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Pablo never liked away games. Even as a small kid with dreams larger than the stars, he’d never enjoyed the long car rides and how exhausted he felt afterward. Away games meant hotels the night prior and a sweaty bus full of fidgety teenagers anxious to get on the pitch and warm up. The mix of barely any sleep and the very noticeable lack of home support from fans in the stands always had him and the team on edge and today was no exception.
It was a hot day in Spain - the humidity in the air almost unbearable as Pablo stood in the tunnel, relishing in the cool air that kissed the top of his head. His hair was already stuck against his forehead, thankfully out of his eyes but he regretted missing the hair appointment his mother had scheduled for him.
Today they were up against Espanyol, one of their long-lasting rivalries. Both Pablo and Pedro were set to start, adorning purple vests as they took to the pitch to stretch their legs and work on passes. It was important that they won today - they were neck and neck with Real Madrid wanting nothing more than first place. In fact, Xavi expected it.
Pablo was eternally grateful for the opportunity he had to start with the first Barcelona team - to play with stars every game - but mostly, he was grateful he was able to play with Pedro.
Everyone knew who they were - a duo on and off the field in their own right. Midfielders that took La Liga by storm with scary passes and in-sync assists. They were adored. Really, it made no sense to Pablo that he was favored. Sure, with Pedro he understood the excitement of watching him play - loved watching him pass the ball from afar - but him? No.
As the team headed toward the end of the tunnel, a wave of humidity hit him in the face. He wanted to recoil - to complain about the weather to someone - but the person he felt most with wasn't anywhere within his vicinity.
Speaking of Pedro.
As Pablo took to the field, Pedro ruffled his hair as he ran past everyone, laughing at something Lewandowski said. It was a running joke between the two of them. Pedro knew how annoyed Pablo would get whenever anybody would touch his hair. He wanted to run after him - to poke him in the side and make fun of him - but there were cameras following him closely.
He'd have to get even later.
"C'mon, Pablo!" it was Ansu on the other end of the pitch, ushering him over.
He nodded, grabbing one of the spare balls so they could dribble together before he decided the camera didn't matter. He’d pay Pedro a visit.
On the way to Ansu, he snuck up behind Pedro, pinched his side with a grin and ran as fast as he could toward the other end of the pitch. The team was full of laughter now as Pedro pointed toward him.
"I wonder what he's saying." he whispers to Ansu.
"Well it's definitely about you." Ansu says teasingly.
Pedro's laughing at something Ferran says and - huh, well Pablo doesn't care - nope. Pedro is an adult who has free will and can make his own choices. No, Pablo is absolutely not jealous. He won't even entertain the thought.
"Here, pass me the ball." he says to Ansu, though he isn't looking at him when he speaks. His eyes bore into the back of Pedro's head.
"You okay?" Ansu asks.
"Uh, yeah. Let's .. let's practice." he clears his throat, focusing on what's in front of him - why he's here in the first place.
The game.
*
He should have been expecting the opposing team's aggression. As soon as Barcelona scored, Espanyol left them no room to breathe. Pablo had been fouled twice, his shirt covered in messy stains of green and brown that only seemed to worsen his mood. Tonight, he was forced to defend more than he'd ever had to before, throwing himself under other players to keep them away from the box, creating chances for his teammates and blocking any shot Stegen was unable to reach.
Pablo wasn't the only with a target on his back. A quick glance in Pedro's direction told him all he needed to know. The score was still one nil and the tension on the pitch was only growing. More and more players received yellow cards, annoyed at the referee for any decisions that didn't benefit them and their team. Pablo was frustrated at a multitude of things but mainly, it was because of Espanyol's midfielder who couldn't seem to leave Pedro alone.
At first, they were light touches - barely noticeable but Pablo's keen eyes were always on Pedro, anyhow. He watched as Espanyol's midfielder pressed against Pedro - taunting him in a way, almost as if to say there was no way he could retaliate.
Next was the tripping. No matter what Espanyol claimed, Pablo knew it was intentional - deliberate in the way he played it off, lifting his hands in innocence as the referee beckoned the both of them for questioning.
Each time Pedro was pushed to the ground, Pablo's heart was in his throat, desperately wanting to cross the space that separated them on the pitch so he could make sure Pedro was okay.
He was annoyed at the way the game was playing out, sure, but he was angry at the other team for thinking they could hurt someone - that their only working tactic was to injure Pedro.
After a third slide-tackle from one of Espanyol's defenders, Pablo decided he had enough. He refused to stand on his end of the pitch and do absolutely nothing as they hurt Pedro.
Sure, it was dangerous and risky and probably not the greatest idea he'd had, but he was running on adrenaline and nothing more. The idea seemed great in his head. When it was executed? Not so much.
As soon as the ball was in Espanyol's possession, Pablo dove in front of the midfielder. It was a risky, dangerous tactic for some but it was routine for him.
This was what he was here to do - this was what he was known for. What made headlines. He could hear the crowd behind Barcelona’s goal post cheer just as Sergi Darder, the midfielder he’d been toying with all evening, hit the ground. Due to the impact, Pablo quickly lost his footing, toppling over him in a mess of limbs and grass as he slid on his side. In the distance, Pedro shouted something angrily at him but he couldn’t quite hear him over the roaring crowd.
The game was temporarily halted as the referee blew his whistle but Pablo was distracted, toying with the hem of his shirt while he watched Sergi grab his ankle in agony, his hand thrown over his forehead.
Pablo’s eyes followed the back of Pedro’s shirt as he and a few other players sprinted toward the other end of the field where a fight had broken out. He figured he’d better get up and join them.
The crowd cheered excitedly as Ferran enticed Espanyol's goalkeeper, only keeping his distance because of Ansu holding him back, a protective arm slung over his chest.
Dazed, he watched several things happen at once;
The first punch of the night was thrown - really, it was badly aimed but the other player's intent was to injure Pedro. Mission accomplished. Pedro gripped his face, knees buckling until he was a heap of limbs on the ground, curled in on himself like Pablo had never seen before.
All he could see was red as he pushed himself up off the pitch, marching toward the nameless player, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Pushing Ferran out of the way, he shoved the other player in the shoulder, watching as he stumbled into the goalkeeper he'd been walking with. See, Pablo may not remember his name but he never forgot a face.
