Fatigue-d

Ferric:

Casual - Chappell Roan

Intruso - Enjambre

loud - nmixx

Deeply - boa

Your love - She wants a revenge (Ferran Pov )

Drag path - Twenty one Pilot ( Ferran Pov)

One day - Boa ( Ferran Pov )

Y si fuera Ella - Alejandro Sanz ( Eric Pov angst )

If I leave - Mitski ( Eric POV )

House of cards - Radiohead ( Eric Pov )

Ferran:

the cure - Olivia Rodrigo ( 2022-2023 )

I'll change for you - Mitski ( Ferran toward Barça)

Girls and Boys - Blur ( he's a bi Mess )

Baile Inolvidable - Bad bunny

Eric:

Besame mucho - Joao Gilbert's version

DTMF - Bad Bunny ( Eric toward Barca )

Descolado - Napa ( Young Eric in England )

If we were to dissect every part of Eric’s being, removing irrelevant components one by one, there would be nothing left. Neither his weary eyes, nor his tired legs, nor his steadfast determination would survive. But perhaps, in this ocean of nothingness, we might find an irreducible entity: his resilience. This has always been his strength, the reason we cheer him on, the very foundation of his being. It served him well when he moved to a foreign country at the age of 16, as the slow and arduous process of coming to terms with the unknown coursed through his veins whilst he watched the Catalan landscape recede from his aeroplane window. It then became vital in preventing him from giving up when he had to leave his beloved club once again for a year.

And it had paid off; his experience at a major English club had allowed him to become more versatile, and his loan spell at Girona had got him back on track after a disappointing season in Barcelona. “He’ll bounce back.” That simple statement fuelled his resilience; he had to accept the blow because he knew he could overcome it and become better, that this obstacle was vital for him to progress even further. It was just another trial on his journey, a testament to his strength of character and his hard work. He was rewarded for it, in fact.

“I wouldn’t have managed what you’ve done,” some of his team-mates would whisper to him in encouragement.

“Thank you for your efforts,” the staff members would thank him after he’d taken his role as ‘almost-coach’ a little too seriously.

“Without your sacrifices, you wouldn’t be here,” his mother reminded him proudly at the family dinner, the memory of her son flying off into the unknown still weighing heavily on her heart.

But sometimes, when doubt grew within him, when his vision blurred and the burning in his legs became unbearable, he wished he were nothing but futility. He knew that "Eric" went hand in hand with obstacles and sacrifice, that he should be proud of them because many would not have overcome them, but in the silence of his room, the defender wondered if he might not have preferred to have nothing at all. He was defined by his resilience in the face of life’s storms, his journey inextricably linked to these life-threatening risks. He had to suffer to be Eric; others would have seen his challenges merely as stepping stones — there was no need for resilience when the blow had never struck.

But the Catalan was no Greek hero lamenting his tragic fate; he was not cut out for it and did not seek to be. He simply wondered about the moment when he would no longer need it to exist.

When he would no longer need to battle to stay at the top.

When he would succumb to the pressure.

He had still not encountered these two conflicting fates; his path was not entirely mapped out, but they still had to travel it, even if the hope of stopping halfway seemed as sweet as an angel’s embrace. He would no longer need to shoulder the responsibilities of being "almost captain", to have to fight to assert his Catalan identity, or to hope to find that mutual love in the Valencian’s eyes.

Ferran…

Without realising it, the striker was the greatest testament to Eric’s resilience. His love for him was by no means an obstacle in his path, let alone a challenge; he could not overlook it by dismissing it years later, on a starry night, as "a formative experience". For the Catalan did not want it to end. He wanted to let himself be consumed little by little by these unrequited feelings, these unanswered messages, these ruined evenings.

He wasn’t meant for Ferran.

When he was still a teenager, still getting used to the British climate, he’d believed it. He hadn’t been able — hadn’t wanted — to accept that the boy who made his heart skip a beat was out of his reach; learning English and the cultural barrier were already too daunting to add a one-sided love to the mix. So he convinced himself of one thing.

Ferran is straight.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s that he can’t.

