Archive of Our Own

Pedri had been talking about it all week.

“I’m gonna cook for you. A proper dinner. Not just pasta. Come over on Friday, okay? Dinner at my place!”

Ferran had laughed, assuming it would fizzle out like most of Pedri’s impulsive ideas. But no - Friday night rolled around, and suddenly Ferran was being physically shoved onto a chair in Pedri’s kitchen.

When the plate landed in front of him, Ferran blinked. Slowly.

The chicken was… very brown. Like, suspiciously even in color, like it had gone through some sort of industrial paint sprayer. The rice had a texture that was both sticky and crunchy - an impressive contradiction that Ferran didn’t even think was possible.

Pedri sat across from him, wringing his hands, smiling nervously and waiting for his reaction, “Well? Try it!”

Ferran took one bite and his molars nearly cracked. The flavor was smoky - too smoky but when Ferran glanced up, Pedri’s eyes were shining like he’d just scored a Champions League final winner. So Ferran beamed like it was the greatest thing he’d ever tasted.

“Pedri. This is… wow.”

“Really?” Pedri gasped.

“Really. Like… top five meals of my life. Maybe top three.”

Pedri raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, “Better than your mom’s paella?”

Ferran answered without hesitation, “Easily.”

Pedri laughed and swatted him on the shoulder, “Don’t let her hear that!”

Ferran stuffed in another painful bite, “Too late. It’s the truth.”

Pedri absolutely glowed, sitting up straighter, his smile wide and boyish.

And honestly?

For that, Ferran would eat three more plates of crunchy rice.

A few days later, Pedri had another “brilliant” idea.

“I’m gonna invite Gavi over with you for dinner.”

Ferran paused mid stretch, “...You’ll what?”

“I’ll make him my special chicken! He has to try it. You loved it.”

Ferran forced a smile “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, Pepi.”

Gavi arrived hungry, football bag still slung over his shoulder.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

Pedri beamed, “My specialty. Ferran’s favorite.”

Gavi raised a brow at Pedri, “Since when do you have a specialty?”

Pedri grinned at Ferran, “Since last week. Ask him.”

Ferran smiled through gritted teeth, “It’s amazing. You’ll see.”

When the food was served, Gavi froze, fork hovering.

When Pedri left to get something from the fridge, Gavi whispered to Ferran, “What the hell is this? It looks… radioactive.”

Ferran whispered back, urgently, “Shut up, pretend it’s good and eat up. I’ll kill you if he suspects anything different.” 

“I value my stomach, thanks.”

Ferran gritted out, “Eat. Smile.”

Gavi cautiously took a bite. His eyes widened. His soul left his body.

Gavi declared loudly, falsely cheerful, “Wow. Yeah. This is… incredible.”

Pedri was absolutely beaming when he returned, “Right? Told you.”

Ferran was beaming too, arm sliding around Pedri, “I knew you’d love it. Talent, no?”

Gavi deadpanned, “Mhm. Talent.”

Ferran leaned over to scoop another bite, humming like it was gourmet heaven.

“Pedri, you’re a genius. Michelin should call you.”

Pedri grinned like crazy, “Shut up, you’re just saying that.”

“No, really. I’d pay for this.”

Gavi muttered under his breath, “With what? Your life insurance?”

When Pedri went to the kitchen to get dessert (mercifully store-bought), Gavi rounded on Ferran.

“You maniac. You told me it was your favorite. I thought I was gonna die.”

Ferran smiled dreamily, “It is my favorite.”

“…What?” Gavi looked at him like he had lost his mind.

Ferran shrugged, “Because he made it. Look at him, Gavi. He’s proud. That’s enough.”

Gavi stared at him like he’d grown two heads.

“You’re insane.”

Pedri walked back in right as Ferran was licking the fork clean with exaggerated gusto.

Pedri smiled at him, “Still eating? Didn’t think you had room left.”

Ferran answered back cheerfully, “For this? I’ll always have room.”

Pedri blushed and his his grin, “Idiot.”

The next morning at training, Gavi cornered Lamine.

“Bro, Pedri tried to kill me last night.”

Lamine raised an eyebrow at him, confused “Why? With what?”

“Why? I don’t know. With what? Food. Poison. Charcoal disguised as chicken.”

Lamine laughed, “And Ferran let him?”

“Let him? Ferran acted like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted! He went for seconds!”

Ferran strolled past just then, tossing an arm around Pedri’s shoulders, still glowing with pride.

“What are you two talking about?”

Gavi narrowed his eyes, “Nothing. Just planning my funeral.”

Pedri smiled innocently, “I’ll cook for the wake.”

Gavi groaned, “Unbelievable.”

And Ferran? He just laughed and said:

“Best chef in the world.”

Ana had been dropping hints for weeks.

“You never introduce me to your teammates properly, Pablo. Let’s go out. Make it a double date.”

Cornered, Gavi did what any sensible man under pressure would do - he panicked. And in his panic, he texted Ferran and Pedri.

Two teammates. Two safe choices. Not an actual couple.

At least, that’s what he thought.

The restaurant was buzzing when they walked in, warm lights glinting off polished cutlery and the low hum of chatter filling the air. Ana slipped her hand into Gavi’s as the host looked them over.

“Couples on either side?” the host asked brightly.

Pedri opened his mouth to protest, but Ferran was already steering him toward the booth, his hand at the small of Pedri’s back like it belonged there. “Yeah, sure,” he said easily, sliding in and patting the seat beside him.

Pedri sat without a thought. The host smiled knowingly and walked away.

Ana raised her brows at Gavi.

He grimaced.

The bread basket arrived steaming hot, the smell filling the booth. Pedri reached for it, but Ferran was quicker, tearing a piece in half and setting the softer middle onto Pedri’s plate before taking the crustier half for himself.

Pedri squinted at him. “You didn’t even ask.”

“You always want the middle bit,” Ferran said simply, already buttering his own slice. “Figured I’d save you digging.”

Pedri made a face but ate it without argument. A moment later, he nudged the butter dish toward Ferran without looking. Ferran’s mouth curved into a smile as he took it.

Ana hid her grin behind her glass.

Gavi groaned.

When the waiter came for drinks, Pedri hesitated. “Uh… I don’t know yet.”

“They’ve got that mango drink,” Ferran said, glancing up. “You liked it last time, remember?”

Pedri blinked, caught off guard. “…Oh. Yeah. I’ll have that.”

The waiter smiled as he scribbled. “For him, then.”

Pedri flushed and looked down at his hands. Ferran didn’t even notice, busy fiddling with the salt shaker as he talked to Ana.

Ana nearly squealed.

Gavi muttered something about switching tables.

Dinner arrived, plates steaming. Ferran automatically adjusted Pedri’s cutlery so the fork sat on his right side.

Pedri frowned at him. “You actually notice that?”

“You hate when it’s on the left,” Ferran said, shrugging. “It’s easy to remember.”

An older lady saw the interaction and beamed at them, “You two make such a sweet couple!”

“We’re not a couple,” Pedri and Ferran said in unison.

Ana nearly choked on her drink.

Gavi dropped his fork with a clatter.

Dessert was fondue, strawberries piled high. Ferran dipped one and slid it onto Pedri’s plate without looking, already reaching for his own.

Pedri picked it up automatically, halfway through chewing before he realized. He froze. “…Why do I always just… go along with you?”

“Because you trust me,” Ferran teased, eyes crinkling.

Pedri went pink and quickly looked down. After a beat, he pushed the last strawberry across to Ferran’s plate. “You like them more than me anyway.”

Ferran’s grin was so bright it nearly blinded Ana.

By the time they spilled back out onto the street, the night air was cool. Pedri shivered once, and without pausing his conversation with Ana, Ferran shrugged off his jacket and draped it over his shoulders.

Pedri tugged it closer. “…Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Ferran said softly, smiling at him.

Ana whispered to Gavi on the way to their car, “They’re adorable. How are they still in denial?”

“Because the universe hates me,” Gavi muttered.