He could faintly hear the blow of a whistle but ignored it as he stood before Pedro's attacker, his arms crossed over his chest as he awaited the other's next move.
"Watch it." the nameless player grit out, taking a step toward Pablo.
He was about to strike again, wanting to kick the guy's shin more than anything but an arm wrapped around his frame, steadily holding him back as the referee rapidly approached them.
See, here's the thing. Pablo had already been yellow-carded due to a risky tackle last game. He knew what was about to happen and there was no room for arguing. He was already walking off the field before a red card was thrusted into the air.
Xavi's expression on the sideline was stone cold as he eyed Pablo. There was one thing for certain; he needed to get the hell off the pitch.
What Pablo didn't catch, though, was Pedro's disappointed stare as he watched him leave the field.
The locker room was cold and empty as he plopped down on one of the benches, staring at the ground in what felt akin to embarrassment. Why was he embarrassed, though?
The team would be fine without him. He rarely played a full 90 minutes, anyhow. Still. Pablo couldn't shake how nervous he felt. Faintly, he could hear the crowds cheering intensify.
Eventually, he heard voices echoing down the hall as his teammates rustled into the locker room. They seemed apprehensive, not looking him in the eyes as they focused on drinks and who they'd be subbing in.
That was when he saw Pedro, an unreadable expression on his face as he approached him.
Pablo opened his mouth to explain himself, to explain why he did it, but Pedro shushed him, grabbing him by the shoulder.
"Why would you do that?" it was sharp, wielded at Pablo in anger and for a short, split second, he wanted to flinch.
There was no way he was doing this now so he stayed silent.
"You can't throw yourself into pointless fucking fights, Pablo. You can't." this was something he knew - something Xavi reminded him every week during practice but with Pedro, it was different.
The room was silent now, everyone anxiously waiting to see what would happen.
"Now there's an angry coach on the field and teammates that needed you out there. You get that? We needed you." he was angry again, he realized. Why couldn't Pedro realize why he'd done it?
"You were hurt." Pablo finally uses his voice. "You say protecting your teammates is the most important thing to do. That's what I did." he spits out, hands shaking at his sides.
"Yeah, in progressive ways like helping them up when they fall and arguing against fouls. Not pushing and attacking other players, Pablo." why couldn't Pedro understand?
"I didn't know if you were alright! That guy didn't get a single card! That's bullshit! He hurt you!" Pablo's well aware he's screaming now, his eyes fiery as he begs for Pedro to understand - to not be upset with him.
"If you hadn't been forced off the field, you would've watched him get red carded as well." Pedro has never been good with confrontation. Pablo remembers learning about it months ago when they'd gotten into a disagreement about a game they were playing.
Pedro made Pablo promise he'd never yell at him unless he really deserved it. Pablo guessed he really deserved it today because by the time Xavi stormed into the locker room, his voice was hoarse.
"No fighting! No fighting!" Xavi demands, motioning for Lewy and Ansu to separate them.
Pablo desperately tries to read Pedro from where he stands uselessly in his corner of the locker room. He isn't even sure why he's sitting in on this meeting. It's not like he'll be able to play.
As suspected, Pedro ignores him, focusing his attention on Xavi who stands angrily in the middle of the room. It's hard not to focus on him. He's exasperated, for one - upset that the team's morale has dropped. Sure, they're up one but how long is that going to last?
"With Gavi off the field, we need to focus on broadening the score. Pay attention! Stop fucking slowing down. Defend!" he slaps his clipboard with each word he enunciates.
A chorus of 'yes coach's' fill the locker room as Xavi claps once, focusing in on Pablo.
"You. With me. Now." there is no room for argument.
Once again, he tries for Pedro's attention - silently begs for it, in fact, but the other is keen on ignoring him.
When they're out in the hallway, Pablo fixes his posture while he watches his coach pace back and forth.
"I'm sure Pedri has spoken with you already?" he tries, his voice uneasy.
Pablo can tell he's angry - not the direct, upfront rage he's used to seeing on the pitch. No, this is silent and concealed - hidden behind his eyes as he addresses Pablo's mistake.
"Yes coach." he mumbles.
"There's no point in fussing over it. We have fifteen minutes to rearrange the lineup. What's done is done." Xavi says, checking his watch.
Pablo's not sure what he's supposed to say - what Xavi's alluding to.
"I'm sorry, coach." he says instead.
"You should be."
Pablo stays in the quiet hallway long after Xavi's left, ignoring the way his heart pangs in his chest anytime he thinks about Pedro. Sure, they'd fought before - after all, they were only human - but this time, things felt different.
He knew Pedro was thinking about the team. In a way, Pablo should have been too before he selfishly sacrificed himself for a single player. Okay. Maybe he understood why everyone was disappointed in him.
Still, it bothered Pablo that Pedro couldn't see why he'd be willing to do that for him.
Eventually, Ansu found him sitting against the wall with his head in his knees. He was still in the very same hallway Xavi had left him.
"Hey, they told me to come get you." Ansu says, his voice low and quiet.
"They must miss me so much." he tries to tease but it comes out flat.
"That and the bus is waiting for us." Ansu holds a hand out, waiting patiently for Pablo to grab it.
"Thanks." he says, following Ansu back into the locker room so he can change out of his kit.
A shower isn't an option right now since they're waiting on him.
He pulls on a sweatshirt, some joggers and the slides he wore to the game, eternally grateful that Ansu decided to wait with him. He doesn't like being in the locker room by himself.
Ansu holds the door for him as he slings his bag over his shoulders. It'll be a little ways to the bus but that's okay.
"Maybe you should talk to Pedro on the bus." Ansu suggests. It was raining outside now but they were prepared.
"Sure." he mumbles, not believing Ansu in the slightest.
"I'm serious, Pablo. I think the both of you should talk to each other." he sounds adamant about this, pulling on one of the sleeves of Pablo's hoodie.
"I guess. I already said my piece back in the locker room, though. Not sure what else I could say." he grumbles.
"Maybe say you're sorry?" and Pablo stops right then and there.
"But I'm not sorry for defending him. He was hurt, Ansu. And it scared me." Pablo whispers the last part to himself but if Ansu's eyebrow twitching was anything to go by, he heard it as well.
