Chapter Text
The city had been busy that afternoon, loud. But this was something else entirely.
Barcelona had woken up in Blaugrana, the streets flooded with flags bearing the crest, mixed with Catalan colours. Voices echoed through the city, chanting their names, songs trailing behind them like a second heartbeat. Pedri could still feel it in his bones, that rush of adrenaline that refused to settle. The bus ride, the parade, the endless waving; faces blurring into one another, flashes of cameras, scarves and shirts lifted in their honour.
They had won the Champions League. And even a day later, it still didn’t feel real.
Now, inside Luz de Gas, reality had blurred completely.
The music was too loud, the lights too low, and the air thick with heat, perfume, alcohol, and other things Pedri didn’t need to think about; all of it mixing into something dizzying. Someone had dragged him in twenty minutes ago, maybe Gavi, maybe Balde, he couldn’t even remember. Since then, it had been a constant blur of hands on his shoulders, voices in his ear, drinks appearing in his grip before he could refuse them.
“¡Capi!” someone shouted again, laughing, pulling him into another half-hug.
Pedri smiled automatically. He’d been smiling for hours.
Across the room, a couple of his teammates were already completely gone. Shirts half undone, shouting over the music, one of them standing on a couch like this was still the pitch and not a crowded club. Someone else was filming everything; for a moment, he swore he saw Lamine doing an Instagram Live. They were going to regret it when they woke up in a couple of days.
He let himself drift away from it, slipping out of the circle without much resistance, looking for another room to be in, a space to clear his head. Luckily, no one really noticed when he left. There was always someone else to celebrate with.
For the first time that night, it was quiet.
Not silent, the bass still thudded through the walls, but quieter. Dimmer. A side room, maybe. The bar stretched along one side, less crowded, a handful of people scattered in half-shouted conversations. Others were dancing, bodies pressed together, couples making out in shadowed corners.
Pedri exhaled, running a hand through his hair, the faint buzz of alcohol settling somewhere warm behind his eyes. His phone vibrated again in his pocket, messages, notifications, people he hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly wanting to congratulate him, but he ignored it.
For a second, he just stood there. Breathing. Trying to take in the turn his life had taken over the past year. The past few days.
And then he felt it. That thing he’d gotten used to over the years; the weight of someone looking at him.
It wasn’t unusual. It never was anymore. So, at first, he didn’t react. Just another person who recognised him. That wasn’t new.
But he turned anyway. And then he saw him.
Leaning lazily against the bar, elbow resting on the surface, a glass hanging loose between his fingers. A man was looking at him.
Not just looking.
Watching.
Pedri held his gaze for a second, out of habit more than anything.
Otro más.
But something didn’t quite fit.
There was no rush in him. No giddiness. No smile of recognition, no phone coming out, no quick message to a friend.
And still, he didn’t look away.
If anything, he looked… curious.
Pedri frowned, just slightly. His eyes lingered a moment too long.
The man didn’t move. Didn’t step forward. He just stayed there, like he had all the time in the world, and Pedri was something worth taking his time with.
And suddenly, the room felt too loud, too full, too much. Something shifted. Pedri tilted his head, almost unconsciously, studying him now with the same quiet intensity.
He knew the man had recognised him, that much was obvious. But there was something else, something that didn’t follow the usual script Pedri had learned over the years.
Pedri let out a soft breath, something close to a laugh, though he wasn’t sure why.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand.
Igual eres mi próximo error.
“There you are!”
An arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him away from the room; and from him.
“Bro, we’ve been looking for you,” Gavi said, already steering him through the crowd, heads turning as they pushed past.
Pedri couldn’t help but glance back.
“Geri just threw up! You’re missing the good stuff!” Gavi added, grinning.
“Have you been giving him drinks nonstop again? You know he can’t handle alcohol.”
“I may have?”
Pedri sighed, wondering, not for the first time, how he’d ended up with Gavi as his second captain.
Still, a smile slipped onto his face.
Back in the main room with his team, nothing had changed. If anything, it had gotten worse.
The music was louder, the crowd thicker, bodies pressing together as the night dragged on. Fermín had climbed onto another couch. Gavi had lost his shirt entirely, like one of those match days where he refused to keep it on while sitting on the bench. Eric and Joan had been giddy around each other all night, and Pedri was one second away from telling them to just fuck already so the rest didn’t have to watch them obliviously flirt.
Bernal had an arm thrown around his shoulders, pulling him into a conversation he wasn’t really following.
Pedri tried to engage, nodding at the right moments, letting out a distracted “sí” here and there, but his attention kept slipping.