On the drive back home, they stopped at Pedri’s favourite ice cream place to satisfy their late night craving. Pedri couldn’t decide between chocolate and strawberry.

“Strawberry,” Ferran says immediately.

Pedri glares. “You’re not even letting me - “

“You’ll regret chocolate halfway through, like always,” Ferran says.

Minutes later, Pedri sighs after three bites. “…Should’ve gone strawberry.”

Ferran silently slides his cone across. “Take mine.”

Pedri blinks. “But you-”

“I like chocolate anyway.”

It’s nearly midnight when Pedri’s outside his apartment, patting his pockets with growing panic.

“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, rifling through his pockets for the third time.

Ferran, already leaning against the wall, sighs. “You lost them again.”

Pedri glares. “No, I just… misplaced them.”

“That’s the definition of lost.”

Pedri drops his hand with a groan. “Brilliant. I’ll just sleep in the hallway then.”

Ferran rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. “Or you could use the spare I keep in my car.”

Pedri freezes. “…Why do you have a spare to my flat?”

Ferran smirks. “Because you’ve lost your keys six times this year. You gave it to me yourself.”

Sure enough, five minutes later, Ferran unlocks the door. Pedri trudges inside, muttering under his breath when he looks at Ferran’s smug grin.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable and useful,” Ferran corrects, tossing the keys onto the counter like he owns the place.

Pedri doesn’t say thank you. He just grabs two waters from the fridge, tosses one at Ferran, and mutters, “You’re staying. I owe you.”

It’s only when Gavi FaceTimes later and sees Ferran sprawled on Pedri’s couch in sweatpants, sipping water like it’s his second home, that he explodes:

“Why does he look like he lives there?!”

“Because he had my spare keys.”

“THAT MAKES IT WORSE!”

It was a frustrating game. The opponent’s low block was proving difficult to break and they played too rough.

Pedri darted past the defender, ball at his feet, when the opponent lunged in aggressively, sliding hard. Pedri stumbled to the ground, teeth gritted, glaring.

Before Pedri could even take a step, Ferran was there, moving faster than anyone expected.

He shoved the opponent back sharply, enough to make him stagger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Ferran snapped, voice low and dangerous.

The opponent straightened, a smirk curling his lips. “What, you mad I took your boyfriend down?”

Ferran’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching briefly at his sides before he shoved the opponent again, firmer this time. “Yeah, I’m mad. You don’t touch him like that. Stay away.” His eyes were cold, dangerous, unwavering.

Pedri froze for a moment, heart hammering - not from fear, but from the sheer force of Ferran’s presence. He had seen Ferran protective before, but this was different: raw, immediate, and undeniably furious. The way Ferran’s chest was set, the tension in his shoulders, the narrow focus in his eyes - it made Pedri feel strangely reassured.

The opponent tried to recover his smirk, but Ferran’s glare pinned him in place. “You think this is funny? You go after him again, and it won’t end well for you,” Ferran said, voice low, steady, and threatening.

He stared him down till the opponent walked off and got yellow carded for the challenge.

Pedri stepped closer, wrapping his hand around Ferran’s bicep lightly. “Ferri…” His voice was cautious but urgent, a soft grounding against the storm in Ferran’s gaze.

Ferran’s shoulders eased slightly, eyes flicking to Pedri, the anger gone in his eyes, just soft concern left now, “You’re fine, right?” he asked, voice softer than before.

Pedri nodded quickly. “Yeah… thanks,” he said quietly, feeling a warmth rising in his chest that had nothing to do with exertion.

Pedri exhaled, heart still racing, feeling the residual intensity of Ferran’s protective stance. He watched Ferran’s shoulders relax slowly, the sharp edge of his anger fading into quiet vigilance.

They resumed play but Pedri found himself stealing glances at Ferran, noticing the way he still moved close, shadowing him just a little, like he couldn’t stop watching. The adrenaline had faded, but the underlying current - the quiet, fierce care Ferran carried for him - lingered in every glance, every small protective step Ferran took.

Pedri’s chest tightened in a way that wasn’t about fatigue. He realized, quietly, that Ferran was always looking out for him. And the way his protective rage had softened into gentle concern when he looked at Pedri…well Pedri couldn’t deny how warm that made him feel.

Pedri hates shopping. Ferran knows this. So when Pedri has to buy new jeans, Ferran comes along “to keep him alive.”

Twenty minutes in, Pedri is already pouting in the fitting room. “These don’t fit right.”

Ferran, arms crossed, leans against the doorframe.

“Try the darker ones. They’ll look better with your trainers.”

Pedri pokes his head out. “Look at you, my fashionista.”

“Well, someone in this friend group had to have good fashion taste, Pepi.”

Pedri groans but changes.

When he steps out, Ferran whistles low. “See? Perfect.”

Pedri glares. “You sound like my mum.”

“Your mum doesn’t look at your ass when you try clothes.”

Pedri goes bright red. “You’re disgusting.”

The shop assistant, overhearing, smiles politely. “We’ll wrap them up for you. You’ve got a very attentive boyfriend.”

“He’s not -“

Ferran just answers back, “Exactly, thank you.” And before Pedri knows it, he’s already paying for the jeans.

Later, Pedri finds the receipt in Ferran’s bag. “You didn’t even let me pay.”

“You can buy dinner,” Ferran says casually, slinging an arm over his shoulders.

The three of them were sprawled around Pedri’s living room, a football match running quietly on the TV while they half-watched, half-scrolled through their phones. Eric had taken over the armchair, Dani sat cross-legged on the rug, and Ferran, naturally, had claimed the entire couch.

Pedri wandered in from the kitchen doorway, glancing at the half-empty bowls of chips on the table.

“You guys good? Want something else? I have some leftover sandwiches my mom sent over.”

Eric waved him off with a lazy flick of his hand. Dani shook his head, focused on his phone.

But Ferran, ever dramatic, groaned, “Actually, I’m starving. If I don’t eat soon, I might not make it to the end of this match.”

Pedri deadpanned “You ate like an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and now I’m hungry again.”

Pedri rolled his eyes, disappearing into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he came back balancing two plates. He didn’t even glance at Eric or Dani - just set one straight into Ferran’s lap.

The sandwich was cut neatly in half, crusts gone, and a pile of Ferran’s favorite crisps sat beside it.

Ferran looked at Pedri, lightening up, “You cut the crusts off.”

Pedri shrugged and sat next to him, “You don’t like them.”

Ferran grinned so wide it was ridiculous, picking up half the sandwich. Without hesitation, he turned and held the other half up to Pedri’s mouth. Pedri leaned forward and took a bite, totally unfazed.

Eric choked on his drink.

“Sorry…what was that?”

Pedri frowned, still chewing, “What? He offered.”

Eric looked between them, eyebrows raised, “You two know you’re basically giving off couple vibes, right?”

Pedri and Ferran glanced at each other, then back at him, completely unbothered.

Pedri shrugged, “He just didn’t want the crusts.”

Ferran cheerfully stole some crisps off Pedri’s plate, “And he always makes mine better than anyone else.”

Dani laughed, “This is insane. If you’re not dating, you’ve tricked the universe into thinking you are.”

Pedri just rolled his eyes, nudging his plate closer so Ferran could steal more without stretching. Ferran did exactly that, still smiling like a kid at Christmas.

Eric groaned, leaning back in his chair.

“Alright, lovebirds. I’m bored. Let’s put on some FIFA, tio. Me and Dani vs. you two. Prepare to lose.”

Ferran grinned back, sitting up, “Impossible. We’ve got chemistry you two can only dream of.”

Pedri leaned back, grabbed the nearest controller, and turned it on. Dani reached for another, but when he did, Pedri stopped him mid-motion, frowning.

“Wait, not that one.”

Dani frowned confusedly, “What? It works fine.”

Without hesitation, Pedri plucked the controller from Dani’s hands and pressed it into Ferran’s instead.

“Ferran likes that one better. The buttons aren’t stiff.”

Ferran lit up instantly, cradling it like a prized possession.

Eric stared, “…Are you serious? You guys have favorite controllers assigned to each other?”

