Pedri, mi madre es de Tenerife.

Angst with a happy ending. 2k words.

I highly recommend listening to this song while reading this!

Thanks to @caracioccolata and @mysweets14 for helping me with this 🫶🏼

Pedri knew that by doing this, things could only get worse. The summer transfer window had opened a few days ago and all they heard was radio silence: no offer to stay, no offer to go.

The news channel of Sky Sport was running non stop in their house since the opening of the transfer window. Pictures of Ferran, Robert, Ronald and Marcus were all over the place.

Pedri knew that, at this point, Ferran only needed someone to lay on. What he got instead was a madman analyzing every little move from every European club to predict if they’d propose an offer for the valencian striker. It was of no use, really. Ferran had an agent and he was doing his best.

But it wasn’t enough. The feeling of uncertainty, the idea that these could be the last days that Ferran was sprawled on their couch, in the comfort of their home, was unbearable.

Watching Ferran strolling through their apartment without purpose, mechanically completing the daily tasks, was slowly killing Pedri. And, worst of all, he was starting to resent his boyfriend. It was difficult to admit, but Pedri observed Ferran and wanted to shake him harshly. He wanted to yell at him to try and do something about it. Even though they both knew that there was nothing to do about it.

“Should I cook chicken?”

Ferran’s words woke Pedri from his own thoughts. His boyfriend was now standing behind the kitchen counter, hands gripping it and holding his weight. Pedri was seated on a stool on the other side of the counter.

“Whatever you want,” Pedri muttered. Ferran furrowed his brows lightly at the cold tone his boyfriend was using but decided to start preparing the food.

Pedri watched him move around through their kitchen and suddenly, like a murmur, panic started spreading through his limbs.

This could be one of the last times he cooks in our kitchen.

His breath started getting heavy. To avoid crashing out he stood up and walked to the couch. He sat down and started paying attention to what the presenters were discussing. Julian Alvarez’s face was plastered on the screen behind them and Pedri knew that Ferran’s name was coming up. Many had considered the Valencian striker as a central figure for a swap deal with Atletico Madrid.

The big blue television screen was showing the stats of Alvarez’s season when all of a sudden all Pedri could see was pitch black. He turned around looking for the remote only to see it lying on the kitchen counter, near Ferran.

“Hey! I was watching that!” Pedri stood up and walked to where his boyfriend was standing.

“Let’s play some music, I can’t stand hearing one more syllable about transfers," Ferran didn’t even look up at him, busy slicing a bright red bell pepper.

“They were talking about Alvarez! It’s important, we have to understand if there’s news about other offers for him! I was reading about Arsenal trying again, if they get-“

”Enough!” Ferran slammed the knife side down on the wood chopping board. Pedri flinched, only now understanding how affected his boyfriend was by the constant transfer discussion.

“I… I thought you wanted to know,” Pedri tried, voice full of doubt.

Ferran looked at him, eyes big and on the verge of tears, “I don’t, Pedri. I don’t want to know. I want to cook this godforsaken chicken and eat it. I want to spend a peaceful afternoon and then fall asleep with you by my side. I don’t give a fuck about Alvarez or Arsenal or whatever the fuck,” He begged him.

Pedri should have shut up. He should have hugged his boyfriend and told him that yes, they were going to do all that and that they would turn the television and their phones off.

But he didn’t.

“Why are you acting like this? Do you really think they’ll keep you?” And that was his own fear speaking. Pedri knew that it wasn’t fair to ask such a question. They both knew that it was very likely that Ferran was going to leave Barcelona.

Ferran’s jaw clenched and he blinked a few times. “You have no idea about how I’m feeling, do you?” He laughed humourlessly, “The golden boy never once doubted!”

“You know that’s not true… and don’t do that to yourself. Don’t compare yourself to me, we are different people.” Pedri tried, but Ferran chuckled bitterly, “I guess we’ll talk about it when it happens to you then!” The taller one spat.

Pedri took a big breath and looked up at the ceiling above his head. One misplaced word and they were going to tumble down into a nasty fight.

