Archive of Our Own

When Ferran was called up to the national team for the Nations League group stage he felt happy. Every time it happened, it was another vote of confidence and another chance to prove that he could bring something to the team.

The second thing he felt was dread. Being with the national team would mean seeing Pedri for the first time since their relationship came to an end. After two months of no contact, he wasn't sure how it would feel to see Pedri again and to play alongside him while trying to put his feelings to the side.

It had been Pedri's decision to end things between them. He did not believe that being in separate countries, with little time to be together, was sustainable in the long run, and for the sake of their careers and their focus, it was Pedri's belief that they needed to go their separate ways. Ferran had tried his best to reason with Pedri, for hours, providing counter arguments to all his points, trying to make him see that he would always fight for what they had. After living so much together in nearly seven years, it would do them no good to separate entirely, but Pedri was set on his decision, essentially numb to everything by the end, and Ferran could only accept it, no matter how much it pained him.

Ferran's heart was still shattered into pieces that he struggled to put back together. It felt as imperfect as it sounded. Ferran spent years building his life around and with Pedri, and in an instant he had lost the love of his life and the place that had been his home for some of the best and worst years of his life. He was left alone in a foreign country and with a new team, without anything to hold onto.

Two months had not been enough for Ferran to feel any better. There was no length of time that could heal the emptiness he felt without Pedri. He could move on from everything else, but not from being without his best friend.

Ferran still dreamt about him. Nightly when he arrived in Paris, easing into frequent enough for him to still dread going to sleep. In Ferran's dreams, Pedri smiled warmly at him, holding him and kissing him, whispering sweet nothings that spread warmth all over him. Waking up from that was cruel, and Ferran had to fight every day to not fall deep into another depression, distracting himself as much as he could with work and navigating a new city.

But Ferran was used to living with pain. He would have to accept it and use it in his favour. He had a lot of experience doing that.

When Ferran played in Manchester, many years ago, he missed Spain constantly. The weather, the food, the people, the warmth that resulted from the combination of all the things that made Spain home. While France was much closer, and more similar in some aspects than England, he still felt a breath of fresh air when he arrived at the national team camp in Madrid before their trip to London.

Seeing his teammates further drew him into that feeling. He must have hugged Eric and Dani tight enough to hurt, but neither complained, responding just as enthusiastically. Ferran could have cried when he saw their faces, their warm smiles, and when he heard their voices. As glad as he was to see everyone else, he could not bring himself to leave their sides, catching up on what they had missed in the two months that they had not seen each other, having to communicate only through texts and the occasional phone call.

All was going well, until he saw Pedri at the other end of the room they were in.

Ferran felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. It was easier to live his life when there were no reminders of Pedri outside the confines of his mind. The training grounds, the stadium, his hotel room, the whole city and country didn't hold a single memory of Pedri, and it allowed Ferran to distance himself as much as he could.

But now that he was in close proximity to Pedri, now that he could see and hear and smell and perhaps even touch him, all the memories and feelings flooded back and surrounded all his senses. Ferran felt like he couldn't breathe, as if he was being compressed by the weight of the circumstances, and when Pedri looked in his direction it was like a dagger straight to his heart. Ferran didn't know if he was ready to speak to him, be near him, but he had no choice—in the national team they were teammates and they were both professionals. Eventually, he would have to suck it up. In that moment, however, his mind was not a quiet place. He felt his knees get weaker and the floor starting to swallow him and—

A hand on his arm brought him back. "Breathe," Dani said quietly, his hand squeezing Ferran's arm once, twice to gain his attention. "You're fine. Breathe."

"I can't be here," Ferran said. It hurt to even talk, it hurt to breathe. Most of all, it hurt to look at Pedri, even if only for a second. "I can't be near him, I'm going to fall apart."

"Come," Dani said gently, guiding him towards the lifts. "Let's go to your room for a little bit."

Ferran let himself be guided by Dani and Eric, trusting his friends as everything blurred around him until he was in his room, lying down on his side with his head on Eric's lap while his friend rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I need to go home," Ferran said. Home. He didn't know where that was anymore. Flashes of his house in Barcelona crossed his mind, bright and sudden, making him squeeze his eyes shut, seeking emptiness.

"Ferran," Eric said gently, "you're close to a panic attack. Take a few deep breaths. Try to focus on me, I'll do it with you."

Ferran tried to focus on Eric's breathing, trying to match up with him with slow inhales and longer exhales while his mind fought against it. Time seemed to slow down, though his heart kept racing, his eyes getting wetter with all the frustration he held. Eric, he thought, finding his way back, trying to keep his attention on his friend. Slowly, he started to feel more grounded, though he was still shaking.

"Fuck," he breathed eventually, seconds or minutes or hours later, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "I didn't think it would be like this."

"You've had a hard couple of months," Dani said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Seeing Pedri must have brought everything up all at once."

"I feel pathetic," Ferran said. His head felt like it was going to explode. "I don't want to be here."

"Ferran, don't make any rash decisions," Dani said. "You need a good night's sleep, and tomorrow you'll tackle this head first. The initial shock will have passed by then."

"You're going to rest," Eric agreed. "And when you feel better, you and Pedri will have to talk. You have to be able to be around each other as hard as it is." It was the logical thing to do, Ferran knew that, but it didn't mean it was easy.

"I don't want to face him," Ferran said, refusing to entertain the idea. "I thought I could but I can't even look at him."

"I know," Eric said. "I understand it hurts. It can't be any easier for him."

"He broke up with me," Ferran spat, not willing to sympathise with how Pedri was feeling. He was allowed to be selfish for once, to want Eric and Dani to himself, for them to care for him alone, despite knowing they were Pedri's friends too.

"It crushed him too," Dani said, not unkindly. "He might not show his emotions as much as you do, but we've seen first hand how wrecked he is. I've never seen him this closed off."

Ferran didn't know how to take that. It made no difference either way, wouldn't change their situation. "That's not making me feel better. I don't want to know about his feelings."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make it about him. It's just that it must be awful for both of you. You'll both be doing all you can to be here and tolerate each other's presence." Dani bit his lip, likely wondering just how much he could say without tipping Ferran over the edge. "He asks about you nearly every day."

That got Ferran's attention, but he did not want to bite.

"The love was mutual," Eric said. "The pain is, too. It'll be easier if you're on speaking terms while you're teammates."

