression as he mocked him back. He did hear him murmuring some kind of childish retort under his breath, though, and he physically had to fight the smile that was threatening to spread on his lips.
Eric then instructed Joan to add the green and red peppers he had diced earlier to the pot, and to sprinkle them with salt and a mix of spices his mum had perfected over the years, joking around when he told him he needed to keep the secret or he would’ve had to kill him when they met again, now that Joan knew this confidential information only his family members were aware of.
Eric quickly changed topic, then, trying not to think about the implication of that.
Joan was smooth to follow him into their new, trivial conversation, and for a moment, with a blush still spreading on his nose, Eric dared to wonder if the thought had crossed his mind, too.
Joan, of course, had definitely started thinking about how it would feel to be part of Eric’s family, when the words hit him; he instinctively wondered how it would feel to spend the holidays with them and being officially introduced to his parents and sister. He managed to linger on the feeling only for a heartbeat, quickly shoving the thought out of his mind. These were ‘strictly reserved to sleepless nights’ thoughts.
Their mingling voices filled their kitchens as they waited for the vegetables to cook – Eric still guiding Joan from time to time, telling him when he needed to add the eggplants, onions and zucchini, when it was time to incorporate the tomato paste and letting on another one of his mother’s secrets when he suggested to add a pinch of sugar, explaining it would counteract the acidity of the tomato.
“What is it with all these family secrets you’re confessing to me today? Do you really want to kill me that badly?" Joan mindlessly joked as he did as he was told, adding the tip of a teaspoon of sugar to his pot. He stirred the mix of vegetables again and he smiled proudly at himself when the steam hit his nostrils and he realised it was really starting to smell like his mother’s xamfaina.
“Uh, I thought you were good at keeping secrets!”
Eric’s eyes immediately snapped from his pan to the screen of his phone when he realised his words.
Joan was looking at him with a strained smile on his face, his lips pressed in a fine line, and it was so different from the one he had thrown at him all night. Eric wanted to throw up, scared he had ruined the easy mood they had been sharing all afternoon.
“Well, it’s been thirteen years since I realised I’m gay and you're like,” – Eric watched as Joan started counting on his fingers while he looked up, deep in thought. – “the fifth person who knows about it, so I guess you’re right.”
“Joan, I’m– I'm so sorry, shit. I didn't mean to…” Eric wished the floor would open under his feet and swallow him whole. What an insensitive thing to say given the circumstances… And to Joan, moreover.
“Nah, it’s okay, Eric. Really. I’m used to it by now, so it doesn't really bother me anymore…” He seemed to think about it a little bit more with a small frown. “I mean, it still bothers me that I can't live my life freely like the normal human being that I am, but it is what it is, right? The price to pay to live the life that I’ve always dreamed of. You know how it is, too.”
Eric looked at him with a frown and he suddenly wanted to scream at the smile that adorned Joan’s lips now. It was small and wistful and Eric hated how resigned it looked. He wanted to scream that it wasn't fair, that he shouldn't be ‘used to it’. Why did they have to pay the price for their lives when their teammates didn't? It wasn't a fee, it was fucking blackmail.
“Eric…”
Joan’s voice suddenly aroused him from his thoughts. It was softer than before, but with an edge to it that told Eric he was probably very aware of the kind of thoughts that were spinning around his mind and that Joan just wanted the mood to be light and easy again.
“When did you realise it? Actually, I don't think you ever told me if you’re gay at all.”
Despite himself, Eric didn't push it, seeing how much Joan wanted to stop thinking about the injustice of it all and just move on. So instead, he took a deep breath, unable to suppress a smirk at Joan’s words before he answered.
“Well, I thought coming on your dick was pretty self explanatory itself.”
Joan’s laughter burst through Eric’s speakers so suddenly and loudly it almost startled Eric. God, he loved that laugh so much, he didn't want to hear anything else ever.
“Jesus Christ!” Joan even wiped a tear from his eyes as he caught his breath. “I mean, yes, but you know that’s not what I meant.”