His eyes moved without him meaning to, scanning the room, sliding over faces, lights, movement.
He didn’t even realise he was doing it at first.
Until he saw him there. Across the room.
Near the edge of the crowd, half-hidden in the dim light. It was him.
Pedri stilled for half a second, his gaze catching.
Still the same posture. Still that calm, almost lazy way of standing, like none of this chaos really touched him. Talking to someone now, laughing at something the other person was saying.
Pedri looked away first.
¿Qué haces?
He reached for his drink again, taking a longer sip this time, the alcohol warmer now, heavier.
When he looked back, he was gone.
Pedri frowned slightly, scanning the space again, slower this time.
Nothing.
“Bro, are you listening?” Bernal nudged him.
“Sí, sí,” Pedri lied easily, dragging his attention back where it was supposed to be.
It lasted maybe a minute or two. Then his eyes were moving again.
He found him a second time near one of the side corridors, leaning against the wall this time, one shoulder pressed back, head tilted slightly as he listened to someone speaking. The light caught him differently there, clearer, sharper.
Pedri noticed things he hadn’t before.
His hair, slightly long, falling just enough to look careless, like it had never been styled on purpose. Something about it reminded him, stupidly, of a cartoon he’d seen years ago with his niece. Flynn Rider, maybe.
He almost laughed at himself.
He checked him out, slower this time.
He was taller than him. Not by a ridiculous amount, but enough. Broad shoulders, posture relaxed but steady. He moved like someone who knew his body. Not one of those gym bros, but something else.
An athlete, probably.
Pedri’s jaw tightened faintly, as he let his eyes linger a second longer than necessary.
The shirt didn’t help.
Dark, slightly open at the top, a couple of buttons undone like it hadn’t even been a decision. It fit him too well, clinging just enough, loose in the right places.
Te queda tan bien esa camisa…
Pedri looked away, exhaling through his nose.
This was getting… Something.
“Estoy con mis amigas de reojo mirando…”
The lyrics drifting from the speakers slipped into his head without warning, half-formed, almost mocking. Except he wasn’t even with his friends anymore, not really.
Still, he kept looking.
By the time he lost him a third time, the alcohol had settled deeper.
Everything felt softer around the edges. Slower, but faster and confusing.
Pedri ran a hand over his face, pushing through the crowd again, not even sure where he was going now. He told himself he didn’t care.
It didn’t matter. It was just someone in a club. So why…?
He checked the corridor.
Nothing.
The bathrooms.
Empty, or at least not him.
Another room.
Still nothing.
Pedri clicked his tongue softly, shaking his head, almost annoyed at himself now.
¿Pero dónde…?
He let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and frustration.
And then…
There.
At the bar. Exactly like he had seen him before. Leaning, one elbow resting against the surface, a glass in his hand, head slightly lowered like he’d just been waiting, mocking Pedri. Like he hadn’t moved at all.
He stopped without meaning to, his steps slowing, something tightening low in his chest.
Their eyes met. This time, neither of them looked away.
A second.
Two.
Three.
Pedri felt it again, that shift, sharper now, heavier. And then, he moved. Not Pedri. Him.
Pushing off the bar, straightening just slightly, glass still in his hand as he started walking toward him. No hesitation. No rush either.
Pedri’s breath caught, just barely.
Fuck. Up close it was worse.
Or better.
No, it was definitely worse.
“Capitán.” The man said, voice low enough that Pedri had to lean in a bit just to catch it. There was amusement on his voice, like he was aware of the interest he had awakened on him.
Pedri let out a soft laugh.
“That's original,” he replied, his eyes scanning the man's features. “You rehearsed that one?”
A small smile pulled at the corner of the man’s mouth.
“’Maybe,” he admitted easily. “I had to start somewhere.”
That made him chuckle, shaking his head, but he didn’t look away.
Up close, he could see the details better, the faint shadow of a beard, the way his hair fell just slightly out of place, sticking at his forehead, sweat making his skin shine under the low lights, the open collar of his shirt.
Joder…
“So?” Pedri said after a beat, tilting his head slightly. “You always stare at people like that, or am I special?”
“Maybe a bit of both,” the man replied, without missing a beat.
Pedri raised an eyebrow, something amused flickering across his face.
“Careful,” he said, bringing his drink to his lips. “That kind of line usually works better on people who aren’t used to it.”
“I know,” he said simply.
That made Pedri pause. Not defensive. Not impressed. Just aware. The man knew exactly who he was talking to and didn’t care enough to adjust.
“You’re here anyways,” Pedri pointed out, a hint of challenge slipping into his tone.
