Chapter Text
1. The First Time
It was Nations League camp, and Lamine was training with the Spanish national team.
There were more young players around these days, but Pau was still one of the people Lamine felt most comfortable around in the national team. They had been called up absurdly young, after all. There weren't exactly many people who could say they'd gone through that experience together.
Which was precisely why Lamine found it so irritating that Pau seemed to be spending an unnecessary amount of time talking to Dean Huijsen, his new centre-back partner.
Honestly, that idiot from Real Madrid was an even bigger idiot than Pau, if Lamine was being generous.
Watching Pau waste perfectly good time on someone like that was annoying for reasons Lamine couldn't quite explain.
So Lamine started hovering. Whenever he got the chance, he hung off Pau's shoulder, threw things at him, nudged him with his elbow, or found some other excuse to bother him. It was less subtle than he probably thought it was, but Lamine had never exactly been known for being subtle when he was in a mood. Pau was completely unfazed.
He was used to Lamine being unpredictable. He simply laughed it off and went back to getting to know Dean, the person he'd be playing alongside for the foreseeable future.
On the way back after training, Fermín threw an arm around Lamine's shoulders.
“Lamine, you look pathetic.”
“What?”
“You're so obviously jealous. Just confess already. At this rate, you'll be the last person in Spain to realize you like him.”
Lamine shoved him away, looking genuinely offended.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about, hermano?”
Fermín shook his head, apparently baffled by how aggressively Lamine was refusing to understand the accusation.
“Lamine, I'm Raphinha's boyfriend. You can count on me. You like Pau.”
“I don't know what kind of bullshit you're talking about.”
Lamine complained all the way down, but Fermín merely shrugged, as patient as a babysitter who had dealt with this exact kind of nonsense before.
“I don't judge.”
“I don't need your permission.”
“Sure.”
Fermín patted him on the shoulder.
“And if Pau rejects you, I'll buy you a dinner. Properly expensive dinner. For emotional support.”
“I'm not confessing to him!”
“That's what they all say.”
Lamine groaned.
This was going to be a long international break.
2. The Second Time
Lamine texted Koundé.
Lamine:
Something ridiculous happened to me today.
There was no reply.
Five minutes later:
Lamine:
Hello.
Another minute.
Lamine:
You ignoring me?
And, finally:
Lamine:
Rude.
Five minutes after that, Koundé replied.
Koundé:
You leave my messages unread for three days and expect me to answer immediately?
Koundé:
You cheeky little brat.
Lamine frowned at his phone. Okay, yes, he did sometimes leave messages unread.
But it wasn't as if the world was going to end.
Besides, he needed to tell someone outside the Spanish national team about what had happened. Someone who wasn't going to immediately turn it into a national emergency.
Someone like Koundé.
Whether that meant using him as an emotional dumping ground was debatable.
Lamine told him everything about his conversation with Fermín.
Lamine:
What do you think? Isn't he annoying as hell?
Lamine:
And I already don't approve of him dating my captain.
Koundé:
……
Another message appeared.
Koundé:
I'm going to tell you one thing.
A second message followed.
Koundé:
Actually, two things.
Koundé:
One, even if you're Raphinha's honorary son, you don't get to decide who your dad dates.
Lamine:
That's bullshit.
Koundé:
Two, literally everyone knows you like Cubarsí, so what exactly are you embarrassed about?
Then came the killing blow.
Koundé:
I thought you were going to win the World Cup and finally confess.
Lamine:
?
Lamine:
What the fuck does that mean?
Koundé:
The kiss.
Lamine:
?
Lamine frowned.
What kiss was he talking about?
Yes, Yeremy Pino had asked Unai for a kiss during the celebrations. But they were all Spanish, and they'd just won the World Cup. Lamine saw absolutely nothing strange about hugging a teammate too hard or planting a quick kiss on the cheek.
Lamine:
I never kissed him.
Koundé:
YOU DID.
A moment later, Koundé sent him a photo.
It was a picture of Lamine pulling Pau towards him and planting a quick kiss against the side of his head.
Lamine stared at it.
Then stared harder.
Lamine:
Why the fuck do you even have this saved?
Koundé:
Googled it.
Lamine glared at the screen as though he could burn a hole through it with sheer irritation.
Another message popped up.
Koundé:
Anyway, it counts as a kiss.
Then,
Koundé:
We all bet you'd crack and confess.
Koundé:
You didn't?
Lamine ignored the accusation that he was a coward.
He was far more interested in being offended by the fact that his friend had apparently lost money because of him.
He would be ignoring Koundé for at least three more days. Still, the photograph brought the World Cup parade back to him.
Yep, they just had won the World Cup.
The defenders had conceded only once in eight matches, which was frankly insane. Pau, his teammate since their La Masia days, had been one of the pillars of the national team. Pau had looked ridiculously cute back then. And Lamine had always had a bit of a weakness for cute things.
