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Breakfast at the Ciutat Esportiva training centre isn’t known for being the liveliest of events.
Most mornings pass with little more than a few mumbled greetings, maybe a comment about the day’s training schedule if someone’s feeling particularly perky. It really isn’t the time for an actual conversation. So when Fermín hears his name followed by a stream of enthusiastic chatter, his attention is drawn immediately.
The conversation is taking place at a table towards the back of the canteen, where Fermín spies Lamine, Cubarsí, and Pedri huddled together. They’re facing away from him with their heads so close they’re practically touching. Fermín shuffles towards them slowly, stopping a few feet away just close enough to hear them clearly.
“I just didn’t think Fermín would be into that sort of thing. It doesn’t really fit with my mental picture of him, you know?” Lamine says.
Cubarsí shrugs. “It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says in between two massive mouthfuls of scrambled egg. “Each to their own, I guess.”
Lamine shakes his head. Whatever he’s about to say next is important enough that he has to set down his utensils.
“Yeah but like imagine this; your dad who you’ve looked up to for years suddenly gets himself a pretty blonde girlfriend who’s way too young for him. That’s weird, right? Now to add to that you find out that that girlfriend is your teammate. Boom.”
Lamine leans back in his chair and crosses his arms as if he’s just won a crazy rap battle. He makes a beckoning gesture with one hand, urging anyone to rise to the challenge of disagreeing with him. Pedri steps up to the plate.
“You’re making it sound way worse than it is. It’s not like Fermín is actually going to be your stepmother,” he says.
Fermín’s tray of food nearly slips from his fingers. The fuck? The last time he checked, he wasn’t dating anyone, let alone Lamine Yamal’s father, who, no offence, he does not want a romantic relationship with. If that was what Lamine was suggesting, then Pedri is a lot more open minded than they all thought.
Fermín takes another step towards the group as if being able to hear them better would make their conversation any less bewildering.
“To be honest, it would be better if he was my stepmom,” Lamine groans. “Then at least I wouldn’t have to see them making heart eyes at each other on the pitch, in the changing rooms, during training, you get my drift.” Lamine finishes his argument with a retching noise followed by a shudder.
Pedri frowns. “Now you’re being a little mean. If they’re happy then we should be happy for them. We should respect Fermín’s choices.”
“I think I am well within my right to find it weird. It’s not my fault you lot are a bunch of-”
Fermín cuts Lamine’s sentence short with an exaggerated cough. He can’t be certain what Lamine was about to say, but he’s got a feeling it’d be better to make his presence known before they all found out.
“I think Pedri is right. We should respect my choice to do whatever the hell you think I’m doing,” Fermín says.
Cubarsí jumps so high one would think he’d caught sight of a certain Argentine midfielder.
“Oh hi, Fermín,” he says with the world’s guiltiest smile smacked across his face.
Fermín smiles, all teeth, no mirth. “Hi Pau, would you mind explaining what the hell you guys are on about?” he asks. He drops his tray next to Pedri’s with a clatter. To his credit, Pedri doesn’t jump. Instead his eyebrows do fly up to his hairline in a way that would be funny if Fermín wasn’t so confused.
“It wasn’t me that brought it up,” Cubarsí says in his defense. “It was actually Gavi but he’s gone to the toilet.”
“I don’t care who started it. I just want to know what insane conclusions you’ve jumped to,” Fermín says.
He really is completely lost. His theory about Lamine’s dad must be wrong since he only sees the man a few times a year, not on the pitch, in the changing rooms, and during training. It’s a relief but also leaves him wondering who else they could be talking about. Hansi Flick? Fermín cringes at the mere thought.
“I’ll handle this,” says Pedri, who’s clearly came to the conclusion that this is an issue too delicate for the likes of Lamine and Cubarsí.
Pedri places a hand on top of Fermín’s as if he were a father preparing to tell his son that his pet died. The uncharacteristically serious expression he takes on makes Fermín feel a little nervous.
