#eric garcía

The WorldCup has never been as horror for Pedri as this year. Not that he was unappreciative of the call up. Of course not. He’d dreamed of playing for his favourite club since he has been put in his first Barca jersey, but playing for his country was another pride he wasn’t able to describe beyond words. He was as grateful as ever to be called up again. Even though everyone knew, not calling him up would have been a loss for Spain’s game. Not only his teammates but the Mexican fans admiring him. He’s heard fans chanting his name all around Spain’s stadiums, but even in Mexico was something he didn’t expect at all. Recieving such recognition in another country, even another continent was simply ineffable.

And still, after all the heart warming chants, the goal, the assist made by his best friend, and the love he’s received by fans that travelled all the way to Mexico for a friendly as well as by the Mexican Spain fans, all he was able to feel was hollow in his chest while laying in bed of the hotel room he shared with Ferran, starring holes into the ceiling.

It wasn’t quite the exhaustion that pulled him down after getting back from the game. It was an intense match surely, but he had worse. He had scored a goal. De la Fuente has praised him for an outstanding performance. Everything was as great as it could be, and still one big part was missing.

It was already six in the morning when they finally arrived at the hotel what meant it’d be around 14 o’clock in Barcelona. He had received her massages right after the game, reading them as soon as he finally plopped down on his seat next to Ferran on the bus after already having survived media duties. Pedri didn’t expect her to actually watch the match and still she’s watched every single minute, sending him ridiculous remarks about situations, her opinion on some decision, and sometimes just her thoughts on how freaking hot he looked, even sending a picture of her wearing his Spain #20 Pedri jersey while sitting on the bed, room only illuminated by the screen after he scored.

He wanted to call so badly. The distance tearing him apart. But he knew her schedule and was more than aware of her university plan today, she would still have lectures until midday. And he himself should probably get a little sleep as well before their recovery session later that day. Still all he could think of was how much he misses her. Pedri is more than aware of the fact she isn’t able to do anything about it but he wished, scratch that, would do anything for her semester to end earlier.

His teammates were all accompanied by their family and wives even kids, but until Fer and his parents would arrive he’d have to do without any of them. The time difference wasn’t any better, while his parents were able to arrange some time for a video call, she wasn’t. The last two month of the semester tearing everything around her apart that wasn’t university. He wanted to personally get in contact with the school ministry to declare the semester for finished so she could travel with him. But that were just ridiculous ideas he had to suppress the actual emotions that overcome him anytime he wanted to contact her but knew she wouldn’t pick up. Still, he left several messages anytime he thought he needed to share some dumb story of Gavi falling in the pool or Ferran snoring on the plane, even though he knew his messages would stay on delivered for many more hours.

"Madre mía, you’re down so bad tío, it’s not even funny anymore," Ferran chipped from the other side of room while doom scrolling on tiktok. Pedri only let a huff escape his lips before dragging the blanket over his face to deny Ferran anymore sight of his miserable state.

"Oh come on, don’t dwell in self-pity now. You’ll be able to talk in what? Six to eight hours. You can survive that no?" Even if the Valancian was trying to be optimistic and encourage Pedri, he was able to extend the small tone of amusement in his voice. "I can basically hear your smug grin through the fabric of the blanket Ferran, no need to act like you're trying to be optimistic, carbón," Pedri huffed again hoping his friend wouldn’t take the words to heart.

"I know you miss your girl Pepi. But there’s no reason to act like a grumpy Gargamel that isn’t able to catch his Smurfs. Don’t you appreciate my assist?" Ferran was actually teasing Pedri by now. And although he knew his friend was only teasing, with the small intention of distracting him of his miserable state, cause apparently Ferran does have a teeny tiny part of softness in his heart, it wasn’t helping. They have never been apart this long, they haven’t seen each other since one and a half week because of her fucking university, Pedri thought, so she wasn’t able to accompany him to Madrid for the Spanish training camp either. The distance was killing him. Still, he tried and failed miserably to suppress the smallest laugh at Fer’s resemblance to the Smurfs.

"You don’t get it Fer. The time Lucho was still our coach you were able to see Sira every freaking day even in Qatar," he stripped the blanket of his face and replaced it with his hands. "Fair point. And still she left with Lucho to France only a few months later," the older countered, not showing any emotion talking about his ex, which Pedri knew, did take him a lot of time and effort.