"And how am I supposed to face him?" Ferran asked. "He left me in pieces when I needed him most. We haven't spoken a word to each other since that night."

"A love like yours does not go away from one day to another. Whatever you're feeling, he might be feeling too."

Ferran sniffled, cleaning his tears with his sleeves. He turned on his back, head still on Eric's lap, and stared at the ceiling.

"A love like ours," Ferran mused with a bitter smile. "There was a time when I thought it was unbreakable."

"Maybe it is," Dani said. "Maybe this is just rock bottom and you can rise from here."

"Don't say that. I've let myself hope in the past to no avail. I can't dream of the impossible."

"Well then let's be realistic," Eric said, shooting a look at Dani who raised in his hands in response. "And the reality is that we start training tomorrow and have a game to prepare. You'll have to be strong and put all those feelings to the side. I know it hurts, but there's little else you can do, and you deserve to be here with the rest of us. Don't let this hold you back."

Ferran nodded. He'd have to find the strength to be around Pedri and not let him be a distraction, no matter how much his heart screamed at him to run away.

"We'll be right here at your side," Dani said. "And if you want me to be a little mean to Pedri, I'll do it."

Ferran laughed. "I don't think you're capable of being mean, Dani, but I appreciate the thought."

"Made you laugh." Dani shrugged. "That's what counts."

"All logical advice aside, I'm truly sorry you're going through this," Eric said, squeezing Ferran's hand. "I just want to see you pulling through."

"I'm tired of having to be strong, Eric. Sometimes I think the world conspires against me, I can never get a break."

"It won't be like this forever," Eric said gently. "And you don't have to be strong around us."

He didn't, and he wasn't. Ferran had called Eric too many nights to keep track of, venting to him in between sobs, had spoken to Dani nearly as often, both of them so patient, doing what they could to console him despite being so far away. Ferran had needed the comfort of their arms then as much as he needed it now.

"Will you stay with me a little longer?" Ferran asked quietly.

"We're not going anywhere," Eric answered, running his fingers through Ferran's hair.

Dani pressed a kiss to Ferran's forehead. "You've got this, my boy."

Dani moved to sit next to Eric, their backs against the headboard, and Ferran allowed himself to close his eyes, his head suddenly pounding from the stress and anxiety. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to get any sleep. His mind would be busy thinking about Pedri and how to approach him the following day, and all the scenarios that could play out. He wasn't so sure he had it. He was crumbling already.

"Tell me," Dani started, "does your new house have enough space for all the man of the match trophies you're winning? You might need a room just for those."

"There goes our spare room," Eric sighed. "What a shame we'll have to cancel the trip to Paris."

Ferran laughed, a short and soft sound, but the change in topic was a welcome distraction, and the teasing from Eric and Dani a breath of fresh air.

Ferran tried his best to avoid Pedri the following day. For all he knew, Pedri was doing the same thing. He was successful in the morning, sitting at the farthest table from Pedri when they had breakfast. In the locker room, he was hyper aware of Pedri's presence, a feeling that carried onto the training session, unable to shake the feeling of eyes piercing him. Ferran paired up with Eric for the required exercises, and then with the group that didn't have Pedri for the rest.

Admittedly, Ferran's concentration was not at its best. He was more focused on not looking at Pedri, not crossing his path, that everything else felt less important, but he would work to get to where he needed to be. The start of his season in Paris was going so well that Ferran wanted to show that he could bring that performance to the national team too, and he didn't want anyone to be in the way of that.

It was back at the hotel that he could no longer escape.

"Ferran."

His voice was enough to make Ferran freeze, eyes closing, unable to take another step. He had just walked out of the lift, the metallic doors closing behind him with a click, with the intention of going to his room before lunch. Ferran should have known that being on the same floor would increase the risk of them bumping into each other more than they had to.

"Can we talk?"

Ferran wanted to say no. He wanted to carry on and pretend Pedri was nowhere near him, but that was a childish thought. He turned his head to the side, not willing to look at Pedri and nodded, digging his nails into his palms to focus on anything but how Pedri made him feel.

They went to Ferran's room. Ferran threw his keycard on the table and kept his back to Pedri, waiting for him to speak.

"How are you?" Pedri asked tentatively.

"Fine," Ferran replied, his voice flat. "You?"

"Fine," Pedri echoed. There was a brief silence in which Pedri seemed to try to find the right words. Ferran was not going to offer anything, didn't want to give him more than the bare minimum, enough to be cordial. "This is strange."

"What is?"

"This distance between us, like we're strangers."

Ferran swallowed, biting his tongue to avoid saying what he really thought. It would do them no good. "Aren't we?"

"No," Pedri said, sounding hurt, confused too. "Things may have changed, but we can never go back to being strangers after everything that we lived together."

"The only thing we need to be is teammates." Ferran didn't want to think about what they had been or what they were now. "We can be cordial, and work together when on the pitch, but beyond that I have nothing more to offer."

"Must you be so cold?" Pedri asked, with a voice that would have Ferran giving in at any other time. "Why won't you look at me?"

Ferran turned around then, his face a stone cold mask as he forced himself to look at Pedri, ignoring the way his heart seemed to twist when he saw Pedri's face. "Is this better for you?"

"You're still angry with me—"

Ferran laughed, unable to believe Pedri had the nerve to state the obvious. "Pedri, if it were up to me, I would not be talking to you right now."

"Don't be cruel," Pedri said, his voice strained. "You have the right to be angry, but don't hurt me out of spite. This isn't you."

"You want to talk about hurting someone?" Ferran asked, his breathing getting heavier as he tried to contain his anger. "You who ripped me from the inside out the moment you saw an obstacle in our way? You who left me to pick up the pieces of my being all alone in Paris when I needed you by my side more than ever? Why should I have to tread carefully around you when you showed no care for me?"

Pedri's eyes widened as Ferran no longer withheld. He had seen Ferran frustrated, angry, filled with rage before, but rarely directed at him.

"I admit I was selfish." Pedri's face showed all the conflicting emotions going through him in that moment. "I cared more about how your transfer affected me than how you were feeling. I made myself believe that you wanted to leave, not thinking about how hard the decision was for you, and I acted without thinking properly. I cannot apologise enough for what I did, but I am sorry."

"What am I to do with your apologies now?"

"I don't know." Pedri looked down, his eyebrows furrowing the way they did when he was upset and at a loss. "Maybe they're not worth anything, and maybe you'll never forgive me, but I have to try. Losing you is the worst thing that ever happened to me."

