Chapter Text
Joan was staring at his closet for the tenth time in the past half hour, one sock on and the other in his hand, when Dani picked up the call.
“Please tell me you’re already on your way,” Dani Olmo’s voice came through the phone, immediately suspicious.
“If by on your way you mean having a meltdown while trying to decide what I’m wearing,” Joan paused, looked down at his socked foot, and sighed. “Then yes, I’m on my way.”
“So, you haven’t even left your house yet.”
“I’m emotionally on my way.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It should be.”
He put his phone on speaker and tossed it onto his bed, just to pull his wardrobe open again. Everything looked wrong. Too formal, too casual, like he was trying too hard.
“Ferran said it’s just a barbecue,” Joan added, like repeating it enough times might make it stop feeling like an exam he hadn’t prepared for.
“Anything with Ferran is never just anything,” Olmo said.
“That’s dramatic.”
“That’s experience.”
Joan made a noise of disagreement without really saying a word. He pulled out a shirt, held it up, immediately hated it, and put it back. Then another.
“I don’t know why I’m overthinking this,” he muttered.
“You overthink everything.”
Joan tried to argue but ended up sitting on the edge of his bed without saying anything, socks still half on, a hanger digging into his fingers.
“It’s just some of Ferran’s friends.”
“Hmm,” Olmo said. “You’ll be walking into the lion’s den.”
“It’s a garden barbecue.”
“Same thing.”
Joan rolled his eyes, even though Olmo couldn’t see him. He looked at the shirt again. It felt wrong. Everything did.
“I could just not go,” he said, a little too quickly.
That earned him a chuckle on the other end.
“You could,” Olmo agreed. “But you’d feel bad for leaving Cuba alone. And then you’d spend the whole evening refreshing your phone while pretending you’re fine.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You absolutely do.”
Joan didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Just go,” Olmo said. “Eat free food. Be charming. Leave early if it’s weird.”
Joan glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had already disappeared into clothing decisions.
“Come on,” Olmo added. “At worst, you get free food. At best, you meet your future husband or wife.”
“I doubt my future husband or wife will be at a suburban barbecue in Sant Andreu.”
“That’s exactly where future husbands are.”
That finally made Joan give in.
“…fine,” he said, like he was doing Olmo a favour.
“That’s the spirit,” Olmo replied. “Also, pick the black shirt. The one you think is too much.”
“It is too much.”
“It’s perfect.”
The call ended before Joan could argue further, which felt like a personal attack.
He stood up again. Looked at the wardrobe. Looked at the clock. Looked at the black shirt in his hand.
And sighed, finally putting it on.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the faint, unhelpful feeling that something was about to go wrong.
His phone buzzed and he stretched on his bed to reach for it.
“Perfect timing.” He exhaled, knowing it was either Pau Cubarsí or Olmo nudging him again.
Cuba :)
you coming or are you still staring at your wardrobe like it insulted you personally?
It didn’t insult me
It just implied things….
that you have no taste?
EXACTLY
ferran said it’s casual, just trust him
Ferran also thinks running a gym at 7am is fun
touché
Are you already there?
yup
hurry up or I’ll leave as soon as you get here
Traitor
just come already
it’s not that bad
and if you wanna leave you can pretend you have an emergency
I have an emergency
what?
I was born with anxiety
dramatic
That’s me
See you in 10’
He clicked send on that last text and locked his phone, finally standing up.
The black shirt was already on the bed, waiting like it had won the argument. He grabbed it, pulled it on, and caught his reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door.
“Maybe it’s not that bad…” he muttered to himself.
It was just a barbecue, and Ferran was a nice guy. Surely his friends would be too. He had already met Pedri, Ferran’s boyfriend, once, when they’d gone for drinks after closing the gym, and they had gotten along just fine. It wouldn’t be different now. And Cubarsí would be there too.
He finished getting dressed quickly, slipped on his trainers, and grabbed his keys from the table by the door, sliding his phone into his back pocket.
Joan hesitated for half a second with his hand on the door handle.
Then he opened it and stepped out.
When he parked his motorbike on the street Ferran lived on, the sound hit him first.
Music, laughter, a chair scraping against stone pavement.
The house wasn’t difficult to find, Joan only had to follow the noise. Still, he checked the address one last time before ringing the bell.
“Finally!” a familiar voice came through the buzzer. A few seconds later, the door opened and a smiling Ferran greeted him.
“I thought you’d gotten lost or something, bro.”
Joan gave him a quick, friendly peck on the cheek.
“Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“That’s alright. I’ll show you around later,” Ferran said, already stepping aside. “You can leave your things there.”
He pointed towards an open door just next to the entrance. The inside of the house felt warm in the way places feel when people have settled into them; shoes left slightly out of place, pictures on the walls, voices drifting from somewhere deeper inside, the faint clink of glasses being set down.
“And I’ll see you in the garden.”
Joan followed Ferran with his eyes as he disappeared down the hallway, crossing through a door at the end and followed the direction he’d pointed. He dropped his jacket and helmet into the room, glancing around just long enough to register it was probably the guestroom, then stepped back out.
And that’s where the noise properly swallowed him.
The garden was fuller than he’d expected. People were scattered across it in small clusters, drinks in hand, conversations overlapping into a constant hum that blended with the background music.
Joan had barely made it three steps into the garden when Ferran appeared again, this time with Pedri at his side.
“There he is!” Ferran said, spotting Joan immediately. “I was starting to think you’d turned around.”
“I considered it,” Joan admitted.
Pedri let out a soft laugh, stepping forward to greet him properly.
“Good thing you didn’t. Ferran gets annoying when he’s hosting alone.”
“I do not,” Ferran protested.
“You do, mira que eres bobo.” Pedri said.
That earned a smile from Joan before he could stop it. They looked so at ease with each other that it made him forget about his own anxiety for a while. Ferran hooked an arm loosely around Pedri’s shoulders as he spoke again.
“Anyway, you already know Pedri. Right?”
“Kind of,” Joan smiled.
“We met once,” Pedri clarified looking at Ferran, “after you closed the gym. Ferran dragged me there because he said I needed to ‘see his world’.” He explained, this time to Joan.
“And?” Joan asked.
“It was exactly what I expected,” Pedri smiled glancing at Ferran once more. “Loud. I enjoyed much more the beers after.”
Ferran gasped like he was offended, but there was no real shock in it.
“So, the PE teacher finally decided to show up.”
Joan turned at the familiar voice.
Cubarsí had appeared beside them without much ceremony, hands in his pockets, looking too comfortable for someone his age.
“Don’t say it like that,” Joan said immediately, reaching for a hug.
“What?” Cubarsí asked innocently. “It’s what you are.”
“So are you.”
Pedri smiled faintly. “He’s been talking about you.”
“I have not,” Cubarsí replied quickly.
Ferran leaned in, slightly amused. “That means he has.”
Joan looked between them. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes,” Cubarsí said.
“No,” Pedri answered at the same time.
Joan and Ferran both laughed.
For a moment, Joan relaxed into the conversation, his shoulders dropping slightly as he finally let go of some of the tension.
A drink was pressed into his hand before he’d even noticed Ferran move.
“Here,” Ferran said. “You look like you’re thinking too much.”
“I’ve been here five minutes.”
“That’s plenty of time for you.”
Joan rolled his eyes but took a sip anyway.
And just as the conversation started to settle again and his drink began to disappear, another presence drifted into the edge of the group.
“Hey, Ferran, Pedri, can I interrupt you for a second?”
The voice came from behind them, and Joan had to turn slightly before registering who it was.
A short guy who looked like he was permanently one bad decision away from a fight.
“Gavi,” Ferran said smiling widely. “That depends, are you here to behave or to cause trouble?”
“I can do both,” Gavi replied without hesitation.
“No, you can’t, last week I saw you cry over a puppy.” Pedri said calmly.
That earned a grin from him as he stepped fully into the group, glancing briefly at Joan.
“So, this is him,” Gavi said.
“Who, me?” Joan asked, confused.
Gavi ignored him. “You’re the PE teacher.”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
Joan frowned. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“It means I’m deciding,” Gavi said.
Pedri let out a small laugh beside Ferran. “He does that.”
Joan looked at them. “That doesn’t help me.”
“It’s not meant to,” Ferran said.