"Maybe tell him that, then. Pedro seemed upset that you weren't on the field more than anything." he supplies just as they're approaching the bus.
"You go first." Ansu says, poking him in the side.
As he boards, Lewy, who normally occupies the front two seats with his belongings, offers Pablo a warm smile as he walks toward his usual spot; the back of the bus.
That was where Pablo and Pedro always sat together. It was a bubble in a way - oftentimes they were too engrossed in each other to care about what else was going on.
This time, however, Pablo only made it halfway down the aisle before he noticed someone, more specifically, Ferran, was sitting in his seat. He stopped abruptly causing Ansu to bump into him.
"Hey what's-" Pablo knew he saw the same thing. "Hey it's okay, you can sit with me. I'm sure Frankie won't mind." but Pablo can barely hear Ansu's voice over the ringing in his ears.
He's still as he watches Pedro, his lips parted in what he assumes is a mixture of anger and sadness, finding he can't move. Still.
Pablo watches Pedro, albeit tired, laugh at something Ferran whispers in his ear. Fine. If that's what Pedro wants to do. That's completely fine.
He lets Ansu softly guide him toward where they'll be sitting for the next few hours. It doesn't bother him. It doesn't.
Except it really, really does.
*
Pablo thinks he dozes off because he shoots out of his seat when the bus comes to a stop, Ansu silently laughing as he sits back down.
"You were drooling." he points out, the headphones he'd been wearing during the trip home resting on his shoulders.
Pablo grabs Ansu's jacket sleeve and wipes his mouth on it, relishing in the offended look his friend sports.
"See. No more drool."
"You're disgusting." he groans.
"You were asking for it." he shoots back though there's no real malice in his voice.
"C'mon, let's get our stuff." Ansu says, making room for Pablo to grab his backpack. Their suitcases were packed away below the bus.
He couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and grab a shower-
Wait.
How was he going to get home if he and Pedro weren't on speaking terms?
The fear must've been present on his face because Ansu noticed almost instantly.
"Pablo? What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asks and, well, Pablo lies.
"Yeah. It's nothing." he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Once they're off the bus, everyone's too tired to linger. Pablo watches his teammates head to their cars, driving off until it's just him, Pedro and Xavi.
He can hear the conversation as he waits for what. He isn't sure.
Every now and then, they eye him as they talk, voices barely above whispers as they discuss him.
Eventually, they part. Xavi heads inside to grab something as Pedro, who keeps his distance, stands on the edge of the sidewalk. He looks like he wants to say something - looks like he wants to walk over and say something to Pablo but he never does.
He watches as Pedro reaches into his pocket, pulls out his keys and walks to his car. The sinking feeling in his stomach is back as he hears the familiar hum of an engine - Pedro's engine - turn on. Embarrassingly, Pablo feels like he might cry.
"Why are you still here?" it's Xavi's voice that momentarily distracts him.
"Um," he clears his throat. "I don't have a ride, coach." he feels dumb.
"Must I do everything." without another word, Xavi heads toward his car. Pablo guesses he should follow.
"Put your address in, kid." Xavi hands him his phone, waiting patiently as Pablo types.
"Thank you." he says quietly.
"Not yet. Thank me after you talk with Pedri. Don't think I didn't notice the two of you avoiding each other. Now, I know you won't be able to play our next game because of your little mistake but I still expect the two of you to train together." Xavi says as they pull out of the parking lot.
"I know, I know." Pablo says. He's not even mad at Pedro. He's just confused, is all.
"I wanted to talk with him on the bus but he wasn't sitting with me." he has to admit it feels weird telling his coach about things that don't pertain to football though Xavi doesn't seem to mind, nodding along like he's used to this sort of thing.
Hey, maybe Pablo doesn't feel so bad after all.
"I don't care how you do it - I just hope the issue is resolved by Monday morning or you're both benched. We wouldn't want that, would we." he says as they pull into Pablo's apartment complex.
"Yes, coach. Thanks, coach." he says, grabbing his things from the backseat.
"Don't mention it." Xavi says, then he seems to remember something. "Don't forget. Talk to him." he grits out, peeling away.
Right.
Easy.
They could talk.
Definitely.
It was Saturday evening and they still hadn't talked. It was eating Pablo alive. He knew it wasn't like them at all. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without being in Pedro's presence.
It felt silly to check his phone for a message that wouldn’t await him.
He knew he was being stubborn - that he should reach out and get it over with - but he was immature. He wanted Pedro to come to his senses - to call him and apologize so they could go back to how they were prior.
That was why Pablo decided to host the game-winning party.
Really, it was Ansu's idea but if you asked Pablo, they came up with it together. He decided he'd take some credit for the plan, or 'mission-reunite-pedri-gavi' as Ansu had dubbed it over the phone, they'd concocted that same morning.
"Have the team come over so you don't have to invite Pedro personally. Then you can talk to him!" Ansu says in one big breath.
He had to admit the plan was genius.
"What if he doesn't show up?" that was the only fault.
"He'll show up. Trust me." Ansu says.
And Pablo believes him.
He never spends much time at his own apartment anymore, Pedro's being a second home for him, really, so there isn't a lot he has to do when it comes to getting things ready for the party.
He knows they'll bring drinks so there's no concern with that.
Pablo glances at the clock on his wall, realizing he still has a few hours before anybody plans on showing up so he sits on the couch and watches an older Barcelona match to pass the time.
He finds he's not used to the reality of being alone. Anytime Barcelona scores, he wants to tap Pedro on the shoulder and explain what occurred - wants nothing more than his company but the other end of the couch is empty. A rude reminder of what he'd potentially ruined, really. He has nobody to blame but himself.
He's rarely anxious over anything - it's just not who he is as a person - but as he sits alone in his apartment, the only thing keeping him from going crazy being the Barcelona game he has on in the background, he lets the anxiety settle in like the rolling tide in the evening.
Pablo realizes he doesn't like the unknown - hates it, in fact.
Eventually, the guests start rolling in which gives him something to focus his attention on.
Ansu pesters him about what he's going to say to Pedro and, well, he hasn't exactly worked that out yet.
"I'll probably just walk up to him and ask if we can talk in the next room." he says nonchalantly. He's never put much thought into anything he's said to Pedro.