“It’s okay, Fermín, you can be honest with us,” Pedri says. He pauses, clearly searches for the correct words. “We’re- well, maybe not Lamine, but Cubarsí and I aren’t judging you.”
“About what?” Fermín presses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pedri’s brows knit together as he starts to craft a tactful response. In the end he takes too long and it’s Lamine that puts Fermín out of his misery.
“That you’re dating Raphinha!” he says with a gigantic huff. “You don’t need to hide it from us, we all see the way you look at each other. Even Gordon who’s been here for two seconds knows it.”
If Fermín was still holding his tray, he definitely would’ve dropped it. The hand holding his fork freezes and his eyes open so wide they hurt. Pedri, clearly interpreting his confusion as shock over how his teammates managed to find out his “secret,” gives Fermín an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
“As I said, I’m not judging you at all, but for your sake you might be better off being a little bit less obvious,” he says warmly.
Fermín would appreciate his friend’s concern, he really would. However, there’s a gaping hole in his logic given that he and Raphinha are not, and never have been, in a relationship.
“Maybe we should talk about something else,” Pedri suggests, after Fermín fails to produce a response within ten seconds.
“Yeah I don’t want to think about it anymore,” says Lamine.
The table quickly reverts to a state of slightly strained but otherwise normal early morning banality. Lamine switches to complaining about the shower pressure in the locker room. Though Fermin manages to throw in a few words of agreement, his mind is anywhere but the topic at hand.
He isn’t as surprised as he perhaps should be about his friends coming to the conclusion they did. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see he looked up to Raphinha, liked being near him, and liked having his attention. He could see how that fondness could be interpreted as something romantic.
No, what surprises Fermín is his reluctance to correct his teammates. There isn’t anything going on between him and Raphinha so he should just say that, dispel the rumor before it takes off, and yet something keeps him from doing it.
Fermín feels as if there’s one tangled ball of emotions rolling around in his stomach. In it there’s confusion, yes, but also nervousness and, if Fermín is being completely honest, a strange sort of excitement.
Fermín bites down on his fork and swallows a large mouthful of tomatoes. Whatever the answer is, he’s not going to figure it out during breakfast.
Training goes terribly.
“That was a great pass!” Gavi protests after Fermín skies the ball for the second time in a row. Fermín doesn’t even spare him a side eye in response.
No matter how hard Fermín tries to focus on the task at hand, his mind inevitably runs back to the morning’s conversation. It really isn’t a big deal, it’s clear the rumour hasn’t left the team, and yet it’s enough to make Fermín feel off balance.
It doesn’t help that Fermín’s gossiping teammates are also failing at being normal. Cubarsí won’t look him in the eye, Pedri keeps sending him wary glances, and Lamine shoots lasers at him every time he gets anywhere close to Raphinha, or more accurately, every time Raphinha gets close to him.
Everyone knows that for Raphinha, the right words of encouragement come to him as naturally as breathing. He takes care of everyone, that’s a given, though it doesn’t take a genius to notice that he seeks out Fermín much more than anyone else. When he does, his gentle smiles and light touches just seem to linger a little longer.
The third time their captain approaches him today is during a water break.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks. “You look absolutely exhausted.”
Fermín, who is extremely aware of a certain Lamine Yamal watching them from a few meters away, replies with a grunt. “Yeah, it’s too hot out.”
It’s the truth. Even though it’s getting towards the end of summer the air is still thick with heat. Fermín feels as if there’s a thick sheet of plastic glued to his skin. While he looks like a red and sweaty mess, Raphinha seems completely unbothered. Instead of burning him, the glaring sun highlights the curves of his muscles and casts his skin in a warm glow.
Fermín feels that bundle of emotion start rolling in his stomach again. It only rolls faster when he catches himself staring at where Raphinha’s hiked up his shorts.