Next to Joan, Cubarsí shifted his weight, half-watching the exchange like he was still figuring out where to stand in it.
Gavi finally noticed him properly.
“You’re Ferran’s gym friend,” he said, pointing vaguely.
Cubarsí blinked. “We are Ferran’s friends.”
“That’s what I said,” Gavi replied.
“No,” Cubarsí said simply.
Pedri exhaled a quiet laugh into his drink. Ferran looked like he was enjoying this far too much.
Joan, meanwhile, was starting to realise this was just how they all talked. A drink appeared in Ferran’s hand and was immediately passed to him instead.
“Here,” Ferran said. “Have another one. You’re overthinking again.”
“I wasn’t…”
“You were,” Pedri cut in gently.
Joan took another sip as a reply.
The noise of the garden settled around them again, conversations overlapping into something almost comfortable.
Gavi tilted his head slightly, like he’d just remembered something.
“He’s late again,” he said, almost casually.
No one asked who.
Ferran gave a small shrug. “He usually is.”
Joan didn’t notice the pause that followed, but Cubarsí did glance up for a second.
“Yeah,” Gavi said. “He usually is.”
Ferran had just started saying something to Pedri about the drinks running low when the sound at the edge of the garden shifted slightly. Like a conversation somewhere behind them had briefly paused before picking back up in another rhythm.
Joan didn’t notice it at first.
He was still half-listening to Gavi complain about something, glass warm in his hand, shoulders finally loose in a way they hadn’t been earlier.
But Ferran’s gaze flickered away mid-sentence and Pedri’s followed a second later.
“Sorry,” Ferran said automatically, already turning slightly. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Joan followed their line of sight out of instinct.
Someone had just stepped into the garden.
A man stood near the entrance, one hand still resting on the gate like he’d only just closed it behind him. He carried a jacket over one arm, his hair was slightly messy but in a way that looked accidental rather than careless.
“Finally,” Ferran called out, warmth already in his voice.
A few people around the garden shifted subtly, and the man raised a hand in acknowledgement.
“Parking here is hell,” he explained.
Then he started walking in.
That was when Joan noticed the rest.
The ease of it, mostly.
Not arrogance. Not even confidence in the loud sense of the word. Just someone who moved through the space like he belonged there without needing to prove it.
Pedri and Ferran drifted toward him almost automatically, like gravity had pulled them there. Ferran was already saying something, half-laughing as they pulled each other into a quick hug.
Joan realised, vaguely, that the conversations around him had thinned without actually stopping.
“Who’s that?” Cubarsí whispered beside him.
Joan didn’t answer.
Because the man glanced up briefly and his eyes passed over the group.
For half a second, they landed somewhere near Joan. Then moved on.
Joan took another sip of his drink without really tasting it.
Ferran said something else, quieter this time, and the man let out a low laugh before stepping back toward the house to leave his jacket inside.
When he returned a moment later, hands empty this time, the space felt different than it had a minute ago.
Ferran and Pedri were the first to drift back toward them. Eric followed a step behind, sleeves pushed up slightly.
Up close, Joan realised two things about him almost immediately.
First, that he was the kind of person you instinctively evaluated when he walked into a room. Second, Joan himself was doing exactly that.
“Great, there you are,” Ferran said, rejoining the group like he’d been gone for hours instead of barely a minute. “Joan, Pau. This is Eric.”
Eric’s attention shifted toward him properly for the first time.
“Hi,” Eric said, offering a hand first before seeming to reconsider halfway through and turning it into a loose half-hug instead.
Joan followed automatically, slightly amused by the man second-guessing himself halfway through the greeting.
“I’m Joan.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” Eric replied easily.
His voice was warmer up close, Joan realised as he watched him greet Pau and Gavi afterwards.
Ferran looked at Joan and immediately smiled, something playful creeping into his expression.
“Eric’s my best friend,” he said, patting Eric once on the shoulder before gesturing toward Joan. “And Joan’s the PE teacher I told you about.”
Eric’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Oh,” he said. “So you’re that Joan.”
Joan narrowed his eyes a little. “Should I be concerned that everyone here knows who I am before I’ve even met them?”
Gavi hummed in agreement.
“No,” Pedri corrected calmly.
Eric laughed softly at that.
“It’s mostly Ferran’s fault,” he admitted. “He talks about people like he’s recording a podcast.”
“That’s not true,” Ferran protested.
“Oh, it absolutely is,” Eric and Pedri replied at the same time.
Joan couldn’t help but smile.
The conversation flowed easily after that.
At some point, another guy joined their small circle. Marc, who was almost as tall as he was and looked barely older than Cubarsí. Surprisingly, Cubarsí and Gavi were getting along far too well already.
Between conversations, Joan noticed something else about Eric. He looked tired. Not in a miserable way. Just the kind of tired that settled into someone when sleep became something negotiated rather than guaranteed.
“You came straight from work?” Joan asked.
“More or less.”
Ferran made a face as he joined back in. “He almost cancelled.”
“I didn’t almost cancel.”
“You literally sent me three voice notes debating it.”
“That’s called emotional honesty.”
“That’s called anxiety,” Gavi muttered.
Eric ignored him with impressive ease.
“I can relate to that,” Joan admitted with a quiet chuckle. “Long day?”
Eric let out a laugh through his nose, rubbing briefly at the back of his neck.
“You’ve got no idea.”
A soft ringtone interrupted him then, and Eric instinctively reached for his pocket.
The shift in his expression was immediate. Subtle, but it was there. Like something in him relaxed automatically before he even looked at the screen.
“Everything okay?” Pedri asked casually.
“Yeah,” Eric replied, typing quickly with one hand. “Just making sure Júlia’s okay.”
Pedri gave a small nod, casual enough that nobody else reacted to it. Nobody except Joan, whose brain caught briefly on the name before moving on.
Eric slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Anyway,” he said, looking at Joan again like there hadn’t been an interruption at all. “Are you surviving so far with this lot?”
Joan looked around the garden theatrically.
“Ask me again in an hour.”
That earned him another laugh.
And beside him, Cubarsí let out a quiet little hum that sounded suspiciously satisfied.
The evening moved forward almost without Joan noticing.
At some point the sun disappeared completely, the garden lights turning warmer as the sky darkened above them. Music kept shifting in the background, conversations blending into that comfortable kind of noise that only happened when people knew each other well.
Joan eventually met everyone. Or mostly of everyone, at least.
Names started blurring together after the third beer Ferran casually pushed into his hand having made his mission to make Joan fully socially functional for the rest of the night. He started feeling comfortable, so much so that he started checking his phone only to keep Olmo updated from time to time.
Somehow, without meaning to, Joan kept drifting back toward the same small orbit all evening: Ferran, Pedri, Cubarsí, and Eric.
It happened naturally enough that Joan didn’t realise he was doing it at first.
One conversation became another. Then another.
Eric was easy to talk to in a way Joan couldn’t have predicted. There were no awkward pauses to fill, no effort spent trying to sound interesting enough. The conversation just flowed between them one after the other.
Football turned into basketball somehow, basketball into videogames, videogames into making fun of Ferran’s terrible taste in movies while Ferran loudly defended himself from across the garden.
At some point Joan realised he’d stopped checking how he was standing. Stopped rehearsing his replies before saying them. Stopped replying everything on his mind.
Maybe it was the beers. Maybe it was Eric. Probably both.
By the time it was completely dark, they had ended up leaning against the edge of the terrace slightly apart from the others, Joan felt warm and he was sure that it had very little to do with alcohol.
“So,” Eric said, turning slightly toward him, “Ferran said you work at a school?”
Joan nodded. “Yeah. Here in the city.”
“How old are the kids?”
“Mostly primary school.” Joan smiled automatically at the thought. “Which sounds cute until you have twenty eight-year-olds discovering they can throw dodgeballs directly at your face. Luckily they are not very good shots.”
Eric laughed quietly.
“I feel like that’s happened to you before.”
“Twice.”
“That’s enough times to develop trust issues.”
“It really is.”
Eric shook his head, still smiling faintly, and Joan had the ridiculous urge to keep talking just to see that expression happen again.
“Honestly, though,” Joan continued, “I love it. Kids are exhausting, but they’re fun. And they’re honest in a terrifying way.”
“Yeah?” Eric raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, brutal.” Joan took another sip of beer. “Last week one of them looked me dead in the eyes and asked why I dress like someone’s divorced uncle.”