Sometimes you just had to kiss them.
So what was the big deal about giving his childhood friend a little kiss on the side of the head because he looked cute?
It wasn't a big deal. Obviously.
3. The Third Time
Lamine was beginning to get worried.
After his ridiculous conversation with Koundé, he started checking with a few more players from both the national team and Barcelona.
Every single one of them reacted as though Lamine had finally admitted to having a crush. Nico, in particular, looked absurdly pleased with himself, like a proud father watching his son finally take his first steps. He even smacked Lamine on the back a few times in encouragement.
Why did everyone think he liked Cubarsí?
Of course, Lamine Yamal liked Cubarsí.
Pau was nice. He was good at football. He was cool. But he liked him as a teammate. A friend! Someone he'd known for years.
There was absolutely, categorically, zero romantic feeling involved.
Not even one percent.
Lamine was beginning to suspect that everyone around him had gone collectively blind.
He was also becoming increasingly concerned about how far this bizarre propaganda had spread.
What if Pau believed it too? Obviously, Pau wasn't stupid enough to make that kind of assumption. But the mere thought of it was horrifying.
Lamine spent a while trying to figure out who he could ask without making things worse.
Marc Bernal?
Xavi Espart?
Absolutely not.
They were both far too close to Pau. The thought of either of them finding out that Lamine had gone around asking whether Pau thought he was in love with him was enough to make him feel like a teenager going through puberty all over again.
So he chose Gavi.
Sure, Gavi was an idiot in his own special way, and therefore Lamine couldn't completely rule out the possibility that he'd reached the same ridiculous conclusion. But at least Gavi was one of the most respected people in the Barcelona dressing room.
If anyone could put an end to this nonsense, it was him. Or so Lamine hoped.
“So you're saying you don't like Pau Cubarsí?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you making some kind of bet?”
“What are you talking about?”
Gavi was silent for a moment.
Then:
“You genuinely believe you don't like Pau?”
“I literally just said that.”
There was a quiet click of Gavi's tongue through the phone. Lamine could practically hear him muttering the word idiot under his breath.
“I like him,” Lamine clarified. “Just not like that.”
For some reason, this seemed to make Gavi even more exasperated.
“Lamine, I knew you were an idiot, but I didn't realize you were this deep in denial.”
“Why does nobody believe me when I say I don't like him?”
“You literally started one of those stupid hashtag campaigns to get Pau called up to the national team.”
“That was years ago. And, he deserved the call-up.”
“Exactly.”
“You were practically campaigning for him.”
“Because he deserved it!”
“And now you're telling me you don't like him?”
“I don't understand how those two things are connected.”
Gavi sighed.
Then, apparently deciding he'd been patient for long enough, he started listing every single piece of evidence he'd apparently been collecting for years.
“You know what? I'll bet you.”
“Bet me what?”
“My weekly wages that you're in love with Pau Cubarsí.”
Lamine stared at his phone.
“Do you realize we're talking about my crush right now?”
“Of course.”
“This is insane.”
“I'm still taking that bet.”
Lamine hung up without warning. He could have spent that time watching TikToks.
4. The Fourth Time
At lunch, Lamine was staring at Pau Cubarsí.
Pau was sitting with the defenders, laughing at something someone had said. He was a funny guy. Once you got to know him, it was almost impossible not to like him. Pretty much everyone liked Pau.
So why was his perfectly innocent affection being treated like evidence in a criminal investigation?
And, yes, Lamine was single at the moment.
He also wasn't exactly the type to go years between relationships. He didn't have any particular prejudice against dating men, either. He just... hadn't tried it.
Lamine was still contemplating his life, his completely unfair reputation, and the strange assumptions everyone seemed determined to make about him when Nico finally spoke.
“Your food's getting cold.”
Unlike Lamine, the Bilbao boy was already nearly finished with his meal. He nudged Lamine's tray once, then again, before resting his chin in his hand and giving him a deeply unimpressed look.
“If you wanted to make out with him that badly, you could've just gone over there. Dad would've allowed it.”
Lamine looked at him.
“Who the hell is my dad?”
“Obviously me.”
Nico looked smug. Lamine let out a long, disbelieving breath through his nose.
Even the person he considered one of his closest friends on the national team was talking nonsense now.
“You think I have a crush on Pau too?”
“Everyone knows.”
“Everyone?”
“Luis de la Fuente knows.”
Nico shrugged, “We're not blind.”
“I think you're all blind. Why does everyone think I like Pau?”
“Because you've spent this entire camp being jealous of Dean.”
“Shut up.”
“The truth hurts.”
Nico lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“You gonna confess?”
“Stop talking shit.”
Lamine narrowed his eyes.
“And you haven't made some stupid bet with the others about me and Pau, have you?”