“I think there’s more to it. You didn’t even glare at Gavi when he told you off for wasting that pass,” Raphinha half jokes. He throws an arm around Fermín and tugs him close. Fermín ends up with the side of his face squished against Raphinha’s firm chest.
“I’m playing like shit,” Fermín answers not untruthfully.
“And why are you playing like shit?”
Fermín bites his bottom lip. He could so easily tell Raphinha about what their teammates were saying. Raphinha would laugh, brush it off with a joke, and that would be the end of that. He could probably get the others to shut up if Fermín asked him to. But then that would raise the question as to why a stupid rumour would affect Fermín like this.
Raphinha’s arm suddenly feels too heavy. Fermín shrugs it off and takes a few steps back. The action has Raphinha frowning for the first time today.
“What’s on your mind, Fermi? Maybe I can help you,” he says.
Fermín lets out a grumble which turns to a curse when his water bottle slips out of his sweaty hand and rolls under his seat. Raphinha waits patiently as he gets on his knees and reaches for it, banging his head twice in the process.
“Whatever it is, there’s no use pouting over it,” Raphinha says once Fermín is back to his feet. He’s looking straight at Fermín. His eyes are shining like the golden beads in his hair
“Pouting?” Fermín questions with a little too much indignation.
Raphinha’s frown transforms into that very specific expression Fermín has come to recognise as his “trying not to laugh at Fermín López” look. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but it’s not enough to hide his smile.
“Don’t worry, it suits you,” Raphina adds, voice low enough that only Fermín can hear him.
Whatever expression Fermín had been wearing, pout or not, quickly retreats. His eyes flicker away from Raphinha down to the ground. Raphinha is just teasing him like he always does, and yet his words make that ball start rolling again.
Fermín knows that he should pull himself together and stop looking so pitiful. The tightness in his chest is making it that little bit too difficult. It probably wouldn’t matter anyways, it’s impossible for Fermín to hide his feelings from Raphinha.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s getting you down,” he says gently, “but you're an amazing player, Fermín. You’ll get your head back in the right place soon.”
Raphinha’s hand reaches out once again. This time it finds the back of Fermín’s neck. Fermín feels his calloused fingertips comb through his curls, carefully separating the locks stuck together by sweat. This time Fermín can’t help but lean into the touch.
A little bit of the anxiousness leaves him, evaporating from his skin like dew in the morning sun. He can’t help it. His body has gotten too used to taking comfort in Raphinha’s touches. He lets out a contented hum when Raphinha’s strong fingers brush over the side of his jaw.
“Thanks, Capi,” he says and even manages to give Raphinha a little smile.
The back of Raphinha’s index finger trails along Fermín’s cheek for a split second before he steps away.
“Anything for you.”
Despite Raphinha’s encouragement and Fermín’s slight confidence boost, the rest of the day goes as badly as the morning had. Fermín wastes more good passes than he can keep track of, so many that Flick had to give him his customary, “It’s a ball, not a bomb, Lopéz, you don’t have to get rid of it so quickly” spiel.
Really Fermín gets off lightly. He'd already been playing worse than usual this week. Today “worse than usual” began to tip into the realms of “tragic.” Any other coach would’ve had a real go at him for it.
By the time they’re doing their cooldown stretches, Fermín wants nothing more than to chuck himself under a cold shower and go home. Any further interactions with his teammates might push him over the edge. The second Fermín hits that final hamstring stretch, he makes a beeline for the edge of the pitch.
He keeps his eyes glued to the ground as he gathers up his belongings. He manages to tune out his surroundings well enough that he doesn’t even notice someone is trailing after him until a tap lands on his shoulder. Fermín jumps a little and finds himself face to face with an uncharacteristically shy looking Lamine.
“Yes, I know I was shit today, Flick already gave me the speech,” Fermín says a little harsher than he intends to.
“That’s not what I wanted to say. Um…” Lamine begins fiddling with his hand wrap. He glances behind him at nothing in particular. “I just wanted to apologise for this morning.”