“Do you want to leave Spain?” Pedri asked.

”What kind of question is that? Do you think I’d want to leave Barcelona? To leave you?” Ferran’s tone was higher now.

“It’s starting to look like it!” Pedri yelled back.

“What do you want me to do now, uh?” The striker tried.

“Call your agent, tell him to try with a lowball offer!”

“No, I’m not going to do that,” Ferran asserted, shaking his head firmly.

Pedri looked him straight in the eyes. Rationally, he knew why Ferran answered that way but he couldn’t ignore that feeling of insecurity creeping inside his chest.

“Why?” The midfielder asked.

”Why? Pedri, are you suggesting I should go and beg Laporta down on my knees to let me stay?”

“C’mon Ferri, I’m not saying you should beg him… just-“

“If they don’t want me anymore then so be it! I’m not going to lose the last bit of pride that I’ve managed to hold onto.”

His stance made perfect sense. If Pedri were in his shoes, as a football player, he would have done the exact same thing. The problem was that Ferran wasn’t just a football player, he was the love of his life, and Pedri couldn’t accept the possibility of him leaving.

“So we’re just giving up?” Pedri sat back, head nodding and a sour smile plastered on his face.

“There’s nothing to give up on! It’s their decision!” Ferran raised his voice again.

“It’s us you’re giving up on! Leaving Barcelona would mean seeing each other once a month if we’re lucky!” Pedri smacked the top of the kitchen counter.

“You think I’m okay with it?” Ferran sounded almost offended.

Pedri murmured something.

Ferran searched for his eyes and once he found them he breathed harshly. “What was that?” He asked.

The midfielder hesitated, but there was no point in swallowing it all down again. If they were fighting, they might as well tell each other everything.

“Maybe you are okay with that.” Pedri spoke calmly. Words so heavy he felt every one of them landing on Ferran’s face.

The valencian furrowed his brows and exhaled deeply, “What the fuck…” he took the dishcloth between his hands and rubbed them while breathing out little incredulous laughters, “Fuck you Pedri. No, really, go fuck yourself!” He threw the dishcloth right in front of his boyfriend and started walking to the door of the apartment.

Pedri stood up right away and followed him.

“Ferran- wait! Ferran!” He walked up to the door but the man had already managed to get inside his car. He turned it on and drove off.

Pedri covered his face with the palm of his hands and leaned against the door frame. “Fuck me!” He yelled in his hands.

-

Seven hours had passed since Ferran left their home. Pedri called him thirteen times and left seven messages.

Once the clock struck ten P.M. the door opened and Ferran entered. Pedri took the remote and turned the television off, leaving the living room in a dim light. The midfielder fought against the urge to sprint in the arms of his boyfriend and waited for him on the couch.

Ferran sat beside him and stared at the television in front of him. Pedri observed his side profile, waiting for the right time to speak.

A few seconds of silence passed, then the striker turned to his boyfriend and relaxed his back against their couch.

“Carlos called. Barca tried to offer me in a deal with Atletico for Alvarez but the price was still too high so they took a step back,” He explained. His voice was calm, like that of someone who had been yelling for hours and had no energy left.

“I’m so sorry amor,” Pedri started before Ferran closed his eyes and shook his head, “Don’t. It’s not your fault. I would feel the same if I were you. I get it. It probably looks like I’m a spineless little boy who’s too proud to go and ask for what I want but-“ The striker placed the palms of his hands on his forehead and then grasped his hair.

“I don’t know how to put it into words but I feel like if I interfere with their decision and they let me stay I’ll have to live with the doubt of not being enough… Does that make sense?” Ferran asked while a frown of trouble lined his face.

Pedri took Ferran’s head between his hands, “I love you so much” A silent tear slipped from the Canarian’s eye. Ferran smiled at him and kissed his wet cheek.

Pedri looked at him and tried to make peace with everything he was feeling. He wanted that man to stay by his side, and wanted him to fight for their relationship but he understood that there are some things in life that couldn’t be abandoned. And one of them was self respect.

