#ly19

It starts like it always does. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, one leg thrown lazily over his lap, your cheek resting on his shoulder as the soft flicker of the TV lights up the living room. It’s a comfort kind of night, no games, no training, no pressure. Just you, Lamine, a blanket, and a half-finished tub of ice cream.

He shifts, pulling the spoon from your grasp and taking a bite without asking, like he always does.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, not moving an inch from your spot.

“You love it,” he replies, mouth full.

He’s right, obviously. You do love it. You love all of him, his dramatic gasps when he loses at FIFA, the way he kicks his feet like a little kid when he’s excited, how he always smells like a mix of his shampoo and the citrusy cologne you love. You even love how, lately, he’s been dodging your kisses like it’s an Olympic sport.

Like just now.

You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he leans away, grinning like a damn idiot.

“Lamine,” you say flatly, giving him a look.

“What?” he says innocently. “You’re always trying to kiss me. It’s kinda clingy.”

Your mouth drops open slightly.

“Clingy?”

“Yeah,” he says, all smug. “Can’t even watch TV in peace without being attacked.”

You sit up, dramatically placing a hand on your chest. “Oh, wow. Okay. Since when am I clingy?”

He shrugs. “Since, like, always. It’s cute though.”

Cute, he says, like that’s supposed to soften the blow. You squint at him.

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the tub of ice cream back and scooting away just slightly. Not too far, but enough to make your point. “I won’t be clingy anymore.”

He snorts. “You? Not clingy? That’ll last like two minutes.”

“Wanna bet?”

You press your lips together and turn your attention back to the screen. Internally, you’re screaming a little. The logical part of your brain knows he’s joking, that this is your dynamic. But the petty, dramatic part of you decides to go full method actor.

You don’t lean into his shoulder again.

You don’t touch his leg.

You don’t try to kiss his cheek, his jaw, or even his neck like you usually would.

You don’t do any of it.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.

You’re playing it so cool. You even laugh at the TV a little extra, just to prove you’re fine.

And that’s when he starts to squirm.

You feel him shifting closer. He pretends to stretch, arms moving up behind his head. One arm drops casually behind your shoulders, but you don’t lean into it. You act like you didn’t even notice.

He clears his throat.

“You’re really not gonna kiss me?”

You hum noncommittally. “Thought I was clingy. I’m trying to give you peace.”

He looks at you like you just kicked a puppy.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, now visibly concerned. “Bebé, come on.”

You offer him the most dramatic side-eye ever. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

“Says the man who dodged me like I had a disease.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His brain is buffering. Good.

Finally, he scoots closer. Like, really close. His arm wraps around your waist and he leans into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

You stiffen.

He doesn’t let up. In fact, he presses a kiss to your skin.

Then another.

Then five in rapid succession.

You blink.

“Lamine…”

“Shhh,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me be clingy now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to give in. But his grip tightens around you, and his whole body shifts until he’s basically sprawled across your lap like a golden retriever-sized boy. He looks up at you with big, round eyes.

“You’re mad?” he whispers.

“A little.”

He pouts. Actually pouts. Then tugs you down until you’re lying on the couch with him half on top of you.

“I like your kisses,” he says, voice soft. “They make me feel good.”

You blink at him.

“And warm,” he adds. “And safe. And sometimes dizzy.”

You press your lips together, fighting the smile that’s begging to take over your face.

“Then why do you dodge them?”

He shrugs. “Because it’s fun to tease you. But now I feel bad.”

“As you should.”

He nods solemnly. Then kisses your cheek.

Then your nose.

Then finally, gently, your lips.

You melt into it, because honestly? He’s too cute. Way too cute for his own good. You wrap your arms around his neck and let your fingers tangle in his curls.

After a long pause, you pull back just a little. “You’re clingy.”

“Yeah,” he says shamelessly. “So?”

“You called me clingy.”

“I was projecting.”

You roll your eyes.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and when he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling.

“Be clingy with me again.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I was just being a little dumb.”

You kiss him softly, then grin. “Good. Because I was about to die holding back.”

He laughs, full and real, his body shaking slightly against yours.

“You’re impossible,” he whispers.

“And you’re annoying.”

“Perfect match then,” he replies, already leaning in for another kiss.

- he sends you tiktoks that say “this is us” and they’re never romantic. like it’ll be two raccoons fighting over a sandwich or a couple falling off a jet ski and he’ll send it with: “you and me in 10 years 😍” the only romantic ones he ever sends are ironically. still, he saves the cute ones to his favorites. just… never tells you. - game days are when he’s actually softest. he acts chill, but when he sees you in the stands or waiting for him after, his whole vibe shifts. he runs over, wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple and mumbles, “you saw that assist, right?” then he lets go and immediately goes back to acting smug like he wasn’t literally giddy to see you. - he calls you on facetime when he’s bored, even if it’s 30 seconds. middle of his day? “i’m eating a sandwich, look.” out with his mamá? “which flowers are your favourite?” he doesn’t need a reason to talk to you. he just likes your face. and your voice. and the way you always roll your eyes but answer anyway.

- he’ll pretend not to want physical affection, until you stop. you go to kiss his cheek? he dodges you playfully. you reach for his hand? he teases you like “ew clingy.” but when you actually stop being affectionate, he’s instantly like “wait where’s my kiss? i didn’t mean it. come back.”

- he teases you constantly, but it’s how he shows affection. he’ll call you dramatic for taking too long to get ready or pretend to gag when you call him cute, but then he’s tying your laces when you’re distracted, or waiting for you with a snack he knows you like. he’s all banter, until it’s time to actually show up. and he always does.