Ferran clenched his jaw. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to stomp on my heart, allow for two months of radio silence, and then imply that we should still be in each other's lives."

"If I could go back and change things, I would," Pedri admitted, taking a step forward. "I would have supported you and been there for you the way you needed me to. I thought I was doing the right thing, that maybe it would have been easier for you to settle in if I was out of the picture too."

"All you did was add to the heartbreak. How can you not realise that?" Ferran was baffled that Pedri could even think that things would have been easier without him when it was the only thing that could have kept Ferran grounded.

"I wasn't thinking clearly, and when I realised it was too late." Pedri sighed. "Tell me what I have to do to make it up to you and I will. I'll do anything."

"Why?" Ferran was a ball of emotions. More than anything he was angry that Pedri was playing with his feelings, knowing how sensitive Ferran was. "Why can't you just let things stay as they are? Is this not complicated enough?"

"Because we're both suffering. I haven't been happy since you went to Paris, and I know that you haven't either. I'm not asking you to get back together, I understand if that's the last thing you want to do, but can we at least try to be friends? Is that not worth saving?"

"I don't think I can be friends with you," Ferran said. "I would have done anything for you, you know? You were the centre of my world, and I cannot put all of that behind me, and be friends with you as if it doesn't hurt to look at you."

"Never?" Pedri clenched his jaw, his eyes slightly wet. "Are you shutting the door on me?"

"I don't know," Ferran admitted. He couldn't entertain the thought with his wounds still so fresh, his skin flayed open. "Right now I can't bear to be around you."

Pedri nodded. "Then I won't force it," he said. "But we'll have to try when we play together."

"That's fine. We can deal with that."

"I'll leave you then." Pedri turned to leave, and when his hand was on the door handle, he looked back at Ferran with a look of determination. "I'm not giving up on you, Ferri. No matter what it takes."

Ferran waited for Pedri to leave and then let the tears fall.

He crawled into his bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. He had fought with everything he had to not pull Pedri into a hug, to feel him in his arms and return to a time when they had been happy together, but Ferran could not pretend that the last two months hadn't happened. Pedri could apologise, could even regret his actions, but that didn't take back what Ferran had gone through on his own. Every morning that he had to force himself out of his bed, the gaunt look on his face when he looked in the mirror, the smiles he had to force, the times he started to type a message to Pedri only to erase it and throw his phone away. Ferran could not erase all of it, couldn't just be friends with Pedri when they had been more than that for years.

He was lost.

After the third training session, Ferran stayed on the pitch with Dani, sitting by the goalpost.

The weather was much warmer in Madrid than in Paris. In contrast to the summer heat he was used to, and that was still holding strong in Spain, in Paris it was starting to cool down slightly. The sun on Ferran's skin felt like a warm and welcome kiss, lifting his mood.

"Can I say something without you being mad?" Dani broke the comfortable silence.

Ferran looked sideways at Dani, knowing exactly what the topic would be, and nodded.

"You both look equally devastated."

Ferran huffed. "I'm not sure what you want me to say to that."

"Do you still love him?"

Ferran stopped picking at the grass and swallowed. It was useless to deny it when Dani knew him so well. "Of course I do."

"I genuinely believe that it was a rash decision to break up. If you two spoke about it, you'd realise that it makes no sense."

"You think I didn't try to reason with him at the time? He wouldn't listen. It's done now."

"Why must it be over for good when you're so devoted to each other?" Dani shrugged. "Just a thought based on what I see when I'm with both of you, but that's all I'll say. You're both old enough to rationalise all of this."

Ferran thought about it, had thought about it nearly every day since. Would he go back to Pedri if there was any chance at reconciliation? He wanted to stand his ground and say no, put an end to their chapter, but the truth was that he'd always been weak when it came to Pedri, would crawl back to him at the slightest opening.

"I can't," Ferran said to Dani and to himself, tried to make himself believe that it was the only choice he had. "That would be a mistake."

Dani placed his arm around Ferran's shoulder and pulled him in for a side hug. Ferran melted into the touch, seeking the comfort that he lacked in Paris.

"Why couldn't I fall in love with you instead?" Ferran joked, his head resting on Dani's shoulder.

"That would feel like incest." Dani hummed. "Maybe you should try Eric."

At that exact moment, Eric was walking towards them with a smile on his face.

"Eric," Ferran started when his friend was within hearing distance. "Should we fall in love with each other?"

"I would but Dani might get jealous." He sat down in front of them, adjusting his glasses.

Ferran pouted. "That's not fair, you were mine first."

"And now he's mine," Dani said, grabbing Eric's arm and pulling him closer to him. Eric went willingly, laughing to himself and placing his hand on Dani's leg to steady himself.

"Is there a reason you ask or do I look extra good today?"

"Yes to both points," Ferran said, his eyes slowly trailing down Eric's body, eliciting a laugh from him.

"Our boy is lovesick," Dani answered and Eric nodded in understanding, like it was that simple. "We can share, though. I'm not overly jealous or possessive."

"Unlike some people we know." Eric and Dani exchanged a glance as if sharing an inside joke.

"Who?" Ferran asked in faux ignorance and laughed at the groans he received in response. "I wasn't as bad as you make it seem."

"You were, but it's fine because he was not very subtle either." Eric raised his eyebrows. "It's weird not seeing you attached at the hip every minute of the day."

Ferran wanted to ask what it was like for Pedri now—who he paired up with during training, who he sat next to on the bus or the plane, who he hung out with—but he bit his tongue. The less he knew the better.

"My PSG teammates aren't half as affectionate as we are," Ferran admitted. "Which is fine, to each their own, but not having someone to run to and hug or to tease has been an adjustment. I feel so out of place sometimes."

"You have to teach them how it's done," Dani said, wrapping his arms around Ferran. "If not, we'll make it up to you when we see each other."

Eric moved to sit on Ferran's other side, joining in on the hug. His friends squeezed him, exaggerating on purpose, and yet Ferran found it comforting, feeding off their touch. It was the first time in weeks that Ferran felt content, a genuine smile on his face.

"How are you holding up?" Eric asked. "Better than Monday, at least?"

"Somewhat." Ferran shrugged. "We talked yesterday. He apologised, said he wanted us to be friends."

"And what did you say?"

"That I don't think I can. I can't be just friends with him when there are so many feelings and memories involved. It won't do me any good. Or him, I think. Unless what we had was not as important to him as it was for me."