Pedri shrugged, casual as ever.

“It’s not that deep.”

Ferran, already adjusting his settings, “It’s true love.”

The match started and immediately Ferran leaned forward, elbows on his knees, calling instructions like a coach.

“Pedri, down the wing - pass now!”

Pedri hesitated half a beat too long, and Ferran leaned sideways, tapping the pass button on Pedri’s controller with his own thumb.

Eric actually paused the game, looking between them like they’d grown extra heads.

“You just let him play for you?”

“He gets fussy when I hold the ball too long.”

The game resumed, and despite Eric and Dani’s best efforts, Pedri and Ferran moved like a well-oiled machine. Ferran barked directions, Pedri obeyed without complaint, and their timing was freakishly good.

When Ferran scored, he dropped his controller and threw his hands up. Pedri automatically raised his for a high-five, and Ferran slapped it, grinning so wide it hurt his face.

Eric glared at Dani, “We’re not losing to this circus.”

A few minutes later, Pedri absentmindedly grabbed a crisp and brought it close to Ferran’s mouth without breaking focus on the screen. Ferran leaned down to get it directly from Pedri’s fingers, chewed happily, eyes never leaving the match.

Eric dropped his controller onto his lap.

“Nope. I’m out.”

Dani snickered.

When the final whistle blew, Ferran whooped, wrapped his arm around Pedri’s shoulders, and shook him with pure joy. Pedri laughed, leaning into the hug like it was second nature.

Eric sneered at them, “Do you two realize you celebrate like you’ve just won the Champions League and your anniversary?”

Dani interjected, “Keyword is anniversary.”

Pedri groaned, chucking a cushion at him, but Ferran was still grinning, controller in hand like he’d just been handed a trophy.

The controllers were finally down, and Eric was still muttering like a sore loser.

“No way you two are actually that in sync. You’re either cheating or sharing a brain.”

Dani twisted his mouth like he was actually putting thought into this discussion, “I vote brain-sharing. Same model, different haircut.”

Ferran just laughed, still buzzing from the win. Pedri, though, had melted into the corner of the couch, eyes heavy. He let his head fall onto Ferran’s shoulder without ceremony.

At first Ferran didn’t even move, just glanced sideways with the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. Then, carefully, he adjusted so Pedri was more comfortable, letting him sink against his chest.

A few minutes later, Pedri was fully out - breathing slow, eyelashes resting on his cheeks, controller slipping from his hand.

Eric and Dani noticed immediately.

“Look! He’s knocked out. That’s what happens when you carry Ferran.”

Eric snickered, “Careful, Dani. Don’t wake the baby. Ferran will get mad.”

Ferran shot them both a glare and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh! He’s sleeping.”

Eric nearly choked.

Ferran ignored them, tugging a blanket off the back of the sofa and draping it carefully over Pedri’s legs. Pedri shifted but didn’t wake, his cheek now resting comfortably against Ferran’s chest.

Eric whispered, still smirking, ”This is actually insane. You aren’t even dating and you’re out here making him look like a Disney princess in a nap.”

Dani shook his head, “Bro, you’re whipped and you’re not even in a relationship.”

Ferran rolled his eyes but kept one arm loosely around Pedri, thumb brushing his shoulder absentmindedly.

“You two done?”

Eric pointed at him with a gasp, “See? He’s literally defensive of nap time. I can’t.”

Dani took his phone out and took a picture of them, “For evidence. If you ever deny this, I’ll remind you.”

Ferran just leaned his head back against the couch, eyes flicking down at Pedri before returning to the screen.

“Let him sleep, alright? He’s tired.”

For once, Eric and Dani shut up. They exchanged a look, equal parts amused and bewildered, then settled into silence.

By the time the next match loaded, it was just the three of them still awake but Ferran never picked up his controller again, too content with Pedri asleep against him.

It happened fast - just a stretch too far during a training drill, a flicker of pain in his hamstring that made Pedri’s stomach lurch.

Not again.

He bit down on the instinct to wince, straightening immediately, forcing his stride back into rhythm.

No one had to notice. Not the coaches, not the physios, not Ferran, especially not Ferran.

He jogged back into position, jaw set. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Ferran had stopped mid-run and was watching him. Just watching.

Pedri dropped his gaze and carried on.

Minutes later, a hand landed on his arm. Ferran, of course.

“Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

Ferran shot back flatly, “Pedri. Sit. Down.”

Something in his tone cut through the walls Pedri was throwing up. Reluctantly, he sank onto the grass, stretching his leg out. He tried to make his face blank, but Ferran crouched down, eyes searching. Always searching.

The physios came over, and Pedri turned his attention to them, answering questions with his usual shrugging, casual voice. He was a pro at this routine by now: don’t let the panic show, don’t let the fear creep in, because once it did, it was harder to push away.

He let them prod and poke, let them say “we’ll run a scan to be sure.” He nodded, calm, composed, like his chest wasn’t tightening with every word.

Training ended, and he assumed Ferran would head off with the others. That’s how it always worked - no one lingered. But when Pedri walked into the medical wing an hour later for tests, Ferran was already there. Waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedri approached him, surprised, “What are you doing here?”

“Came to make sure you didn’t get lost.”

Pedri tried to smile, to roll his eyes, to brush it off. He slipped easily into that mask he always wore in these moments.

“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse. Don’t start worrying.”

Ferran’s gaze didn’t move. Didn’t soften, either, “You hide from everyone else. Don’t hide from me.”

The words hit like a strike to the chest.

Pedri looked away, throat tight. He hated how seen he felt, how close Ferran had gotten to the truth he refused to voice aloud - that every twinge, every ache, dragged him back into the memory of the vicious cycle. Injuries, recoveries, setbacks. The fear of losing the rhythm, losing his place, losing himself.

And before Pedri even realized what he was doing, his hand shot out, fingers closing around Ferran’s. He gripped hard, almost desperate, like a lifeline.

It was instinct, not thought. A tether against the flood in his chest.

He froze when he realized, staring down at their joined hands. His first instinct was to pull away, to cover, to joke. But Ferran’s hand didn’t move. Didn’t loosen. Just held him back - firm, warm, grounding.

Pedri let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The doctors had been reassuring: just a strain, nothing torn, nothing serious. A week of rest, some physio, and he’d be fine. Pedri smiled, thanked them, even cracked a small joke on the way out. He knew how to put on the brave face.

But in the car, with Ferran driving and the city lights flickering past the windows, that mask felt too heavy. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, quiet, staring out as if the answers were hidden in the blur of Barcelona at night.

Ferran didn’t push. He filled the silence with soft music, the kind Pedri liked - steady, easy background that didn’t demand anything. Every so often, Pedri felt Ferran glance at him, checking without asking.

By the time they pulled up outside Pedri’s place, the knot in his chest hadn’t gone away. He unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, fingers trembling more than he wanted to admit.

Pedri whispered quietly, almost to himself, “For a second…I really thought it happened again.”

Ferran turned toward him immediately, brows furrowed.

Pedri stared ahead, “I thought I’d fallen into it again. Another injury, another cycle. Sitting on the sidelines while everything moves on without me. And I just - I was so scared, Ferri. I didn’t want to go back to that nightmare.”

The last word caught in his throat. He finally looked at Ferran, his chest tight with the confession he’d been holding in all day.

Ferran’s expression softened. Concern, yes, but not pity. Just this quiet steadiness that made Pedri’s pulse jump.

He reached across the console, his hand brushing against Pedri’s knee before resting there, grounding, “It’s not that. You heard them - it’s just a week.”

Pedri nodded, but his eyes still burned. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear, or relief, or both.

Ferran leaned in, slow and sure, and pressed his lips to Pedri’s temple. Not dramatic, not deliberate - it was simple, instinctive. A touch that said “I’ve got you.”

Pedri froze. His heart lurched against his ribs, thundering so loudly he swore Ferran could hear it. He didn’t dare move, afraid the moment would break.

Ferran lingered just long enough for the warmth to sink in, then pulled back, his hand still steady on Pedri’s knee.