The man’s gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, tracing the line of Pedri’s mouth before lifting again, unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.
“Sí,” he said, voice low but steady. “I want to have fun tonight. Don’t you?”
There was something in the way he said it, no pressure, no expectation, just certainty; that made something in Pedri’s chest shift, a quiet flutter he wasn’t entirely prepared for.
“And you thought of me,” Pedri replied, tilting his head slightly, the tease sitting somewhere between genuine curiosity and habit.
“I saw you,” he corrected, just as easily. “And I thought… igual merece la pena.”
Pedri exhaled softly, his fingers tightening just a fraction around the glass in his hand, grounding himself in the familiar weight of it.
Okay.
“And what if it’s not?” he asked, his tone lighter than the thought behind it. “What if it’s not worth it?”
The man only shrugged, the movement loose, unbothered.
“Then I’ll have another drink,” he said, lifting his glass just slightly, “and I’ll go on with my life.”
That made Pedri laugh, properly this time, something warmer slipping through.
“That’s a lot of confidence.”
“It’s easier this way,” he replied, and then, after a brief pause, he leaned in just enough for his voice to brush against Pedri’s ear. “There’s not much to lose.”
Pedri stilled for a second, something in his expression tightening, sharpening.
“I do.”
The words came out quieter than he expected, more honest than he meant them to be.
The man pulled back just enough to look at him properly, head tilting ever so slightly, like he was trying to read something deeper than the words themselves.
“Ah,” he said after a moment. “The rumours.”
Pedri’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Rumours fly.”
“Let them fly.” He replied, with a simplicity that felt almost disarming.
For a moment, Pedri just looked at him.
“¿Ah, sí?”
“Sí.” His voice softened, not weaker, just closer. “Not everything has to be so complicated.”
There it was again, that strange feeling, like the space around them had stretched, like the music and the voices and the constant movement of the club had been pushed a step further away, leaving them in something quieter, more focused in its place.
Pedri let his gaze drop, intentionally this time, tracing the line of his mouth before lifting again, slower now.
“And what exactly are you suggesting?” he asked, teasingly.
A faint smile returned, unhurried.
“That you let yourself have some fun.”
It was simple. Almost too simple.
And maybe that was the problem, because Pedri knew he should brush it off, should deflect, should fall back into something easier, something safer.
Instead, he found himself stepping closer.
“¿Y tú?” he asked, his voice lower now, more contained. “Are you planning on having fun too?”
“Sí.”
No hesitation. No doubt.
Pedri held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, feeling something settle into place, something that felt dangerously close to a decision already made.
“People are staring,” he murmured, almost out of habit, his eyes flicking briefly past him.
“They always do,” he replied. “Let them.”
Pedri let out a quiet breath that turned into the faintest hint of a laugh, shaking his head, though he didn’t step back. If anything, he leaned in further, drawn by something he wasn’t fully naming yet.
Around them, the room seemed to compress again, the noise rising, pressing in, people glancing over, whispering, recognising, but it all felt distant, secondary.
“You’re very calm about it,” Pedri said, studying him now with open curiosity.
“I told you.” He replied, tilting his head slightly. “I came here to enjoy myself.”
“¿Conmigo?” Pedri asked, the challenge still there, but softened now by something else, interest, maybe.
“As you wish,” he answered, almost playful.
Pedri clicked his tongue, as if considering it, even as his body had already betrayed him, closing the distance until their shoulders nearly brushed.
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“Does it bother you?”
For a second, Pedri didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, slow enough to feel intentional, his lips grazing the edge of his ear as he spoke.
“No,” he murmured. “I think I’m starting to like it.”
That did it.
Not a big reaction, just the slightest shift, a flicker in his expression that told Pedri that this man wasn’t completely immune to his charm.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
And then…
“Pedri.”
The spell broke. Of course. He had forgotten he was supposed to be celebrating a title with his team.
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose, already knowing who it was, while the man observed him with an amused look on his face.
“Joder…” he muttered under his breath before turning.
Gavi stood a few steps away, still shirtless, still slightly sweaty, looking between them with narrowed eyes and absolutely no shame.
“¿Y este tío?” he asked bluntly. “Who is he?”
“Un amigo,” Pedri answered quickly, though the word felt incomplete. He still didn’t know his name.
Gavi didn’t buy it for a second.
“Since when you have friends that look like this and we’ve not been introduced?” he shot back, stepping closer, clearly inserting himself into the space.
“Gavi…”
“Hola,” the man cut in smoothly, offering his hand, composed in a way that only made everything more obvious.
Gavi’s gaze flicked between them, and Pedri watched, almost helplessly, as understanding settled in.