Eric nodded with a softer laughter. “Yeah… And you’re right, actually, because I’m bi. I realised it when I was sixteen and I went on vacation with my family for two weeks at the end of the summer. We rented a cabin in the French Alps, and there was this girl, about my age, staying in the one next to ours. A few days later, a guy moved into another cabin not too far away with his family. He was one year older than us, and the three of us kinda became friends. The last night I was there, we camped near the lake to look at the stars and… You remember how it feels to be sixteen and a virgin and horny, right? So we kinda… experimented?” Eric squirmed a little in sudden shyness, while Joan looked at him with the fondest, yet most shit-eating grin on his face. Eric looked so cute when he blushed and fidgeted with his glasses, he thought in delight. “I mean not all the way, but, you know… I got both my first kisses that night.”
“Ooh, look at you living your Challenger summer.” Joan couldn't help himself, blowing little kisses to the camera and making Eric groan and flip him off.
“Shut up.” He giggled in defeat, anyway. “What about you, huh?”
“Mmh, I have the most cliché story ever, actually. I was in middle school and fell in love with my best friend of the time. I mean, as in love as you can be when you’re twelve, but still… I realised I didn't feel like that with any of the girls that sent me those ‘wanna be my boyfriend?’ cards, and as the years went by I just kinda confirmed my first impression more and more.”
Joan shrugged, and the way he smiled at Eric made him realise the atmosphere had lightened again. Joan seemed way more relaxed than earlier – leaning on his folded forearms against the counter so he would be in frame – and Eric thought that maybe it was nice for him to finally have someone else to talk about this stuff. Hadn’t Joan said he was only the fifth person to know about him?
“So, who knows about you, then.” Eric busied himself by checking his pot, still unsure if Joan would take the question the wrong way and not wanting to look in his eyes if he did.
“Well, you, of course… Then, my old neighbour and friend, who I lost my virginity to in his homophobic dad’s car on a country road back in Sallent,” Eric could hear the smug pride of it in Joan’s voice. “My older cousin Pilar, who is lesbian and clocked my ass when I was fifteen,” At that, Joan rolled his eyes in fake annoyance. “Uhm, a friend of mine I used to hook up with during my first year in Madrid before he moved to Milan, and then another basketball player I slept with last year that I can't really tell you about, sorry.” He raised his hands and, despite his sudden curiosity, Eric really appreciated how considerate it was of Joan to protect his colleague’s secret, even with him.
Eric took in the information as he nodded, trying to understand what has been bothering him since Joan had stopped talking, and feeling his chest tightening a little when he realised what it was.
“So your family doesn't know. Or, I don't know, your best friends.” It wasn't really a question, but Joan nodded anyway.
“Yeah. I don't think they’d hate me for it, but my mum always repeats to me how she can’t wait to give me my grandma’s engagement ring to propose to my future girlfriend, and my dad…” He took a heavy breath. “I’ve told you he didn't speak to me for two weeks cause I went playing for Real, so I really don't want to find out how he would react to something like this… I think my brother would be chill, actually… His wife is also very nice and cool, maybe I could tell them next time we’re together…” Joan’s gaze unfocused a little as he looked at no point in particular behind his phone, like he was really considering the idea for the first time. Then he quickly regained his composure, murmuring a small ‘sorry’ and looking back at Eric with a smile that leaned more to a sheepish one, now. “As per my best friends… I don't really have someone that close. Like, someone I could fully trust with something so big and delicate. I have some close friends in Sallent, but it’s not the same since I moved to Madrid. And now I mostly hang out with my teammates, and you know that athletes are not famously… open minded. So I don't really wanna push my luck with that, either.”
Each word was steady and firm, almost cold and distant, like Joan had repeated this speech over and over in his head until he had become numb to how brutal and hurtful they actually were. Eric had listened carefully to each one of them without interrupting, taking them in with progressive struggle, while a renovated feeling of pure fondness for the guy in front of him grew inside his chest.