Eric laughed at that, head dipping briefly forward.
“Man, that’s rough.”
“I’m still trying to recover emotionally.”
“I don’t know,” Eric said, glancing deliberately at Joan’s shirt. “I think you’re pulling it off.”
The words landed casually, but Joan felt his brain short-circuit for half a second anyway.
Beer wasn’t helping. Yes. It was definitely beer.
“Well,” he replied, trying and failing to sound fully unaffected, “good to know my students are liars.”
Eric’s smile widened slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing now.
“And Cubarsí?” he asked. “You two work together?”
“Yeah. He’s newer, though. Fresh out of university basically.”
“He seems young.”
“He is,” Joan agreed fondly. “We sometimes joke he could be my son. But he’s good at it. Really good, actually.”
Eric hummed softly, glancing toward the garden where Cubarsí was now arguing with Gavi over something neither of them looked genuinely angry about.
“He’s the reason I met Ferran.” He added.
“How so?” Eric asked, curiously.
“Convinced me to join the gym with him, I can’t say no to him.” He chuckled. “And you can imagine the rest.”
“Ferran’s being a social butterfly as usual?”
Joan nodded.
“And you?” he asked after a moment. “What do you do for a living?”
Eric leaned back slightly against the terrace railing.
“I’m a firefighter.”
Joan blinked once. Right. Of course he was.
Because apparently God had decided Joan was not struggling enough already.
“That’s…” Joan started carefully. “Very on brand for you somehow.”
Eric looked amused. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Joan admitted honestly. “Just…” he gestured at Eric’s body.
That earned him another laugh. Dangerous.
Eric took another sip from his drink before pulling his phone from his pocket.
“Wait,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I have your Instagram.”
Joan reached for his own phone automatically. “Probably not.”
Eric opened the search bar. “Joan…”
He paused and then looked back up.
“García.” Joan finished for him.
“García?”
A slow grin spread across Eric’s face.
“No way.”
“No, wait,” Joan said immediately, already laughing. “You cannot tell me…”
Eric turned his screen around.
Eric Garcia
Joan looked at him in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Eric said.
Gavi, somewhere across the garden, overheard just enough to shout:
“Oh my god, there’s two Garcias now?”
Pedri groaned audibly in the background like he could already predict the consequences.
Eric, meanwhile, was still looking at Joan with that same amused expression.
“Well,” he said lightly, “guess you’ll have to save me in your phone some other way.”
And Joan hated how much that sounded like flirting.
The night kept stretching around them after that.
At some point music started sounding softer, people began to scatter and slowly leave. Ferran had long since given up pretending he wasn’t deliberately keeping everyone supplied with alcohol, periodically appearing beside Joan with another beer already in hand before disappearing again.
By the sixth one, Joan was starting to suspect the man operated entirely through beverage-based manipulation.
“I genuinely don’t know where you keep finding these,” Joan muttered as Ferran shoved another bottle against his chest.
“Hosting secret.”
“I’m serious, I still have half of the previous one.”
“And now you’ve got emotional support for it too.”
Then Ferran vanished again before Joan could argue further.
Eric watched the interaction happen with visible amusement.
“He does this every time,” he said.
“He’s trying to kill me.”
“No, that’s Gavi’s role in the group.”
“Good to know there’s structure.”
Eric laughed quietly into his drink. When Joan checked his phone, it was much later than he’d expected, the garden now washed in softer light and slower conversations.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, blinking at the screen.
Eric glanced over. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Joan exhaled through his nose. “I should probably stop drinking before Ferran manages to legally poison me.”
“That’s fair.”
Joan looked down at the beer in his hand.
Then toward the street beyond the garden gate.
“…and I definitely shouldn’t drive like this. I need to stop drinking.”
“You came here by car, right?”
“Kinda” Joan nodded. “Motorbike.”
Eric was quiet for about half a second before replying.
“I can drive you.”
The offer landed so naturally Joan almost answered immediately before his brain caught up.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to…”
“It’s literally not a problem.”
“I’m okay, I can just call...”
“Joan,” Eric interrupted gently, smiling slightly already like he knew how this conversation would end. “You’re tipsy and stubborn. Let me be useful.”
That should not have worked as well as it did.
“You can come get your bike tomorrow,” Eric added. “I’m sure Ferran and Pedri will be glad to see you again.”
From somewhere nearby, Joan became vaguely aware of Cubarsí looking far too invested in their conversation.
Ferran too.
To be precise, Ferran looked one second away from exploding with satisfaction.
Joan chose to ignore all of them.
“…fine,” he sighed eventually. “But only because apparently none of you trust my survival instincts.”
“That’s because you don’t have any,” Cubarsí called from across the garden.
“See?” Eric said lightly. “Democracy.”
The transition to leaving happened slowly after that.
Goodbyes stretched naturally through the garden, interrupted by half-finished conversations and Ferran trying to convince at least three different people to stay longer.
Joan retrieved his jacket and helmet from inside while Eric grabbed his keys from somewhere near the kitchen counter. By the time they finally escaped Ferran for what felt like the fourth time and reached the front entrance together, the cold night air hit Joan’s face all at once.
Everything suddenly felt quieter.
Behind them, Ferran, Pedri, and Cubarsí had somehow all ended up standing suspiciously close to the doorway. Watching. And none of them were subtle about it.
Pedri at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed by the situation.
Ferran absolutely did not.
“This is humiliating,” Joan muttered under his breath.
Eric glanced sideways at him. “Sorry, what?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“Drive safe!” Ferran called after them.
“Don’t make it weird,” Eric shot back automatically.
Joan could feel heat creeping into his cheeks.
“That implies it wasn’t weird already,” Ferran replied immediately.
Pedri groaned audibly, and Joan could still hear Ferran laughing as the door finally closed behind them.
The drive home was quieter.
Not awkward, Joan had honestly expected awkward after spending almost the entire night talking, but it felt safe.
He rested his head briefly against the seat, pleasantly warm from the alcohol still lingering in his system.
Outside, the streets of Barcelona blurred past the windows, warm streetlights reflecting briefly across Eric’s face every time his hands turned the wheel.
“You know,” Joan said eventually, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
Eric glanced at him briefly. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
“Why?”
For a second, Joan considered lying.
“I’m a professional overthinker, I guess.”
Eric smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the road ahead.
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad you lost the argument with yourself.”
Joan could feel his ears burning and tried to blame it on the alcohol, but deep down he knew that had very little to do with it.
He glanced at Eric again before speaking.
“So…” he started carefully, suddenly very aware of himself again. “Would you maybe want to grab a beer sometime?”
Smooth. That had been very smooth.
For one brief moment, throwing himself out of the moving car felt like a fantastic option.
But Eric didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said easily. “I’d like that.”
A smile escaped Joan’s lips before he could stop it, and he quickly turned his attention back toward the window.
Not long after, Eric pulled up outside his building, though Joan’s heartbeat still felt mildly unreasonable by the time the engine quieted.
“Well,” Eric said, smiling slightly as he looked over at him.
“Well,” Joan echoed with a soft laugh, suddenly unsure what to do with himself.
His fingers were already reaching for the door handle when he stopped himself.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for not driving drunk.”
Joan smiled. “Do you always need the last word?”
“Something like that.”
Eric grinned, and for a second neither of them moved.
Eventually Joan opened the door.
“Goodnight, Eric.”
“Goodnight, Joan.”
And Joan hated himself a little for the stupid smile already spreading across his face before he’d even reached the entrance to his building.
Seconds later, he was inside his apartment kicking off his trainers when his phone started vibrating.
Incoming call: Dani
Joan stared at the screen for a second before answering.
“Were you tracking my location?”
“First of all,” Olmo’s voice replied immediately, “rude.”
A second voice appeared somewhere in the background.
“Put him on speaker!”
Joan closed his eyes.
“Oh my god.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Dani complained.
“It’s one in the morning,” Joan said putting them on speaker and walking towards the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “What are you two even doing awake?”
“Waiting, of course,” the reply from the other side of the phone came offended.
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It’s because we care about you,” Olmo’s girlfriend cut in.
“Yeah, that too,” Olmo admitted. “But mostly I’m here for the gossip.”
Joan snorted softly, leaning against the kitchen counter as he filled his glass.