"You know it was," Dani said, giving his arm a squeeze. "It sounds like this is him desperate to cling onto something."

"Why couldn't he have clung onto our relationship when he still had a chance?"

"Ferran, you cannot keep holding this grudge. It's unlike you."

"I have to protect myself somehow."

"I fear that you'll do more damage than good," Eric agreed with Dani. "Your heart is too good for your own sake sometimes, you always try to see the good in everything, so I understand this stance. When it comes to Pedri, turning into stone is worse than keeping an open mind, though. Your connection is too strong."

Ferran sighed, closing his eyes. "It's not as easy as you make it seem. Do you guys not remember the last time you had your hearts broken?"

"Your heart was broken because of a stupid, impulsive decision that Pedri made," Dani said, swatting Eric's hand away when he tapped the back of his head. "Someone has to say it like it is."

"I can't disagree with that," Ferran said. It was an impulsive decision, in the heat of the moment, with Pedri, more hotheaded than ever, refusing to see reason.

"See? Neither of you wanted this, and he was being stubborn at first. Now you're the one being stubborn. There's still something to be saved here, and you know it."

And that part of Ferran that so badly wanted to suppress any sliver of hope started to burn, a low flame, wondering what could happen if he let his walls down and stopped fighting so hard.

The short period between arriving in Madrid and their flight to London seemed to go by in a flash. Ferran was feeling slightly better, much less nervous than the first day, learning to live in proximity to Pedri. They kept communication to a minimum, though Ferran could see that Pedri was trying to gain him back, little by little, without pushing the limits. He sought Ferran at times, looked at him whenever they were in the same place together, smiled at him. Sometimes Ferran responded, other times he pretended he didn't see it nor the disappointment that radiated off of Pedri when he turned to ice. It was for the best, he thought. And so the first couple of days went by, agonisingly slow.

"Everyone in pairs! Grab the resistance bands!"

Ferran was a little too slow to grab someone's hand and, in the blink of an eye, Pedri was the only one without a pair. He was holding a purple resistance band, looking down at it, and then he looked up, catching Ferran's eyes. Be professional, Ferran told himself, walking towards Pedri and trying not to look defeated. It had been natural for them, just months before, to navigate towards each other. Everyone knew it, too. Pedri and Ferran. Ferran and Pedri. The inseparable duo that did everything together and now seemed like they no longer fit.

They put the band around themselves while Ferran did his best not to brush up against Pedri, as if doing so would generate an electric shock. It wasn't as it used to be. Ferran didn't purposely pull the band to bring Pedri closer to him, moving him around like he was featherlight. They didn't laugh with each other and Ferran refused to look at Pedri's face, simply following the exercises, stiff as a board. It was poor form from him.

Ferran did watch as Pedri turned around, stretching the band as he ran in place, the muscles of his legs contracting and relaxing. He was tanned from summer and the constant heat in Spain, his hair now a combination of brown and white that suited him surprisingly well, beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Any other time, Ferran would be pulling him in and pressing his lips to the curve of his neck, a quick touch only for the two of them, arm around his waist, a promise of more to come. Now, Ferran waited until they were done so that he could walk away.

As they took the bands off, their chests lightly touched, Pedri's hands brushing Ferran's sides. It made him shiver, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Say something," Pedri said, low enough that only the two of them could hear it. "I don't like it when you're quiet."

"I have nothing to say," Ferran replied, walking away from Pedri with the band and leaving it with the rest, not giving the conversation a chance.

They moved on to other drills. Ferran went on to practise shooting, glad to be away from Pedri. He put all his energy into it, shooting the first ball hard enough to hit and rattle the post, the sound echoing as the ball bounced and awkwardly found the net.

And so it continued, day after day.

Ferran masked his hurt feelings with a coldness that was foreign to him, spending time as far from Pedri as possible when he could, and Pedri tried to mend the broken pieces with small gestures when Ferran didn't completely shut him off. The dynamic was unnatural, it wasn't them in the slightest, but it was the reality that was borne out of the end of their relationship. Ferran hated change with a passion.

He felt like a shadow of himself, the change in his demeanour compared to who he was during the World Cup was noted by many, and Ferran could only excuse it with the adaptation to being in another country and playing in a new league. It wasn't entirely far from the truth, but he could not provide the real answer.

That he missed Pedri desperately.

Ferran missed the tight hugs. He missed the kisses and the soft touch of their hands as they walked past each other. He missed talking to Pedri and laughing with him. He missed holding Pedri and sleeping next to him and the way he was always cold and turned to Ferran for warmth. He missed when Pedri walked up to him, soundlessly, and hugged him from behind, his chin resting on Ferran's shoulder. He missed the sweet pout on Pedri's lips when he wanted Ferran to do something for him, and the soft eyes that had Ferran ready to drop everything to prioritise him. He missed the words of affection Pedri whispered to him when it was just the two of them and how he needed Ferran.

Ferran missed too much and felt too much and, as much as he tried, he could not dial down, let alone turn off, any of it. The worst part was that a small part of him could see the same hurt in Pedri's eyes, on the rare occasions when he dared to look at him. He could see how Pedri tried desperately to cling onto any hope, any crumb of attention that Ferran would provide, and it hurt Ferran all the more to not give in, to give Pedri what he needed. But Ferran had to put himself first.

Their game against England ended late enough that they couldn't fly back to Madrid right after. That night, Lamine refused to hear no for an answer when he invited Ferran to join them in his room for video games.

"You can just watch," Lamine said in response to Ferran saying that he didn't like video games. "Come on, we miss you."

It was those words that had Ferran crumbling and giving in immediately. The Barcelona boys had all reassured him that his absence was felt by everyone, and Ferran had felt the love when he saw all of them. The initial shock when he left had dissipated since, and Ferran had been in regular contact with some of them which had been a relief after the way his transfer had been handled.

In Lamine's room, Ferran opted to sit next to Pau, the calmest of the youngest boys. He knew that both Lamine and Fermín would be the most competitive ones and he did not want to accidentally be elbowed by either of them like it had happened in the past.

Of course Pedri was present, sitting across from Ferran, quietly concentrated as he played. Ferran could not help the occasional glance in Pedri's direction, noting the way his tongue slightly poked out at times and the way he moved the controller with his hands as if it would help him with the game. And there were times when Ferran looked at the screen, seeing but not watching, that he felt Pedri's gaze on him. He refused to lock eyes, to acknowledge any of it, but the attention made him burn.

