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Players come, players go. That's a mantra Pedri has heard of plenty, and he for one has been repeating it to himself since summer.
He’s never liked transfer windows, they remind him just how much football clubs are not families, rather institutions, but this time it’s a little different, he’s feeling hateful and full of resentment.
He should be used to it by now, it's been a little over two months since he stopped seeing Ferran everyday, it's just he can't shake the feeling in his chest. It's like there's a fist wrapped around his heart that won't quit squeezing, and yeah, Pedri supposes the squeezing sensation has lessened now with time being a remedy, but it's still like an incessant buzz. Ferran's gone. He's not there to annoy Pedri whenever a chance arises. He's not there to throw him around like a ragdoll during training. He's not there to sit next to Pedri in a silence that’s filled with a hundred words.
Every match feels like a bland repetition of the one before it, and every training session is more exhausting, and yeah, in a sense Ferran was kind of a nuisance but Pedri thinks somewhere within the last couple of years, he's started to need him in a way he doesn't have the words to explain.
Players have come, players have gone, but not a single transfer has taken the same toll on him the way this one has.
There was a time where Pedri would smile around like an idiot all the time. Apparently, that's long gone as well.
"Dude, why do you look like that?" Gavi nudges his shoulder, looking too concerned.
"I didn't sleep well," It's an automatic lie, a practiced one, because Gavi wasn't the first to ask what was wrong with Pedri. As a matter of fact, it seems like that question has become everyone's favorite to ask.
And well, maybe it's not a lie, because yeah, Pedri hadn't been sleeping well. Everytime he puts his head to a pillow with the intention to sleep all he winds up doing is scrolling through one of those Ferran fan accounts, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
Maybe stalking his actual insta is easier, but those accounts always seem to have an extra picture or two. So, fan accounts it is. And if Pedri falls asleep with a video of Ferran lighting his screen hours after his bed time, it's no one's concern but his own.
Players come, players go, and Pedri really wishes they didn't.
The thing is, Pedri has spent years not being close to Ferran. They weren't always on the same team after all, it's just these days he's starting to think that Ferran may have been a drug specifically designed to get him hooked, all addicted, and stupid, and now with no Ferran he feels like he's going through withdrawal, like he can't function if Ferran isn't there.
It comes to a head during a match, one where he played amazingly, and shit, he even scored. Except when he'd gone to celebrate, Ferran wasn't there to hug him and pull him right off his feet.
Pedri's always had an expressive face, he's been told as such by many people, so when he's having his fill of his social media before bed time, he isn't at all surprised to see himself frowning. It's strange, who frowns after scoring?
It's ridiculous. Absurd, even.
Players come, players go, but Pedri thinks that if he doesn't speak to Ferran right now, he might be stuck with a frown on his face forever.
He's not sure why he does it, or, more accurately, he's not sure that he should, but either way, he scrolls in his contacts until he finds that ‘Ferri’ with a shark emoji and a heart next to it.
"Hey." Pedri says, rather dumbly, when Ferran picks up.
Maybe he should be surprised that Ferran picked up at all, it was edging way after midnight, but he intuitively knows Ferran wouldn't even let the phone ring twice. That's just how they've always been. When Pedri calls, Ferran always answers.
"Hey, Pepi." Ferran echoes back, voice heavier with sleep.
And oh, he wasn't prepared to hear that nickname again. He's unprepared for the wave of sorrow he feels.
Why did it take Pedri so long to call? He should’ve called him the second Ferran landed in France. Even though they’d been texting almost every other day or so, mostly about minuscule things like Pedri’s new hair and how Ferran should focus on learning French rather than continuing on with his deteriorated English, it feels like this is the first time they’ve talked—Really talked.
Pedri has so much to say, passages and paragraphs, but he doesn't want to waste the now limited time they have to talk.
"i think i need you—Like, to work properly."
Ferran lets out a little sound, it’s muffled and different over the phone, but Pedri knows exactly what it is, he’s heard it so many times in real life before he’s sure it’s engraved up there in his head.
Despite being rather affectionate, Ferran doesn’t do so well when Pedri returns the favor.
“You’re doing fine.” Ferran says after a moment, so sure it makes Pedri ache. “Just stop scowling so much.”
“I can’t. Literally.” Pedri groans, and despite knowing how bitter it’ll make him sound, he can’t stop himself from asking, “How are you so okay with this?”
Ferran scoffs, “You think i am? Fuck, I can’t breathe half the time.”
I can’t either. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. The words drum against his throat.
Ferran sighs, shaky, “I keep…” He trails off, no longer sounding sure.
“You keep what?”
Ferran pauses, like he’s thinking something through. “I can’t say.”
”Ferri,” Pedri goads, whiny in that way he knows makes Ferran weak and willing to do anything Pedri asks him to do.
Maybe he’s lost his game, because Ferran flat out chuckles, “Stop being a brat. Point is, I miss you—so fucking much. This has been the hardest thing i’ve ever done.”
It’s been the hardest thing Pedri has gone through.
“I wish you stayed.” Pedri admits.
Ferran lets out a resounding breath,“You know i couldn’t.”
“Yeah.” Pedri feels that lump in his throat, making it known he’s about to start crying.
Ferran somehow knows, always so in tune with Pedri and his feelings, “Look on the bright side,” He reasons, trying to cheer Pedri up, “We’ll see each other soon.”
“I want to see you now.” Pedri whispers, blinking away the forming tears.
“Come to Paris. Actually, come to PSG.”
“I’d rather die.”
Ferran laughs, loud and unabashed, like it isn’t the middle of the night and they’re not countries away from one another.
“You’re the worst.” Pedri lies, he’s been doing that often recently.
"You love me." Ferran states like it’s a fact, and maybe it is.
"I do." He does, he really does. And he’s starting to think it’s not in that platonic friendly way. He should probably unpack that, he doesn’t really have the bandwidth for all that though.
“I love you, too.” Ferran’s voice is soft. Pedri wants to hear him say that everyday.
That squeezing from earlier returns, but it’s all fuzzy and soft and Pedri doesn’t ever want to hang up.
“Can you—stay on the phone? Until i—”
“Of course, Pepi—Anything you want.”
Players come, players go, but Ferran will always have a permanent spot within Pedri, tucked in his rib cage and right next to his heart.