“You’re both insane.”
“And yet,” Dani replied smugly, “you still answered the call.”
Joan took a long sip of water, trying to buy himself enough time to think of a response that didn’t immediately expose him. Unfortunately, he was slightly drunk and therefore functioning at approximately half his usual emotional restraint.
“So?” Laura pressed. “How did it go?”
“It was fine.”
“Liar,” Dani said instantly.
“It was a barbecue.”
“That is not an answer.”
Joan rubbed tiredly at his face with one hand.
“I don’t know,” he muttered eventually, unable to stop the smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “I think I might have accidentally gotten a date with a man.”
There was complete silence for half a second.
“YOU WHAT?” Laura yelled, completely careless she could wake up the neighbours.
Joan pulled the phone slightly away from him.
“Okay, first of all, calm down…”
“No, absolutely not,” Dani interrupted. “You cannot casually say that like you’re announcing the weather.”
“It wasn’t even technically a date,” Joan defended weakly.
“What was it then?”
“I asked him if he wanted to grab a beer sometime.”
“That’s a date,” both of them said at the exact same time.
Joan groaned.
“Does it count if nobody says it’s a date?”
“Oh my god,” Laura said. “You’re twelve.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re flustered,” Dani corrected.
Joan hated that he was right.
“So?” Laura continued immediately. “What’s his name?”
Joan hesitated for exactly long enough to incriminate himself.
“Oh, this is serious,” Dani gasped theatrically in the background.
“It’s not serious.”
“You paused.”
“I was thinking!”
“Why would you need to think about his name?” Dani replied. “You like him.”
Joan hated how accurate that was too.
“…Eric,” he admitted eventually.
“Okay, that’s annoyingly attractive already,” Laura declared.
“And?”
Joan rolled his eyes even though neither of them could see him.
“And nothing.”
“Joan.”
“He’s Ferran’s best friend.”
“Oh?” Dani’s tone sharpened immediately with interest. “Wait, is he the firefighter?”
Joan blinked.
“…the what? How come you know that?”
There was a pause on the other end, then Dani burst out laughing.
“Oh my god.” Joan stared blankly at the wall of his kitchen. “Well, now a lot of things make sense suddenly.”
Laura cackled loudly in the background.
“Okay, wait,” she interrupted suddenly. “Most important question.”
Joan already regretted whatever was coming.
“What’s his Instagram?”
“No.”
“Joan.”
“No.”
“JOAN.”
He sighed dramatically before unlocking his phone again.
“Fine. But you’re both insane.”
“That’s already been established, now give it to us,” Dani replied.
Joan opened Instagram, searched Eric’s profile, then sent the link into their group chat.
There was silence for approximately three seconds.
“Oh, he’s pretty,” Laura announced immediately.
Joan felt heat crawl back up his neck.
“He’s normal-looking.”
Dani scoffed loudly. “Yeah sure. That man looks like he rescues people from burning buildings in his free time.”
“…he literally does.”
“That’s hot.”
Joan slid down slightly against the kitchen counter, pressing the cold glass against his forehead.
Eric’s profile picture stared back at him from his own phone.
The account was almost empty.
A couple old photos with Ferran in their early twenties. One blurry gym mirror picture someone else had clearly forced him into. A random sunset. And one picture where he was smiling directly at the camera in a dark blue hoodie, his eyes slightly squinting behind a pair of glasses.
Joan had not realised he’d been staring at it until Dani spoke again.
“You’re looking at his pictures right now, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
“…maybe a little.”
Laura made a sound so victorious Joan briefly considered hanging up immediately.
“Oh, he’s gone,” she announced to Dani. “Look at him. He’s smiling at his phone.”
“I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Dani replied easily.
Unfortunately, that was also true.
The sun was already high in the sky when Joan finally opened his eyes the next morning. The first thing he felt was his headache. The second was immediate regret.
He groaned softly as he pushed himself upright, one hand pressing against his forehead while the other blindly searched for the glass of water he’d left on the nightstand the night before. The moment he found it, he drank half of it in one go.
“Fucking Ferran…” he muttered hoarsely.
But the complaint lacked any real annoyance behind it.
Because unfortunately, the memories from the night before came flooding back almost immediately after.
Pedri and Ferran’s friends. Eric laughing beside him in the garden. The drive home.
I’d like that.
Joan let his head fall back against the wall for a second, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Maybe he owed Ferran less violence than initially planned.
After lying there for another minute pretending he didn’t have responsibilities, Joan finally reached for his phone. As expected, there were messages waiting for him already.
Dani
Morning sleeping beauty!
Slept well?
Laura and I are out today but keep us updated on the hot guy situation
Laura says it’s an order
Joan snorted softly and replied with the first sticker he found before opening the next chat.
The cool teachers
Cuba: joan are you awake????
Cuba: text asap
Casa: Bro what’s all the fuzz about?
Cuba: joan’s a casanova
Casa: Shut upppp
Casa: Tell me everything
Cuba: you know yesterday we had dinner at Ferran’s
Casa: That’s the guy who owns your gym, right?
Cuba: yes
Cuba: and our joan went home with ferran’s best friend
Casa: Omg
Cuba: who is A HOT FIREFIGHTER
Casa: OMG?
Casa: Joan where the fuck are you
Casa: Wake uppppp
Joan groaned at his two insufferable coworkers and briefly wondered why he’d ever decided making friends at work was a good idea. Still, he replied.
Joan: I just woke up
Joan: You are both annoying pricks
Joan: And Cuba is making this sound way more dramatic than it was
Joan: He just drove me home because I was drunk
Casa: YOU’RE AWAKE
Casa: That’s it? No goodnight kiss?
Joan: Shut up
Joan: But I might have a date
Cuba: That’s my guy!!
Joan: I’ll talk to you later
Joan: I need to call Ferran
Joan: My bike is still there
Casa: Bro no way I’d leave my house hungover
Casa: Good luck though
Before calling Ferran, Joan opened Instagram out of pure habit.
His notifications were exactly what he expected: two reels from Dani, one from Laura, Cubarsí reacting dramatically to a story Ferran had uploaded at some point during the barbecue, and an unreasonable amount of likes on a picture Joan barely remembered posting on his stories.
But between them all, there was a new DM.
From Eric. Joan felt something warm settle immediately in his chest before he’d even opened it.
Eric
Hey. Hope your hangover isn’t too catastrophic.
Joan smiled automatically. Damn. He was smiling at his phone like an idiot. He rubbed a hand over his face before typing back.
Joan
Depends on what your definition of catastrophic is. But not too bad.
I think
After staring at the message for a second too long, he hit send.
Then, before he could overthink it too much, he opened Ferran’s contact and called him.
No answer.
Joan frowned slightly at the screen before trying again.
Still nothing.
“Dead,” he muttered to himself. “Great.”
Instead, he sent a quick message.
Alive?
I’ll come by in an hour or so to get the bike
If you and Pedri are conscious enough to function, we can hang out for a bit
Satisfied enough with that, Joan finally dragged himself toward the bathroom.
The shower helped with the headache. When he stepped back into his room twenty minutes later, hair still damp and a towel hanging loosely around his shoulders, he felt significantly more human.
His phone buzzed again from the bed.
Eric had replied.
Joan tried very hard not to react to that immediately and failed.
Eric
Glad to know you made it through the night
And then, a second message appeared.
Eric
Also, maybe we should exchange numbers before we become “Joan García” and “Eric García” in each other’s phones forever
Joan stared at the screen for a second before laughing softly under his breath. There was something unfairly attractive about someone being funny on purpose.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, still smiling despite himself, and typed back:
Joan
I was planning to save you as “other García”, actually.
A typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Joan spent the next half hour texting Eric with a smile he absolutely refused to acknowledge.
The conversation moved easily, the same way it had the night before. Stupid jokes, complaints about hangovers, Ferran slander. At some point Joan realised he was sitting on the edge of his bed fully dressed, towel still around his shoulders, just waiting for Eric to reply again.
Eventually, though, the replies slowed slightly.
The Other García
I should probably go be responsible for a while
Joan smiled faintly at the screen.
That sounds ominous
Laundry. Cooking…
Surviving adulthood…
Joan huffed out a laugh. There was another pause before a final message appeared.
Talk later?
The feeling that settled in Joan’s chest at those two words was honestly embarrassing.