He looked at Joan who was still smiling at him, calmly, almost peacefully, like he had just told him his grocery shopping list and not confessed how hard his life had been to him for the past decade or so, and as Eric kept looking at him with his own mouth open in a baffled gape, he horrifiedly realised how well Joan had managed to mask his pain for all this time, not only to him but to the whole world.
Joan, who was always so cheerful and carefree, so outgoing and kind and enjoyable to have around. Joan, so nice and good that anyone who had met him should’ve considered themselves lucky. And yet, he was scared that the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally would stop liking him if they knew him for who he really was.
Eric tried to gather his thoughts, realising he hadn't answered, yet; he knew it wasn't easy to be closeted as professional athletes, but Eric had thought Joan had received more support during all these years, at least from the closer people in his life.
“Joan… I’m so fucking sorry. I– Just know you’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m here for you, I promise.” And Eric had never meant anything more in his life. He wanted Joan to know he didn't have to bear any of this on his own from now on. He could be his friend, his confidant, whatever Joan needed. If this was all they could be, Eric wanted to be it fully, as long as Joan was happy.
“I know.” Joan’s expression softened, finally dropping the tough facade and letting his eyes express how relieving it was to hear Eric say something like this. “And I l– ’m so glad you are here. Or there, you know.” He chuckled nervously, looking around while his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, hoping he had cut himself off soon enough. Eric didn't need to know about it.
The latter just chuckled softly along with him, and Joan, after clearing his throat, he dared to look back at his camera. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds too long, and they both wondered if people looked at their friends like this. For their sanity, they both came to the conclusion that, yes, people definitely look at their friends like they hung the moon and all the stars and planets and meteorites and asteroids in the whole universe. Yes, totally.
“What made you trust me? At the charity gala… You barely knew me and yet you kissed me.” Eric couldn't help asking in a whisper. Joan was right; athletes are not famously known to be open-minded and accepting, and Joan couldn't have known Eric was actually one of the few who shared his same secret.
“Well, you were already eye-fucking me, so I thought that was a safe bet–”
“I was not!” Eric was sure his face was as red as the vegetables cooking in his pot. As hot, too.
“You definitely were, carinyo.” Joan winked as he giggled a little more at the way Eric’s expression became even more embarrassed somehow, and it was so stunning how quickly he managed to get back to that confident, flirty demeanor that made Eric go weak in his knees. “But honestly, it was the way you talked to me all night. You were so gentle and friendly and… I don't know, I felt really at ease with you… But yeah, the eye-fucking really gave me the green light to do it.”
“Oh, shut up!” Eric’s face turned even redder than before as he bursted into laughter, but maybe now it wasn't only due to embarrassment. He had totally felt the same connection with Joan that night, and every other time they spoke after that.
Even now, as they looked at each other while their laughs slowly faded away, the atmosphere was charged with something that surpassed kilometers and screens, directly reaching the deepest pit of their hearts. It was the power of a million words left unspoken, of too many feelings that didn't have space to spread, but that were there, nonetheless, filling their lungs until it became hard to breathe.
“Shouldn't we check on the vegetables?” Joan kept staring into Eric’s eyes with that stupid, crooked smile on his lips that made it difficult for the latter to even understand what he was being told.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yes.” Eric cleared his throat like he suddenly remembered where he was and what they were doing. “Uhm, check if they’re too dry, and add some water if so.”
“Like this?” Joan took his phone from the counter to show Eric his pot as he poured a glass of water to it, and Eric hummed in approval.
Then Joan suggested they should toast some bread, too, just like his mum used to serve her xamfaina, and Eric nodded enthusiastically, teasing Joan he was starting to sound like a real chef, taking initiative and everything. Joan laughed, and he teased Eric back telling him he much rather stare at him cooking.
Eric hated how Joan managed to win every single one of their strictly-platonic-flirty banters, always making him the one to blush harder in the end.