“Oh,” he said slowly, a smirk appearing on his face.
Pedri’s stomach dropped.
“No,” he said immediately.
Gavi raised an eyebrow.
“Sí,” he replied, way too pleased with himself.
“That’s it, I’m leaving.” And before anything else could be said, before Gavi could turn this into something louder, messier, Pedri turned back, caught his hand without thinking, and pulled.
“Ven.”
He followed without resistance, his fingers curling around Pedri’s with an ease that sent something warm up his arm.
While they started to push through the crowd, they managed to hear Gavi behind them.
“Nice meeting you man!” He was shouting. “I’ll want updates tomorrow bro.”
They moved through people quickly, weaving between bodies, slipping past noise and light and attention that lingered just a little too long.
Pedri didn’t really know where he was going.
Only that he needed distance.
Vamos solos al baño…
The thought came and went, reckless, fleeting. That wasn’t the best idea, he needed to think of something else.
“¿Siempre haces esto?” his voice came from just behind him, close enough to feel.
“¿El qué?”
“Kidnaping the men you’re about to make out with.”
Pedri glanced back over his shoulder, a faint smile pulling at his lips.
“Only when they’re worth it.”
Something in his gaze deepened, clearly satisfied by the answer he’d gotten.
The air outside hit differently; cooler, quieter, the bass from inside reduced to a distant pulse as the door closed behind them.
They ended up in a shadowed corner, the kind no one really looked at twice.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Pedri turned to face him fully now, closer than before, bodies pressed against each other.
“You must know everything about me,” he said, voice quieter now, steadier in a different way. “But I still don’t know your name.”
A small, knowing, smile blended with what followed.
“You’ll have to work for it.”
Pedri let out an amused breath, almost a laugh that flicked through him.
“¿Ah, sí?”
The man nodded, eyes fixed on him. He bent closer.
“Ask nicely.”
Pedri didn’t.
Instead, he reached for him, fingers catching in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in with a kind of impatience that had been building all night, and kissed him.
It wasn’t careful, or slow, or planned.
It was messy, a little rushed, all heat and impulse, like neither of them had the patience to pretend otherwise anymore, like whatever had been building between them all night had finally snapped.
Pedri felt it immediately. Not just attraction, not just the lingering haze of alcohol, but something sharper, something that settled deeper under his skin and made his grip tighten just a little more than he intended. It ran through him like a spark, quick and electric.
“Tell me something about you,” he murmured against his mouth, his breath uneven, barely giving himself the space to speak.
There was a pause.
Pedri almost groaned at the loss of contact, the sudden absence already too noticeable, but he held it back, forcing himself to stay still, because as much as he wanted him, he also wanted answers.
“I coach kids.”
Pedri pulled back just enough to look at him properly, something like surprise flickering across his face. It fit, somehow. He looked like someone who kids would trust.
“That’s all I get?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“For now.”
This time, Pedri didn’t hold back the groan, low and frustrated, which only earned him a soft laugh.
“Then I guess I’ll have to keep asking,” he muttered, already closing the distance again.
“Or keep earning it.”
And that. That did something to him.
Whatever space had been left between them disappeared again as Pedri leaned in, kissing him harder this time, less hesitant, more certain. His hands slid up into his hair, fingers tangling without restraint as he was guided back against the wall, strong arms holding him there with an ease that made his breath catch.
It went on like that, unsteady, consuming, until the need for air forced them apart.
Pedri let his forehead fall briefly against his, eyes closing as he exhaled, trying and failing to steady his breathing.
“I don’t even know what we’re doing,” he admitted, voice quieter now.
“Me neither.”
A breath of laughter slipped out between them.
“I don’t know you,” Pedri added, softer this time, almost like he was testing the weight of it.
“Not yet.”
The words lingered there, in the small space between them, mixing with the sound of their breathing, still uneven, still too close. But those words were all he needed.
“Fuck it.”
The decision came easily. Too easily.
Pedri’s hand found his again, fingers intertwining with a certainty that felt both grounding and reckless at the same time.
“Vámonos.”
A slight raise of an eyebrow, amused, curious.
“¿A dónde?”
Pedri smiled, already pulling him along, not giving himself time to reconsider.
“My house.”
The call was made and the car arrived quicker than Pedri expected. He kept it brief when he gave the address, voice low, head slightly turned away trying to hide his face.
“Sí… but I’d appreciate some discretion.”
The driver nodded, professional, uninterested, or at least good at pretending to be.
Still, as they slipped into the backseat, Pedri felt that familiar awareness settle under his skin. Even with tinted windows, even this late, there was always the chance of being seen, of being recognised.