- he’s the kind of boyfriend who comes over just to hang. he doesn’t need big plans. he shows up, steals half your snacks, sprawls out on your bed with his phone, and acts like he lives there. and if you fall asleep mid-movie, he quietly grabs a hoodie to cover you and lowers the volume. doesn't say anything. just stays.

- he likes listening to music with you more than anything else. you could be in the car, in his room, lying on the floor, he’s got one airpod in and the other in your ear. half the time, you’re not even talking. just listening. sometimes he skips a song two seconds in and apologizes like “nah, you wouldn’t like that one.” he never gets tired of figuring out what sounds like you.

You stared blankly at the half-packed suitcase on the bed, then at the closet, then back at the suitcase. “This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just meeting his family. It’s not the end of the world. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

Still, your heart’s going crazy, and your hands can’t stop fidgeting. You’d packed and then unpacked three times already, trying to find the perfect thing to wear to impress Pedri’s parents. Pedri walked in a moment later, phone still in hand, but his attention almost immediately shifted from the Instagram post he was looking at to you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice calm and even as usual. 

You looked up, giving him a nervous smile. “I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak the moment I meet tu mamá.” He chuckled, tossing his phone onto the bed and walking over to sit beside you, “You’re overthinking, sol (sunshine). My parents are going to love you.”

You give him a fairly sassy look. “You have to say that.” “No,” he said, giving you a sassy look back, and bumping your shoulder gently with his. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Pedri took your hand in his, running his thumb slowly over your knuckles. “My mamá’s going to be obsessed with you. She’s been asking about you for weeks. And my papá? He already likes you. He said anyone who can make me this happy and in line must be some sort of saint.” 

You let out a small laugh, despite the nerves. “So I’ll be fine?” “You’ll be perfect.” he grins.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder, grateful for how effortlessly he calms your nerves. “I just… I want them to see how much I care about you. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Pedri turned toward you slightly, his voice quiet and genuine.  “You already show me how much you care every single day. They’re going to see that too. And if they don’t see it in the first five minutes, my mamá will get out the baby photo albums to embarrass me, and, if you pay attention, you’ll be her favourite forever.” You smile into his shoulder. “Tempting. You were a cute ass baby.” He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “Just be yourself. That’s who I love, and that’s who they’ll love, too.” 

Pedri stood up and offered his hand to you. “Vamos, we have a suitcase to pack, a flight to catch, and my mamá made croquetas. If you’re nervous, eat first. That’s her rule for everything.” You laughed and took his hand, butterflies still fluttering, but in a different way now. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

You sat curled up on Pau’s bed, knees hugged yo your chest, your suitcase still half-zipped and lying on the floor. Everything was packed. Everything was ready. But you weren’t.

Your mind kept spinning in circles. ‘What if they don’t like me?’ ‘What if I say the wrong thing?’ ‘What if I somehow embarrass Pau or myself in front of his whole family?’

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps before you felt the bed dip beside you. Pau didn’t say anything at first - just sat quietly, his presence calm as always, like he knew you needed a minute or two. 

Finally, you glanced at him. “Is it obvious I’m lowkey freaking out?” He smiled gently, his green eyes warm and soft. “A little. But only because I know you.” You groaned and hid your face behind your knees, “I’m sorry. I know this is supposed to be exciting, and it is, I promise. I just… I don’t know. Meeting your parents feels like a really big deal.” 

Pau nodded slowly, taking his time to respond. “It is a big deal. But that doesn’t mean it has to be scary.” You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “Aren’t you nervous?” He shook his head, and then reached for one of your hands, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. “No. Because I know them, and I know you. And I know how much they’re going to like you.” 

You let out a shaky breath. “What if I say something weird? What if I don’t say enough? What if tu mamá thinks I’m too quiet? Or what if tu papá-” “Hey,” Pay cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be yourself. My parents… they’re kind people. They’re not going to judge you. They’re excited to finally meet the girl I’ve been talking about for months.” 

A small smile makes its way onto your face. “You’ve been talking about me?” He smiled, his own cheeks going a little pink. “Kind of a lot.”

That made you laugh, and Pau laughed too, a little shyly, his eyes crinkling at the corners nonetheless. “Mi mamá’s probably already made ten different things to eat just because she doesn’t know what you like. She’s going to spoil you. And mi papá… he’s quieter, like you and me, but he’ll ask about football or something to bond with you.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at Pau again. “I really want to make a good impression.” “You will,” he said simply. “Trust me.”

And the way he looked at you right then - so sure, so confident, so proud - you started to believe him. 

You squeezed his hand, another smile forming on your lips. “Okay, let’s go then.”

Pau smiled back, standing up and offering you his hand to help you up off the bed. “You’ve got this. And if anything gets weird, I’ll fake an emergency and drive us back.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

“Okay, lowkey, what if your mamá hates me?” You asked the question halfway through putting on your jacket, frozen in place with one arm through the sleeve. Ferran looked up from where he was zipping up the duffel bag by the door, eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting that level so suddenly. 

“Hates you?” he repeated, blinking like you’d said something in another language. “What are you talking about?”

You let your arm flop uselessly out of the jacket and sat down on the bed, letting out a long digh. “I don’t know, Ferran. She’s your mamá. She probably has, like, sky-high expectations and perfect Valencian princess ideas of the girl her only son’s supposed to bring home. What if I disappoint her?”

Ferran stared at you for another few seconds, before slowly standing upright and crossing the room towards you, trying, and failing, not to laugh. 

“Valencian princess ideas?” he repeated, amused. “Do you hear yourself?”

You groaned and fell back on the bed, arms splayed out dramatically. “I’m serious.”