Yeah :)
After that, Joan finally forced himself to stop staring at his phone long enough to finish getting ready.
The metro ride across the city passed in a comfortable blur of music and lingering sleepiness. By the time he reached Ferran and Pedri’s neighbourhood, the worst of the hangover had faded into something manageable.
When he finally got there and rung the bell, Ferran opened the apartment door wearing sunglasses indoors.
“Wow,” Joan said immediately. “You look horrible.”
“Shut up.”
Pedri appeared behind him carrying coffee. “He’s suffering.”
“I’m being persecuted actually.”
“You drank like six beers after everyone left,” Pedri reminded him calmly.
“That sounds like something I would remember.”
It ended with the three of them grabbing lunch at a small terrace nearby, sunlight warming the pavement while the city buzzed lazily around them. Joan stuck to one beer entirely out of self-preservation while Ferran dramatically complained about his own headache like he was dying in real time.
At some point during lunch, Ferran’s expression shifted into something Joan immediately distrusted.
“So,” he said casually. Too casually. “Eric texted me.”
Joan narrowed his eyes instantly. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“No reason.”
“Ferran.”
Pedri sighed into his drink like he’d seen this coming from miles away.
“He said he liked you,” Ferran dropped finally.
Joan nearly choked on his beer.
“Oh my god, can you relax?” Ferran laughed. “I’m paraphrasing.”
“What did he actually say?”
Ferran’s grin widened immediately.
“No. Don’t do that.”
“You care.”
“I’m asking a normal question.”
“Sure you are.”
Joan dragged a hand down his face while Pedri quietly laughed beside them.
“Pedri you’re not helping.” Joan complained.
“And yet,” Ferran replied smugly, “you’re glowing.”
“I’m literally hungover.”
“That’s not the point.”
Joan hated how warm his face suddenly felt.
“…did he really say something?”
Ferran’s expression softened slightly then, enough to become more genuine.
“He said he had a good time.”
Those words were all he needed, they felt different, not teasing. The meaning behind them slightly dangerous for Joan.
He looked down at his beer for a second before trying to sound casual again.
“So… how do you even know him?”
Ferran leaned back in his chair.
“School, basically. We went to the same high school.”
“He used to skip class to play football,” Pedri added.
“I did not skip class.”
“You absolutely skipped class.”
“That was one time.”
Pedri gave Joan a look that clearly said it had not been one time.
Ferran ignored him.
“We started hanging out through football practice after school,” he explained. “Then somehow fifteen years passed.”
“He’s family at this point,” Pedri added simply.
Something about the way he said it stuck briefly in Joan’s chest.
Ferran gestured vaguely at the air.
“We still play sometimes, by the way. Friendly matches with some mates.”
Joan raised an eyebrow. “You play football?”
“I’m offended,” Ferran said immediately. “I own a gym; I’ve got multiple aptitudes.”
Pedri rolled his eyes pretending to be annoyed, but Joan could see he was fond.
“You should come sometime,” Ferran continued. “Pedri’s annoyingly good for someone who doesn’t exercise regularly.”
“Hey!”
“It’s true!”
Joan laughed softly into his drink. But for the first time in a while, everything felt easy. The whole weekend had been different from what he was used to. Good different.
The afternoon drifted by after that.
They wandered around the neighbourhood for a bit after lunch, Ferran somehow acquiring coffee despite claiming thirty minutes earlier wouldn’t have another cup. Joan eventually retrieved his bike, stayed longer than intended, and only headed home once the sun had already started lowering over the city.
By the time he got back to his apartment, his social battery should’ve been dead. Instead, he found himself opening his messages almost automatically.
Other García
Joan stared at the contact name for a second before smiling to himself.
Then typed.
So… about that beer
The reply came a few minutes later.
Thought you’d never ask, García
Careful, one of us needs a personality outside the surname
Impossible now
We’re legally the Garcías to everyone already
Joan laughed quietly under his breath before replying again.
So when are you free?
This time, the answer took longer.
Usually easier if I know a few days ahead
My schedule’s kind of chaotic sometimes
Joan frowned slightly at the wording before continuing.
Firefighter thing?
Yeah. That and… life stuff
Friday night?
The typing bubble appeared and disappeared a few times before a reply arrived.
Friday works :)
Joan felt stupidly pleased by how relieved he felt.
Nice. Last time you drove me home so this time I’ll pick you up
On the motorbike?
Of course
Unless you are too scared
Yeah, okay
That sounds dangerously attractive actually
Joan stared at the message for a full five seconds before dropping his phone onto his bed dramatically.
“This is ridiculous,” he informed the empty room.
Unfortunately, he was smiling again.
The week passed faster than Joan expected.
Between lesson planning, dealing with the gremlins otherwise known as his students, going to the gym with Cubarsí, and occasionally meeting up with Ferran and Pedri, or Dani and Laura, he barely had enough time to sit still, let alone overthink.
Which was probably for the best.
Life settled back into routine quickly, but now there was something threaded quietly through all of it. Somewhere between Monday morning and Thursday night, texting Eric had become part of Joan’s day without him even realising it.
There had been no awkward “getting to know you” phase, no desperate attempts to keep the conversation alive. They just… kept replying to each other. One message became three. Three became entire conversations spread throughout the day.
Sometimes it was stupid things. Pictures Ferran uploaded to Instagram looking deeply unserious at the gym. Eric complaining about burning toast. Joan sending him a picture of a child’s horrifyingly misspelled homework assignment.
Other times the conversations stretched longer.
Music. Films. Childhood stories. The football teams they supported growing up. The fact Eric somehow knew an unreasonable amount about basketball despite claiming he “barely watched it.”
Joan started catching himself smiling at his phone during lunch breaks like a teenager. It was humiliating.
He also started noticing patterns.
Eric usually replied quickly in the mornings or late at night, but afternoons were different. Sometimes he disappeared for hours before returning with a casual apology or a joke like nothing had happened.
Joan tried not to think too much about it. Being a firefighter probably meant weird schedules. Long shifts. Exhaustion.
It made sense, so he didn’t push.
Still, every time his phone buzzed again after one of those disappearances, Joan felt a tiny, stupid amount of relief.
By the time Friday finally arrived, Joan had spent enough days looking forward to it that the anticipation had settled permanently under his skin.
He woke up nervous. Not horribly nervous. Just… jumpy and restless. He felt like he was seventeen again instead of twenty-nine.
By midday, even his students had started noticing.
“Profe,” one of the kids announced suspiciously during class, “you’re smiling a lot today.”
Joan looked up from tying one child’s shoelaces before he accidentally killed himself tripping over them.
“I always smile.”
“No, you don’t,” another one replied immediately.
A third kid gasped dramatically.
“Did you finally get a girlfriend?”
The entire group immediately erupted into chaos.
“OHHHHHH.”
“JOAN HAS A GIRLFRIEND.”
“What’s her name?”
“Do you kiss?”
Joan closed his eyes briefly.
Children were genuinely the funniest people alive right until the moment they became unbearable.
“It’s Friday,” he deadpanned. “I’m smiling because I don’t have to see any of your faces for two whole days.”
“PROFEEEE,” one of them whined dramatically before immediately launching himself onto Joan’s back without warning.
Joan staggered half a step under the impact.
“Okay, first of all,” he complained, grabbing the kid before he slid directly onto the floor, “if I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.”
The child cackled loudly.
Somewhere nearby, Cubarsí was visibly failing not to laugh while supervising the rest of the class.
“Your classroom management skills are incredible,” he offered helpfully.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I am supporting you emotionally.”
“What a great teacher I got to help me, so useful.”
Cubarsí grinned innocently.
The rest of the school day passed in the same blur of noise, footballs, complaints, and children treating Joan like a climbing structure whenever possible.
By the time the final bell rang, he was exhausted. And still nervous, which was honestly ridiculous considering he and Eric had been talking every single day that week.
Dani, naturally, made it worse.
Joan met him outside a café near the school just after work, where Dani greeted him with the expression of someone arriving specifically to witness drama unfold in real time.
“You look tense,” were the first words out of his mouth.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Dani grinned, falling into step beside him. “Also, Laura says you’ve been impossible all week.”
Joan frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“It means every time your phone vibrates you suddenly go through five emotions at the same time.”
“That is not true.”
Dani gave him a long look.