The door shut with a soft thud behind him, and suddenly, everything narrowed.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Ferran shifted, just slightly, his knee brushing against Pedri’s.
And Pedri didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his leg press back, slowly enough to let him know it was deliberate.
“Do you always leave with random men?” Ferran murmured, his voice low, threaded with something almost amused.
Pedri turned his head just enough to look at him, eyes adjusting to the dim light, taking him in again like he hadn’t already done it a hundred times that night.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” he replied, softer now.
A faint smile tugged at Ferran’s mouth.
“You didn’t answer.”
Pedri hummed, like he was thinking about it, though his hand had already moved, settling casually on Ferran’s thigh, fingers brushing occasionally, like it meant nothing.
“Depende,” he said after a moment. “¿the men you talk about… are they always so interesting?”
Ferran’s breath hitched.
“That’s for you to decide.”
The city slid past them in streaks of light and shadow, reflections flickering across the windows, catching briefly on their faces before disappearing again. Soon, the streets began to change, wider and quieter, as they left behind Avinguda Diagonal and moved into the upper neighbourhoods of Barcelona, where the buildings grew larger and the night felt just a little more contained.
The ride wasn’t long. He didn’t live far from Laporta’s favourite place to celebrate. And yet, for Pedri, it was starting to feel like it dragged on far too much.
His fingers shifted again, this time not quite accidental, tracing a slow line up his thigh before pausing there, resting.
Waiting.
“Vale,” Pedri murmured, quieter now. “Otra.”
He waited for a second, making sure the man’s attention was on him.
“How old are you?”
Ferran tilted his head slightly, studying him like he was measuring how much to give.
“That’s an easy one,” he said. “Te la regalo.”
Pedri let out a soft scoff, pretending to be annoyed.
“How nice of you.”
“I’m 29.”
Pedri nodded once, eyes still on him, still close. 2 years older than him.
“Your turn.” Ferran added.
Pedri hesitated, just for a second.
“Twenty-seven.”
“I knew that.”
“Of course you knew that.” Pedri muttered, though there was no real irritation behind it.
Silence fell between them again, but it wasn’t empty. Pedri could tell they were both comfortable in it.
He saw him move his hand this time, resting just beside Pedri’s, close enough that their fingers brushed. Once. Then again. Then lingered.
Pedri didn’t want to move his hand away. His thumb shifted slightly, pressing just enough to acknowledge it.
“Your name,” Pedri said after a moment, lowering his voice, too afraid to be heard by the driver. “That’s not an easy question, is it? Lo quiero ahora.”
Ferran looked at him properly then, a sign of mischief flickering behind his eyes.
“No.”
Pedri blinked, caught off guard.
“No?”
“Not yet.”
A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped him.
“¿Me estás vacilando?”
“A little.”
Pedri leaned slightly back in his seat, though not far enough to break the contact between them.
“So, what do I have to do to earn it?”
Ferran leaned in, slowly until his mouth was just a breath away from Pedri’s ear.
“Just behave.”
A shiver run down his spine, his fingers tightening slightly, pressing against the leg where they rested.
“I’m not very good at that.”
“I can tell.”
An idea began to take shape in Pedri’s mind, pulling at the corner of his mouth into a faint, knowing smile. He turned his head, closing the distance without giving himself time to think, his lips brushing lightly against Ferran’s jaw, barely there, more a test than a kiss.
Ferran didn’t flicker, didn’t move away. Instead, his hand slid higher, firm against Pedri’s thigh.
“Careful,” he murmured. “We’re not alone.”
Pedri smiled against his skin but didn’t move back. They both knew exactly what they were doing, how close they were to crossing a line. It was a dangerous game they were playing.
“Then give me your name.” he whispered, his lips grazing just beneath his ear this time.
There was a pause and Pedri knew he’d won this round.
“Ferran.”
Pedri repeated it under his breath, like he was testing it.
“Ferran…”
Something about finally having it made him feel more awake, like the haze of alcohol had cleared just enough to let everything else settle into focus.
And he wanted more.
His hand moved again, slower this time, mirroring the way Ferran’s rested against his leg, his fingers pressing just slightly before easing again, like he was trying to learn him through touch alone, mapping something he didn’t yet understand.
“That’s better.” he whispered.
Ferran turned his head so that their faces were inches apart again, his gaze kept going back and forth between Pedri’s mouth and his eyes.
“That’s all you wanted to know?” he asked.
Pedri smiled, small, dangerous.
“For now.”
And neither of them moved away.