“You’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

Pedri swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every inch of space between them and how badly he didn’t want it there. His fingers itched to reach back, to hold onto Ferran the way he had in the hospital.

Instead, he just nodded, whispering, “Thank you.”

But as he stepped out of the car and watched Ferran drive off, his temple still burned where the kiss had landed, and his heartbeat hadn’t slowed once.

Pedri had scrolled too far, that was the problem. He never should’ve clicked the tagged section.

The photo was grainy but it didn’t matter. Ferran, stepping out of a restaurant late at night, a girl beside him. Her hand brushing his arm as they laughed at something just out of frame.

Pedri’s stomach dropped like he’d missed a step on the stairs. He locked his phone without thinking, tossed it to the other end of the couch. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Ferran could do whatever he wanted. It had nothing to do with him. He had no claim on him or any right to feel this way. And yet his chest stayed tight all night, thoughts looping.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

The next morning at training, Ferran was himself - grinning, teasing, elbowing him during rondos, tugging at his sleeve during water breaks. Pedri responded, but softer than usual, his smile delayed, his laugh a fraction too forced. He thought he’d hidden it well.

But Ferran always noticed.

Later, when they walked out together, cleats slung over their shoulders, Pedri thought he’d gotten away with it. Until Ferran stopped in front of his car, leaning casually against the driver’s side door, arms folded.

“Okay now, what’s wrong with you?”

Pedri blinked, too quickly. “What? Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Pedri huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just tired, Ferri.”

“No.” Ferran smiled, tilting his head. “Tired Pedri eats three bananas in a row and complains about the drills. This is different.”

Pedri looked away, jaw tightening. He hated how transparent he could be around Ferran. Silence stretched between them, heavy and taut.

With a soft sigh, Ferran closed the distance. He leaned his head down just enough that Pedri had no choice but to meet his eyes. A warm hand brushed against his forearm, thumb lingering there like an anchor.

“Tell me,” Ferran said quietly.

Pedri’s breath caught. His heart thudded loud, ridiculous for something so simple. He tried to look anywhere else - the cars, the pavement, the sky - but Ferran’s soft eyes stayed fixed on him, steady, patient, impossible to ignore.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I saw the pictures. You… with that girl.”

For a second Ferran just blinked, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. Not mocking - light, almost tender.

“That’s what this is?”

Heat crept up Pedri’s neck. He shifted, uncomfortable. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

But Ferran didn’t let him retreat. His hand slid down from Pedri’s arm to his wrist, fingers curling gently around it. Not trapping, not forcing - just holding.

“Listen,” he said, voice earnest now. “That was an ad shoot. She’s an actress. We were told to laugh at bad jokes for the camera.”

Pedri risked a glance up, searching his face. Ferran’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You really think I’d sneak around behind your back?” Ferran added, softer. “That I wouldn’t tell you?”

Relief washed through Pedri so fast it almost left him dizzy, his body slackening under the weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

“I don’t even know why I cared so much,” he whispered.

Ferran’s lips curved, soft and knowing. His thumb brushed lazily against the inside of Pedri’s wrist, the kind of absent gesture people only made when they knew someone deeply.

Pedri’s cheeks burned. He ducked his head, mumbling something incoherent, but Ferran only chuckled. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly against Pedri’s temple. The brief touch sent a shiver down Pedri’s spine.

“Next time,” Ferran said, quiet and teasing, “don’t torture yourself with Twitter. Just ask me, okay?”

Pedri nodded mutely, though his chest felt like it might burst.

When Ferran finally let go of his wrist, the absence was immediate, strange. Pedri stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide the tremor in them, but the warmth lingered.

Ferran knew he should’ve been paying attention. Dani was midway through one of his infamous stories, using his hands like he was narrating a blockbuster, Eric was already shaking his head like he’d heard it a thousand times, and the table kept breaking into laughter at the absurd details.

But Ferran wasn’t hearing half of it.

Because across from him, Pedri was laughing - really laughing. Not the polite chuckle he gave reporters, not the quiet little grin when someone said something mildly funny. This was the kind that broke open and filled a room. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright, his shoulders shaking as he leaned against the table for balance.

And Ferran just…looked.

It was impossible not to. Every time Pedri laughed like that, something inside Ferran loosened, like all the tension he didn’t even know he was carrying just dissolved. He felt his own mouth curve up, instinctive, helpless. There was no one else in the room, not really - not when Pedri’s joy pulled everything into orbit around it.

He must’ve been too obvious, though, because Eric’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

“Dios, Ferri,” he drawled, grinning like a cat with cream. “If you stare any harder, you’re going to set him on fire.”

The table erupted. Dani nearly choked on his drink, laughing harder than at his own story. Even Pedri paused, mid-smile, blinking over at Ferran with his face still flushed from laughter, like he didn’t know what Eric meant but had caught just enough to make him curious.

Heat crept up Ferran’s neck, but oddly, he didn’t care. Normally, he’d scramble to play it off, deflect the teasing with a joke or bury his face in his phone. But right now, with Pedri looking at him like that, with that glow still clinging to his skin, Ferran just…didn’t mind.

“Shut up, Eric,” he said, but there was no real bite in it. Just a laugh tucked under his breath, softer than he intended.

Eric grinned wider. “What? I’m only saying what everyone’s thinking.”

That sent another wave of laughter around the table. Normally, Ferran would roll his eyes, maybe shove Eric’s shoulder to make a point. But instead, he let it wash over him, because it didn’t matter. They could tease all they wanted. The truth was obvious, anyway.

He risked another glance at Pedri, unable to help himself.

Pedri had turned back to Dani’s story, his smile still lingering, his lips curved like it hadn’t left him yet. And Ferran felt his chest tighten, in the best way, like someone had placed a hand over his heart and reminded him it was still there.

He smiled to himself, small and unguarded, the kind you couldn’t force or hide. He didn’t even care if Eric caught him again. He didn’t even care if the whole table did.

Because the truth was simple:

Ferran loved seeing Pedri happy and if loving Pedri’s laugh made him transparent, then so be it. He’d let the whole world tease him.

The sun had been warm at lunch, but the breeze off the water was sharper now, tugging at their clothes as they walked along the beach. Dani and Eric were a few steps ahead, arguing over whether they should rent jet skis, their voices bouncing back and forth with the ease of routine.

Ferran lagged behind with Pedri. It wasn’t intentional - just the way it always seemed to happen.

Pedri had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, head bowed against the wind. The sand shifted under his trainers, but his posture gave him away more than anything. Shoulders drawn in, lips pressed tight, almost trembling with the cold.

Ferran sighed quietly, tugged at the hem of his hoodie, then peeled it off in one smooth motion. He was left in just a t-shirt, goosebumps prickling immediately, but he didn’t care.

“Here.” He held it out.

Pedri blinked at him, his brow furrowing. “What? No, Ferri, I’m fine.”

“Your lips are literally blue,” Ferran said simply, shoving the hoodie closer.

From ahead, Eric’s voice carried back to them like he’d been waiting for the right moment.

“Why are you staring at his lips, bro?”

Ferran froze for half a second, caught out, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at Eric. His gaze stayed steady on Pedri.

Pedri groaned into his hands. “Eric, stop it.”

Eric just laughed, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “Not subtle, Ferri.”

Ferran only shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. Normally he’d bite back, throw some smart remark, but not this time. Not when Pedri finally reached out, tugged the hoodie from his hands and slipped it on.

It swallowed him whole, sleeves dangling over his fingers, fabric bunching at his shoulders. He tugged the hood up, hiding half his face from the wind, and Ferran felt something twist warm and slow in his chest.

“Better?” Ferran asked quietly.

Pedri nodded, his voice muffled under the hood. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The word was soft, almost shy, but it was enough.

Ferran shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to look ahead at the waves. But his eyes kept drifting back, towards the too-big hoodie, towards the way Pedri’s smile had returned now that the chill was gone.

And even with Eric’s teasing echoing in his head, Ferran couldn’t bring himself to care.