If the others noticed the tension, they said nothing, though both Fermín and Pau had looked between Ferran and Pedri, offering Ferran a smile which he reciprocated before looking away. He was glad that no one asked him what happened between them. The last thing he wanted was to bring any more focus to it, knowing that it was strange enough that they were distant and not on speaking terms, curiosity certainly bubbling but they knew better not to bring up what they surely knew had to be a sensitive topic. If he had to bet, Gavi, though not called up to the national team this time, might know some of it, but not as much as Dani and Eric, and that was fine with Ferran.

Fermín, as intense as ever, almost a mirror of Gavi, cheered loudly when he won the next game. In his excitement, flailing his arms around, he ended up hitting Pedri's head with the controller, the contact making Pedri scream in pain.

"Fermín, you idiot." Pedri touched the side of his head, eyebrows furrowed as he massaged the spot that Fermín hit.

"Sorry," Fermín rushed to say, his eyes wide, trying to touch Pedri but receiving a shove in response. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Pedri sighed. "It's fine," he said. "It just really hurts."

Ferran watched the exchange. His first instinct was to get up and make sure Pedri was fine, but he stayed where he was, watching as Fermín tried to help only to have his hands swatted away by Pedri.

"I'm going to bed," Pedri announced. "Before someone gets me seriously injured."

"Pedri." Fermín pouted, his eyes apologetic.

Pedri ruffled his hair as he walked out. "I'll forgive you tomorrow."

Ferran's leg was shaking as he debated whether to follow or not. He didn't have to. Ferran had no reason to go after Pedri, to make sure he was fine. He didn't want to care. Unfortunately, he still did. Too much.

Shortly after Pedri closed the door behind him, he got up.

"Where are you going?" Pau asked, his eyes big and innocent, all cosied up on the couch.

"To check on something," Ferran answered with a small smile on his face, one that Pau always managed to get out of him, like the little brother Ferran had always wanted. "I'll be back. Maybe."

Ignoring the protests, Ferran walked to Pedri's room, leaving all rational thoughts aside. He hesitated for a second only, bouncing his weight from one leg to the other, part of his brain yelling at him, telling him to turn around.

When he knocked, the door opened immediately.

"Fer—" Pedri was ready to tell Fermín off but the words died in his mouth when he saw Ferran. "Oh. Wrong room?"

"No," Ferran said. "I came to check on you. You need to put ice on that, it was quite a blow."

"I was going to." Pedri looked at Ferran for a few seconds, seeming to hesitate, and then opened the door to let him in.

Ferran went straight to the mini fridge in the corner. There was no ice anywhere, and he briefly debated going to the bar downstairs to get some, but instead he grabbed a cold bottle of water and told Pedri to lie down. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pressed the bottle to Pedri's head.

"You don't have to do this," Pedri said quietly.

"I know," Ferran said, looking at the bottle, ignoring how Pedri desperately tried to meet his eyes. He didn't have to do it but he couldn't help it. It was second nature to him, taking care of Pedri. As natural as breathing.

"I missed this," Pedri said.

"Missed what?" Ferran regretted asking the moment the words came out of his mouth. The last thing either of them needed was to get hit by nostalgia, to open that door and let themselves be vulnerable.

"You taking care of me." Pedri spoke quietly as if afraid that Ferran would run away, measuring his words. "Being near you. You."

Ferran didn't answer, rotating the bottle so that the cold part was pressed to Pedri's skin. It was better if he didn't give Pedri an opening, if he closed himself off.

"I think about you all the time."

"Pedri, stop." Ferran's voice was firm. He didn't want to hear any of it. "I didn't come here for that."

"You have to know," Pedri continued, disregarding Ferran's warning. "I've regretted it every day since. Ending things and hurting you was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Then why did you?" Ferran looked at Pedri then, his impulse driving him to respond immediately instead of keeping the peace that he so badly was trying to preserve. "Why was it such an easy decision for you?"

"It wasn't." Pedri sat up, taking the bottle off Ferran's hand and putting it on the bedside table. "I thought, right or wrong, that it was the best decision for your sake. If you went to Paris without anything attaching you to Barcelona, I thought it would be easier for you to adapt, with no distractions, a way for you to start over again."

"I told you that I didn't want that." Ferran had said it back then, that he couldn't do it alone. He knew what he needed and it wasn't loneliness. "You were my biggest support, and you knew it."

"I didn't want to be the thing holding you back," Pedri admitted, his hands twitching at his sides. "I know what we mean to each other, and in my ignorance I believed it was easier to severe ties than for you to leave half of you behind. And maybe it was selfish of me to not listen to your wishes, for thinking that I knew what was best for you instead of accepting what you wanted, but believe me when I say that I wanted to put you first."

"Half of me did stay behind." Ferran swallowed, refusing to avert his eyes from Pedri, and refusing to hold back his emotions any longer. "I feel empty without you. I have to drag myself out of bed every morning, throw myself into training so that I can distract myself, do anything to not think of you and still you're on my mind all the time. It's torture. Pain like I have never felt in my life, and the one person who I would always turn to is the one who left me like this."

"I never wanted you to feel this way. It was never my intention, you have to know that, and it hurts knowing I caused you so much pain." Pedri's eyes were wet as he tentatively moved closer, his hand settling next to Ferran's on the bed, fingers nearly touching. "I will apologise every single day for the rest of our lives if I have to."

"I don't want your apologies," Ferran said, sighing. He felt so tired. He didn't want to argue, to keep pushing Pedri away, but he didn't want to cave in. It was exhausting to fight against himself.

"Then what do you want?" Pedri's eyes were pleading, a desperation that Ferran had never seen before, and for a second he nearly crumbled. "Tell me because I'll do anything."

"I don't know," Ferran admitted. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"I don't blame you for that," Pedri said. "Let me make up for these last two months. I can see in your eyes how much it pains you, let me take it away."

"How weak would I have to be to do that?" Ferran asked. "After telling myself that I no longer wanted to open myself to more heartbreak?"

"There's nothing weak about accepting that you miss and love someone enough to be with them in spite of the hurt. Because that's how I feel about you, and I would rather you know it than keep it to myself and allow us both to keep suffering."

Pedri's words struck Ferran. Another time, it would have been him speaking them, and now their roles were reversed.