He climbed onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on one elbow as looked down at you. “Vale, escúchame, reina (okay, listen to me, queen). My mamá isn’t scary. She’s just a mamá. And she’s going to love you.”

You cracked an eye open. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Exactly,” he said, kissing your cheek, “and soon, she’s gonna see that too.”

You turn to face him fully, propping your chin on your hand. “What if I talk too fast? Or sat something dumb in front of your papá? Or like… accidentally curse during dinner?” Ferran laughed again, then leaned in until your noses were almost touching. “Then you’ll fit right in.” That made you smile, despite the nervousness still bubbling in your stomach. 

He reached over to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got nothing to prove. You being you? That’s all they want. My sister’s already excited to meet you. My mamá’s probably baking something right now just because I told her your favourite dessert.” Your heart smiled. “You told her that?”

“Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You think I’m not bragging about you every chance I get?”

You roll your eyes but the felt starts to ebb away.

He leaned in slightly, giving you a soft kiss. “Vamos. I’m excited.” You laugh and get up, resuming putting on your jacket.

Lamine noticed you nervously adjusting your shirt for the millionth time in the last five minutes, your eyes flicking between the floor and the couch. You hadn’t said anything aloud, but he could sense the tension that’s building up inside you. He knew how important today was for you. Meeting his family for the first time, especially during Christmas, was bound to bring a wave of nervousness over you. You were excited, of course, but you couldn’t shake the anxiety in your stomach either. 

“Hey,” he said softly, elbowing your side to get your attention, “¿qué ocurre (what’s wrong)?” You turn your head to look at him and smile tightly back at him, “Yeah, I’m just… nervous, I guess.” Lamine frowns, “Nervous? About what?” 

You sighed and fixed your hair yet again. “I really want them to like me, Lamine. It’s your family, they’re important to you, so I want them to like me. I don’t want to mess anything up.” Lamine smiles at you reassuringly, slinging an arm around you in a casual fashion. “I promise, they’re going to love you. Mi mamá’s been pestering me to meet you, and Keyne’s hardly scary. You’ll be fine.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, raising an eyebrow. “You say that now, but what if I say something awkward or do something weird? What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you?” He just laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not going to mess up. You’re perfect as you are.” He smiles more softly now, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, “They’re so excited to meet the person who makes me so happy. You have nothing to worry about.”

His words were gentle, but as they usually do, they carried a confidence that made you feel lighter. Lamine talked about them so fondly, you knew they’d be kind, but the thought of being actually in the same room as them for the first time still made your palms a little sweaty. 

“Besides,” Lamine continues, more playful now, “if you ever feel too nervous, just hang out with Keyne. He gives the best hugs and he’ll happily tell you all about all his soft toys and their names.”

You laughed, “I’m sure I’ll be fine, so long as I don’t embarrass you.” 

Lamine’s face softened once again as he turned your face to look at him. “You could never embarrass me, mi amor. You mean so much to me, and my family knows that, and I’m excited for them to see it in person too.” 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weird tossing of your stomach soothe as the moments pass. Lamine was right, annoyingly, he often is. His family would see how much you both love each other, and they’d understand. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“You always know how to calm me down,” you whispered, leaning into his side, his body warm, as usual. 

Lamine kissed your forehead. “That’s because I’m always around your anxious ass. I’ve cracked the code on how to make you see sense again.” he snickers, and you playfully slap his arm. 

After a few more moments of laughing, the room goes quiet again and Lamine smiles at you. “Ready to go?” He holds his hand out for you to take as he stands up to leave. You nod and lace your fingers with his, heading towards the front door. 

“Te amo (i love you).” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “Yo también te amo (i love you too).” you smile up at him, and he smiles back.

You were pacing again. Back and forth in front of Pablo’s bed, feeling too restless to sit still. Christmas in Los Palacios. With his family. His parents. His sister.

You froze when you heard a soft laugh behind you. 

“Bebé,” Pablo says, calling your attention as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing, but soft, smile on his face, “you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Cálmate.”

You gave him a look, but he was already walking towards you, his presence alone making the nerves calm slightly. “I’m freaking out, Pablo,” you said, the words coming out faster than your normal tone. “What if they don’t like me? What if I say something weird or-” “-trip over something? Spill wine on mi mamá’s couch? Bring a dish with ingredients that someone’s allergic to?” he offers, raising an eyebrow with that stupid, teasing smile still on his face. 

You groaned and slapped his chest. “You’re not helping!”

Pablo laughs, pulling you into his arms. His arms slide around your waist like they have done a million times before, like that’s his favourite place for them to be, and maybe, it is. “I am helping. I’m making you realise how silly it sounds.”

You sigh, resting your forehead against his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. “I just… I want them to like me. I mean, they’re your parents. This is kind of a big deal.” 

“They’re going to like you.” he said firmly, and when you looked up, he was already looking down at you with those big, perfect eyes of his. “They’re going to love you, actually. Because I do.”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly at the way he said it, so very certainly. Like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “You do?” He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Of course I do. Do you really think I’d take any girl home for Christmas? Mi mamá might cry. She’s a crier. Mi papá will pretend he’s chill, but he’s probably going to ask about your entire life story 10 minutes after you meet him. And Aurora? She’ll be happy to have another girl her age-ish around.”

“Dios mío.” you mutter, burying your face in his hoodie. “But they’ll love you,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Because you make me ridiculously happy. You’re the first person I’ve never been nervous to bring home.” Your heart squeezed a little. All your nerves, your doubts, your ‘what-if’s - they didn’t disappear, but they felt quieter, dulled by the way Pablo seemed so confident and the way he held you tight. He made you feel like you already place in his family, even if you hadn’t actually met them yet. 