Training had barely ended when Dani came jogging over, phone in hand and a mischievous grin plastered across his face. Eric wasn’t far behind, already laughing like he’d been waiting for this moment all morning.

“Boys,” Dani said, shoving his phone under Pedri’s nose. “Care to explain why Twitter thinks you two are secretly married?”

Pedri blinked at the screen. There it was - blurry shots from the beach yesterday. Ferran walking beside him, their arms brushing now and then, and then one particular photo that seemed to be blowing up: Pedri, with Ferran’s oversized hoodie hanging off him like it belonged there.

He hadn’t even realized the cameras were there. He hadn’t even realized how obvious it looked.

Eric snorted, tapping the screen where comments were rolling in.

“Look at this one - ‘Fedri confirmed.’ And this one - ‘They’re sharing clothes like a couple, you can’t convince me otherwise.’”

Dani laughed louder. “Honestly, I’d ship it.”

Pedri felt his chest tighten, a hot flush rising all the way up to his ears. He forced a laugh, tried to play it off, but his throat was dry. He couldn’t even look at Ferran, not with Dani and Eric grinning and all those comments replaying in his head.

What if Ferran found it embarrassing? What if he thought Pedri had made it awkward by wearing his hoodie?

But Ferran just shrugged, utterly unbothered, and shot Eric a look.

“Who cares? People always talk.”

The simplicity of it made Pedri’s heart skip. Ferran’s voice was steady, calm, like this wasn’t even worth a second thought.

Pedri, though, couldn’t shake the panic curling under his skin, and for the rest of the afternoon he stayed quiet, barely looking at anyone.

The locker room had emptied slowly after training, one by one the boys heading out, leaving behind only the quiet hum of the showers and the faint smell of grass. Pedri sat on the bench in front of his locker, half-dressed, staring blankly at the floor. His phone rested heavy in his hand, Twitter still open, the same pictures flashing across the screen.

Ferran’s hoodie hanging off him. The comments. The jokes.

He’d laughed when Dani and Eric shoved their phones in his face, tried to brush it off like it was nothing. But now that it was quiet, now that he was alone, the panic was back, crawling under his skin. It looks like more than it is. Everyone will think…

“Pedri.”

His head snapped up, startled. Ferran stood a few feet away, hair still damp from the shower, a towel slung around his neck. He must’ve stayed behind without Pedri noticing.

“You’ve been quiet,” Ferran said, softer this time. He walked closer, not waiting for an answer, and crouched down next to Pedri. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Pedri’s throat tightened. He shook his head, tried to wave it off. “It’s nothing.”

But Ferran just reached out, gently tilting the phone in his hand so he could see the screen. His eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Pedri’s face, and something softened instantly in his expression.

“The pictures?”

Pedri couldn’t hold his gaze. He nodded, barely. “It’s stupid. Just… everyone’s talking, saying stuff. It feels like…” He swallowed hard. “Like…like we slipped and people saw something we weren’t supposed to show.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Pedri’s chest was tight, his pulse thudding in his ears. Then Ferran moved closer, sitting beside him on the bench, their knees brushing. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out and took Pedri’s hand, threading their fingers together so naturally it made Pedri’s breath hitch.

“Pedri.” Ferran’s voice was steady, low, meant only for him. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever. Let them talk. Let them joke. I don’t care what they say.”

He squeezed Pedri’s hand, gentle but firm, and when Pedri finally glanced up, Ferran’s eyes were nothing but soft, unwavering.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Pedri’s temple, lingering there like he wanted Pedri to feel every ounce of reassurance in the gesture.

Pedri’s chest loosened instantly, the panic ebbing away under the warmth of Ferran’s touch. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into him until his shoulder brushed Ferran’s, until Ferran shifted an arm around him without hesitation, pulling him closer.

Pedri let out a shaky breath, his head tipping lightly against Ferran’s shoulder. His heart was still racing, but not with fear anymore. With something warmer, something steadier. Something that terrified and comforted him at the same time.

And without even realizing it, his grip on Ferran’s hand tightened, clinging like he was afraid to let go. Ferran squeezed back, thumb stroking soft circles over the back of his hand. He didn’t let go.

The world outside the locker room didn’t exist. Twitter didn’t exist. Dani and Eric didn’t exist. There was only Ferran, steady and warm, and the way he made Pedri feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And for the first time that day, Pedri breathed properly again.

The panic had faded almost entirely, replaced by a delicate kind of comfort he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all morning.

Ferran’s arm tightened slightly around his shoulders, pulling him a fraction closer. His other hand traced absent circles on Pedri’s back, careful, gentle, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm settling over him.

“You know,” Ferran murmured, his voice low and soft, “you don’t have to overthink everything. Not with me.”

Pedri’s cheeks heated despite the quiet. He tried to keep his voice steady. “I just… I didn’t want it to be weird. Or make you… I don’t know, uncomfortable.”

Ferran chuckled softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from Pedri’s forehead. “Pedri… look at me.”

He lifted his chin just enough so their eyes met, and Pedri felt the steady warmth in Ferran’s gaze, the reassurance in the gentle squeeze of his hand.

“It’s my hoodie. I gave it to you because I wanted to, because I couldn’t stand seeing you cold. I’d do it any day, whether anyone was watching or not. I did it because I wanted to, okay?. You could never make me uncomfortable… not for anything.”

Pedri’s chest felt too full, his pulse loud, but the tight knot of worry that had been there all morning was gone. He exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders drop fully against Ferran, trusting the comfort he’d been giving without even trying.

And then Ferran bent slightly, pressing another soft kiss to Pedri’s temple, lingering just enough to send warmth straight through him. “Better?” he whispered, a teasing edge under the sweetness.

Pedri managed a small, breathless laugh, hiding his face just a little against Ferran’s chest. “Much better,” he admitted, voice muffled.

Ferran’s grin was soft, indulgent, and he tightened his hold just slightly, murmuring, “Good.”

Pedri let himself sink a little further, heart still racing, but in the safest, most thrilling way possible, realizing once again how easily Ferran could calm him… and how much he never wanted to let go.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing outside. Ferran and Pedri had been cooking dinner together - Well, Ferran was cooking and Pedri was talking to him about one thing and another - but the intimacy of shared space made the air feel heavier, hotter.

Pedri leaned over the counter to taste the sauce, hair falling in soft strands over his forehead. Ferran stood just behind him, close enough that the warmth of his back pressed against Ferran’s chest. It was unintentional, natural, but the small contact made Ferran’s pulse spike. He let his hand hover near Pedri’s waist, brushing it lightly when he reached for a spoon, as if it were incidental.

“You’re not supposed to lean on me like that, you’ll tip me over,” Pedri murmured, though there was a smile tugging at his lips. His voice was soft, teasing, but it made Ferran’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the joke.

“I won’t let you tip over,” Ferran said, even as he let their bodies remain close. He could feel the curve of Pedri’s waist under his hand, the warmth radiating off him. His breath hitched slightly, a reaction he couldn’t quite hide.

Pedri tasted the sauce again, then glanced over his shoulder, their eyes meeting. There was a pause, a subtle shift, an almost imperceptible pull in the air, and Ferran felt it like a live wire between them. The space shrank until they were touching - foreheads brushing if Ferran leaned the tiniest bit closer.

Pedri’s lips parted slightly and Ferran’s chest tightened. The apartment seemed to shrink, leaving only the heat and the pull, the unspoken magnetism that had been building for months. Maybe years.

Ferran’s hand slipped around Pedri’s waist and rested on his stomach, and he pulled him back so his back was now in full contact with Ferran’s chest. Pedri’s breath hitched as he pressed himself even closer, his gaze falling to Ferran’s lips and then lifted back to his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment, a shared awareness.

They both leaned in, naturally, slowly, the air between them thick, hearts hammering, breaths shallow. Their lips were nearly touching, a hair’s breadth away, when suddenly:

RING!