"I know you, Ferran, and I know how much you're fighting it right now. Give me a chance," Pedri said quietly. "I won't force anything if you truly want distance. If you tell me to leave you alone then I will, but I need you, and I know that you need me too. I can't carry on without you."

Conflicting emotions rushed through Ferran. It was overwhelming, with the logical part of him telling him to run away, but for the most part he wanted to put down his walls and erase the time they had spent separated. To go back to what they were when they were happy together.

"Please."

Ferran looked down when Pedri's hand covered his, holding it gently. Pedri had never been so vulnerable around him, had never looked so terrified at the thought of losing Ferran as now, not even on the night their relationship ended. It might have been a moment of weakness, or a moment of resolution, but Ferran stopped fighting it and fell into Pedri's arms.

He heard Pedri's sigh of relief, felt his arms wrap around him, and let himself be guided by Pedri who lay back. Ferran rested his head on Pedri's shoulder, arms circling Pedri's waist. His heart pounded, ribcage suddenly too tight to hold it all in.

"I miss you so much." Pedri kissed the top of Ferran's head, a lasting kiss. "Everything around me reminds me of you. I've got memories of you scattered all over Barcelona, so it feels like you're everywhere I look, but none of it is tangible."

Ferran wondered whether it would have been easier to be somewhere that reminded him of Pedri, a way to keep him closer. He realised that it didn't matter. As long as Pedri wasn't actively in his life, he'd suffer. "I think about you, too."

"I often lay in bed ready to call you, and the only reason I don't is because I put myself in your shoes. I would hate me too."

"I don't hate you," Ferran said, closing his eyes. He could hear Pedri's heartbeat slowing down, though it was still faster than usual. "There's nothing you could do to make me hate you."

"I'd deserve it if you did." Pedri stroked Ferran's back slowly.

"Pedri, enough." Ferran moved to look at Pedri, resting his chin on Pedri's chest. "You feel guilty, we're both hurting, but I'm not trying to punish you for what happened."

Pedri bit his lip, and Ferran knew him well enough to be sure that he was holding back a counterargument. "What happens now?"

"I'm not sure," Ferran said. "Let's not force anything, like you said."

"We have less than two weeks before we're back with our clubs."

"We'll still be able to talk afterwards," Ferran reminded him. "And we'll face each other in October, so you'll see me then."

Pedri sighed. "I've been trying not to think about that."

"Well, it might not be as awkward as we might have imagined."

"It might be awkward when Gavi tackles you out of spite. Let's hope neither of you get out of it injured."

Ferran couldn't help but laugh because that was something that Gavi would attempt without thinking twice of the consequences. Ferran was sad that he wouldn't get a chance to see Gavi before the match in Paris, missing his antics and short temper that was worse than Ferran's.

Pedri wasn't laughing, however. He was looking at Ferran with loving eyes, a small smile on his face as he cupped Ferran's cheek.

"I missed that sound," Pedri said.

Ferran leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. He missed everything about Pedri, but more than anything he missed how affectionate he got when it was just the two of them, how openly he expressed his love when it was for Ferran and Ferran alone.

"There's a lot that you seem to miss," Ferran whispered.

"There is," Pedri confirmed. "The list is endless."

"How has it been for you since I left?"

"Absolute hell. I hate driving to training without you. I look for you everywhere, especially at the beginning when I often forgot you weren't going to be walking in at any minute." Pedri took a deep breath as if running through all the memories of the past two months. "It's worse when I'm alone, waiting to hear you walk through the door or your voice calling me from the bedroom, but all I have is silence. Sometimes I wake up thinking I heard your voice. Those days are particularly bad."

Ferran had seen pictures of Pedri from training and from matches where he was more reserved than usual, fewer smiles compared to before, dark circles that seemed to mirror his own, distant looks when everyone around him was alert. Ferran hadn't wanted to believe that it could be because of him, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Pedri had been affected too. Selfishly, it made him feel relieved that Pedri was also going through a hard time.

"The silence is the worst part. It reminds you of just how lonely it can get." Ferran supported his face on his hand, elbow resting on the bed next to Pedri's arm. He couldn't withhold anymore, not when Pedri was fighting for him in a way that he never had before. "I miss you, too."

Pedri held a breath and then smiled. He swallowed. "Can I hold you again?"

Ferran didn't have the strength to deny what he truly wanted, so he laid half on top of Pedri, and let himself be held. He was so touch starved that between Pedri, Eric, and Dani hugging him in the past couple of days he felt like melting into their embraces with no intention of leaving, especially when it was Pedri.

It was not Ferran's intention to stay with Pedri, in his bed, but as they kept talking, the tiredness started creeping in and eventually sleep took over them.

When they boarded the plane to Madrid the following day, they didn't talk about where they would sit. Ferran didn't think twice as he looked back to confirm if Pedri was following him, and didn't bat an eye when Pedri sat next to him. An hour into the flight, Ferran could feel eyes on him, looking up to see Eric with raised eyebrows. Ferran gestured at him, signalling that they would speak later, while Pedri remained seemingly oblivious, his attention on his Nintendo.

He tried not to stare, but every so often he'd look sideways, just to check that Pedri was really at his side, that they were fine, that they would hopefully remain fine. He could tell that Pedri sensed him, noted the small smile that Pedri couldn't seem to hide. Nor was he indifferent when Pedri rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes for a few minutes to rest, a welcome weight.

Eric followed up when they were settled at the hotel. "Was it muscle memory that had you sitting together?"

"We spoke last night," Ferran said. "He apologised. Again. I've never seen him so open about his feelings."

"Really?" Eric didn't hide his surprise, and Ferran couldn't fault him for it. "Is there hope for you two?"

"I don't know, Eric, it's all still very fresh. We'll see what happens."

"I'm glad you're at least speaking to each other." Eric gave Ferran's shoulder a squeeze. "That's a big step."

Ferran hummed in agreement. "I'm—I don't know what to do. I'm torn between wanting boundaries because I'm still hurt and just saying fuck it and begging to get him back."

"I doubt you'll need to do much begging." Eric raised an eyebrow. "Pedri would drop to his knees and beg you himself if you showed even a hint of wanting to get back together."

"Don't say that to me. It's not helping."

Ferran felt like his defences were being knocked down with every passing hour. Waking up with Pedri wrapped around him had not helped, sitting next to him on the plane and the bus with their arms and legs touching had not helped, feeling Pedri's eyes on him and seeing that special smile that Pedri reserved with him was not helping. And Pedri wasn't forcing any of it—it came naturally to both of them, and when Ferran started responding in the same manner, he caught himself before fully giving in. The more conscious he became of it, the less he wanted to fight it.