The rest of the ride blurred into something quieter, but at the same time intense. Shared glances, lingering touches, the constant awareness of how close they were without fully crossing the line again.
By the time the car slowed to a stop, Pedri’s pulse hadn’t settled once. And he wasn’t even sure he wanted it to.
They stepped out quickly. Pedri kept his head down out of instinct, keys already in his hand as he moved toward the door, aware of Ferran just behind him, close enough to feel his presence there.
“Rápido,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.
The key missed the lock the first time.
“Joder…”
“¿Nervioso?” Ferran laughed softly behind him, stepping closer.
“I’m fine,” Pedri said back, trying again, while cursing for having drunk so much.
This time, Ferran’s hand brushed lightly against his waist, steadying and distracting, both at once, and then his lips grazed the side of his neck, brief, but enough for Pedri’s heart to skip a beat.
“Not helping,” he muttered, though his voice had dropped.
“Yo creo que sí.” He couldn’t see Ferran, but he was pretty sure the man had the stupidest smirk on his face.
“Cállate…”
After a few more tries the door finally clicked open.
They slipped inside quickly, the door shutting behind them. They had just put a foot inside the house when chaos broke loose.
“¡Nilo!”
The dog came out of nowhere, a blur of excitement and paws and pure energy, launching himself straight at Pedri before immediately redirecting toward the new presence.
“Hey, hey!” Pedri started, laughing despite himself as he tried to grab him.
It was a bit too late.
Ferran had barely a second to react before he lost his balance slightly, stumbling back with a surprised sound as Nilo jumped up on him.
“I’m so sorry!” Pedri said quickly, moving forward to save his guest from the dog love-bombing he was suffering.
But then he stopped.
Because Ferran wasn’t pushing the dog away. He was laughing.
Actually laughing. Head tipped back slightly, hands coming up to steady Nilo as he let him climb all over him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hola, campeón,” he said happily, scratching behind his ears without hesitation.
Nilo, being the traitor that he was, immediately melted in the arms of his new friend, tail wagging with excitement.
Pedri blinked, and then his chest did something strange.
“You’re not helping,” he mumbled, almost unconsciously.
Ferran glanced up at him from where he was, dog still enthusiastically invading his space.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
Pedri shook his head, running a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up his neck. He could feel his cheeks flushed.
“Nothing.”
It probably was the alcohol. Because if it wasn’t, this was dangerous in a completely different way.
Ferran was still half on the floor, Nilo sprawled over him like he’d known him his whole life, tail wagging uncontrollably as Ferran laughed, completely unbothered, one hand still scratching behind his ears, the other steadying himself against the floor.
“You’re a little traitor,” Pedri declared, though there was no real annoyance behind it.
Nilo didn’t care.
Ferran glanced up at him then, still smiling, slightly breathless, eyes softer than they had been outside.
“I think he likes me.”
Pedri huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he finally stepped closer, crouching slightly to grab the dog by the collar.
“Okay, that’s enough. Let him breath.” He said gently pulling Nilo away, despite his protests.
Ferran pushed himself up slowly, he was close, within reach. And Pedri became suddenly aware of everything at once; the silence of the house, the absence of music, the way the night had taken them inside.
And Ferran was still looking at him. Not like before. Until then, he had always had a cocky smile on his face, now his face was more serious, like he was trying to learn all of Pedri’s features by heart.
Something in Pedri’s chest tightened.
“What?” he asked, in a soft tone.
Ferran shook his head slightly.
“You look different on TV; I like you better now.”
There was a pause.
Then Pedri stepped forward. No overthinking it this time.
His hand came up almost automatically, catching lightly at the fabric of Ferran’s shirt, pulling him just enough to close the space again, and then his mouth was on his.
It was different now.
Less rushed than outside, but not slower, deeper. Like now they had the time they hadn’t had before. Ferran responded instantly, his hands finding Pedri’s waist, steady, and slowly running them through his body until he reached his face, pulling him closer in a way that made it very clear he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
Pedri exhaled against his mouth, one hand sliding up to his neck, fingers brushing along his jaw before tangling lightly in his hair again.
They moved without thinking, step by step, guided more by instinct than direction.
“I need water,” Pedri muttered at some point, though he didn’t actually pull away.
“Mm,” Ferran hummed, clearly not listening.
They reached the kitchen almost by accident.
Pedri’s back hit the counter first, a soft sound escaping him as Ferran followed, closing the distance again without hesitation. The cold surface against his lower back contrasted sharply with the warmth pressing into him, grounding and dizzying at the same time.
“Weren’t you thirsty?” Ferran said against his mouth, barely pulling back.
Pedri shook his head slightly. Who cared about drinking water?