Pedri’s phone exploded on the counter. He flinched, jumping away from Ferran, hands fumbling, and the moment shattered. He answered the phone with his chest heaving,

“Hello? Oh! Hi, Mom - yeah, no, that’s okay!” Pedri said quickly, cheeks still warm. “No, don’t worry… Ferran’s here, he’s making me dinner today, so I’ve got it covered.”

Ferran exhaled softly, amusement curling. He leaned slightly closer, just enough for Pedri to feel the warmth radiating off him. Pedri glanced up from the phone and met Ferran’s eyes, and without thinking, a small, fond smile tugged at his lips.

Ferran’s hand brushed near Pedri’s again, casual but deliberate, lingering just enough for comfort. “See? Your mom approves my cooking skills,” he murmured softly, voice warm, teasing but gentle.

Pedri laughed quietly, phone cradled against his shoulder, eyes still on Ferran. “Yeah, I’ll come over on the weekend” he said to his mom, voice soft, fond. “Sure, I’ll bring some for him too, mom…Love you too. Okay, bye mama.”

Pedri hung up the phone and set it on the counter, cheeks still warm from the brief embarrassment. He leaned against the counter, glancing at Ferran with a small, fond smile.

“Oh,” Pedri said, teasing, “my mom says next time I visit, I have to bring her croquettes for you as a thank-you for making me dinner. Apparently, I’m a hopeless cook.”

Ferran shook his head as he stirred the sauce. “You? Nah, come on, you’re a great cook!” He said it quickly, a little too insistently, as if he needed Pedri to believe him.

Pedri’s grin widened, knowing exactly what Ferran was doing.

“Uh-huh,” he said, laughing softly. “I know you’re just trying to spare my feelings.”

He leaned closer, brushing a hand along Ferran’s back. “You’d eat whatever I made, and smile like it was the best thing in the world. You always do.”

Ferran’s chest tightened, and he let a slow smile spread across his face. “Well… yeah, I would. But that doesn’t mean you can’t bring the croquettes for me anyway.”

They stared at each other a beat too long again and Ferran had to force himself to look away so he can turn the stove off and plate their food.

The evening had wound down - the kitchen cleaned, the last scraps of dinner put away. Pedri lingered near the door as Ferran grabbed his keys from the counter, ready to head back home, trying to act casual, but his chest was tight, every nerve humming with the pull he felt every time he looked at Pedri.

He wanted - needed - to stay just a second longer, to lean in, to close the gap that had been building all night.

He paused at the door, heart hammering. Pedri’s eyes met his, warm.

“Thanks for dinner, Ferri. It was great…as always,” Pedri whispered at the door.

Then, with a force Ferran couldn’t resist, without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Pedri’s cheek. Just a quick, soft kiss - but charged with everything he couldn’t say.

Pedri blinked, startled, cheeks flushing pink prettily. Ferran pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Pedri’s gaze, letting a small, affectionate smile tug at his lips.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured, voice low, warm, his heart still racing.

Pedri’s lips parted as he tried to speak but nothing came out so he nodded and managed to let out a, “Good night, Ferri.”

That night, Ferran lay tossing and tumbling all day in bed. They had gotten so close. They were just a second away from changing every thing forever. Just a breath away from finally giving into the demands his heart and body had been making for years.

His mind kept replaying the feeling of Pedri’s back pressed to his chest. One more pull and Ferran’s cock would’ve been pressed against his arse.

He groaned as he palmed his cock. By now, his cock was used to that familiar twitch and how it came alive whenever he thought about Pedri.

And he couldn’t even stop himself before he slipped his hand down his boxers, with just one name on his lips.

The shower room was thick with steam, the air warm and clinging, making every nerve in Ferran’s body tingle. He had just finished rinsing off after training, towel wrapped low around his hips, hair plastered damp against his forehead.

Pedri was across from him, also wrapped in only a towel, droplets of water running down his chest and collarbones, the muscles in his arms and torso subtly defined from training.

Ferran’s eyes flicked, too slow to hide it, tracing the curve of his shoulder, the faint line of abs beneath damp skin, the way his hips shifted slightly as he adjusted the towel.

Pedri’s head snapped up for just a moment, and Ferran felt the heat of his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that they were both staring. His own pulse spiked, throat dry, every muscle suddenly conscious.

The way Pedri’s eyes flicked over him, lingering on his chest, shoulders, even the line of his jaw, made Ferran’s stomach clench. He could feel the pull, raw and magnetic, drawing him closer, igniting a tension that hummed in his veins.

He stepped just a fraction toward him under the pretense of grabbing a towel, letting their thighs brush nearly accidentally. Pedri didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. Instead, the heat in his gaze made Ferran’s chest ache.

Pedri shifted slightly, the towel clinging to damp skin, and Ferran’s eyes caught the subtle line of his hip, the curve of his shoulder, the way his chest rose and fell under the water’s remnants. Every little detail was burned into him instantly, and he knew Pedri was doing the same.

The air between them was a live wire, taut and humming. Every glance, every accidental brush, every quiet intake of breath was its own confession.

The heat was almost unbearable, a slow, creeping fire that had nothing to do with the steam in the room.

Their foreheads were touching now, breaths mingling, the heat between them suffocating and delicious. Ferran leaned slightly, daring to let his hand brush along Pedri’s arm, thumb grazing in a way that was more deliberate than accidental.

Pedri didn’t flinch.

Ferran’s chest tightened, pulse racing. He could feel it - the way the air itself seemed to hum with tension. He almost bent lower, almost closed the distance, almost felt the weight of Pedri against him, the soft, warm press of lips on lips—but then:

“Oi! You two! Are you still alive in there or what?”

Dani’s voice shattered the moment, echoing through the misty locker room.

Both Ferran and Pedri jumped apart, flushed and wide-eyed, towels twisting slightly as they hurried to adjust them around their hips. Neither spoke for a second, hearts still hammering, breaths uneven.

Ferran shot Pedri a quick glance, heat and longing still smoldering in his eyes, and caught the same expression staring back at him.

They both knew the moment had passed…

Yet again

But neither of them forgot it.

The hotel room was slightly cold. Ferran had forgotten to turn down the AC like he normally did before they settled in for the night after an away match.

Pedri was sitting on the edge of the bed after his shower, wearing Ferran’s hoodie, his arms crossed, knees drawn up slightly shivering. He always ran cold.

“Seriously? You left it this cold?” Pedri complained, voice tight with frustration.

Ferran stepped closer and turned the AC down, “I’m sorry, I forgot today, I don’t know why. But it’s not that bad, it was only on for a little while.”

Pedri glared at him, teeth bared in that adorable way that made Ferran’s chest ache. “Not that bad? Ferri, my toes are about to fall off! You always, always remember to turn it down. You know the routine by now!”

Ferran smiled fondly, leaning against the dresser, watching Pedri’s cheeks flush, the little shivers that made him want to crawl into his lap and warm him up himself. “Sorry, Pepi, I forgot but it won’t happen again,” he said lightly, voice teasing, but inside, heat was coursing through him, magnetic, pulling him closer, closer to something neither of them could deny.

Pedri’s bottom lip jutted out as he stood up off the bed. “Forgot? Ferri, do you even care?”

Ferran’s heart thudded and the smile slipped off his face.

He cared.

He always cared.

He cared too much to keep pretending he didn’t. He knew Pedri didn’t mean it seriously but that question slipped under his skin. He wanted to reach out, touch Pedri, wrap him up and never let him go. And as Pedri’s eyes - bright, frustrated, and soft all at once - met his, the magnetic pull between them became unbearable.

“Ofcourse I care. I’ve always cared.”

Pedri took another step towards where Ferran was standing, “Then fix it.”

Ferran slipped an arm around Pedri’s waist and tugged him closer till their chests touched. He rubbed his other hand up and down Pedri’s arm to warm him up. A shiver ran down Pedri’s spine and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

They were so close, Ferran could count the light freckles dusting Pedri’s face and could see that pretty, pretty blush spread across his nose in real time.

Pedri raised his hands to rest them on Ferran’s chest and curled them, fisting Ferran’s shirt.

“Ferri…” he whispered.