You wrapped your arms tighter around his waist and then dropped them to your sides in a final squeeze. “Vale, I’m ready.” “Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because they’ve been ready for you since the second I told them about us.”

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the strap of your bag in your hands. Your suitcase packed, coat hanging by the door, and Marc had already triple checked the passports and plane tickets. Everything was ready for the flight back to Barcelona… except for your nerves. 

Marc popped his head in from the hallway, grinning like he did, cheeks slightly pink from the cold air outside. “You ready?”

You hesitated. “Almost.”

He paused, then walked over, his smile softening when he saw the way you were chewing your bottom lip. “You’re nervous.” You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “Is it that obvious?” Marc sat down beside you, pulling you closer to him. “You’re usually the confident one between us. I’ve never seen you sit this still.” 

You let out a quiet laugh, then groaned. “I just… I want to make a good impression. I mean, it’s your family. What if they think I’m not good enough for their son or something? What if they don’t even like me?!”

Marc turned to face you fully, his expression serious, but soft. “Hey. Cállate, idiota (shut up, idiot). You’re overthinking this. First of all, that’s not even possible. And second, they’re not trying to like you. They already do. I’ve told them all about you. About how kind you are. How funny you are. How you’ve got this really annoying habit of stealing my hoodies and acting like it’s yours-”

You playfully smacked his arm, but he grabbed your hand before you could pull it back, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re excited. Mi mamá’s been texting me asking what kind of snack you like, and mi papá’s already made a list of places to show you in Granollers. You don’t have to prove anything to them.” 

You blinked, taken aback by how certain he was. How calm. How much he believed in you. “You don’t think I’ll say or do something dumb?” Marc chuckled. “If you do, they’ll probably just think it’s funny. Like I do.” That made you smile, your nerves softening just a bit. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let yourself breathe for the first time all morning. “Okay, I’m ready now. I think.”

Marc pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there for a moment. “Good. Because mi hermana’s already threatened to disown me if I don’t bring you home soon.”  You laughed again, the tension finally beginning to ease. “How nice of her,” you reply sarcastically. 

He grinned and then stood up. “Vamos. You’re about to be the favourite in the family, and I’m not even mad about it.”

You took his hand, heart still fluttering - but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the way he looked at you, with nothing but love.

You sat at the kitchen island, holding a mug of hot chocolate that you hadn’t touched in 10 minutes. Your bag was by the door. Your phone was charged. The car had a full tank of petrol. You’re due to leave in five minutes. And yet, you’re still spiraling. 

Across the kitchen, Héctor is humming to himself while getting his last few little bits ready, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t about to bring you home to meet the people who literally raised him. 

“Do you think your mamá and papá will like me?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Héctor froze and turned to face you slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking. You weren’t.

“Wait,” he said, wa;king over with a soft, confused smile. “You’re actually nervous?” You looked down at your hot chocolate. “Yeah… like, very.”

He leaned against the counter beside you, gently tugging the mug out of your hands and setting it aside. “You do realise my mamá’s probably already planned some sort of girl’s night for the two of you or something right?” Your head snapped up, “What?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. She’s excited to finally have another girl around. She even said, and I quote, ‘bring that sweet girl of yours around so I can finally meet her properly and feed her well.’ Her words. Not mine.”

You blinked. “That's oddly comforting.”

“She’s a mamá. It’s how she shows love,” Héctor said with a shrug, brushing his fingers over your wrist gently. “And my papá? He’s more reserved, but if you ask him anything about the garden or football, he’ll fall in love with you instantly.”

You let out a soft laugh, the knot in your stomach loosening by a fraction.

“No sé (i don’t know),” you mumbled. “I just… I want to be enough. For them. For you.”

Héctor’s hand immediately found yours, his fingers warm as always. “Oye,” he said, tilting his head so you’d meet his eyes. “You’re already enough. More than enough. You don’t have to try and be anything you’re not.” “But-” “Nope.”

He cut in softly, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m serious, I wouldn’t be bringing you home if I wasn’t sure - if I didn’t want them to know the person who makes me the happiest.”

Your heart fluttered. 

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re just coming home with me. And they’re gonna love you, because you’re you.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Vale. Let’s go meet your mamá and see what kind of terrifyingly welcoming night she has planned for me.”

Héctor grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Grey clouds hung low over the city, and the rain drummed a soft, steady beat on the windows. Inside, Pedri sat curled up on the couch, a thick wool blanket draped over his shoulders and legs. His book lay forgotten in his lap as his eyes traced the pattern of raindrops sliding down the glass.

You settled beside him, your body leaning into his side. The blanket slipped over you both, and you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your head.

“I love days like this,” Pedri said quietly, voice low and content. “No noise, no pressure. Just... calm.”

You nodded, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment. “Me too.”

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, and his fingers began tracing slow, soothing circles on your back. It was a silent language, words weren’t necessary when every touch said you were home.

The world outside faded into background noise, the rain’s soft tapping, the occasional rumble of thunder far away. Inside, there was only the slow heartbeat between you.

Pedri’s fingers tightened around yours. “We don’t do this enough,” he whispered.

You smiled, looking up at him. His eyes were warm, slightly tired, but full of something steady and true. “We should,” you agreed.

For a while, you both just sat like that, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and the quiet pulse of being together. Your head rested lightly on his chest as he shifted to press a kiss to your forehead.

No plans, no distractions, just a calm, slow day spent wrapped in softness.

The rain kept falling outside, but, inside, the world felt like it had paused just for you two.

written by @paucubarsisimp The rain had been falling for hours — slow and lazy, like even the sky didn’t feel like rushing today.