Fermín bites back a groan. He’d really played so poorly even Lamine Yamal took pity on him.
“What, did Pedri set you up to this?” he questions.
“No! I just felt bad. What I said obviously made you uncomfortable. I really wouldn’t want anything like that to mess with our team.”
Lamine looks so uncomfortable that Fermín doesn’t have it in him to bite back. He nods, encouraging him to finish what he’s started.
Lamine switches to pulling at the hem of his shirt. “I figured it’s hard enough as it is being like you,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s a bit weird, but I guess that doesn’t matter and I’ll just have to get used to it.”
Fermín isn’t sure whether he should laugh at the situation or just be thankful. Lamine Yamal is apologising to him for being rude about a relationship that
doesn’t even exist. Fermín should really put an end to it all now. Eventually someone will bring up their supposed relationship in conversation with Raphinha and Fermín will be left with a fair bit of explaining to do.
Fermín opens his mouth with the full intention of setting things straight, but the words that leave his lips end up doing the exact opposite.
“I appreciate it,” he says. The sincerity in his voice surprises him. “You’re a good friend, Lamine, though you’re the last person I’d want as my child.”
The tension in Lamine’s body melts away. A few seconds later, Fermín finds himself wrapped up in a firm embrace.
“I’m sure it’ll work out in the end,” Lamine says.
Fermín grips the back of Lamine’s shirt tightly. He wishes he could say the same.
A few days pass during which Fermín thinks about football and football only. Any other thoughts, especially those about a certain Brazilian captain, get pushed straight to the back of his mind. Fermín tells himself it’s not childishness, he’s just being professional. There’s a lot of work to be done so there’s no reason for him to be dwelling on anything that isn’t relevant to his performance.
Regardless of whether that’s true or not, Fermín’s period of grace is put to an end when their manager informs him he’ll be sharing a room for their away game in Sevilla. Fermín didn’t even have to ask to know who he’d be paired up with.
It’d been a while since Fermín had to share, and when he did, it was always with Raphinha. He knew his day was coming; he just wished it didn’t have to come so soon.
“You’re lucky they put you together,” Cubarsí says as the team files through the hotel corridor. He leans in close to Fermín, who’s spent the last ten minutes trying to ignore him, and whispers, “They’ve even put you at the end of the hall.”
“Won’t be any louder than you Lamine playing cards,” Gavi chimes in from behind.
“It was a very important game of cards. There was a lot on the line.”
To look on the bright side, at least Fermín doesn’t have to put up with Cubarsí’s incessant chatter throughout the night. He lets out a long sigh of relief the moment the door to his room clicks shut.
Fermín wastes no time in wheeling his suitcase over to the bed closer to the window, kicking off his shoes, and flinging himself onto the bed face first. He’s tired enough that he could fall asleep right there and then. Maybe he’ll be out before Raphinha inevitably tries to talk to him.
The sound of the electronic lock beeping followed by the soft scrape of slides moving against the carpet has Fermín shoving his face deeper into his pillow, as if added depth might hasten the onset of sleep.
“So,” says Raphinha as he unzips his suitcase. “It’s just you and me.”
They’ve even put you at the end of the hall. Cubarsí’s comment flashes through Fermín’s mind like some mortifying childhood memory. He can only be grateful that his face is hidden when it happens.
Raphina unpacks his belongings carefully. No matter how tired he is, he always makes sure everything stays neat. Fermín has shared with him enough times to know his away game routine. Usually it would be comforting. Now the sound of him methodically opening drawers and packets makes him feel on edge.
A few minutes pass in silence. Fermín keeps his face stubbornly planted in the pillow. It’s to no avail, he feels more and more awake by the second.
“You’re not going to go to sleep like that, are you?” Raphinha asks once the silence reaches the point of awkwardness.
Fermín rolls over just enough so his voice isn’t fully absorbed by the pillow. “I might. Why?”
“I want to talk to you before the game. I feel like I haven’t seen you much even though we’ve been together all the time.”