Nico's grin widened.
“You guess.”
“I can't trust anyone.”
And yet, despite all his complaining, Lamine kept glancing over at Pau. He looked strangely tired today.
Come to think of it, Lamine couldn't remember the last time Pau hadn't started or played the full ninety minutes.
He probably needed a rest.
“Are you too much of a coward to confess?” Nico asked.
“I'm not a coward.”
“Sure.”
“And second, I don't even like him. Why would I confess just because everyone keeps telling me to?”
Nico considered this.
“Actually, I think there's a pretty good chance he'd say yes.”
“What?”
“You never know. Go for it.”
It was deeply strange receiving advice about a confession he had absolutely no intention of making.
“You know this conversation is fucking weird, right?”
“Maybe.”
“And why would Pau even say yes?”
Lamine frowned.
“We're just friends.”
Nico rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. Just friends. Keep telling yourself that for the rest of your life.”
Lamine sulked.
Nico leaned closer.
“I'm telling you, that guy figured out your crush ages ago. He's just being nice enough to wait for you to make a move.”
5. The Fifth Time
His conversation with Nico left Lamine more unsettled than he'd expected. It was ridiculous.
He was scoring every other match. People were already talking about him as the star of the present rather than the star of the next generation. Jerseys with his name on the back were flying off the shelves everywhere.
And yet the idea that Pau might misunderstand him bothered him more than any of that.
He was impressed, too, that Pau could apparently believe something so ridiculous and still treat him exactly the same.
But where the hell was he supposed to even begin fixing this? Had he really treated Pau that specially?
The problem was that Pau was special. So he had.
Lamine had known that since La Masia. He'd always known. They'd probably spend at least the next ten years standing on the same pitch. Maybe one day they'd even end up on the Ballon d'Or podium together. At least, that was Lamine's hope.
So this ridiculous propaganda had to stop.
Silencing people who didn't know shit about him, or internet busybodies who were desperate to criticize him every time he breathed, was easy. Lamine was good at that. He actually enjoyed disappointing people who thought he was an idiot—or, worse, wanted him to be an idiot.
But being misunderstood by Pau?
That was different. What if Pau thought he was some creepy guy?
What if the misunderstanding got worse and Pau started feeling uncomfortable around him?
What if they ended up like Fermín and Gavi—two people who could sit in the same room and still pretend the other didn't exist?
The thought made Lamine's stomach twist.
The sun felt unusually harsh that afternoon.
The players were gathering for a team photo, and the entire group was making enough noise to rival a classroom full of primary school kids. Spanish footballers, Lamine had decided, were somehow even louder than children. He ignored the commotion around him and tried to think.
It was almost embarrassing.
He could beat two or three defenders charging at him without thinking twice. But solving this?
Impossible. Especially not with Pau standing right beside him.
Come to think of it, Pau really was a strange guy. It wasn't that he was oblivious. If anything, he was almost too considerate.
How could he misunderstand the fact that his childhood friend liked him and still act this normal? If Lamine were in his position, he'd probably—
“You've got something here.”
Before Lamine could ask what he meant, Pau reached out. His hand brushed over the back of Lamine's neck.
It wasn't instantaneous enough to dismiss as a passing touch. For one brief second, Pau's large hand settled against the back of his neck, warm fingers grazing his skin.
The spot seemed to burn.
Suddenly, everything felt even hotter than it had a moment ago. Lamine quickly brought his own hand up to cover the place Pau had touched.
“Think it's sunscreen.”
Pau grinned. Then, without a second thought, he wiped the sunscreen from his palm against his own jaw. Lamine stared at him.
Pau Cubarsí could be absurdly friendly sometimes.
“Uh... yeah. Thanks?”
He knew he sounded like an idiot. There wasn't much he could do about it.
Somewhere beside them, one of the more experienced players made a quiet, disapproving noise with his tongue.
And for the first time that day, Lamine considered the possibility that Pau Cubarsí might actually be a terrible person.
Because if Lamine were genuinely in love with Pau Cubarsí, that kind of casual touch would probably have kept him awake for two nights.
He'd have to play the next international match on no sleep and the worst concentration of his life. It would be a disaster.
So, really, it was a very good thing that Lamine Yamal was absolutely, definitely, not in love with Pau Cubarsí.
Obviously.
0. The One Time
The international break was coming to an end.
Spain had one match left, and Lamine wanted to clear up this particular kind of awkward misunderstanding before they returned to their clubs. That was why he approached Pau Cubarsí while he was playing pool with Oyarzabal and told him, in front of everyone, that they needed to talk.
The moment Lamine said it, he could feel every player and staff member in the lounge turning to look at him.
Even Mikel looked at him like he was silently saying, I'm proud of you. The idiots.
They really thought he was finally going to confess.
For fuck's sake.
Pau, meanwhile, didn't even blink.