“Joan. Be serious.”
Joan sighed dramatically.
“I’m fine.”
Olmo raised an eyebrow.
“I am.”
“You’ve checked your phone four times since I got here.”
Joan instinctively moved his hand away from his pocket.
“That proves nothing.”
Dani burst out laughing.
“You’re down bad already.”
“I’m literally just going for a beer with him.”
“Sure,” Dani said. “And I’m the king of Spain.”
After hanging out for a while, Dani decided, completely against Joan’s will, that Joan clearly could not be left unsupervised before a date.
“It’s not a date.”
Dani stared at him for a second.
“You’re adorable when you lie to yourself.”
Which was how Joan somehow ended up back in his apartment with Dani fully invading his personal space while Laura supervised the operation through videocall like a military commander.
“At what time are you meeting him?” Laura asked from Dani’s phone, propped up against the kitchen counter.
“I’m picking him up at eight.”
Dani checked the clock dramatically.
“So, we still have two hours to stop you from dressing like a divorced PE teacher.”
“I am a PE teacher.”
“That’s not the point.”
The next hour turned into complete chaos.
Joan tried on at least five different outfits while Dani rejected every option without mercy.
“No way.”
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“You look like you do your taxes for fun.”
“What does that even mean?”
Laura nearly fell off the sofa laughing through the phone screen.
Eventually, they settled on dark jeans and a charcoal grey overshirt over a black t-shirt, simple enough that Joan didn’t feel overdressed, but nice enough that the couple stopped looking personally offended by him.
“Okay,” Laura announced finally. “Now you look emotionally available.”
“I hate this entire experience.”
“No, you don’t,” Dani replied automatically.
Joan was fixing his hair for the third time when his phone buzzed several times.
The Cool Teachers
Casa: BIG NIGHTTTTT
Cuba: don’t embarrass us
Joan: I hate all of you
Casa: Impossible
Casa: We’re your favourite coworkers
Cuba: update us as soon as you’re back
A second notification appeared immediately after.
Ferran
Remember to breathe tonight
Pedri here, I stole Ferran’s phone
Ignore him
Have fun :)
Joan smiled despite himself.
“Aw,” Dani cooed from behind him. “You’ve got us all invested in your love life.”
“I’m blocking everyone.”
“Too late. You’re emotionally attached now.”
At seven thirty-five Dani finally stood up dramatically from Joan’s couch.
“Well,” he sighed. “My work here is done.”
“You mean bullying me for two hours?”
“That too.”
Laura waved from the phone screen. “Good luck!”
“You’re both deeply annoying.”
“And yet,” Dani said while heading toward the door, “you’re smiling again.”
Joan flipped him off affectionately as the door closed behind him.
Then the apartment became quiet, and as soon as he was left alone the nerves came back. He stood still for a second in the middle of his living room, extra helmet in one hand, keys in the other.
Then he exhaled sharply.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself before finally leaving.
Barcelona at night always felt different on the motorbike. The cold air against his face gave him a sense of freedom he only felt when he rode. The city lights blurred past him while the last sunrays of the day slowly disappeared behind the tall buildings of the city. By the time Joan reached Eric’s neighbourhood, his heartbeat was slowly recovering his usual pace.
Mostly. And not for long.
He parked outside the building Eric had texted him the address for and pulled his phone out.
Other García
I’m here :)
Coming down now
The reply came almost instantly. Joan barely had time to put his phone away before the building door opened.
And then Eric stepped outside.
Oh.
Oh, that was unfair.
Jeans. Black t-shirt. Slightly loose. Casual enough that it should not have looked as good as it did.
But worse than that.
Glasses.
Joan genuinely felt his brain stall for a second. Eric spotted him immediately and smiled as he walked over.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t have time to put my contacts in today.”
Joan thanked every existing god that he was already sitting on the bike because suddenly his knees felt significantly less reliable than usual.
“No, yeah,” he managed intelligently. “That’s fine.”
Excellent. Fantastic conversational skills.
Eric either didn’t notice or chose mercy, because he only smiled slightly wider.
Joan quickly handed him the extra helmet before his own brain betrayed him further.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
Their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange and Joan decided that was a deeply unnecessary experience.
Once Eric finished putting the helmet on, he swung one leg easily onto the bike behind him.
Joan suddenly became hyperaware of the existence of his own body.
“You should probably hold on properly,” he said, trying to sound casual as he started the engine. “Unless you want to fall off dramatically at the first turn.”
Eric laughed softly behind him.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.”
“Hm.”
And then, without hesitation, Eric’s arms slid around his waist. Warm and firm, like he had no intention of ever letting go.
Joan immediately regretted opening his mouth.
“Is this alright?” Eric added lightly, closing the distance even more so he could hear him.
Joan stared straight ahead at the street in front of him.
“Yeah,” he said faintly. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
The ride through the city became significantly harder to survive after that.
They ended up in Poble Nou first.
They found a small terrace tucked into a quieter street near la Rambla, warm lights hanging above them while conversations drifted softly from nearby tables. The kind of place that felt alive without being too loud.
Beer arrived quickly, cold enough to cut through the remaining heat of the evening, and for a while the conversation stayed easy again. The lights, the drinks, it helped. Joan needed some help after the ride.
Eric told him stories from work, not the heavy ones, but the absurd ones. Drunk tourists stuck in elevators. Someone accidentally setting their kitchen on fire trying to cook something.
Joan laughed so hard at one story he nearly inhaled his drink.
“You’re lying.”
“I swear I’m not.”
“There’s no way someone tried to microwave a fork.”
“I have witnessed humanity at its lowest points.”
“That explains why you seem emotionally exhausted all the time.”
Eric pointed at him immediately. “See? You get it.”
Joan smiled into his beer.
There it was again. That ease, that terrifying feeling that talking to him was natural. More than that.
At some point they drifted away from joking and into quieter things instead.
Music they listened to growing up. Teachers they hated. Ferran stories.
“So, he’s always been like that?” Joan asked.
“Oh, worse,” Eric replied instantly. “You met mature Ferran.”
“That’s scary.”
“You have no idea.”
Joan laughed softly, then glanced toward him.
“What were you like?”
Eric leaned back slightly in his chair, considering.
“Quieter probably.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. I was a bit of a geek back then.”
“No chance.”
Eric smiled faintly.
“You think you know me already?”
The question should not have made Joan’s heartbeat react the way it did.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
Eric looked at him for a second too long after that. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was just enough to make Joan’s heart skip a beat. Eventually Eric glanced away first.
“Dangerous assumption, García.”
Joan’s lips curved a little.
Later, after they’d paid and wandered back toward the bike, neither of them seemed particularly ready to end the night yet.
“Beach?” Joan offered casually.
Eric looked over immediately.
“Right now?”
“Why not?”
A small smile appeared slowly on Eric’s face.
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
And somehow, riding through Barcelona at night, the cold wind on his face and Eric’s arms warmth around his waist again felt even more dangerous the second time.
They left the bike parked near la platja de Bogatell and started walking without really deciding on a direction first.
The beach at night felt calmer than the rest of the city, a few couples and some groups of friends were the only ones out.
The noise of Barcelona faded into the background until all that remained was the sound of waves breaking softly against the shore and distant music drifting from somewhere farther down the beach.
The air smelled like salt and early summer heat still trapped in the pavement.
Joan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as they walked side by side, close enough that their shoulders brushed every now and then.
“There’s still people swimming,” Joan noticed, watching a group further down the beach laughing loudly in the water.
“Psychopaths,” Eric replied calmly.
“You’re literally a firefighter.”
“Exactly. I know how fragile human life is.”
Joan laughed softly.
A comfortable silence settled after that. Eventually Eric glanced toward the shoreline.
“Should we?”
Joan followed his gaze.
Shoes forgotten on the sand and water brushing against bare ankles, he looked back at Eric.
“You’re thirty.”
“And?”
“And you’re suggesting we behave like teenagers.”
Eric grinned slightly.
“You came willingly.”
That was unfortunately true.
A few minutes later they were walking barefoot through the edge of the water anyway, shoes hanging loosely from their hands while cold waves rolled around their feet.
The water was freezing.
“Oh my god,” he hissed as another wave hit his ankles. “This is horrible.”
Eric looked deeply amused beside him.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
Eric laughed quietly again, the sound carrying softly through the night air. Joan was starting to realise he’d do almost anything to keep hearing it.