"Right, sorry," his hands muffling the sound of his voice before dragging them all the way down to fall onto his sides. "No need to apologise Pepi," the older was eager to make clear. "Come on, at least talk to me instead of laying there like a dead starfish," his phone now placed face down next to him, while he himself sat up straighter against the headboard.

Pedri mirrored the older’s action and scooted himself up against the headboard as well, letting his head fall all the way back. "I don’t know tío, I just totally miss her you know? The last time we were separated that long was for that stupid exchange week she did two fucking years ago. Two years Ferran. Two," he could only repeat himself to let it sink in. "And there is still another freaking month to go. I don’t think I can do that man," his hands over his face again. "Gosh I know I sound fucking pathetic but I miss her, so fucking much," he dragged his hands down his face before planting them over his eyes. "If it wasn’t for this stupid time difference. I can’t even call her and the messages stay delivered for hours. Hours Fer," he repeated again. Hands now falling to his side again. "Ay, Dios, soy pena," (My gosh, I’m nothing but sorrow) he wanted to bring his hands up again but knew better.

Ferran, someone who always had a joke handy, ready to tease his down bad best friend, was actually taken back by the sincerity in Pedri’s honest answer. The way he spoke about her made him realise he wasn’t just down bad, that the teasing was actually justified, but that it was really affecting him in ways that may not be the healthiest, both for his psych and performance. The time Sira moved with her family to Paris he didn’t know how to help himself, than fall into a deep hole of sorrow, self pity, spiralling and an endless circle of mental fucked-up-ness. His performance reached an end, the same way the internet wanted it to end. The lack of communication with Sira the cherry on top of the cake. So yes, he knew exactly in what situation Pedri found himself in. Just the difference that the midfielder didn’t seek therapeutic help, as his performance has been the best of his kind lately. So what was he supposed to tell him now? To seek a therapist?

"If it’s reaching a point where it influences your performance, why don’t you talk with de la Fuente so you can skip one or another session to align both your free time?" Pedri mirrored his gaze with hollow. "Yeah, and he’d totally agree with that," even though he didn’t make any effort for his voice to hold trace of any kind of emotion, it was unmistakably filled with scoffing. Ferran knew what he had to tell Pedri if he was spiralling about his performance, but having to hold a pep talk with him about his love life? Yeah no. Maybe he should ask Dani to talk it out with Pedri, at least he is an expert in long distance.

"Im sure he would. If his star player complains about lack of love, and if such problematics lead to debilitated performances of his oh so important star midfielder… He’d buy a whole plane to fly you to Barcelona," the older was actually convinced by the plane buy thing. "Urgh, Ferrr," Pedri dragged the "r" and brought his hands over his face again. He couldn’t bare the thought of having to classify that the reason for his lack of concentration developed from a fucking time difference. How was he even supposed to convince de la Fuente of the situation, the older man would surely think it’s another failed attempt of Gavi trying to be funny. The thought didn’t only make him feel pathetic, but he felt like a burden, someone that relied on pity, someone who needed the attention and was miserable without it. "No, I can’t do that," he finally admitted.

"Why not?" Didn’t he get it? Wasn’t Ferran able to think at least a little bit further? "I simply can’t," Pedri was hoping Ferran’d just let it slide. "Pepi, if you feel, I don’t know, ashamed or intrusive, you’re not. Not for me, neither for mister," Pedri was about to open his mouth to argue but Ferran shushed him. "Look, he said it himself, to function like a team, we need to trust each other, on and off the pitch. So if you think mister would judge you or I don’t know, make fun of you, pity you, he won’t. He’d rather you tell him than dwell in sorrow all month." Pedri still looked at him wide eyed. "You wouldn’t hesitate if it was Lucho or Flick right?" He waited for affirmation from the Canary. He nodded. "See, so if it really is important to you, you’ll find a way of overbearing it. And if you need help in any way, I’m here, okay?" He wasn’t really waiting for an answer, but Pedri’s silent "mhm… thank you Fer. Really," settled something in his chest. "Siempre Pedrito," was the last thing the younger absorbed before drifting off to sleep.

Due to their spontaneous therapy session that night/morning, both forgot to set an alarm, which resulted in Gavi barging into their room by mid-day to drag them out of bed and into their training gear for a small brunch and their recovery session afterwards. To say de la Fuente wasn’t amused about the pair being too late was understandable, it didn’t last long though.