You and Pau had been curled up on the couch since late morning, the blanket half on, half off, one of his legs hooked around yours like he was afraid you’d float away if he let go. Your head was resting on his chest, and he had both arms wrapped around you like a sleepy octopus — one hand tucked into your hair, the other playing with the hem of your shirt.

He smelled like warmth. Like skin and soft cotton and that one hoodie he always left at your place, the one you were currently drowning in.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled, nose squished into his collarbone.

Pau hummed, lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re literally stealing all my body heat.”

You smiled against his neck. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” he whispered, and kissed your temple once. Then again. Then a third time, slower. “But only 'cause it’s you.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he looked down at you with that half-sleepy, all-heart look — the one that made your chest ache a little in the best way.

He leaned down, kissed your cheek.

“You’re cute.”

Kissed your nose.

“Too cute.”

Kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Stop being so cute, seriously, it’s unfair.”

You laughed, trying to hide your face in his hoodie, but he caught you with a grin, kissing you properly this time — soft and slow and just a little too long. When he pulled back, your smile matched his.

“You always do that,” you whispered, dazed. “What?” “Kiss me like I’m made of clouds or something.”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Maybe you are.”

You laughed again, and he kissed your laugh too — once, then twice more, like he couldn’t help it. His hands slid up your back, slow and gentle, thumbs brushing along your spine, grounding you.

The rain tapped on the window like a soft drumbeat, and the whole world outside faded to a quiet blur.

“Can we stay like this forever?” you asked, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Pau nodded, burying his face in your hair.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Me, you, this hoodie, and about a hundred kisses. That’s all I need.”

You grinned, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed your forehead one last time — firm and steady, like a promise.

And you stayed like that, in the soft hush of the rain and the warmth of each other, letting the world slow down around you.

written by @paucubarsisimp The rain had been falling since early morning — soft and steady, the kind that makes everything feel slower. Outside, the sky was a dull grey, but inside, the apartment felt warm in that lazy, rainy-day kind of way.

You were tucked into the corner of the couch, legs curled under a blanket that definitely used to belong to Ferran until you claimed it. He walked in from the kitchen barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, holding two mugs like they were precious cargo.

“Vale, don’t move,” he said quietly, setting them down. “This one’s yours — more honey, just how you like it.”

“You’re learning,” you teased, already reaching for it.

He gave you a small smile, the kind that showed just a little dimple. “I’m a fast learner when it comes to you.”

You made room and he didn’t hesitate — just dropped onto the couch next to you and pulled the blanket over both of you like it was second nature. His arm went around your shoulders without a word. His hand found yours. Like muscle memory.

“You’re clingy today,” you mumbled, though your head found his chest anyway.

“No es verdad,” he said, trying not to smile. “You’re the clingy one. I’m just… here.”

You laughed against him, soft and sleepy. His fingers started moving gently up and down your arm, absentminded, almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. But you knew Ferran — he always knew. He was just quiet about how much he loved closeness.

“Days like this feel like they don’t really count,” you whispered. “Exactly,” he said. “Like we get a break from everything.”

His voice was low, lazy, like the rain outside. And for a while, neither of you said anything — just listened to the sound of water on glass and the distant hum of the city trying to keep moving.

He kissed the top of your head so softly you barely felt it. “Podemos quedarnos así todo el día si quieres.”

“You sure?” you murmured, already sinking deeper into him. He nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere. Esta es mi parte favorita del día.”

Your favorite part too.

The rain tapped steadily on the windows, the soft rhythm filling the quiet room. You found yourself snuggled in the little nest Lamine had built on the floor, a fortress of pillows and blankets he’d dragged out with a proud grin, declaring it the “best rainy day setup.” Honestly, you couldn’t argue. It was the perfect spot to escape the wet chill outside.

Lamine lounged back comfortably, phone forgotten in his hand as his eyes tracked raindrops racing each other down the glass. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. His steady breathing slowed your own, a comforting anchor amid the muted gray outside.

“You always know how to make this kind of day feel special,” you murmured, fingers trailing lazy circles on his arm.

He glanced down at you with a smile, nudging your shoulder softly. “Rainy days aren’t meant for running around,” he said. “They’re for slowing down, doing nothing, just being together.”

You felt the warmth of the thick blanket draped over both your legs and the way his hand slid up to tangle with yours. It was a simple gesture, but it filled the silence with quiet connection.

The smell of hot chocolate lingered in the air. Earlier, Lamine had disappeared into the kitchen, returning proudly with two steaming mugs, the sweet scent mixing with the scent of wet concrete from the open window.

You sipped slowly, the warmth spreading through your chest matching the glow of being here, now, with him.

Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping. But inside your little haven, time seemed to pause. The world outside could stay cold and wet while you lay here wrapped in quiet and comfort.

Lamine’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “I don’t need anything else today. Just this.”

You smiled, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Neither do I.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his warmth and the gentle sound of rain, everything felt perfectly still.

Outside, the streets glistened wet and slick under the steady rain. Inside Pablo’s apartment, the world was softer, filled with warmth, the quiet hum of the heater, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

You sat curled up on the floor next to him, your back resting against the couch as Pablo fiddled with the cord of a knitted blanket, pulling it free and spreading it carefully over your legs.

He looked up with a small smile, eyes bright despite the gray outside. “This is exactly what I needed,” he said quietly. “No pressure, no noise, just... this.”

You nodded, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Same here.”

The two of you settled into the quiet rhythm of the rain, the sound soft and steady. Pablo shifted closer, letting his shoulder bump against yours, sharing warmth without words.

“I love rainy days like this. It means I get to spend time with you and do nothing,” he said after a moment, voice calm and thoughtful.