Their hands brushed once while they walked.
Then again.
The second time lingered slightly longer before separating again.
Neither of them said anything, which in Joan’s opinion it made it slightly worse.
“So,” Eric said eventually, eyes fixed ahead on the dark water instead of Joan, “tell me something about you I don’t know yet.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s meant to be.”
Joan thought about it for a second.
“I really like hiking.”
Eric glanced sideways at him. “That’s your big reveal?”
“No, wait, listen,” Joan protested immediately. “I’m serious about it.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It should.”
Eric smiled.
Joan nudged lightly at the water with his foot before continuing.
“I don’t know. I just like disappearing into the mountains for a bit.” His voice softened slightly as he spoke. “Everything feels quieter up there.”
Eric listened without interrupting.
“That sounds nice,” he admitted after a moment.
“It is.” Joan smiled mostly to himself. “And the sky’s insane when you’re high enough.”
Eric’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Oh, you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“The people who are emotionally attached to stars.”
Joan scoffed. “That’s rich coming from someone who was literally staring at the sky ten seconds ago.”
Eric looked caught and laughed softly.
“I didn’t think you were paying attention.”
Joan followed his gaze upward instinctively.
The city lights drowned most of the sky, but a few stars still managed to break through faintly above them.
“You can barely see anything here,” Eric said quietly. “When I was a kid I used to think there were way more stars than this.”
“There are.”
“Hm?”
“You just can’t see them in the city.” Joan looked back toward him. “Go high enough into the mountains and it’s ridiculous. The whole sky changes.”
Eric listened carefully, making Joan want to keep talking just to keep his eyes on him.
“It almost doesn’t feel real the first time,” Joan admitted. “Like someone turned the brightness up on the universe.”
Eric smiled softly at that.
“You sound like you miss it.”
Joan shrugged slightly.
“I haven’t gone in a while.”
“You should.”
The answer came so simply that caught Joan off-guard, it was amazing how regularly he forgot he also deserved nice things
They kept walking after that, slower now, the waves brushing against their feet while the city lights twinkled against the water.
At some point the conversation shifted again, a bit more serious, but calm as the night that surounded them.
Past relationships. Bad dates. Embarrassing teenage phases.
“I refuse to believe you were awkward,” Joan said immediately after Eric admitted he’d been painfully shy at fifteen.
“Oh, I absolutely was.”
“No chance.”
“I once ignored someone for three weeks because I thought they were flirting with me.”
Joan stared at him in disbelief.
“That’s actually tragic.”
“I panicked.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Eric laughed under his breath.
“And?” he asked after a moment. “What about you?”
Joan exhaled softly through his nose.
“What about me?”
“Dating history.”
“Oh.”
For some reason, he felt suddenly vulnerable. Joan glanced down toward the water briefly before answering.
“I don’t know. Nothing dramatic.” He shrugged one shoulder. “A couple relationships. Some disasters.”
“Any catastrophic first dates?”
“A girl cried once because I said I didn’t like olives. Something about an olive theory?”
Eric blinked once.
“…that’s insane behaviour.”
“Thank you!”
Eric laughed again, head tipping slightly back this time, and Joan felt warmth spread through his chest. It was starting to get annoying how quickly Eric made him feel things he wasn’t used to.
God.
It was getting bad.
A colder gust of wind rolled across the beach then, strong enough that Joan shivered slightly before he could think about it.
Eric noticed immediately.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You literally just shivered.”
“That proves nothing.”
Eric gave him a look before pulling off the overshirt he’d been wearing loosely over his t-shirt.
Joan blinked, taking a second to process what Eric was offering him.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to…”
“Take it.”
“Eric.”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You’re about to turn into a popsicle.”
Joan laughed, defeated. Eventually he accepted the overshirt, still warm from Eric when he pulled it on.
Which turned out to be a terrible experience emotionally, because now he smelled like him too.
Fantastic.
“Better?” Eric asked.
Joan looked away toward the sea immediately, his cheeks burning.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly.
And neither of them acknowledged the way Joan never actually gave it back before they walked back toward the bike together.
The ride back felt even quieter than before, like something had shifted between them during the walk by the sea and neither of them fully knew what to do with it yet.
Eric’s arms still rested loosely around Joan’s waist every time the bike slowed at a red light, and Joan was becoming painfully aware that he had already started recognising the feeling of Eric close to him.
Eric’s neighbourhood was calm, Barcelona had settled into that late-night stillness in which the streets never fully slept, but everyone had left the rush of the day behind.
Joan parked near Eric’s building and turned the engine off. Neither of them moved immediately, then Eric slowly let go of him and pulled his helmet off first, running a hand through his messy hair afterward.
The glasses were still there.
Which Joan was completely normal about.
He quickly took his own helmet off too before his brain completely short-circuited, shoving both helmets into the bike’s storage compartment.
“Well,” Eric said softly behind him.
Joan turned around.
And suddenly they were standing way closer than they had any reason to be.
“Thanks for tonight,” Eric added.
Joan smiled faintly. “Yeah. I had fun.”
Understatement of the century.
A small silence lingered between them after that. Neither of them seemed particularly ready to say goodbye yet.
“So…” Joan said eventually, glancing toward the entrance of Eric’s building before looking back at him. “I can at least walk you to the door. You know. For safety.”
Eric’s mouth twitched immediately.
“Oh, obviously.”
“Barcelona is a dangerous place.”
“Terrifying, actually.”
Joan nodded seriously. “Exactly.”
Eric laughed softly and started walking toward the building entrance beside him.
Just those few extra steps together through the quiet street, shoulders brushing every now and then while neither of them seemed willing to let the night end properly, it felt way more intimate than it should have.
When they finally stopped in front of the building door, the silence settled in between them again.
Only now it felt different, charged with something he couldn’t quite name.
Joan became suddenly very aware of the cold night air, of Eric standing in front of him in glasses and a black t-shirt, of the fact he was still wearing Eric’s overshirt over his own clothes.
Eric glanced up at him.
Then toward his mouth briefly.
Then back up again.
Subtle. But not subtle enough.
Joan’s heartbeat quickened.
“So,” Eric said quietly, clearly extending the conversation on purpose now. “I survived my first proper motorbike date.”
Joan smiled. “Barely.”
“I think I still can’t feel my hands.”
“That’s because you were holding onto me like your life depended on it.”
Eric raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You told me to hold on tighter.”
Right. That had happened.
Joan looked away for half a second, laughing softly under his breath.
“Okay, maybe that one’s on me.”
Eric smiled again, eyes fixed on him.
God.
That smile was becoming a serious issue. For one terrible second Joan’s brain started overthinking the situation again.
What if he was reading this wrong? What if… Then another memory surfaced immediately.
I’m glad you lost the argument with yourself.
Joan exhaled softly through his nose.
Fuck it.
He leaned in first.
It took them maybe two seconds before any of them reacted. Then Eric kissed him back properly.
Warm hands settled instinctively at Joan’s waist, pulling him half a step closer, and Joan immediately let go of every coherent thought he’d ever had in his entire life.
Okay.
Okay, wow.
A second kiss landed slower, softer, but infinitely more dangerous, and Joan could feel Eric smiling faintly against his mouth for half a second.
Which honestly felt unfair.
His own hand ended up gripping lightly at the front of Eric’s shirt without him remembering deciding to touch him at all, as one of Eric’s hands reached for the back of his neck.
And then suddenly they both seemed to realise at the exact same time that this could escalate very quickly if neither of them stopped.
Eric pulled back first only slightly, still close enough that Joan could feel his breath.
They stayed there for a second. Foreheads almost touching. Both visibly trying to remember how normal human people behaved.
“Well,” Eric murmured quietly, still smiling a little.
Joan let out a breathless laugh.
“Yeah.”
Very eloquent.
“Sorry,” Eric said softly, looking not sorry at all. “I’ve been wanting to do that for like an hour.”
Joan stared at him.
“An hour?”
Eric’s grin widened slightly, his eyes shining behind his glasses.
“Okay, a bit longer than that.”
That made Joan laugh properly this time, warmth flooding through him all over again.
“Good,” he admitted. “Because I was starting to think I imagined the flirting.”
“Oh, there was definitely flirting.”
“Okay, great.”
