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Summary
The stadium detonated. Fermín was already grinning, already jogging toward the corner flag with his arms half-out, ready for the usual chaotic pile of limbs and shouting. What he was not ready for was Raphinha. The captain spun away from the goal like a man possessed, ignored every other teammate lunging at him, and zeroed in on Fermín with terrifying accuracy. Three long strides. One hand already lifting. And then— Fingers. Deep in his curls. A firm, unapologetic pull.
Fermín’s brain short-circuited so hard he almost forgot how to stand.
Oh no, Fermín thought, very calmly, while his scalp lit up with perfect, traitorous heat.
or
Fermín discovers he loves getting his hair pulled.