"Without trying to influence things," Eric continued when Ferran nodded, "I'm his friend, too. He has confided in me, just as you have, and I won't share details because that's not my place, but the love that he feels for you is so strong that every day I was amazed to see him not break into pieces in front of all of us. It was so hard for him that there were days when I wondered if he even slept, and I worried that we were losing him to something dark. It was the same worry that I had every time you called me in tears, needing to hear a familiar voice, and I could do nothing to help.

"You're right to feel angry, hurt, disappointed, and everything in between, but don't let that stand in the way of what you truly feel for him. It was—it is—something special, and you know that. We can all see it."

Ferran let out a shaky breath, covering his face with his hands. Those words had shaken him, they were further confirmation that he hadn't been alone in his pain, that Pedri suffered because there was love still alive in his heart.

"What if I get hurt again?"

Eric's response hit him hard. "Is he worth it?"

Was he worth it? Pedri was worth everything. Pedri could run over his heart a thousand times over and Ferran would still give up everything for him in the blink of an eye if he simply asked. Ferran could fight it as much as he wanted, to the point of exhaustion, of not being able to carry on any longer, and his entire being would still scream for Pedri as if he were his true saviour.

Ferran pulled Eric into a hug, hearing his surprised oof, and kissed his cheek.

"I have to go."

It took him a while to locate Pedri, who had been out and about with Pau and Yeremy. From the common room, Ferran saw them walk back, waited a little longer, maybe two minutes in total, and shortly after made his way to the lift. His eyes were fixed on the screen that showed each floor number, each one taking him closer to Pedri, each one making the anticipation build. There was a knot in his throat that felt as big as a football, and Ferran had to concentrate, to breathe and remain intact.

When he finally knocked on the door, Pedri didn't hide his shock upon opening it, but smiled, small and shy, and let Ferran in. It was quiet, neither saying a word as Ferran walked in, a palpable tension between them that could be cut with a knife.

"I forgot to ask how you're feeling earlier," Ferran said eventually, for lack of a better opening. "Your head, I mean. Does it still hurt?"

"My head's fine." Pedri rested his back against the door, his hands behind him. "It wasn't as bad as it seemed."

"I'm glad." Ferran licked his lips, unusually nervous near Pedri. For once, he seemed to struggle to find the words, to know what to say after the past couple of days. An emotional rollercoaster that had lasted for months was still very much active but he was trying his best to slow it down.

"Thank you for taking care of me." A small pause. Calculating. "As always."

"I don't know how to not take care of you," Ferran said. He licked his lips, a nervous tic, something to give him pause, even if only for a second longer. "Worse, I don't know how to not care about you."

"Sometimes we don't know how lucky we are to have something, or someone, until we lose it," Pedri said. "I've always known I was lucky to have you, but it became a lot clearer to me since you left. I wish I could tell my past self to cherish you a lot more than I did."

Ferran exhaled slowly, stunned at the small confession. Every time Pedri said something sentimental, loving, heartfelt, Ferran had the need to put it inside a small box, lock it and carry it with him everywhere so that he'd always have the reminder in moments of doubt, when he needed the reassurance.

"What would you tell your future self?"

"That he's an idiot for losing the love of his life."

Ferran debated everything. He weighed all his options, overthought what was logical and what was driven by his heart. Try as he might, he could not help but let his heart guide his decision despite the inner conflict. There were many things that Ferran couldn't control, but what little he could should leave him no room for future doubt. Getting hurt again was always a possibility, no matter the choice in between, but he would not forgive himself if he didn't give them another chance. After everything that they had lived together, it felt fair. It felt logical, even.

Ferran crossed the room with steady steps, slowly closing the distance between them. He took Pedri's face in his hands, feeling his warm cheeks, faintly blushed as was often common with Pedri. One of Ferran's favourite colours.

"He hasn't lost him."

Pedri gasped into Ferran's mouth when their lips touched, his hands grabbing Ferran's shirt, tightening into fists as if afraid he'd run away. The kiss was tentative at first and then firmer. Ferran had missed Pedri's lips, his touch, how pretty he looked and sounded when Ferran was pressed against him, dominating their movements. There was a softness in their touch, in how Ferran felt deep inside, and his mind went quiet for once, only Pedri surrounding him. How Ferran always wanted to be.

"Ferri," Pedri whispered against his lips, kissing him again, shorter this time, faintly enough to tingle. "Forgive me."

"No more apologies." Ferran rested their foreheads together, his eyes closed. He didn't want to run circles again, to go over what had already been said and felt. He wanted to try again. "Let's move forward."

"Together?" Pedri sounded so hopeful yet scared of hearing the answer. A timid voice that was so common in their early years together and thereafter Ferran had only heard when they made up, in those hesitant moments when they tiptoed around each other, finding their way back.

"Together," Ferran promised.

Pedri circled Ferran's waist with his arms, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. "I love you."

Ferran had forgotten how beautiful those words sounded when Pedri voiced them. None of his previous partners had made his heart skip in the way that Pedri did, none of them had him craving hearing it, none of them said it as beautifully, and perhaps as profoundly, as Pedri did.

Pedri pulled back, cupping Ferran's face, his thumbs caressing the soft skin under his eyes, now free to do as he pleased, no longer waiting for the rejection that would come.

"You haven't been sleeping well."

"I try." There was no use denying it. Ferran hated looking in the mirror sometimes, seeing the dark circles around his eyes, his eyes that had once been full of light. There wasn't a lot left of it in recent weeks, but it had started to slowly come back with his triumphs in Paris. He knew it would eventually be back in full force, perhaps brighter than ever, once he and Pedri fell back into pace.

"And you haven't been eating well either." Pedri's hands slid down Ferran's chest, resting on his sides, his figure much leaner now compared to when they last saw each other. "I worry about you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

"You're here now," Ferran said. "I will be fine."

Pedri took Ferran's hand and guided him to his bed. It was late in the day, not quite late enough to go to sleep, but Ferran's energy had dipped so much that he let himself be guided by Pedri who pulled him back into his arms. Ferran hid his face in the crook of Pedri's neck, arms wrapping around his slender waist, their legs tangled.