"No! You can't say that. What if he thinks you're still mad at him?" Ansu says, sipping the weird concoction he'd made them. Pablo doesn't exactly like drinking but he figures he'll need some liquid courage.
"What do you mean?" he asks. The music is loud and his skin is warm.
Between the shots and weird mixtures he'd tried, he definitely wasn't the most sober he could be.
"Well, think of it like this. If Pedro randomly approached you after the two of you had an argument, asked you to follow him into an empty room and didn't allude to what he was going to say, wouldn't you be nervous?" and - okay. Pablo hadn't considered that.
"What will I do then?" he throws his drink back until the cooling sensation of ice hits his face.
"Stop drinking for one." Ansu says, trying to grab the cup out of Pablo's hands. His reflexes are faster, though, so he has no trouble hiding it behind his back.
"No! This is a party. I'm supposed to have fun." and that's that. He heads into the kitchen, stumbling over himself momentarily before he regains his composure. The only thing on his mind right now is getting something else to drink.
What he doesn't expect to find in the kitchen is a standoffish Pedro arguing with Ferran.
"What the fuck am I supposed to say to him? That I love him and want him to stop hurting himself for me all the time? Fuck that." was he talking about Pablo? He ducks behind the corridor so he can listen in without being seen.
"You should stop lying to him, you idiot. Right now he doesn't know why you're mad at him and it's eating him alive. Ansu told me!" Pablo's heart rate picks up at the mention of Ansu's name.
"Just get out of my way." Pedro mumbles. Pablo almost misses what he says entirely because of the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears.
"No. Not until we settle this." Ferran crosses his arms, blocking the entryway to the kitchen.
"What's there to settle?" Pedro says.
"Tell him the truth." Ferran repeats.
Pablo wants to leave - to escape the party as a whole but it's at his house and he can't just kick out 60 guests.
Conveniently, he bumps into Ansu.
"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere." he says, dragging Pablo out into the living room. A few of the guests are playing fifa on his tv, an array of filled shot glasses sitting on top of the coffee table.
He grabs one, tilting his head back. It burns but Pablo's sure he deserves it. As he reaches for another, Ansu stops him.
"Pablo calm down!" he wasn't sure why Ansu was being so adamant about staying sober.
"No!" he whines - whines because he's only eighteen and because he's beginning to feel the effects of all the shots he'd had earlier.
He doesn't notice Pedro and Ferran walking into the living room as well, too engrossed in the little shot glass he's holding.
"Did you know my favorite color is blue?" he whispers to Ansu, fascinated at how lovely the design was. "Pedro's is purple," he adds.
Someone snatches the shot glass out of his fingers much to his discernment.
That's when he sees him.
"Pedro!" the o is ridiculously dragged out as he stumbles over toward him. "Hi!"
"Hello." Pedro peels Pablo off of him, holding him steady as he blabs to Ansu about something they'd been doing the other day. Though, as he thinks about it, he can't exactly take his eyes off of Pedro.
Had Pedro's eyes always been so sparkly?
"You're so pretty," Pablo slurs, his cheeks red.
"And you're drunk." Pedro says much to Pablo's dismay.
"Am not!" and he's whining again. "Okay maybe a little bit," he admits.
"A lot, actually." Pedro says.
"Hold me!" Pablo begs and really, Pedro can't say no to him.
"Pablo wait-" but it's no use as he's already in the other's arms.
"Jesus he's warm. Is he running a fever?" Pedro asks Ansu and Ferran who both shrug.
"Nope!" Pablo slurs. He's not sure why he would have a fever. He doesn't even feel sick.
Pedro's holding him close, his arms wrapped around his waist as he talks to Ansu and Ferran. Pablo doesn't understand what they're saying.
"You guys were supposed to look out for him and make sure this didn't happen!" Pedro seems angry - really, really angry.
"It was me who- who wanted to drink! Not them! They told me to stop and- and I didn't." he says without moving. Pedro mumbles something under his breath.
"I'm taking him to his room. Can you guys try to clear the party out? We have practice tomorrow. This should have never happened." Pablo groans at how dizzy he feels when Pedro lets go of him, spinning him around toward his room.
"I'm sorry." Pablo says suddenly. They're back in his room now, the door shut as he struggles to take his socks off. It's making him incredibly frustrated.
"Here, let me help you-" but Pablo cuts him off.
"No! I've got it." he slurs, falling back onto the bed in triumph once he gets the first sock off.
"What are you sorry about?" Pedro tries.
"About the fight? I don't know why you got mad at me. I just want to protect you." Pablo says as he struggles with his jeans.
"Pablito," Pedro whispers. "I'm supposed to protect you."
"No! You're being stupid because- because you think you're older. I can protect you too." he's sitting on his bed now, his head light and airy as he spills everything he'd kept so concealed.
Pedro's mouth is agape.
"I want to help you but every time I do, you get mad." and as his voice goes, he accepts the fact that he might cry drunk and alone despite Pedro's company.
"Because I don't like seeing you hurt, Pablito. Sure, somebody might rough me up on the field but eventually, I get back up. When you get subbed off the pitch, that hurts you as well." his voice sounds incredibly vulnerable and Pablo can feel himself sobering up.
"How do you think I feel when I hear you scream in pain? When you fall down and there's a split second where I wonder if you're out- out for the rest of the season." why can't he stop rambling?
Pedro's silent for a moment, taking in everything Pablo said with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I guess .. I guess I never considered that." he whispers, sitting beside Pablo on the bed. He refuses to look Pedro in the eyes, though, adamantly looking at his feet instead.
"Yeah, cause you're dumb." he says, a small smile on his face now.
A terrible thought occurs to him. He wants to kiss Pedro - wants to take his breath away and make his stomach swoop - wants to push his stupid hair out of his eyes and hold his hand.
He stops himself because that would be crossing numerous lines.
Though, because he's drunk, his mouth seems to have a mind of its own.
"I really want to kiss you." it seems to say. He slams a hand over it, hoping Pedro thinks the red on his cheeks is because of the alcohol.
"You want to- what?" Pedro's eyes are wide as he processes what Pablo said.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks again, a hint of need in his voice. Everything is still slurred because of the shots.