“Miss me that much?” Fermín jokes halfheartedly.
“I did, actually.”
The three short words are said with such earnestness that Fermín immediately feels bad. The younger players were always confiding in Raphinha. It was easy to forget their captain wasn’t invulnerable. Fermín couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard him sound even the least bit uncertain of himself.
“I’m going to get ready for bed first,” Fermín announces. He digs into his suitcase for a shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms then pads over to the bathroom. Fermín has never had any qualms about changing in front of his teammates before. The questioning look Raphinha sends him tells him he’s noticed.
When Fermín emerges from the bathroom, he finds Raphinha lounging on his bed with a book in hand. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and a tiny pair of shorts only he could pull off. They show off long, lean legs stretched out in a relaxed position. The look is completed with Raphinha’s usual black durag and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.
Fermín swallows down the metaphorical lump in his throat. Raphinha looks so at ease, like he’s enjoying a quiet evening at home. Fermín gets the strange sense that he should look away - like this version of Raphinha isn’t for him.
“I’m going to be honest, I don’t like seeing you like this,” Raphinha says.
Fermín glances down at himself. He clearly hadn’t taken much care in deciding what clothes to take.
“This? Bernal gave it to me as a present,” Fermín explains, momentarily relieved by having a story to tell. “It’s six seven. He gave Gavi one as well because he’s six and-”
“That’s not what I mean, though the shirt is horrible,” Raphinha interrupts. Fermín can hear the amusement in his voice. It's warm and low and makes Fermín feel a little bit lightheaded.
“Oh,” he says.
Raphinha smiles. He moves over to one side and pats the open space on the bed beside him. “Come here, Fermi. I feel like there’s something distracting you and that it has to do with me. I’d really like to know what.”
Fermín could make up some excuse about being too tired, he knows Raphinha wouldn’t push too hard, but he also knows he owes his captain better than that. Fermín has never been the shy type. His behaviour must feel a little perplexing at best or like an unexplained rejection at worst.
Fermín knows what he has to do.
Slowly, he peels himself from the floor like a piece of gum being pulled from a rug. It’s one foot in front of the other until he’s reached the edge of the bed. He hops on, landing with a quiet huff. It takes him a couple of seconds to get comfortable. He ends up with his back against the headboard looking straight at the abstract painting he’s seen in every room belonging to this hotel chain.
“It’s nothing you’ve done, just some stupid shit the others said about us,” he begins before he can get cold feet. “I don’t really know why it’s gotten to me.”
“What? Was someone complaining about how you’re my favourite? You know I can’t help that.”
Fermín’s nerves aren’t enough to stop him from rolling his eyes. “Trying to butter me up before the interrogation?”
“Maybe. How could I not at least try? You like it when I compliment you, don’t you?”
The end of Raphinha’s sentence comes out as a low hum. It’s just the right frequency to make Fermín’s heartbeat feel as though it’s resonating in his chest. Raphinha tilts his head so he’s looking straight at him, his gaze roving over his features inquisitively as he waits for him to confirm what they both know is true.
Warmth begins to creep into Fermín’s cheeks. He tries to look away again but Raphinha doesn’t let him. His hand closes around Fermin’s chin, turning his face back towards him. His grip is surprisingly firm. It draws out a small, involuntary gasp from Fermín.
“Yes, I like it,” Fermín admits. “And I like you, probably more than I should.”
Raphinha raises one dark brow. “I didn’t know there was a limit to how much one should like me.”
Something in Fermín gives way. The barrier that had been holding him back collapses.
“You know I don’t mean it like that!” he says exasperatedly. He can’t tell if Raphinha is purposely trying to bait him. Whatever the case, it works. The mountain of words that had been piling up in the back of his mind come tumbling out of his mouth before he can think about them.