Then, back in Barcelona, the older one confessed one of his most closely guarded secrets to him. Eric wasn’t the only one who’d let his gaze linger too long in the changing rooms back when they were still U17s; he wasn’t the only lost international footballer who’d seen England as a brief respite of freedom to express his true attraction; that hidden bar in Manchester? Ferran had also been there. To tell you the truth, he’d even followed Eric without realising it right up to the entrance, his curiosity guiding his steps towards this place that Eric kept secret.

After this discovery, he had made sure never to turn up at the same time as his team-mate. Ferran certainly hadn’t seen the defender walking a handsome blond man home, and Eric hadn’t even suspected that the ‘friend’ he’d bumped into one morning at the Valencian’s place had, from the very beginning, been his conquest for the evening.

The striker expected to be rejected; he had intruded on his friend’s private life and hadn’t told him a thing. He could observe him, scrutinise him and analyse him without being seen or having to face his own reflection. He didn’t even need to put on a full act; he liked women too, even more than most of the men he’d met, but like the muffled sound of Eric’s footsteps as he slipped towards that unfamiliar bar, his attraction to men was ever-present, the mere idea that it might be a possibility shaking his world.

And then Pedri came. They’d kept in touch whilst he was in Manchester, but talking on the phone and being team-mates were two different things. And this possibility, which he’d managed to evade tirelessly, exploded in his face like a joke with a grotesque punchline. He’d then turned to his most loyal ally: Eric. The defender had listened as the striker confessed his deception; he’d accepted his apology and then offered some advice. He hadn’t preached resilience to him; on the contrary, if he genuinely loved Pedri, he had to show it. He should confess to him! He didn’t need to push himself beyond his limits or put up with that discomfort, because he was Ferran, and Ferran doesn’t need resilience — he just needs determination.

Eric is a coward.

He didn’t apologise in turn for his lies to the Valencian, let alone offer his advice wholeheartedly; he merely repeated what he was used to hearing — which was more than enough for the striker's madly in love heart. In the end, Eric simply wasn’t cut out to be by the older man’s side. Ferran loves him deeply, with an unwavering platonic love, but the defender wanted more, always more…

He then remembered his defining trait, the one that had allowed him to be where he is, by Ferran’s side at his favourite club. Resilience. Over time, he no longer needed to hide his love for the Valencian. People labelled it a very strong friendship and then moved on; he no longer needed to fight to stay afloat — he had become the status quo.

His tender glances were nothing more than strong brotherly love.

His meticulous massages were nothing more than a well-oiled routine between two team-mates.

His teasing, full of innuendo, was nothing more than a bit of light-hearted fun between two best friends.

He was stripped of any ulterior motives, of any attention. He was finally the norm, simply there to exist and not to overcome yet another drama. And he was sinking. Slowly and gently, the waves of his love blurring his vision, the pressure causing his eardrums to burst.

He had finally stopped. Going back was too risky; he didn’t want to reopen old, buried wounds. But moving forward was uncertain — what if Ferran found out?

In his final act of resilience, he had found his salvation, that paradise he had dreamt of from his porthole. That secret third option that combined his two destinies.

And god, it's awful.

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Inspired by depressive posts of @meisnercore

YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH!

Yours are much more "softer", So I wondered how Eric would feel if he were at the ‘I’m stuck’ stage, not the acceptance one.

Ferran got a tattoo of a rhinoceros (Eric’s nickname) in the spot where Eric rests his head when the two of them snuggle up together to sleep

Ferran has a compilation of the Warriors’ highlights, which he downloads onto his phone and computer for when Eric is on edge after a training session or a match

Ferran and Eric have a shared album of silly photos of Pedri that they’re putting together for the midfielder’s potential partner

Eric started wearing his glasses more often after Ferran admitted that he liked them

They’ve both got a thing for each other’s thighs, which is why Ferran keeps pulling his shorts up ( + bc he's a hoe)

Ferran tried to get some photos of Eric from when he was young at La Masia, but all he got were memes of Gavi

Eric likes to run his fingers over the designs on Ferran’s tattoos when he’s bored

The one with the dirtiest mouth is Eric

Ferran has a thing for angry Eric