Pedro doesn't say anything as Pablo slowly leans in, their lips connecting in tandem. At first, Pablo does most of the work, sucking on Pedro's lower lip as his hand moves up his leg. Then something beautiful happens. Pedro reciprocates and for a sweet, too-short moment, all they can do is love each other in the only way they know how.
"Pablo," he says in between kisses. "Pablo. I can't." he tries to pull back but Pablo whines into his mouth. "You're drunk." he says and Pablo still doesn't understand though if Pedro doesn't want to, he'll listen.
Suddenly overcome by exhaustion, he lets himself fall backwards on his bed so his legs are dangling off. By now the music was off and the lights were no longer on underneath his doorframe but he couldn't find it in himself to care as he stared up at the ceiling.
There were little glow-in-the-dark stars he'd glued on when he'd very first moved in. Pablo had always been afraid of the dark as a kid - his one, true fear - something Pedro knew.
That was why he'd been gifted a galaxy lamp for his 18th birthday from Pedro. It never made it back to his apartment, though, positioned in the corner of his room at Pedro's. His heart felt funny in his chest.
"Do you know what my favorite constellation is?" he asks out, knowing Pedro's still there. Pedro will always answer him. It takes him a moment to answer but eventually he does, breaking the silence.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Orion. The- the story reminds me of you." admitting this here and now feels vulnerable.
Pedro's silent - an open invitation to elaborate.
"Orion's the name of an infamous hunter in Greek Mythology. It's the most visible in November right around your birthday. Basically, Hera got, like, really jealous he'd proclaimed himself as the greatest hunter in the world and had a scorpion kill him. That's why you're a Scorpio." he rambles. Pablo can't see Pedro from where he's laying but he knows he's there.
Without another word, he drags himself under the covers, his head dizzy as he lays still.
His limbs feel heavy.
He can hear Pedro moving long before the door opens but he doesn't want him to leave.
"Pedro! Please don't leave." he says, his voice wobbly.
"I should though." he doesn't sound sure of himself.
"But," he's not sure what to say. "I don't want you to go." he's aware he sounds obnoxious but he's too drunk to care in the slightest.
Pedro stands in the doorway as a wave of silence envelops them.
"Please," he tries.
Finally, Pedro gives in.
"Of course," he says, giving in to Pablo completely.
After he shuts the door, he heads toward the other side of the bed, taking his shoes off so he can lay beside Pablo.
"Are you- are you gonna sleep in your jeans?" he asks blearily.
"No, Pablito." Pedro says though his voice lacks any annoyance.
"Sorry," he says for what feels like the fifteenth time that night.
"You don't have to be," Pedro reassures quickly.
He's frustrated for numerous reasons but all he can focus on is the distance between them. Pedro's back is facing him so Pablo scoots until he's pressed against him.
"What are you doing?" Pedro asks, confused and tired.
"I want to be close to you." he says it simply - like it's not something sober-Pablo would never admit.
"We're already close to one another." Pedro says but even then, he's shifting so he's facing the other.
"Not enough." he huffs in annoyance.
"Go to sleep, Pablito." it's a whisper now.
He's not sure when he dozes off, but he does.
*
As the sun rose, trickling into his room despite the curtains he'd recently put over his windows, so did Pablo. Blinking slowly, it took his brain a moment to register the fact that it was indeed morning. Today everything felt foggy. as he shot out of bed, a series of things happened at once. First was the piercing headache in between his eyes, a cruel reminder that he was far too young to drink more than two cups of anything. Second was the mess in his room, his clothes thrown astray and things from his shelves in a pile he must've knocked over the night before in his haste to get to bed.
Blearily, Pablo grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on and threw it over his small frame, tripping over a shoe as he made his way into the kitchen. It stank of alcohol.
He barely registered that the jacket he'd put on smelt of him—of the coffee Pablo knew he drank in the morning and the freshly cut grass they trained on every wednesday. It smelt of Pedro. For a moment, he'd questioned why he had something of Pedro's carelessly thrown on the floor of his room and then, like a light switch, the memories from the night prior came flooding back.
The party the team had in his apartment.
That would explain the headache.
Pablo's heart fluttered when he remembered the circumstances. They'd shared a bed, their bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs but he found he didn't mind.
As he tried to further recount the night, it hit him; Pedro hadn't been there when he'd woken up.
Pablo's face was warm with embarrassment—something he'd always hated—as he wondered if he'd done something wrong. He was aware they weren't exactly on speaking terms but he was conscious enough last night in the earlier hours of the party to know he and Pedro hugged—that Pedro let him rest his head on his chest.
Why hadn't he been there this morning if they'd talked? What if Pedro was mad at him? his stomach sank. Oftentimes, Pablo was regarded as 'hot headed' by the media and his teammates which he didn't mind. it was true—he wasn't the most respectful player he could be on the field but he didn't care about faceless strangers he'd forget about in a week. Pedro was the first friend he'd made when he joined the team and that was what mattered to him.
Not talking was fine—okay, it wasn't, but it was better than the scenarios Pablo was creating in his head—they'd had the occasional fight before, albeit small and over something neither of them could remember after an hour or two but whatever happened last night—whatever Pablo had done—must've changed everything. He could tell Pedro’d left his apartment in a hurry.
He was glad he hadn't eaten breakfast yet, spitting bile into his sink as he tried to focus on calming himself down. His hands were shaking.
If anything, his question would be answered during practice. If Pedro didn't pass to him during scrimmage, he would know something was wrong.
That was when it hit him. Practice was today—something he couldn't afford to miss.
There wouldn't be time to make himself anything to eat today so he quickly threw some shoes on, brushed his teeth and somehow, mostly on autopilot, made it out the door, nearly dropping his phone as he dialed his mother's number. This was something he'd done a thousand times before. It was routine.
On the second ring, she picked up, her warm voice shrouding his senses, temporarily distracting him from his bad mood.
"Pablo? It's early. Is everything okay?" she asked him like any mother would.
She sounded as tired as he felt.
"Um," he cleared his throat. "I was wondering if I could have a ride to practice today?" Pablo whispered the last part, hoping he wouldn't have to repeat himself.
He could hear the rustling of keys in the background on his mother's end and sighed internally.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
After a chorus of 'i love you's', Pablo hung up the phone and put it in his back pocket. He'd rather run in a wet field in nothing but his socks than check his messages.