You laughed softly. “Yeah. Sometimes doing nothing is the best.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady warmth beneath you. The steady pulse of his breathing became a soft rhythm you could follow, matching the rain’s gentle fall.

Outside, the city seemed washed clean and quiet, but inside Pablo’s apartment, the world was full of gentle moments, small smiles, soft touches, and the slow, quiet joy of being together.

Time stretched out softly as you two stayed wrapped in the blanket and the peace of a rainy day that had nowhere to go but right here, in each other’s company.

written by @paucubarsisimp The rain had been falling all day, soft and steady, like even the sky wanted to stay quiet for a while.

Héctor showed up at your place just before noon, his hoodie soaked through, curls damp, cheeks a little pink from the cold. He didn’t say much when you opened the door — just gave you that shy smile and shrugged with a quiet, “Hola.”

You knew exactly why he came. He always did when it rained.

Now, he was curled up behind you on the couch, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other resting lightly on your chest, like he never wanted to let you go. His breathing was slow and steady, and you could feel the heat of his body pressed close to yours, legs tangled, fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of your shirt.

He didn’t seem to want anything more than just being close. Just having you close.

You slowly turned to look at him, and he met your eyes with that half-asleep gaze — calm, quiet, and something else you couldn’t quite name but felt deep down.

“Here again,” he said with a small smile, barely above a whisper. “Yeah,” you said, running your fingers along his cheek.

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, then your nose, then your jaw — slow and gentle, like he wanted to memorize every touch.

You laughed softly. “You always kiss me like it’s the first time.” He blinked. “It’s because I want to remember it all.”

He kissed you again — this time on your lips, barely more than a warm brush — and then rested his forehead against yours.

“Can we just… not move today?” he asked, voice low and rough with sleep. “Depends,” you teased, “what if I want some coffee?” “I’ll make it,” he said without hesitation, eyes still closed. “But you have to come back right after.”

You smiled, and he pulled you closer. “Clingy.” “And you’re my favorite,” you whispered.

He kissed your shoulder through the fabric, then your collarbone, and then your lips again — slow, sweet, and patient.

You stayed like that, wrapped in the sound of the rain and the warmth of his arms, letting time pause just for the two of you.

He held you like nowhere else mattered.

You’re used to footballers getting flirty. It’s kind of baked into the job. When you’re one of the youngest physiotherapists at the club, surrounded by boys with egos as big as their followings, it’s just part of the deal.

What you weren’t expecting was him.

Lamine Yamal.

Golden boy. Game-changer. Media darling. And for the past month and a half, your regular rehab client after he twisted his ankle mid-match.

Seventeen and a rising star, but somehow, when he walks into the physio room with that boyish grin and those huge brown eyes, he doesn’t feel like a million followers and counting. He just feels like Lamine.

And lately, he’s been showing up early. Staying a little longer than necessary. Asking questions that have nothing to do with ankles.

You don’t let yourself read too far into it. You’re smart. Focused. Professional. You don’t crush on clients, even if they do look at you like you hung the stars in the recovery room.

Besides, it’s not like he’s said anything.

Not like the others.

“Careful, Lamine,” Pablo teases as he hops onto the table next to his friend, shirt damp from training. “You hog her too long and I might steal her.”

You roll your eyes and tap his knee with the clipboard. “You’re not even on my list today.”

“That can be fixed.” He grins, cocky as ever, and shoots a wink your way.

You snort. “Keep talking and I’ll add you, to the injury report.”

Lamine doesn’t laugh.

You don’t catch it right away. You’re too focused on checking his range of motion, rotating his ankle gently as he leans back on his palms, muscles tense under your hands.

But when you look up, his jaw’s tight. His gaze isn’t on you. It’s fixed firmly on Gavi.

“Do you mind?” he mutters, eyes narrowed. “We’re in the middle of something.”

Pablo raises a brow. “Relax, hermano. I’m joking.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

You blink.

There’s a beat of silence. A charged one. You clear your throat.

“Let’s just get through this set, okay?” you say, shifting the focus. “I want to test some lateral pressure today.”

Lamine obeys. Sort of. He’s cooperative physically, but emotionally, he’s miles away. Cold. Quiet. And when Gavi eventually leaves, tossing one last playful glance your way, Lamine doesn’t say a word for the rest of the session.

You finally exhale when he grabs his things and heads for the door.

But then he turns.

Hand on the frame. Lips parted. Something burning in his expression.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

Your brows knit. “Don’t like what?”

“That.” His voice is low. “The way he looks at you.”

“Lamine…”

“Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”

There’s something unrecognizable in him. Not angry exactly. Just… wound up. Unraveling.

“He was joking,” you say, trying to keep your tone even. “It’s harmless.”

“It’s not harmless if I feel like punching someone.”

You blink again. “Excuse me?”

His eyes finally meet yours, and for the first time, they don’t soften. They ignite.

“I can’t sit there and watch guys flirt with you,” he says, stepping back into the room. “I’ve been trying to be cool. Trying to stay chill. But every time I see someone else touching you, or making you laugh, or even just… being near you when I’m not allowed to say what I want to say-”

He cuts himself off.

You’re not breathing.

He runs a hand through his curls, pacing.

“You think I’ve been coming here every day just for ankle stretches?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. “You think I don’t notice the way you smell like coconut or how you hum when you’re focused or how you never let me leave without saying something sweet, even if I’m being annoying as hell?”

You’re frozen. Absolutely still.

He stops pacing. Looks at you like he’s out of breath.

“I’m not just another player, am I?” he asks.

The question hits you right in the center of your chest.

“No,” you whisper. “You’re not.”

His shoulders drop, like the tension is finally cracking.