It didn't take long after that for the dish to be ready to be served. Eric sat at his table, balancing his phone on the empty vase his mum had insisted for him to buy, while Joan settled at his kitchen island, propping his phone up similarly to how Eric had done. It felt nice, both of them perfectly in frame with their steaming plates sitting in front of them, and if they squinted hard enough, all the kilometers between them seemed to fade away, like the two of them were actually having dinner together, exactly as they did in Madrid three months ago. Eric tried not to squint too much for his own sake.
“Okay, let’s see if you’re a good teacher, then.” Joan joked as he picked up his fork, and Eric found himself holding his breath while he watched him take the first bite, almost feeling the whole responsibility of not ruining Joan’s favourite dish in his hands.
Joan chewed slowly, savouring the flavours of bread and vegetables mixing on his tongue; he closed his eyes for a heartbeat as he swallowed, making Eric bite his lips as he waited for his final verdict. Joan then reopened his eyes, and when their gazes met again, Eric could have sworn he saw them sparkle with something different.
“Oh my God, Eric! It tastes almost like my mum’s! Like, it’s so close!” Joan’s enthusiasm immediately felt so contagious Eric couldn't stop himself from grinning, like this was his personal victory, too.
“See? Told you you could make it! Well done, Joan!” Eric took a bite of his own dish, nodding to himself when the flavour, once again, didn't disappoint him, and Joan beamed at the praise, only slightly blushing in the meanwhile.
“That’s because you really are a good teacher, carinyo.” Joan’s words almost got lost when he spoke with his mouth half full again, and Eric hated himself when instead of being grossed out by that, his brain thought Joan looked extremely cute with his cheeks all puffy and his lips pouty. “Maybe you should consider becoming one when you retire. Chef Eric Garcia,” – he slowly waved one hand in front of his face like the words were written in the air. – “having your own TV show where you teach people.”
The teasing in Joan’s tone made Eric laugh again, knowing too well by now that they were once again getting dangerously close to the flirty turn their conversations seemed to take way too often. He realised this time he also didn't want to stop just yet.
“I don't know… I’d rather become a football coach, I think… It's kind of a teacher as well, isn't it?”
“Coach Eric Garcia? Ugh, even sexier. So authoritarian, I like it.” Joan flicked his tongue against his teeth, looking back at Eric like the thought alone already made his mind race with too many ideas he shouldn't have right now.
Eric huffed an exhausted chuckle.
“You know, I would have never pictured you as someone who liked to be bossied around.” Despite his boldness, Eric took a sip of water to try and conceal the way his expression twisted when the memories of their first time together flooded his mind.
Joan had been so confident with him that night, immediately taking control of every movement, every thrust, every breath and every rush of pleasure running through Eric’s veins. He had barely left Eric any chance to think, let alone act on his own. Even the next morning, in the shower, Joan had taken no time before making Eric turn into putty in his hands again.
If Eric’s words had the same, giddy effect on Joan, the latter hid it perfectly, simply licking his lips which were now curving into a menacing smile.
“Mh, then maybe next time we see each other I could show you how–”
“Joan!”
Yep, Eric should’ve definitely stopped earlier.
He shook his head, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes in astonishment, while the heat creeped out onto his neck and face. He couldn't do this, he couldn't indulge Joan, not if he wanted to keep his sanity intact.
“Sorry, sorry!” Joan raised his hands in innocence in front of his face, but he didn't even try to hide how delighted he was of the reaction he had gotten from Eric.
They went back to more neutral topics, ones that would keep Eric’s blood pressure in order, quietly eating the rest of their dinner. It was surprisingly easy to jump back to their friendly selves, and Eric wondered what that said about them, about their souls; he wondered if that meant they were made of the same matter or something corny like that.
“Hey, I didn't get to ask you earlier… Are you out to someone?” Joan’s question sounded genuine and light, like he really cared to know about Eric’s own experience with this.