“Not anymore.”
That earned him a soft laugh, cut short almost immediately as Pedri pulled him back in.
Hands wandered again, slower now, more familiar even though they’d barely known each other for more than an hour. Like they were already learning where to rest, where to press, what got a reaction.
“Tell me something more.” Pedri said between kisses, voice raspy.
Ferran pulled back just enough to look at him, one hand still steady at his waist, thumb brushing absently against the fabric of his shirt.
“You don’t let go, do you?”
“You told me I had to earn it,” Pedri replied, quieter, but certain. “I am.”
He didn’t give him time to answer, leaning in again, this time slower, his mouth trailing along his jaw, down just enough to feel the shift in Ferran’s breathing.
He heard a soft exhale, the way Ferran’s head tilted back slightly, giving him space without even realising.
“I work at a football club,” Ferran said finally, his voice uneven in a way it hadn’t been before.
Pedri stilled for a second, pulling back just enough to look at him again, something like surprise flickering across his face.
“¿En serio?”
A small nod.
“Not Barça,” Ferran added, almost amused after seeing his surprise.
Pedri huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly.
“I figured so much.”
“The kids I coach, they dream of growing up to be like you.”
Pedri’s chest fluttered.
There was something about it that made Pedri look at him a second longer than before.
Then he leaned in again.
“I prefer it that way,” he admitted softly.
Ferran’s expression softened just slightly, warmth in his eyes.
“¿Sí?”
“Sí.”
Pedri’s hand slid from his waist to his wrist, fingers closing around it gently but with intention.
“Ven.”
Ferran followed without resistance.
They walked slowly, both eager for what was about to come but knowing they had all the time in the world. They barely made it out of the kitchen.
Pedri stopped halfway down the hallway, turning suddenly, pulling him back in as if the distance had already been too much. The kiss this time was deeper, less tentative, built on everything that had been stacking up since the car, since the street, since that first look across the room.
“Impaciente.” Ferran said against his lips.
“It’s your fault.” Pedri shot back softly.
A quiet laugh, breath mixing again, hands finding familiar places without needing to search for them anymore. They reached the bedroom almost without noticing.
Pedri paused by the doorway, breath uneven, the quiet of the room taking them in. For a second, it all caught up with him. How the night had started, the stranger who didn’t feel like one anymore, the way it had unfolded too easily.
Too quickly.
Ferran didn’t give him time to overthink it. He stepped in, closing the space between them like it was nothing, and closing the door behind him, trapping them in a world of their own.
And Pedri let him.
Hours later, a few sunrays filtered through his curtains forcing him to open his eyes. Slowly, fragments of the night before came back to him. A warm body against his, the steady rhythm of breathing next to him.
For a few seconds, he just stayed there, eyes half-closed, letting himself enjoy Ferran’s presence next to him, in that in-between state where nothing had settled into reality yet.
Things kept coming back. The club. The car. Him. All of him.
Pedri opened his eyes properly this time, Ferran was still there. Curled slightly towards him, one arm resting across his waist. His face relaxed, in a way that felt completely different from the cocky and sharp expressions he’d worn the night before. He looked younger. Peaceful.
Pedri exhaled quietly, something in his chest easing without him meaning it to.
He shifted slightly, just enough to look at him better without waking him up. His gaze lingering knowing he had all the time in the world. The night before, he’d learnt to take in the details, but observing him under the faint morning light, he was able to see some things for the first time.
The way his hair fell, messier now, longer strands brushing against his forehead. A small scar near his eyebrow made Pedri wonder, briefly, how he had gotten it. His gaze lingered on his face for a moment before drifting lower. The first thing he noticed were the hickeys.
A flush crept up his cheeks, the memory of the night before hitting him all at once. How careless he’d been, how intent on leaving a mark, something that would last longer than just a few hours. The thought pulled a faint smile from him, quiet and a little self-satisfied.
Then he saw the tattoos.
Pedri’s eyes followed the lines of the ones he could see, most of them getting lost on his back, curiosity stirring before the rest of him had fully woken up. Almost without thinking, he let his fingers trace one along Ferran’s arm, slow and careful, like he was testing the shape of it, making sure he wouldn’t wake him.
Ferran stirred anyway.
Not fully, just enough to shift beneath his touch, a quiet breath escaping him as his hand tightened slightly where it rested on Pedri’s waist.
“What are you doing…?” He murmured, voice raspy from sleeping.
“Nothing…” his fingers kept tracing his arm. “I was just looking.”
Ferran’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light, to him.
“Do you like them?”