There was a chill in the air today - a stark contrast to the humid, sweat-slacken weather they'd grown used to. He hid his hands in the pockets of Pedro's hoodie, waiting in the lobby for his mother's car to arrive. Pablo didn't think he could stand the sight of his own apartment.
His head was entirely too sore already and he internally cursed past-Pablo for drinking as much as he had knowing there was a training today. How could he have been so foolish?
He was pulled from his thoughts because of the horn of a car - his mother's car - honking twice. She seemed excited to see him which made him feel all the more guilty. Sure, he'd spent time with her during and after the world cup. In fact, he needed his mother after their loss - but after the season picked back up, there hadn't been enough time to pay her a visit.
"Pablo Martín Páez Gavira, get over here and explain yourself!" his mother said as the window rolled down.
"Hey Mami." he stutters, his ears burning red.
"No calls, no texts, no nothing! Radio silence is not what we agreed on!" she says as he puts his things into the back of her car.
"It's my fault," he returns, taking full responsibility because it really was. "I should have sent you something." he mumbles, buckling his seat belt.
"I'm glad you're alright, Pablo. I've missed you." she says and okay, guilt is a usual thing to feel in regard to your parents - specifically your mother.
"I missed you too," he replies. They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound filling the car being his mother's playlist full of Shakira. Finally, she asks the impending question.
"I thought Pedro took you to training," she says and now that it's out in the open, the question hanging in the air like spilt milk, he really had to consider how he answers her.
"Well, we aren't exactly on speaking terms." it's hard to say - to admit somewhere besides his own head. He can see the gears turning in his mother's eyes - knows she wants to ask him what happened, so he beats her to it.
"I got a red card on Friday. I can't play our next game. He got upset with me and we just haven't .. talked since." he plays with the string of Pedro's sweater anxiously, hating the attention.
"You two always make up though." she points out, always looking for a positive.
"I don't know about this time." he admits quietly, staring out at the road. They're almost there.
"I wouldn't rule it out." she rubs his shoulder.
"Mami," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think I love him,"
"I know, baby." she says in the sad voice she often used when he was a kid. "Thank you for telling me."
"I can't do this," he says as they pull into the parking lot. He knows he'll have to face Pedro.
"Yes you can," she says, grabbing his hand. "Look at me." as much as he doesn't want to, he obeys.
"I know how much you care about him. All you have to do is talk to him." his mother reassures.
"But what if-" he begins but it's cut off.
"You'll never know unless you try. Don't create scenarios in your head about how it'll play out." and, okay, he hadn't thought about it like that.
"Thank you, Mami." his voice sounds soft to his own ears.
"It's nothing. You're my son. I'm supposed to have conversations like this with you. Now go and talk to him." she shoos him out of the car.
He grabs his bags and keys himself into the building, smiling as a staff member greets him.
"Do you know where I can find Pedro?" he asks quietly.
The woman seems to think for a moment before pointing toward the locker room.
"He arrived earlier this morning. He might still be getting ready but I'm sure he's warming up." she says sweetly.
"Thank you." he says, heading into the locker room.
As expected, it's empty.
He supposes he'll have to have this conversation on the field.
*
Since Pablo was so late to training, everyone was already working on passes by the time he made it onto the pitch. He knew Xavi's sharp eyes were zeroed in on him before he even pinpointed where he was on the field. He hoped the fact that he and Pedro didn't exactly talk things out wasn't obvious as he began stretching.
A whistle blew then catching Pablo's attention.
"Pedri! Gavi! Over here." Xavi demands, signaling the both of them over.
Pablo steals a glance of the other, watching as his hair, slicked with sweat, pushes back as he runs. He finds it hard to look away, wanting nothing more than to run his hands through-
Okay.
Enough of that. Though, he has to admit it all feels incredibly familiar. Almost like .. he'd done it before.
See, Pablo doesn't remember anything that happened the night prior. Just bits and pieces - stories he told his friends and cuddling Pedro.
"What is it coach?" he asks, trying for a smile that never comes to his face.
Xavi looks at him like he's said the most outrageous thing imaginable.
"Today you'll be working together on passes." Xavi checks their faces to make sure there aren't any hidden complaints.
"Are you sure?" Pedro asks, his voice hesitant.
"I've never been so sure of anything in my life." Xavi says, nudging them on their shoulders.
Why don't you want to work with me? Pablo wants to ask. He wears his heart on his sleeve.
"Gavi? What are your thoughts?" Xavi asks impatiently.
"If you think we need to run passes, then we'll do it." he concludes with a nod.
"Then it's settled." Xavi ushers them toward the other end of the field.
They pass in silence at first, avoiding each other like the plague. Pablo becomes familiar with the pattern of the other's boots as they travel down the field in tandem silence.
He's the first to speak - the first to address the tension brewing between them.
"Did you have fun at the party last night?" he asks.
"Yeah. Why?" Pedro's answer is short, only frustrating Pablo more.
"Just- Just checking." he purses his lips. He wants to scream or shout - why is he being ignored?
"Are you mad?" he tries.
"Why would you think that?" Pedro presses.
"Because you've been ignoring me since Friday." his lip quivers.
That's when Pedro stops and looks at him - really looks at him. The ball rolls past the both of them and really, Pablo should go get it - he could even make a joke of it - but all he can do is stand as still as possible.
"I'm not doing this here," he mumbles.
"Then we'll go somewhere else." he's begging now.
"You really don't remember, do you." Pedro mutters.
"Remember what?" that caught him completely off guard. For a terrifying second Pablo genuinely thinks Pedro's going to snap at him - his eyes widen for a moment before he seems to accept something.
"Whatever." as Pedro goes to walk away, Pablo grabs his arm.
"No! Make me understand Pedro! Please!" he's trying to keep his voice down but he can't help it.
"There's nothing about last night that resonates with you." despite how calm he seems on the outside, Pablo can tell he's cracking on the inside.
Without another word, he grabs Pedro by the sleeve and all but drags him back to the locker room. Once he closes the door, he smiles softly at a baffled Pedro.
"Sorry about that. I wanted to give us some privacy." Pedro still seems standoffish as Pablo addresses him.