“I didn’t want to mess anything up,” he says, stepping closer. “Didn’t want to cross a line. But if someone else tried to get with you, I don’t think I could take it.”

“Lamine…”

“You’re different,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You see me. Not the player. Not the headlines. Just me.”

You reach for his hand. He takes yours instantly, lacing your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I do see you,” you say, heart hammering. “You’ve got no idea how much.”

He squeezes your hand.

Then, finally, he smiles.

That familiar Lamine grin, crooked and charming and almost shy.

“So,” he says, “if I asked you out, would you say yes? After I’m back to full fitness, I mean.”

You laugh, a little breathless.

“Lamine, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since your second session.”

He beams. “So… that’s a yes?”

You nod, grinning back. “That’s a definite yes.”

And just like that, the tension in the room flips.

Because he’s still seventeen, and he’s still got a thousand cameras watching his every move, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Fingers entwined, hearts wide open, and nothing between you but the truth that’s been bubbling under the surface since day one.

Lamine leans in, forehead brushing yours. Not a kiss, not yet, but close.

“Don’t let Gavi near you again,” he whispers, teasing now.

You laugh again. “Possessive much?”

He shrugs. “Only when it comes to you.”

And yeah, he’s still technically a patient. You’re still technically on the clock.

But for once, rules don’t feel so important.

You met when you were seven, while playing football out in the schoolyard on one of your first days at your new school in Tegueste, after moving from Lanzarote, another Canarian Island, the closest one to Spain. You were quite a good wee player, but were met with the ground after being tripped by another boy, who looked about your age. Your bottom lip had wobbled as you looked at your now-skinned hands. The boy, looking as guilty as if he’d killed you, crouched down in front of you.

“Lo siento mucho. Lo prometo, no fue mi intención. ¿Estás bien (i’m so sorry. i promise i didn’t mean to. are you okay)?” he had asked tentatively. You sniffed and nodded. Your eyes had gone back to his face, and he had spoken up again.

“Puedo besarlo mejor por ti. Eso es lo que hace mi mamá cada vez que me lastimo (i can kiss it better for you. that's what my mami does whenever i get hurt).” Almost immediately, you nodded once more and held your hands out to him. The boy had pressed a small kiss to each of your palms.

“¿Está todo mejor ahora (is it all better now)?” “En realidad no, pero duele menos. Quizás seas mágico (not really, but it hurts less. maybe you’re magic).”

“Tal vez (maybe),” he smiled and helped you up, “Soy Pedri. Bueno, Pedro, pero todos me dicen Pedri porque soy pequeño y el otro Pedro es grande (i'm pedri. well, pedro, but everyone calls me pedri because i'm little, and other pedro is big).” he introduced, gesturing to a much larger boy across the yard. “¿Cómo te llamas (what’s your name)?” Pedri asked as he helped you up from the floor. “Y/N. ¿Quieres que seamos amigos? Soy nuevo y no tengo ninguno (do you want to be friends? i'm new, and i don't have any).” He nodded and you guys wandered off, back towards the classroom, as the bell had gone. 

And that’s how you met your boyfriend, best friend, and love of your life. 

Having been there for each other through the highs and lows, you two are closer than anyone else either of you know. No longer seven and clueless, the pair of you are curled up in bed, the rain pouring outside, you reading, Pedri on his phone beside you. There was a peaceful silence, besides the sound of rain on the windows and the occasional paper sound coming from your book. 

You turn the page and something falls out, sliding into your lap. Confused, you pick it up, what is it but a pressed white rose and a note? “Be my valentine?” you laugh and look up at Pedri, who’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, waiting. Grinning, you lean across the bed a little, connecting, before pulling away and murmuring against his lips, “Most certainly, I’ll be your Valentine. Considering you’ve been asking since we were 15, do you really even have to ask anymore.” “Yes, I do, because I know it makes you feel special, it makes me feel important, and it actually improves the general romantic-ness of our relationship,” he says firmly, but with a soft, signature Pedri smile.

“Woah, alright. And thank you, it’s very sweet.” you press another kiss to his lips, expecting just a peck, but very quickly, his tongue is in your mouth and you’ve been pulled to straddle his lap. “I have a few more Valentine’s gifts for you, don’t worry.” Pedri says with a smirk and hungry glint in his eye. You know you’re in for a long night, but aren’t at all mad about it.

You had been sitting in second-period Science, right before lunch, when one of the receptionists from the front office came into the classroom, asking you to pack up your things and come with her. Confused, you did so, trailing behind the older woman, back to the main office. Standing there in the office is a faux-distraught-looking Pau, claiming to be your cousin, needing to pick you up early as there’s been a family emergency. Behind her back, you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

A few minutes later, and you’re all signed out and walking out to the carpark with Pau. “You know, you can’t just pull me out of school whenever you want, right? Our ‘grandma’ can only die so many times.” you laugh. He just shrugs and intertwines his hand with yours. “Oh well. I’m taking you on a date.” “A date? At 11.45 in the morning?” “Sí. We’re having a picnic on the beach,” he announces proudly. “On the beach, huh? So all the sand can get in our food? Delightful.” you laugh, he whacks your arm.

“Calla, it’s meant to be romantic (shut up).” Pau teases back, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door for you. “Princesa.” You roll your eyes at the nickname. Most boyfriends would use it in a cute way, their “princesa,” but no, not your boyfriend. Pau just uses it to tease you. He makes a dramatic gesture of it, helping you in by taking your hand and everything. You keep forgetting he has free reign to drive you guys anywhere now. So maybe random Friday lunch dates after a long week will become a more regular occurrence.