Pedri shrugged slightly, though there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Depende,” he murmured. “I should see them better if I’m going to judge.”
Ferran let out a quiet chuckle, still half-asleep, and shifted closer, closing the small space between them like it was nothing.
“You’re too curious,” he muttered.
“Am not,” Pedri replied, softer now. “It’s just that you’re broody and mysterious.”
Ferran’s lips brushed against his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against his skin.
“That’s the plan.”
Pedri exhaled quietly, his hand moving again without much thought, tracing another line of ink, this time along his back.
“Vale,” he said after a moment. “I’ve got another question.”
Ferran hummed in response, eyes still half-closed.
“Where are you from?”
There was a pause. Not long, just enough to make it clear he was deciding whether Pedri had earned the answer.
“Valencia.”
Pedri’s heart picked up slightly at that.
“You’ve got a bit of an accent,” he said, teasing, his voice still low.
Ferran huffed softly, nudging closer, his face dipping into the curve of Pedri’s neck.
“A bit,” he echoed.
Then, after another brief pause, more careful this time;
“Però ja fa anys que visc ací.”
The shift in language caught Pedri off guard. It felt different somehow, warmer, more intimate that he’d had expected.
He smiled faintly, his gaze dropping again to where his fingers still rested against his skin.
“You speak Catalan,” he murmured, a touch of surprise slipping through.
“Parle valencià des de xicotet. És la meua terra.”
Pedri couldn’t help but smile at that. There was something about hearing him speak like that, intimate, like he was being let in on something personal without quite realising it.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Can you speak Catalan?” Ferran asked, lifting himself slightly so he could look at him properly.
“I can understand it,” Pedri admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips, “but I’d make a fool of myself if I tried to speak it.”
Ferran chuckled quietly.
“Maybe you’ll have to teach me.”
“Maybe.”
Slowly, silence settled between them again. Easy, unforced.
Ferran’s arm wrapped around him once more, pulling him in, and Pedri let himself sink against his chest, resting there as the weight of sleep began to creep back in, heavier this time. His eyes drifted shut almost without him noticing.
For a moment, he thought about saying something else, asking another question, getting another piece.
But the warmth, the steady rhythm of Ferran’s breathing… soon, his eyes closed again.
The last thing he felt was Ferran shifting slightly closer, his arm tightening just enough around him.
When Pedri opened his eyes again, it was noon.
His head was pounding, a dull, insistent ache that made him groan. For a few seconds, he just lay there, disoriented, caught somewhere between sleep and reality. Instinctively, he reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen stayed black. Completely dead. He dragged his hand over his face as the memories started coming back again. The club. The drinks. Him.
Right. He hadn’t charged it.
His eyes were still half-closed when he turned, acting on instinct more than thought, reaching for the warmth that should have been next to him. But the space beside him was empty. That made his eyes snap open. The sheets were cold. A hint of panic ran through him as he pushed himself up, eyes scanning the room. He looked for signs, for anything that proved it had happened. The scattered clothes, the mess they’d left behind.
Nothing.
He got up quickly, a bit unsteady, and stepped out of the room. His chest tightening in a way it hadn’t in a long time. The tap of paws against the floor distracted him momentarily of his spiralling.
“Nilo…”
The dog appeared almost instantly, tail wagging as he fell into step beside him, following room to room as Pedri checked each one in turn.
Bathroom. Empty.
Kitchen. Empty.
Livingroom. Nothing.
For a brief second, as he stood there, something faltered. Had it been a dream? His fingers came up to his lips, still sore. Then, to his neck, brushing over the faint bruises there.
No. It couldn’t have.
Sure, they’d both been clear. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than fun. A one-night thing. No expectations. Still…. He had thought he’d stay. He’d assumed he’d still be there.
He stood there, in the middle of the living room, until he felt Nilo brushing against his leg, grounding him back to reality.
“You hungry?”
Nilo wagged his tail in response and followed him to the kitchen, where Pedri got his food ready. Then, slowly, he turned back. The bedroom felt different when he walked in again, empty.
He frowned slightly, stepping further inside, his gaze drifting without really knowing what he was looking for. Until it caught on something he hadn’t noticed before.
On the nightstand, next to his phone, there was a glass of water. And beside it, a small pill. Pedri approached slowly, dubious. There was something else under it. A folded piece of paper, slightly tucked beneath the glass like it had been placed there on purpose.
His heart skipped a bit as he picked it up. For a second, he just stared at it. Then, he unfolded it.
This is for your hangover. I had fun yesterday.
Sorry I had to go. You’re not the only one with a job, you know.
You didn’t get all your answers, did you?
Maybe next time.
–F