“Uhm, yeah. Quite a few people actually.” Eric finished swallowing his bite before he kept talking. “My parents and sister have been knowing for the past five years or so, together with my childhood best friends Xavier and Andreas. I told a few of my teammates, too, like Ferran, Pedri and Dani Olmo. And also his girlfriend, Laura, knows about it, of course. Then a couple of friends of friends of mine I just hooked up with during the past few years.”
It was always so simple to talk about everything that came into their minds, from the most trivial questions to the heaviest issues, all without being uncomfortable or awkward, but this time Eric couldn't help feeling a little uneasy as he spoke.
Not because he didn't want to share this piece of his life with Joan – hell, he would’ve slashed his heart and mind open for Joan to take whatever he wanted, if he had asked – but because he felt like he was… bragging, somehow.
Eric knew he had been lucky with his family immediately accepting who he was when he came out to them in the quietness of a summer night when he was twenty; he had been lucky to find two best friends who didn't bat an eye when he had drunkenly confessed to them he liked boys the same way he liked girls. And he had been extremely lucky to find, among his teammates, Pedri and Ferran – whose announcement of their secret relationship had made it so easy for Eric to say ‘What? I’m bi, too!’ – and Dani, too, who always stood by their side, making all of them feel safe and accepted no matter what.
But Eric also knew this wasn't the standard, and Joan had literally just shown him so. It felt so wrong to gloat on how good he had it, even if he still needed to hide from the public eye. At least Eric could always come home and be himself until he felt good enough to face the real world again.
When Eric dared to look at his screen again, his heart clenched in his chest when he saw exactly what he expected: Joan, nodding with a polite smile on his lips and a dusty shadow in his eyes.
Eric felt the sudden urge to book the first flight to Madrid and barge into Joan’s house to cuddle him in his arms. He took the second best option he had.
“You should meet them. You know, my friends. Uhm, maybe when you’re in Barcelona again, or– I don't know, when we both have some free time at the end of the season… I know they would all like you so much.”
Joan’s smile immediately got softer on its edges and Eric’s cute awkwardness as he spoke while fidgeting with his napkin was only slightly responsible for it. What really warmed Joan’s chest was the realization of having found a place he could feel safe, somewhere he could finally surrender and let himself get loose. Eric was willing to let him get a spot in his life, share with him the love and affection of his friends, just to keep him warm and secure from the world outside, and Joan dared to trust him with his whole heart.
He nodded feebly, trying to conceal the sudden knot in his throat with a subtle cough. “Yeah, sure. I’d love it, Eric.”
When the plates on their tables were long empty, none of them showed any sign to move or put a halt to their conversation. Only when Eric visibly started to blink slowly, almost mechanically, trying to keep his eyes open, Joan took mercy on him.
“You should go to bed before you fall asleep on that chair.” Joan mindlessly grazed the edge of his phone for a moment, before he caught himself and stopped.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Long day.” Eric yawned, unable to hide anymore the tiredness that too many hours of practice and gym had glued on his muscles, and Joan smiled fondly once again. It was like Eric didn't let him do anything else.
“Thank you for tonight. I had missed my mum’s xamfaina so much, it felt like being back home. I love… -ed it.” God, it was definitely starting to get harder to stop himself. “Maybe next time you could show me how to make your favourite dish.”
Eric bit his smile. Next time. He really couldn't wait.
“Yeah, that’d be so cool… Even though I don't really know how to make a good crema Catalana.” Eric pouted in slight disappointment.
“Uh, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”
Eric nodded in agreement, but the words seemed to land a little bit heavier than how they were supposed to do. He and Joan did have a lot to figure out together, actually, way more than a dessert.
This friendship, first of all, that always liked to lean on the edge of something more but that they still wanted to protect and nourish despite how much it hurted; these feelings, then, that by now it was so useless to even pretend they weren't there, but that they still needed to learn how to keep in line so they wouldn't get too burnt.
Eric smiled, and by the look on Joan’s face he knew he was thinking the same thing.
“Yeah… Goodnight, Joan.”
“Goodnight, Eric.”