Pedri understood that no matter how much he wanted Ferran to be there when he woke up in the morning, his boyfriend had to prioritise himself. Otherwise he’d condemn him to misery.

“You are right. You made the right decision and I’m simply too scared to lose you to admit that I would do the exact same thing If I were you,” The midfielder admitted watching Ferran fondly.

Ferran caressed his cheek lightly before taking his phone from the pocket of his joggers. He opened a document and showed it to Pedri.

It was two airplane tickets for Tenerife.

A sob escaped Pedri’s lips. He kissed his boyfriend, his hands deep in the mess of Ferran now too long hair. The striker kissed him back, the tension of the fight they had leaving his body in waves.

The kiss was soon interrupted by their tears. Pedri leaned against Ferran’s forehead and whispered, “I love you and I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it, I know you love me and would do anything to stay here.” He took his boyfriend’s face between his hands, “I shouldn’t have asked you to sell yourself out, I’m so sorry Ferran.” He sobbed again.

”It’s ok mi vida, I’m sorry it came to this… if only I had been more focused at the start of the season I-“

”No, Ferran no. Don’t do that. It’s not your fault, you are not a machine,” Pedri reassured him.

Ferran kissed him again as a silent “thank you” for the soothing words. Pedri leaned back and watched him.

“Finally accepting my invite for a vacation in Tenerife I see?” Pedri smiled at him.

“Yes, I think it’s time.” Ferran smiled back.

That night, while they were laying in their bed making love, Pedri felt Ferran’s beard scratching against the side of his neck and it all seemed to go away. The fear, the uncertainty and the insecurity vanished. Pedri thought that no matter where Ferran was going to be in a few weeks, his place would always be beside him.

They would make it work. Because there’s nothing stronger than real love. That love that is stubborn and irrational, just like Ferran. Ferran who one night in Tenerife, while they were having dinner on a breathtaking terrace he reserved for them only, got down on one knee.

Ok so… I am absolutely open to corrections and discussions about this but before we start there’s an elephant in the room that we need to address. Football and its culture are deeply (and at times proudly) homophobic. Barcelona might be one of the first clubs that has openly spoke against it (pls correct me if I’m wrong, I’m new here) but still, its something that football players have grown up with. The language in the locker room and on the bleachers… it’s blatantly both homophobic and misogynistic and there’s no way around it.

So now it comes to the single players, that, apart from the environment, are adults with their own morals and beliefs. I recently discovered the Borja Iglesias’ campaign and it’s such a breath of fresh air. Pls tell me if there’s more that i need to know about him but, from what I’ve seen, I really really like him as a person.

Do I believe that there are queer football players in Spain? Yes. It’s statistics. Do I believe that most of those players have embraced it/accept it/live well with it? Absolutely not. No matter how many campaigns they do and how many rainbow flags are raised the harsh reality is that football is steeped in machismo.

As of Ferran, the possibility of him liking men is there. I feel like he’s really close with his friends and his love language express itself in really physical way. If we’d get the news of him being romantically involved with a man i’d be very surprised because of what i said about homophobia in football. I watched a lot of his interviews to shape his character in my new fic and it seemed to me like he was able, during the years, to get out of that very toxic masculinity discourse that drives men away from their emotional side. But as I said, it really difficult for me to believe that he’d be in a relationship with a man both because of what it would mean for his career and because he’s still a footballer.

Barça’s movements in the transfer market in the last few days are completely random to me. Last week it seemed like they were rushing to renew Ferran and that he was in such a good contractual position to express his discontent about the lateness of the renewal. Now with the proposal for Julian I feel like they are mixing the cards on the table. If they manage to get him then I guess they will have to sell a few players to make ends meet and if it doesn’t work then they’ll renew Ferran and look for an affordable option to replace Lewa. I’d say that we have to wait and see, but if they sign Alvarez there’s the possibility that, if a good offer comes, they’ll sell Ferran. As of Flick, I don’t know what to think. It seems to me like he trusts Ferran but not to the point of fighting for him if they need to sell someone (I might be wrong but that’s my gut feeling).