It takes him a while to speak - they stand in the silence Pablo’s grown used to for a while as Pedro regains his composure.
"Last night, there were .. certain things you admitted that might .. change our sober friendship." Pedro seems to choose his words carefully.
Pablo's heart sinks. What the hell did he say last night? What the hell did he do? That's when he remembers. He'd kissed Pedro.
Pablo groans into his hands, hiding his face from the other.
"I .. I kissed you, didn't I?" and when Pedro nods like he's scared of what Pablo will say, his heart breaks.
Everything makes sense now. The avoidance, the lack of contact, Xavi interfering today, etc.
"I'm sorry if I ruined everything. I wasn't sober! I didn't- I didn't know what I was doing." and it hurts to admit because while he might not have been aware of his actions the night prior, he is now and he does like Pedro.
"You have nothing to apologize for. You were drunk. Things like that happen." he reasons but Pablo isn't having any of that.
"But I want to kiss you all the time!" he argues before realizing what he'd said.
"Do you really mean that? I have to be sure."
This catches Pablo off guard.
At his confused head tilt, Pedro continues.
"You'd have to be stupid to think it isn't reciprocated."
"You like me?" he's in shock.
"Of course I do," Pedro says from where he stands in the locker room. Pablo thinks they're too far apart.
"I like you too." he repeats dumbly. He can't help it. He's in shock.
"I know you do." Pedro's smile grows impossibly wider.
And since he's feeling brave,
"I think I love you." he's got his knees pulled to his chest and he really wants to hide his face but he doesn't. Pedro has to know this is genuine.
"I know." Pedro says again. "It started with your eyes. When you got called up to play with the official team, the first thing I noticed was how bright your eyes were - the way they lit up whenever you scored a goal or perfected a trick you were learning. Then it was your smile - I'd find myself trying to make you laugh in any way that I could. I've always loved the sound of your laugh.
Next was how well you played. Sure, I'd heard of the infamous 'Gavi' but to watch him play was a treasure - to get to play with him is a privilege. I think I realized I loved you during the World Cup. Anytime I thought about you - about us - I knew I wanted to play by your side for the rest of my life. I'll follow you wherever you go and I'll cheer you on even after I retire." Pedro rambles and rambles, not understanding the impact his words have on Pablo.
His face reddens because he isn't used to all the attention - isn't used to the way Pedro is speaking to him - and when he tries to look away from the other, a hand softly caresses his face, forcing Pablo to look up. Their eyes meet for the first time that day and Pablo thinks he's fallen in love all over again.
"You're so flustered," Pedro teases, his hand still resting under Pablo's chin.
"Yeah, because of you dumbass." but his voice is full of adoration.
"You're distracting, you know that?" Pedro runs a hand through Pablo's hair.
"I've been told once or twice." he wasn't naive though. This was entirely different.
They were never meant to only be friends, Pablo thinks. They're in sync in more than one way - on and off the field. It makes him happy to have someone like Pedro to rely on - someone to enjoy his happiest moments with. He's sure there's a quote he could apply to the situation but right now, all he can do is bask in the other's attention.
"Do you think Xavi knows? About us?" everything their coach had done seemed to be routine.
"He told me we reminded him of Leo and Neymar." Pedro says, stepping impossibly closer to Pablo. "I guess we weren't the first players with unresolved feelings he's had to deal with."
"Really? Messi and Neymar?" he supposed it made sense - Leo's club of choice after the fallout with Barcelona was wherever Neymar was. Selfishly, he hoped he and Pedro would play together forever.
"That's what Xavi said." he says. They're holding hands now, Pedro's thumb rubbing circles in his.
"What do you think?" Pablo asks. He's not sure why he still feels shy.
"I think we're Pablo and Pedro," he says.
"Well obviously." Pablo sighs. He knows they should head back outside - Xavi's probably wondering where they are - but he'd much rather be with Pedro.
"Is there something else you wanted to say?" and this is why the two of them work - Pedro knows when there's something unsaid.
"Well," he pretends to think for a moment. "Just that I really want to kiss you. Other than that, nothing." he's well aware he's smiling, his eyes bright as Pedro tilts his head back, his hand still on the side of his face. It's hard to look away and the joking glint in his eyes turns to something akin to want faster than he was anticipating.
When Pedro presses his lips against Pablo's, his shoulders lax immediately. Everything about the kiss is entirely different from the one they shared the night prior - where drunken want was all that filled Pablo's senses, now there was a wave of calm serene as Pedro deepened the kiss.
It was hard staying on his own two feet as the hand cupping his fast made its way into his hair. He wasn't even sure he was sensitive there. In a way, it's weird knowing there are things about Pedro he wasn't aware of until now like the way his voice drops an octave as he kisses Pablo or the hook of his ear being one of the most tender spots on his body. Pablo likes learning.
They've been away for almost thirty minutes now and Pablo knows they need to go back outside but he doesn't want to separate from Pedro.
This time, it's Pablo who stops the kiss.
"Pedro," he tries but the other is too busy kissing up the side of his neck.
"Pedro, amor, we have to train," he says.
"Xavi can wait," he says and oh, it's tempting. Really, really tempting, but they're here for a reason.
"He's been waiting 30 minutes, amor." finally, they separate.
"You're so," Pedro sighs.
"Beautiful? Special? One-of-a-kind? Yours?" Pablo's aware he's teasing now but he can't help it.
"I was going with annoying but those work too." Pedro ruffles Pablo's hair at his offended expression.
They try to fix their disheveled appearances in what little time they have before they're out the door and back in the middle of training. Pablo's not sure how he's supposed to pretend he wasn't kissing someone ten minutes prior - isn't sure how he's supposed to ignore Pedro in favor of his other teammates.
Xavi puts them on opposite teams for scrimmage and Pablo wants to scream. Hadn't they proved they were able to function together again? Couldn't Xavi see they were working together?
Still, he doesn't have a say so he puts on the purple vest some of his friends are wearing and juggles the ball on his feet while he waits for Xavi's instructions.
He searches for the back of Pedro's jersey in a sea of red and blue and finds him putting on his yellow vest. He's laughing at something Lewy says and Pablo stops for a moment and just stares. It's probably weird but he can't really help - doesn't really want to help it, in fact.