He simply nodded.
“Okay.”
For a brief moment, Lamine wondered whether Pau might genuinely have no idea about the ridiculous rumour going around.
That would actually make things easier. Maybe they could laugh about it together, then explain the misunderstanding to everyone else.
That would be much easier than whatever everyone else seemed to think was about to happen. Eventually, they reached a quiet corridor where they were completely alone.
Lamine hesitated. For someone whose entire career revolved around a sport that required at least twenty-two people to play, two suddenly felt like a very small number.
He twisted a stray curl around his right index finger.
“So, uh...”
He cleared his throat.
“Have you heard the stupid rumour going around about us?” “Rumour?”
“Yeah. About me,” Lamine swallowed.
“That I like you.”
Pau said nothing.
“Like... like you.”
Lamine couldn't bring himself to look directly at him. Instead, he stared at the floor.
“Isn't that ridiculous? I don't even know why people started saying it. I've had girlfriends before.”
“Mm.”
Mm? That was not a particularly reassuring response. But Lamine had already started, so there was no turning back now.
“Obviously you don't actually believe that stupid shit, but I just didn't want things between us to get weird because of it.”
His lips felt painfully dry. He finally gathered enough courage to glance up at Pau.
Lamine had already been embarrassed enough over the past few days. Fermín's teasing. Koundé's disbelief. Gavi and Nico's relentless accusations.
None of it had prepared him for the look on Pau Cubarsí's face. Unless something unfair had happened to him during a match, Pau was almost always smiling. But now there was no trace of a smile.
He was just looking at Lamine.
Listening.
And somehow, that made Lamine's heart drop straight through his stomach. He couldn't take it anymore.
“Pau, what I was trying to say was—”
“Lamine, I like you.”
Pau Cubarsí had always been one of the hardest defenders Lamine had ever had to get past.
Apparently, that extended to conversations. He had just gone straight through Lamine's defence and detonated a bomb in the middle of the corridor. Pau continued, quietly.
“I thought we were on the same page. I'm sorry.”
Lamine felt like the biggest piece of shit alive.
There were so many things he wanted to ask.
You?
You like me?
Are you messing with me?
Since when?
How did I not notice?
He wanted to accuse Pau, too.
If one of us was supposed to be crushing on the other, shouldn't it have been me?
I'm always praising you.
I'm always treating you specially.
You're the one person I—
None of it made it past his throat. Instead, his brain, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of new information it had just received, produced the stupidest possible question.
“Bullshit. If you like me, why were you flirting with Dean Huijsen the entire camp?”
Pau blinked. Then shook his head.
“We're going to keep playing together. We need to get comfortable with each other.”
“You're always like that with other players.”
For some reason, Lamine's complaining seemed to brighten Pau's expression. He folded his arms.
“Lamine, you're friendly with other people too.”
Then he tilted his head. “Are you jealous?”
“I don't know.”
“And you don't like me like that?”
Lamine suddenly found himself staring at a possibility he'd spent the last few days refusing to even consider.
It was ridiculous. Impossible.
Which was precisely why he'd refused to look at it.
He puffed out his lower lip.
For once, he couldn't think of a good argument.
If this had been Gavi or Nico standing in front of him, maybe he could have said something.
But it wasn't.
It was Pau Cubarsí. And that was probably the problem.
Eventually, Lamine forced the words out.
“You're confusing me.”
Pau smiled.
The quiet, almost sad expression he'd been wearing disappeared, replaced by his usual face—the one that seemed to suggest he simply didn't know how not to smile.
They were still alone at the end of the corridor. Pau stepped closer.
“I have a suggestion.”
“What kind of suggestion?”
Pau's hand came up to the back of Lamine's neck. He moved even closer. Lamine went rigid, like a soldier who'd just looked Medusa in the eyes.
Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end.
“If you don't like it, tell me.”
Pau tilted his head. Then he kissed him.
Lamine's first thought was that Pau Cubarsí was an idiot too. Because how exactly was he supposed to tell him to stop while Pau was kissing him? And, worse, Pau's lips felt ridiculously good.
They were softer than Lamine had expected, warm against his own. Before he could think better of it, Lamine parted his lips.
Pau kissed him deeper, his tongue slipping naturally into the kiss, brushing against the roof of Lamine's mouth without hesitation. Lamine barely noticed his own hands gripping Pau's shoulders, or the way Pau's other arm had settled around his waist.
They were too close.
Close enough that their breathing tangled together.
Close enough that Lamine could feel the warmth of him everywhere.
And, most horrifyingly of all—
The kiss didn't feel wrong.
It didn't feel awkward.
It didn't even feel merely fine.
It felt fucking incredible.
Lamine stared at the boy in front of him, his mind finally, catastrophically, putting all the pieces together.
Fuck.
Maybe Fermín had been right.