Ferran let out a shaky breath. Then the tears came, controlled at first as Ferran tried to hold them back, and then freely as Pedri kissed his forehead, whispering reassuring words to Ferran—love and promises and support—all that Ferran needed to hear, that he had been desperate for. All that he thought he wouldn't have anymore.

"Let it all out," Pedri said, running his fingers through Ferran's hair. "Cry as much as you need. I'm not leaving you alone again, not ever."

The heaviness that Ferran held inside for months bled through. There was so much that he'd been carrying that even the lonely nights that he cried himself to sleep weren't enough to relieve him of the torment he was living through.

The club. Its fans. The city he had called him home away from home. His teammates and friends. Pedri. All of it gravitated into one giant ball of grief that was stuck in his throat, not letting him breathe. And it was Pedri, as always, with his touch and his gentle words that allowed Ferran to untangle himself from the grief and exhale.

Ferran did not know how long he cried for, but the sobs eventually eased down and the tears stopped flowing. The wetness on his face was gently brushed away with Pedri's soft kisses that nearly led Ferran to spill more tears. He had forgotten the feeling of being taken care of, he who was always seeking the touch and comfort of those closest to him, who needed to feel loved and held, that sought affection as if it was the very air that he breathed.

"Rest," Pedri said quietly, fingers gently massaging Ferran's scalp. "We'll have time to properly talk later."

It was the most restful sleep Ferran had since before the World Cup. He slept through the night with no interruptions, and woke up not so tired for once, a feeling that had begun to feel foreign to him.

During the night, they had moved around with Pedri turning on his side, back pressed against Ferran's chest. Ferran was still half asleep, but he tightened his arm around Pedri's waist wishing he could freeze time for a while and enjoy the moment for longer. Pedri mumbled in his sleep, unconsciously holding Ferran's hand, fingers intertwining.

Ferran smiled, leaning closer to kiss the back of Pedri's neck, a light kiss so as to not disturb him. His eyes closed again, wanting to enjoy the moment, having Pedri back in his arms, so solid and real unlike the dreams that left him empty. This time he didn't feel his stomach drop upon waking up. It was real.

Eventually, Pedri stirred. Ferran felt his slow movements, turning around to face Ferran. From Pedri's perspective, Ferran looked like he was asleep, and he took in Ferran's seemingly sleepy figure. Soft touches that made Ferran's skin tingle—a hand cupping his cheek, sliding down his arm, and coming to a rest on his side. Ferran could feel Pedri looking at him, felt him moving infinitely closer, the lightest of kisses on his forehead. There was something about it, about Pedri loving him so tenderly that made Ferran more certain that he could not let him go.

He opened his eyes, a small smile spreading when he noticed that Pedri was already looking at him. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning." Pedri swallowed, his hand sliding up again to rest on Ferran's neck. "How did you sleep?"

"I slept for seven hours straight. I don't remember the last time I slept so much in a single night." Ferran was now used to waking up frequently during the night, his busy mind and nervous system stopping him from getting much rest. He felt the fogginess in his brain start to shift.

"I'm glad." Pedri's thumb caressed Ferran's jaw. "It's still early. Let's stay here a little longer."

Ferran nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"I want to hold you."

Surprised painted Pedri's face first, and then a hopeful expression as he rested his head on Ferran's chest, arm wrapping around his middle. His weight, half on top of Ferran, brought more comfort than Ferran could describe, but he felt it strongly as he embraced Pedri, burying his nose in Pedri's hair and breathing him in. He didn't think he would have this again. Ferran thought he would have to spend the rest of his life chasing the feeling he could only find when Pedri was with him.

"You're so warm," Pedri said, his hand sliding under Ferran's shirt, seeking skin on skin contact. Even at the peak of summer, Pedri always liked to cosy up, and Ferran let him despite the overwhelming warmth that could easily turn uncomfortable. Perhaps it was not just the heat that Pedri needed, and Ferran was starting to see it now. "Always like a furnace."

"Is that all you want me for?" Ferran smiled as Pedri stroked his skin. "To warm up those cold hands?"

"Obviously." Pedri flattened his hand on Ferran's side and looked up at him. "I might die without your touch."

"And you call me dramatic."

"I never said I didn't like it." Pedri swallowed. "At times it did feel like I was going to die, dramatic as it may sound. There was this emptiness inside me that was draining me."

Ferran cupped Pedri's cheek. Pedri looked a little more like himself, but Ferran could not deny that in the initial days of international break Pedri looked exhausted, almost a mirror of Ferran. He believed Pedri fully, everything that he had said, and wished he could rip away the pain that both of them had carried and the scars they had left.

"I don't want that for either of us anymore," Ferran said, running his fingers through Pedri's hair. "Where do we go from here, Pedri? You have to tell me what you truly want."

"You," Pedri said. He shifted and then sat up, and Ferran mirrored him, their hands meeting in the middle. "I want to be with you, even if I'm in Barcelona and you're in Paris. I'll deal with the distance and everything else as long as I know you're still mine because I cannot function without you, no matter how many times I tell myself that in time I'll be fine and heal. I don't want that, I don't want to move on and live a life without you. I need you in a way that I've never needed anything else and I refuse to give up on what we have when it's the most precious thing in my life." Pedri let go of Ferran's hands to hold his face, his eyes big and hopeful. "I want to make you happy, to show you how much I value you and how much I love you. Will you let me?"

Ferran exhaled shakily, slowly starting to nod. Pedri was not one to often use his words to such a raw level, and it meant so much more that he didn't shy away or keep it all to himself.

"I want all of that, too." Ferran leaned in, resting his forehead against Pedri's. "It might take us some time to adjust to this new life, living in different cities and not seeing each other every day, but we can make it work. I'm not that far from home."

Pedri nodded, a small smile on his face. "We will make it work. I'm not letting you go again."

Ferran closed the distance between them, a soft touch of their lips, sealing a promise. He felt Pedri smile into it and a warmth spread inside him. Pushing Pedri back until he was flat on his back, Ferran settled between his legs and continued kissing him, more passionately with every touch of their lips.

"I love you," he whispered in between kisses.

Pedri circled Ferran's neck with his arms and pulled him in closer, the gentleness turning into desire. Ferran gave in to it, feeling lighter, not having to hold back what he felt and wanted. To love someone the way he loved Pedri meant taking risks—sometimes it would make them happy, sometimes it would leave them devastated, but Ferran was more certain than ever that no matter what happened, they would find their way back to each other.