“What is it?” Ferran whispered, so, so quiet. He didn’t want to break the moment.

“Ferri…” Pedri repeated again, a whine in his tone.

“Tell me what you want, Pepi. What is it?” Ferran asked him as his gaze dropped to his lips.

“I… Ferri, I….” Pedri’s chest heaved, his lips were parted and he was breathing in like he couldn’t get enough air.

His hands fisted even tightly in Ferran’s shirt.

And Ferran just couldn’t wait any longer.

“Fuck it,” he growled and he finally, finally closed the final fraction of space, pressing his mouth to Pedri’s with a heat that was almost burning.

Pedri gasped into the kiss, hands clutching Ferran’s shoulders, and slipping into his hair, tugging him impossibly closer. Ferran’s lips moved over his with desperate hunger, teeth occasionally brushing, tongues dancing, as if they had been holding this in for years. Because they had.

When they broke for a second, Pedri couldn’t stop himself before he keened, “Oh finally, oh God, finally.”

He tilted his head before Ferran could reply, giving him better access, and Ferran took it without hesitation, letting the kiss deepen, rough and fierce, a release of all the tension, all the longing, all the unspoken words between them.

Ferran’s hands roamed possessively along Pedri’s back, gripping the small of his spine and down to his arse, kneading it and pulling him even closer until there was no space left between them. Pedri moaned into the kiss, and tightened his grip in Ferran’s hair, holding him, claiming him.

Ferran’s lips trailed down to Pedri’s jaw, his neck, teeth grazing softly, when a sudden KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on the hotel door made them both jump.

“What the fuck?” Ferran muttered, chest still pressed against Pedri’s. His stomach twisted with annoyance that he had never felt before, pulse spiking in irritation at the interruption.

He pulled back slightly, breathing hard, and stalked toward the door, glaring as he yanked it open. “What do you want?” he snapped, eyes blazing, ready to unleash all his pent-up fury.

Eric’s cheerful, oblivious face greeted him, completely unaware of the storm behind the door. “Oi! We invited you to play FIFA! And you said you’d show up but-“

“No!” Ferran cut him off, his eyes flashing. “Not happening. Absolutely not.”

Eric froze, mid-sentence, and Ferran didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he slammed the door in Eric’s face and turned the lock. The satisfying click was like a declaration: this moment is ours, and no one ruins it.

Ferran leaned back against the door for a heartbeat, chest still hammering. Pedri walked towards him, flushed, breathless, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Ferran’s anger melted into heat, the ache of desire flaring again.

Pedri leaned against him and pressed him to the door. Ferran pulled him in as he muttered,

“Not anyone, Pedri. Not tonight. Nobody gets in the way of this,” he murmured, voice husky, filled with fire and need.

Pedri shivered, letting out a soft, breathless laugh, pressing closer. “Good,” he whispered, voice trembling, heart racing.

Ferran’s lips found his again, rough and hungry, a fierce, consuming kiss that left no room for interruptions or the outside world. Every second, every brush of hands and lips, every gasp and moan said what words never could - they were done holding back.

Ferran picked Pedri up mid-kiss and he yelped in surprise but recovered and wrapped his legs around his hips.

Ferran gently guided Pedri onto the bed, never breaking the contact, lips brushing in heated, lingering kisses.

Pedri’s hands traced up Ferran’s chest, gripping his shirt, tugging him closer as if trying to erase every inch of space that still dared to exist between them. Ferran responded instinctively, taking his shirt off

“Ferri…” Pedri murmured, breathless, cheeks flushed, fingers clutching at his naked shoulders and running down his chest. Just feeling.

“I know, baby,” Ferran whispered back, voice low, hoarse, heavy with need. “I know.”

The tension that had built over months, over stolen glances, touches, and quiet longing, poured into every kiss, every brush of hands, every press of their bodies together. Ferran’s hands roamed possessively, memorizing the curve of Pedri’s back as he took his hoodie off, the line of his arms, the warmth beneath his skin.

Pedri pressed closer, pressing their foreheads together, chest to chest, heartbeat hammering against heartbeat. “I’ve wanted this… for so long,” he admitted, voice trembling.

Ferran’s chest tightened, and he pressed a long, slow kiss to Pedri’s lips, tasting the words, feeling the vulnerability, the trust. “Me too, baby…you don’t even know,” he murmured, thumbs brushing over the sides of Pedri’s face.

Soon their kisses turned messy and before long, Ferran was rutting between Pedri’s legs as they kissed for hours or days, Ferran didn’t know nor care.

But that wasn’t enough. Pedri keened, “More, Ferri…I want you.”

And when had Ferran ever, ever not given Pedri what he wanted?

He straightened up and unbuckled his pants as Pedri watched him in barely concealed lust. He took off Pedri’s pants and boxers till they were both bare and when Ferran’s weight rested on top of Pedri, he shivered.

“Are you still cold, baby?” Ferran teased as he pressed a teasing kiss to his lips.

“Ugh, shut up. Ferri…Ferri, I want-“ Pedri groaned.

Ferran pressed a kiss to his eyelids and ran a soothing hand down his waist as he whispered, “I know, my love.”

He stretched to get his toiletry bag and unearthed the bottle of lube from it.

Pedri raised an eyebrow at him as he opened it but Ferran just laughed, “You never know when you’d need it, baby. Do you think I haven’t felt the need for it every time I’ve touched myself over you?”

Pedri flushed pink at how open Ferran was as he squeezed a handful onto his fingers and got to work.

Ferran was gentle at first, using one finger, then two. Pedri knew how hard he was controlling himself, judging by how his cock was flushed and straining against his lower abdomen.

But soon, the heat was building up, almost ready to burn him alive. “More, Ferri…I need…I need you.”

And Ferran moaned at that as he retreated his fingers and slicked up his cock. He took a hold of Pedri’s thigh and pushed it upwards. As Ferran settled over him, he kissed Pedri impossibly gently, in contrast with how heated the moment was and said, “We’ll go at your pace, okay love? You’ll tell me if it hurts and we’ll stop.”

But Pedri was impatient and needy and gasped out, “I don’t mind if it hurts. I want you, Ferri, oh please, please-“

But Ferran clamped down on his waist and refused to move, “I mind. I won’t do that. Promise you’ll tell me.”

And Pedri felt so, so safe with him here, like he could trust him with anything. Every thing will be okay because Ferran would never hurt him, he always takes care of him. So he brought a hand to Ferran’s cheek and kissed him, soft and slow.

“I’ll tell you, I promise.”

Ferran pressed into him in careful increments, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. When he did wince, he pulled back, rubbed his cock all over him and the pleasure of that made him un-tense, relax under his hands. Ferran pushed back into him, and this time it just felt good, his mouth fell open and a keen spilled out of it. He wrapped his legs around Ferran’s waist to keep him inside of him, nails scratching at his back.

Ferran doesn’t move, just kisses him again and again. Pedri’s never felt anything as good as him. He’s never been full of something so right.

“Okay?” Ferran asks, kissing his cheeks, his throat. “Feel okay, baby?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck, yes.”

Ferran rocks into him slowly, and Pedri moans at the feel of him. He’s up on his elbows above him, moving steadily now, and he can’t believe he’s lived without this for so long. He never wants to go without it again.

Pedri digs his fingers into Ferran’s arms, breathing hard, and Ferran thrusts in time with his gasps. “More, Ferri, please more,” he whispers, and he gives it to him, just as he gives him everything Pedri asks for.

His thrusts get harder, faster, deeper and rougher. He grasps Pedri’s thigh and pushes it even higher and oh, that is it.

Pedri moans loudly and fists his hand in Ferran’s hair with a “Oh, there, Ferri,”

Ferran just chuckles and says, “There it is,” and then he thrusts up even harder and hits that spot every time. Its rough now but it hurts so good, too good. He never wants Ferran to stop. He’s so close and he can’t utter any word other than Ferran’s name.

Ferran’s thrusts get sloppy but he refuses to finish first. He wraps his hand around Pedri and works him to tears, whispering down in his ear, “Come on, baby. Be a good boy and come for me, come on.”