Pedro eventually feels Pablo's gaze, turning around so their eyes meet from across the pitch. Pablo knows he should feel embarrassed - in fact, had this been before their kiss, he's sure he would be - but all he can do is smile fondly and wave.
"Alright!" a whistle blows, hands clap together and the team meets in the middle of the pitch.
Everyone waits expectantly for the rules - they change every time. Xavi likes to keep them on their toes.
"The first to 3 wins." he declares, writing something on his clipboard.
Pedro nudges his shoulder from where he stands, their fingers brushing against each other. Nobody pays them any mind, too used to their closeness on and off the field. There's rarely a time they're apart.
He must sense Pablo's insistence to stay by his side because he's wrapping an arm around his shoulder like they usually do. Somehow, this feels more intimate.
"We've done this before." Pedro tries.
"I know but I don't want to play against you." he complains quietly. He's aware he's being immature.
"But you'll get to spend time with your other friends." Pedro's smiling, his voice airy as he teases Pablo.
"Don't care." though he lets himself get pulled away by Ansu. Pedro laughs at him and he decides it's the best sound in the world.
Ansu doesn't tease him about Pedro like he normally would - there's something fond in the way he looks at them - the way he smiles at Pablo tells him he already knows. He's sure he and Pedro were likely the last people to find out - the last to discuss it.
It makes him think about Pedro's confession. The way he'd uncovered his feelings during the world cup. Pablo wonders if it was when they held each other in nothing but their socks hours after they'd been eliminated. He misses Qatar in ways he can't explain.
They'd shared a room, their clothes mingled together after two or three trips to the washing room. He still has items he's been meaning to return - sweatshirts and too-big shirts that swallow his small frame - but he'll wear them if they smell like Pedro.
They always do.
He thinks he's always loved Pedro - that there was never not an intensity he couldn't explain with their friendship. Back when they'd been nameless players on the pitch doing everything they could to prove themselves, Pablo found solace in Pedro's everything.
He was always kind to Pablo in ways his other teammates were not. Pedro was keen on helping Pablo fit in - not that he needed much help in that department anyhow - and they quickly took the football world by storm.
That's why he prefers practicing with Pedro. He trusts Xavi's judgment, though. If he thinks they'll do their best on opposing teams, who is he to complain?
"Stop pouting Gavi." Ferran teases as they pass the ball back and forth. He decides he's annoyed with Ferran.
"No." he says indignantly.
"He says while whining." Ansu narrates.
"Stop!" he draws out.
Eventually, Xavi blows his whistle and the game starts.
Pablo has no trouble dribbling past his other teammates and smiles victoriously when his pass to Dembele puts them at one nil already.
Pedro seems to take this as a challenge.
The only person who can stop Pablo is Pedro.
They're battling for the ball, their eyes only focused on one thing and one thing only.
Pedro steals the ball from beneath his feet and dribbles past him, passing to Lewy who takes it to the other end of the field. Pablo's out of breath as he watches the goal - stands still as Pedro runs to his yellow-vested teammates and hugs them.
He sighs to himself but stays focused.
"Too slow, Pablito!" Pedro shouts from the other end of the pitch.
And he could never really be mad at Pedro.
"Really funny." he returns but there's a smile playing on his lips.
He gets his revenge after scoring another goal, this time by himself as he makes his way through the purple side's defensive line. His victory is short-lived though because Pedro tricks him once again and scores himself.
Pablo's always had a short temper so he doesn't feel bad about running up to Pedro in order to steal the ball from him. What he doesn't anticipate is tripping over his untied shoelaces and colliding into the other.
Pedro falls first with Pablo shortly after - their faces are inches from each other and for a moment, he's thinking about kissing him. They don't blink - all they can do is stare at each other in awe.
"What do we have here? Look at the lovebirds!" Ferran breaks them from their first post-kiss daze.
"Nothing." Pedro says, a hint of protectiveness in his voice.
Pablo rolls off of him so he can get up, offering a hand for Pedro as well who gratefully takes it.
If their hands stay intertwined a moment longer than necessary that is nobody's business but their own.
The game stays tied until a final-minute goal from Dembele. Pablo's happy his side has won - it means he has bragging rights over Pedro and he loves to rub things in - but now that training has concluded, he wonders if Pedro is going to take him home.
He tells himself he's being silly - that because they've made up, Pedro will, but he has no way of knowing for sure.
He decides to ask after they've showered.
His hair is a mess but he can't find it in himself to care.
“Pedro, I have a question." he asks, throwing his towel in a bin.
Pedro hums, his way of acknowledging Pablo's presence, as he threads his fingers through his hair in front of one of the mirrors in the locker room.
"Will you drive me home?" he hopes his voice isn't too quiet. Then again, they're the only two left.
"Was that not the plan?" and this is why he loves Pedro - why they worked so well together.
He doesn't say anything else, leaning over Pedro's lean body to kiss his forehead before he heads to the other side of the room to grab his bag.
They're both silent as they walk to Pedro's car, Pablo leading the way because he knows Pedro parks in the same spot everyday. It's funny, he thinks, knowing someone as well as he does Pedro.
He smiles when Pedro opens the door for him - it's a sweet gesture, really, and one he's grown used to from how many times he's ridden beside Pedro any time he needs a ride.
It's the little things, he thinks, as Pedro hands him the aux cord before he even has to ask - how Pedro turns up the stereo, smiling as a song Pablo knows he loves turns on first. There aren't any fans waiting for them today but he does see Xavi heading to his car as they're driving away.
Xavi's partially the reason he's even sitting here beside Pedro - the reason they were talking at all.
"You have to help me clean my apartment when we get there." Pablo says absentmindedly because he knows Pedro isn't going to just drop him off.
"Still a mess?" he asks as the windows roll down, courtesy of Pablo. It's a nice day out.
"No thanks to you." he teases, sticking his tongue out.
"I told Ansu and Ferran to clean as much as they could." Pedro defends but Pablo knows it's just a game.
Pedro would do anything he asked vice versa.
As his hair blows in the wind, the sun setting behind him as Camp Nou fades into nothing but a small blurb, he feels content - happy in a way he hasn't felt since before the world cup.
It's because of Pedro, he finds.
It's always because of Pedro.