Eric’s thumb brushed absentmindedly once against Joan’s waist before he seemed to realise he was still holding him there.
Everything about this felt dangerous to both of them.
Eventually Eric stepped back slightly, though not very far.
“You should probably head home before you fall asleep on the bike.”
Joan smiled reluctantly. “You’re right.”
Another pause stretched naturally between them. Neither seemed particularly eager to fully end the night yet.
Then Eric glanced briefly down at the overshirt Joan was still wearing.
“You can keep that for now,” he said lightly.
Joan looked down too.
Right.
The overshirt.
The overshirt that currently smelled like Eric and would absolutely ruin the rest of Joan’s night emotionally.
“I’ll give it back,” Joan said.
“No rush.”
That smile again.
Jesus Christ.
Eric reached up then, gently brushing his fingers against Joan’s cheek.
“Text me when you get home?”
The warmth that Eric’s touch brought to his face, Joan decided, should be studied medically.
Joan nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
Eric smiled one last time before finally stepping backward toward the building entrance.
“Goodnight, García.”
Joan watched him go a second longer than he should.
“Goodnight, other García.”
The ride home felt shorter than what he expected. Joan spent most of it replaying the last ten minutes of his night on an endless loop, which was probably a bit dangerous considering he was driving through Barcelona at midnight.
Once he opened his apartment’s door, he realised he was still grinning like an idiot. His phone, just like it had a week before, was already buzzing in his pocket before he’d even kicked his trainers off.
But before checking any of the messages, Joan opened Eric’s chat first.
The other Garcia
Home safe :)
I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep on the wheel
All good, I AM tired though
Sleep tight, Starboy <3
Goodnight Eric <3
Joan stared at the screen until Eric’s typing bubble disappeared, and then waited a bit more, smile still on his face. Until the notifications finally caught up with him.
Dani had sent him seven messages in the last hour, Laura had sent three voice notes, his group chat with Pau and Marc had turned into complete nonsense somewhere around midnight.
Joan snorted softly to himself before dragging his feet to his bedroom and dropping face-first onto his bed, still wearing Eric’s overshirt.
After looking at the ceiling for a while, he decided to start answering selectively, mostly because he knew the moment he replied, everybody would immediately become unbearable.
Dani
I’m home
AND???
How did it go????
It went well
Define well
Just well
Omg he kissed you didn’t he
…
HE DID?
A few seconds after, Dani’s face appeared on his screen. Joan stared at the incoming call for a second before declining it without shame.
At the same time, the group chat exploded. Fourteen messages from Casadó, Cubarsí reacting like Joan had just won the World Cup.
Dani called again, and Joan answered only long enough to say:
“You’re too invested in my private life.”
“PUT HIM ON SPEAKER!” Laura yelled from somewhere in the background.
Joan hung up again as his phone kept buzzing.
Dani
I hate you
Joan laughed softly into the pillow before eventually giving in and recording a voice message.
Not because Dani deserved details, which he clearly didn’t, but mostly because Joan couldn’t physically stop smiling and needed to tell someone before he exploded.
He tried to keep it brief at first. He started by the glasses, those damn glasses; and kept going. The beach, the walk, the stupid flirting. Then somehow, he found himself describing that moment outside his building.
How neither of them wanted to say goodbye, how he had almost left but had decided to kiss him in the end.
When he finished talking, his cheeks hurt slightly from smiling the entire time, and suddenly he was grateful he was alone in his apartment because his friends would never let him live it down if they saw the ridiculous grin on his face right now.
Still, he sent the voice message.
The replies came in one after another while Dani and Laura listened to it.
Olmo
Oh, you’re SO gone
Laura says you sound like a 16yo
We’re so happy for you 😭
Joan laughed quietly to himself before finally putting his phone on Do Not Disturb mode, fully aware they would keep interrogating him until three in the morning otherwise.
Still, even after setting his phone aside and turning the lights off, he couldn’t stop replaying the night in his head.
Eric laughing beside the sea, his arms around Joan’s waist on the bike, the glasses, the kiss, the soft text me when you get home.
Joan rolled onto his side, pulling Eric’s overshirt slightly closer around himself without thinking about it.
At some point, half-asleep already, he realised he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy after a date.
He wasn’t so nervous anymore, his social battery was intact, he just felt… satisfied. And maybe even worse than that, he was already impatient to see Eric again.
Joan woke up slowly the next morning. For a few seconds, he stayed still under the blankets, staring vaguely at the ceiling while his brain caught up with reality.
Then he noticed the overshirt half underneath him.
Right.
A smile appeared on his face immediately.
His phone was lying somewhere near the pillow, and the moment he unlocked it, a second smile threatened to appear. Because of course there was already a message waiting for him.
The other Garcia
Good morning starboy
How did you sleep?
Better than ever
Maybe I should turn last night into a routine
A reply didn’t take long to appear
Careful with what you say García
Or I might start expecting you at my door every night
Joan dropped his phone onto his chest for a second and let out a quiet breath. This man would be the end of him.
A few seconds later, Eric was typing again.
I’ve got a busy day today unfortunately :(
But text me later?
I hope yours is better than mine <3
Joan stared at the screen.
Busy day, that was fair. Still, he could not help feeling a tiny bit of disappointment.
He sighed softly and sat up properly, rubbing a hand through his messy hair before his eyes landed on the overshirt again, abandoned near his legs.
And then, unfortunately, Joan had an idea.
A really stupid idea, because technically… He did have an excuse to see Eric again.
He grabbed the overshirt slowly.
“Absolutely not,” he muttered to himself.
Five minutes later he was already searching for cafés nearby on his phone.
An hour later, Joan was walking out of a bakery carrying two coffees in a cardboard holder and a paper bag full of pastries balanced awkwardly against his chest.
The morning air still felt fresh, Barcelona’s streets quieter than usual for a Saturday morning, while Joan strapped the bag carefully onto his motorbike.
This was insane behaviour.
Dani would never let him live this down if he ever found out, and Joan was fairly sure he eventually would.
Still, as he drove through the city toward Eric’s neighbourhood, he couldn’t stop smiling to himself.
It wasn’t even really about the excuse anymore, he just wanted to see him again.
As Joan parked outside Eric’s building again, he could feel how his heartbeat had started doing mildly unreasonable things all over again.
He looked down once at the coffees in his hands. Then at the overshirt folded over his arm. Then back at the building entrance.
“Okay,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Normal behaviour.”
It was not normal behaviour.
Nevertheless, he walked up to the door anyway and buzzed the apartment number Eric had given him the night before.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the door opened.
Except it wasn’t Eric.
A little girl stood there instead.
Maybe six years old, tiny and sleepy-looking, brown curls messy like she’d just woken up not long ago. She wore oversized cartoon pyjamas and blinked up at him curiously.
“…Hello?”
At first, Joan froze completely.
For a second, he wasn’t even sure he had the right door, but the address was correct.
And then, faintly from inside the apartment, he heard Eric’s voice.
“Júlia, sweetie. I told you to wait for me to open the door. Who is it?”
Joan’s brain stopped working for a moment, because he knew that voice.
After replaying last night in his head an embarrassing number of times before falling asleep, he would’ve recognised it anywhere.
It was Eric.
Then what the hell was going on?
The little girl still had one hand wrapped around the door handle, looking up at him with huge curious eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked innocently.
It took Joan a few seconds too many to answer. His thoughts had gone from zero to a hundred so fast it almost made him dizzy.
“Huh…” he managed. “Hi.”
The girl tilted her head slightly, studying him with the brutal honesty only children possessed.
“You look funny.”
Fantastic.
Joan blinked at her, not knowing how to react.
The little girl could be Eric’s niece, maybe. Except Eric had mentioned his sister once during one of their late-night conversations, and Joan was sure she was younger than him by several years.
So unless… No. No, no, no, that made no sense. Right?
His spiralling got interrupted by Eric’s voice again, closer this time.
“Júlia, who’s at the door? Come back, you still need to finish your…” Eric appeared behind her and stopped abruptly, “breakfast.”
His smile dropped.
“Joan.”
Joan wanted to disappear instantly. Evaporate. He physically tightened his grip on the coffees just to stop himself from turning around and fleeing down the street.
“Daddy!” the little girl exclaimed immediately, lifting her arms toward Eric expectantly. “Did you bring a friend to play?”