And Pedri obeys because how do you resist that voice in your ear?

His neck arches in a silent scream as his brain goes fuzzy, there’s nothing in it but the sound of Ferran’s sighs above him and the stars in his eyes. This is what their bodies were made for. This is the best he has ever felt in his life, just loved, cherished, protected and fulfilled.

Pedri comes down from the high and sees Ferran about to retreat when he clamps down on Ferran’s arms and almost sobs, “No, no don’t leave. In me…finish in me.”

And Ferran groaned and try as he might, he could not be gentle anymore. Pedri’s body is so pliant under him as he repositions him and thrusts back in. Pedri winces a bit, overstimulated but he wraps his arms around Ferran’s neck, keeping him in place till he finally buries his face and groans when Pedri feels a warmth fill him up.

Ferran collapses on Pedri’s chest and they’re both sticky and sweaty but they can’t move. His weight feels so perfect on top of him and Pedri slips his hand in Ferran’s hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that always makes him purr like a cat.

“I’m never moving,” Ferran mutters, barely coherent.

“That’s fine by me, baby” Pedri smiles at how tired he sounds. Just spent.

Later, when they’ve showered together and cleaned up, Pedri nestles close to Ferran but there’s still a question lingering in his brain, not letting him relax.

“Ferri?” Pedri whispered.

“Yes?” Ferran asked back, running his hand up and down Pedri’s back.

“So… what are we now?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it might give him a clue.

Ferran’s chest tightened, his heart thudding in his ears. “Pedri…” he murmured, voice low, earnest. “I can’t… I can’t do casual. I can’t do one-time. A fling. I can’t have you half-heartedly and I sure as hell can’t give you anything less than all of me.”

Pedri tilted his head slightly to look at him, eyes wide, searching, and Ferran reached up to cup his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. “I could do that with anyone else but not with you. Not the way I feel about you.“

Pedri stared at him for a beat too long and Ferran’s face crumpled, “Do you…do you not want that, Pedri?”

Pedri blinked and a soft smile curved his lips,

“Ferri, I want that too. I want you. Fully. I could never have you in any way less.”

Ferran smiled and dipped down to kiss his nose, “Good. Because you’re mine, arent you? You’re all mine.”

Pedri pressed closer, hands tangling in Ferran’s hair, heart racing. “Always, and you’re mine. Only mine,” he echoed, a quiet vow that made Ferran’s chest ache with happiness.

“Wouldn’t be anything else, baby. I know your jealous streak runs a mile long,” Ferran teased him.

Pedri doesn’t even bother denying and just shrugs, “Well, at least you know me.”

Ferran chuckled softly, heart full, pressing a final kiss to the top of Pedri’s head. “I always say what I mean. You know that. And I mean every single word. And I want you to know… I love you, Pedri. I have for a long time, I realised it too late but I want you to know even if you can’t say the same back, even if you never say the same-“

Pedri interrupted him by pressing a soft and slow kiss to his mouth, swiping his thumb across his cheek.

“I love you too, Ferran. I always have.”

And Pedri knew that.

How could he not? He knew Ferran’s heart better than his own and he knew how hard he tried, how honest he was with things that mattered because he hated secrets, how good he was, how caring, how loving. And he felt all that here in his arms. He felt cared for, he felt loved.

The next morning, the team bus rattled down the highway to the opponent’s stadium. Ferran had his arm draped casually around Pedri’s shoulders, thumb brushing over his arm in that lazy, intimate way that had been reserved for just this - just them. Pedri leaned into him, a soft smile tugging at his lips, head resting lightly against Ferran’s chest.

Eric, sitting across from them with Dani, threw his hands up. “Guys. Seriously. Can you be for real? This is ridiculous.”

Ferran didn’t even look phased. He just smirked down at Pedri, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Relax, guys. We’re just… comfortable.”

Eric leaned forward, pointing a finger like a drill sergeant. “Comfortable? You’re practically glued together! Pedri, your head is on his chest! Ferri, your arm’s like it’s welded there!”

Pedri laughed softly, nudging Ferran with his shoulder. “It’s not like we can help it,” he said, voice teasing.

Ferran’s grin widened, thumb rubbing small, slow circles into Pedri’s arm. “Exactly. Some things… just happen.”

Ferran suddenly leaned closer to Eric, voice mock-innocent but dripping with mischief. “By the way… sorry about slamming the door in your face yesterday, Eric. I was busy railing the love of my life.”

Pedri blushed furiously and whispered “Ferri!” while Eric’s jaw dropped and Dani doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly toppled off his seat.

“What?!” Eric sputtered, pointing wildly. “You…you what?!”

Ferran shrugged, mock-innocent expression firmly in place. “I said… I was busy. With Pedri. Clearly enjoying my… private time.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Pedri, who buried his face against Ferran’s chest, hiding the blush creeping up his neck.

Eric groaned loudly, throwing a hand over his face. “You’re impossible. Absolutely impossible. I can’t even. I can’t-“ And then he pauses with a scandalised look on his face,

“Oh no. I see how it is. You’re that couple now. The one everyone else gets warned about. I cannot handle this level of PDA before a match. It makes me feel single AF.”

Ferran leaned back, stretching out, arm still securely around Pedri. “Relax. We’re happy. You’ll get used to it,” he said smoothly, stealing a small kiss from Pedri’s temple while Eric groaned dramatically again.

Pedri peeked up, a smile tugging at his lips despite his blush. “He’s not wrong,” he murmured, resting back against Ferran.

Eric groaned even louder, utterly defeated. “I cannot. I just-“ He threw his head back, groaning loud enough for half the bus to look over.

Ferran smirked, squeezing Pedri’s shoulder lightly. “Yeah. You’re welcome, Eric.”

Pedri snorted, hiding his laugh against Ferran’s chest. “We should probably… act less like this,” he said jokingly.

“Or… more,” Ferran whispered, brushing their noses together. Pedri just laughed, shaking his head, and Eric’s groans only grew louder.

The stadium buzzed with post-match energy as players trickled down the tunnel into the locker room. Ferran had his arm slung casually around Pedri’s shoulders, leaning into him just enough that Pedri tilted his head to rest lightly against Ferran’s chest. Pedri’s hand found Ferran’s waist, thumb brushing lazily as they walked, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Gavi, trailing a few steps behind with Dani, couldn’t resist commenting. “Wait… hold up,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Is this another one of your moments where you act remarkably like a couple and then deny you’re one?”

Pedri glanced up, cheeks pink but grin fully in place. “Nah,” he said, voice teasing but utterly calm. “We’re not denying it this time.”

Gavi ran up to face them with his eyebrows raised, “Do you mean…?”

They both nodded.

Gavi raised his arms to the air and screeched, “Hallelujah! Finally no more oblivious pining!”

Eric joined Gavi with an arm around his shoulders, “Yeah, now get ready for something even worse. They’re all over each other all the time. I almost wish I could get the oblivious Ferran and Pedri back.”

Ferran leaned down slightly, brushing his lips briefly against Pedri’s temple, hand tightening lightly on Pedri’s waist in that natural, possessive way that made Gavi’s eyes widen.

Gavi groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. They’re impossible.”

And as if to prove a point, Pedri and Ferran both leaned in at the same time to kiss, laughing against each others mouths when they heard their friends groan in the back. 

Ferran couldn’t be blamed. He had the sun in his arms.

The brightest star in the sky, and it was his.

Pedro Gonzalez was here, resting against him, looking up like he held the answers to all of life’s mysteries.

No one else had him like Ferran did. No one else had heard the way he moaned and whimpered in bed, the way a single pout could make Ferran’s control shatter. No one else could ask for something with just a look, knowing Ferran would give it, every time.

No one else knew the weight he carried, the doubts hiding behind that composed persona on the pitch.

No one else saw how soft he was beneath it all - fragile, yet unshakeably strong.

Ferran’s chest swelled with pride and something more.

Worship. Devotion. 

Yes. You couldn’t blame Ferran Torres for showing off a little.

Who wouldn’t?