“The others were talking about how we’re in a relationship, which is great and all, except we’re not. I’d never even thought of that, but once they put it into my head I couldn’t let it go,” Fermín continues. “I like you, I like when you give me your attention, when you tell me I’ve played well, when you touch me, I like all of it. Those idiots made me realize all that and I didn’t know what to do”
By the time Fermín’s words run out, he feels as if he’s standing under a spotlight holding out for the final moments of a long performance. He’s come to the end of his script.
Raphinha’s hand is starting to feel hot against Fermín’s skin. For a while, his captain simply keeps it there, not saying or doing anything.
And then he smiles.
Raphinha lets the expression blossom across his entire face without restraint. Every one of his features transforms as if he were lit from within.
“Fermin, you’ve got no reason to be embarrassed,” he says gently. “Not when I like you as much for as long as I have. I remember the first time we played together. I remember seeing you run towards me with your arms open and thinking that this boy would be the end of me.”
The reply Fermín fires back comes out just as unintentionally as his earlier wave of words.
“If you’ve liked me for so long then why the hell didn’t you do anything about it?” he asks.
Raphinha laughs loudly enough for his voice to carry to the other end of the corridor. The fondness in it makes it impossible for Fermín to stay annoyed. Tenderly, Raphinha lets go of his chin in favour of taking both of Fermín’s hands in his own.
“Just think about how bad it would look if I started hitting on the pretty blonde boy six years my junior and he didn’t share the sentiment. I’d like to keep my reputation as a good captain, you know,” Raphinha says.
Which is fair enough. Anyone that knew Fermín would assure you he’d be the one to make the first move. Normally he would, but with Raphinha things were different. The very idea of losing the affection of the man he respected so much was enough to make him act like a middle schooler experiencing his first crush.
“We haven’t done anything and yet Lamine still came to the conclusion we’re weird as hell,” Fermín jokes. Emboldened, he moves from his position at Raphinha’s side to perch himself on his lap, one leg on either side of his body. Raphinha’s hands settle at waist as if they’d done so a hundred times before.
“In that case, I feel like I should be making up for lost time,” Raphinha says.
“I would agree.”
“Tell me, how might we do that?”
Fermín knows exactly what Raphinha wants him to say. He scoffs but gives it to him anyway.
“Kiss me, Capi,” he says.
The hands around Fermín’s waist tighten slightly. Raphinha leans in close.
“Of course.”
Breakfast at the hotel is a lively event.
Fermín and Raphinha enter the team’s private dining room to find it packed. They must be the last to arrive, bar a staff member or two. Fermín knows he’s to blame for it. He’d found it very difficult to separate himself from Raphinha’s arms that morning.
The clink of cutlery hitting ceramic blends with the swell of chatter, forming a wall of noise. It takes Fermín a while to find a pair of seats. The first he spots is at a table near the back, occupied by his usual breakfast companions.
A strong sense of deja vu washes over Fermín upon seeing Lamine, Cubarsí, and Xavi Espart with their heads close together, fully engrossed in conversation. He loops his arm around Raphinha’s and drags him towards them.
“I got up to have a leg stretch then decided to go bother Pedri. Knocked on his door, no reply, sent him a text, also didn't respond,” Cubarsí says through a mouthful of porridge.
This time Fermín doesn’t bother eavesdropping. He pulls out a chair and drops down beside Cubarsí with a deliberate thud. He refuses to let go of Raphinha’s arm, even as Lamine not so discreetly grimaces at them. There have to be some perks about getting one’s relationship leaked before it’s even started.
“Morning,” Cubarsí says cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we’re not talking to you about this time.”
“I see, moved on to a new victim. What’s Pedri gone and done?”
Cubarsí lowers his head and looks upwards conspiratorially. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Xavi was telling me that Dani Olmo was telling him something that’s raised my suspicions.”
Fermín glances over at Raphinha. The unimpressed look he’s wearing tells him he does not approve of gossip at the breakfast table. Fermín gives his hand an apologetic little squeeze and leans towards Cubarsí.
“Let’s hear it then.”