His teammates, especially noisy Lamine, didn’t miss the fact of Pedri bothering something. And everyone, really everyone, has seen Pedri at least once on his phone texting or calling her. So yeah, neither Ferran nor Pedri had to explain why he wasn’t hundred percent focused on his stretching exercises. "Yo Pedri, your Rapunzel is calling," Gavi screamed through the whole gym. "My Rapunzel what?" The Canary was utterly confused, still conceded to make his way towards the Andalusian. "Your dear girlfriend tío. You know, Rapunzel because she’s imprisoned in this tall tower called university, and you're Flynn trying to reach her nevertheless," Gavi tried to evaluate, receiving a handshake from Lamine for the accurate metaphor.

The direct mention of his girlfriend made his eyes widen and his legs basically sprinting towards his duffel bag. At sight of the caller ID his heart basically exploded of longing. He didn’t care about his whereabouts, didn’t care who might eavesdrop, he needed to hear her voice for his heart to slow down before it might combust.

"Cariño?"

"Hola Pepi," the voice on the other end of the line replied. A huge smile he couldn’t contain for the love of god spread across his face. "Amor, te he extrañado muchísimo," he basically whined. He was definitely not lying, he needed to hear her voice, the comfort it brought him, and he’d tell her word for word again, not caring if he was surrounded by his teammates that would use every chance given to bring it up again. He would sound cheesy for her every single time again. He simply was a man in love.

"I’ve missed you even more amor," he wanted to interrupt her as soon as the words left her mouth, he had to disagree, there was no way she missed him more. "Not possible cariño. Not possible." The laughter escaping her brought up way to many emotions for his liking. "Pepi-" she tried to argue, "No no really, there is no sense in arguing. You haven’t seen him sulking. You don’t have to share a room with him starring holes into his phone in sorrow," Ferran interrupted her. "Urgh Fer, leave her alone please," Pedri tried to steal his phone out of the older’s grip again. "Hello to you too Ferran," the low volume of her laughter carrying through the gym, almost making Pedri forget the Valancian still held his phone. "Give the poor boy the love of his life back or you’ll have to deal with his sorrow tonight again Ferran," the only sane one in the gym, aka Rodri, tried to defend the midfielder in any way.

Pedri tried to reach his phone again but Ferran held it high. "Listen to your capitán Ferran," he desperately tried to win back his phone. "Let him have some fun at least. That’s the payback for Pedri whining all day in their room," Lamine obviously defending the banter. Pedri wanted to kick Ferran in the balls so he’d let go of his phone, for fucks sake. How could someone who gave him truthful advice the night before turn so cruel overnight? He actually considered the kicking part as he heard her laughter following a joke from Ferran about something he didn’t pay attention to cause he was focused on how high his foot needed to swing to hit him not too hard but not too light either. Must have been something really funny, probably / surely some exaggerated story about Pedri, cause half of them gym started snickering as well. He’d have to ask her later what it was about, if, and only if he would get his phone back someday.

"Urgh Ferran, please," he pinched the bridge of his nose almost giving up against his best friend, or maybe he should start calling him ex best friend, who knows. "Ohhh did Pedri tell you how he stepped over the cones in training and fell face first into the grass?" Who knew the little devil on Eric’s right shoulder had the upper hand over the sacred angel that normally guides him. "Eric tío really? You too?" Pedri couldn’t believe what was happening, he wanted to laugh at the banter but had the urge to kick all of their asses and lock himself in his room with his phone. How is it possible to love and hate a group of people at the same time?

"Yes yes it was iconic, someone should’ve recorded. That was gold," even Nico went behind his back now. Great. Looks like he’d be stuck with Rodri untill the end of the WorldCup. Speaking of the devil, or in this case, his night in shining armour, strolled over from where he was cycling, shot Ferran one of those "I’m your captain, show respect" looks before taking the phone from the place Pedri wasn’t able to reach and handed it to him with all casualties, like he didn’t just basically save the younger’s life. He shot his captain a look that screamed appreciation. "Now leave the boy alone and do some work," he ordered to his teammates, ruffling Pedri’s hair "And you, make sure our boy isn’t too lovesick anymore por favor. We need him to be hundred percent concentrated to not step over cones again," he spoke into the speaker. Pedri’s checked flushed red before trudging out of the gym and as fast as possible into his shared room.