 The drive to the beach is fairly short, and most of the way there, you just give Pau the rundown on this week’s school gossip. It’s sunny and warm today, good weather for a picnic. Turns out, Pau’s version of a picnic is a salad and water for him, a sandwich and a lemonade for you, eaten on the tailgate of the car, however, to look out onto the beach while you eat, the car has to be reverse parked.

Pau is awful at reverse/parallel parking, and only just barely passed it on his test, so, while it is a little illegal, you always do it for him. It’s funny, you’re only studying, don’t even have your proper license, and can drive a lot better than him in many ways. Once the car is successfully parked, you both get out, opening the boot and sitting in it, cuddling close to each other.

You both sit in silence for a while, eating and drinking, until Pau randomly speaks up once more. 

“You know how you left your phone at mine the other day?”

You suddenly feel a little nervous. “Yeah..?”

Pau grins. “Wanna explain why you have over 500 saved edits of me on TikTok?” 

You’re quite tempted to die of embarrassment. Literally, mortified. He takes immense pleasure in your pink face. 

“We can do it like that… if you want to.”

You almost don’t want to ask. “Do what like what?” “Do you want it from the back, with your face in the pillow so you can yell as loud as you want to?” He says with a suggestive smirk, quoting the audio of the most recent edit you’ve saved, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

“Shut up,” you mutter, slumping down further. But he doesn’t shut up. Doesn’t even think about it, and 20 minutes later, you find yourself topless, laying in the boot of the car, Pau having put the backseats down for a rather messy makeout, like the good, horny teenagers you are. He lays next to you, both of you breathless. For a good few moments, the only sound that is heard in the car is both of you panting. “You know, I actually brought us out here for the ‘romantic’ date to ask you to be my Valentine,” he says. “Really? Well, the answer is yes.” you chuckle breathily, sitting up.

“How am I meant to go back to school, looking live I’ve been mauled by a dog after going to ‘say goodbye to our grandma with my cousin.’?” casually, you laugh, but Pau’s face is far from amused. “No way in hell are you going back to school. We’re going straight to my bed, mi amor.” You giggle and he finally laughs too. “Alright. Maybe we should try your suggestion from earlier.”

His grin only grows.

You’ve been in a ‘talking stage’ with Lamine for the past two or three months. You had been friends as kids when he still lived in Rocafonda, you grew apart a little with age, but you’ve gotten closer again after starting high school.

You guys are in the same literature and mathematics classes, so you often give him notes or go to his place to help him with homework. He’s very sweet, he looks at you like you’re a beautiful girl, not some piece of meat, he’s always giving you little gifts and things too. You’ve gotten to know his mother better and met his little brother, Keyne. His papá seems to like you too on the few occasions you’ve met him.

Tonight, you’ve come over to help him with some of the literature homework. You’re laying on his bed, paper and books in front of you as you explain the concept it as best you can, when his mamá, Sheila, puts her head in the door, speaking to you with a warm, motherly smile.

“Hola, Y/N. ¿Te gustaría quedarte a cenar (would you like to stay for dinner)?” Lamine watches you intently, waiting for your reply, almost as if this was planned… although, you didn’t notice that. “Sí, Le enviaré un mensaje de texto a mi mamá y le preguntaré. Gracias señorita Ebana (yes, i’ll text my mamá and ask. thank you miss ebana).” you smile back. Sheila nods and leaves the room again, shutting the door. 

You and Lamine go back to doing the homework, although he seems more nervous and less focused than before. “Are you alright?” you frown, noticing that he has been staring at your face and not the book for the past two minutes. He blinks and looks away, a little flushed. “Sí, sí, sorry. I just… zoned out.” You give him a sceptical look but nod. “Vale. Now, back to page 167 (okay)…”

The two of you continue reading and writing until Sheila comes back to say dinner’s ready. When you get to the table, Lamine makes sure to pull your chair out for you and hand you your plate first. Sheila giggles behind her hand as she watches her son, clearly in on something you’re not, so you’re confused for a moment, but then move on. The table is fairly quiet, aside from Keyne chattering away in his high chair. With no siblings at home, you find it very entertaining and help him with a few spoonfuls of the spiced and seasoned rice, watching and laughing at him as he goes. Sheila watches on with a smile, grinning at the secret plan Lamine had made with her, but also at you and Keyne interacting. 

After dinner, you help to clear the table and do a few of the dishes with Sheila, Lamine watching on with love in his eyes from the living room floor as he half plays with Keyne, and half admires you and how well you and his mamá are getting on. Once the dishes are done, you go and sit next to Lamine on the floor again.

“You wanna keep going on the homework?” he asks. You nod and head back to his bedroom. He tells you that he needs the bathroom and that he’ll be in in a minute. When he reenters, you’re sitting on his bed, and he has his hands behind his back, holding something. You frown in confusion and laugh, watching him as he smiles back nervously at you. “What?” you laugh. Lamine takes a deep breath and moves his hands from behind his back. In one hand is a bouquet of long-stem red roses, and in the other, is a small, navy-blue, velvet box. Your eyebrows immediately rise in surprise and your eyes go from the roses to his anxious, but hopeful face. When you don’t immediately take them, he pushes them towards you a little more, you snap out of the haze that is those beautiful brown eyes of his and take the flowers and jewellery box.

You smile at him before opening the box, inside is one of the most beautiful necklaces you’ve ever seen. It’s (gold/silver) the colour he knows you prefer, a small iridescent opal pendant hanging from it. Inside the box, is also a small note.

“Be my valentine?” in Lamine’s signature neat, although slightly crooked, handwriting.

You laugh shakily and cover your mouth, staring at it for a second before putting the bouquet and necklace down on the bed and standing up to hug him. You rest your head on your shoulder, and whisper out your answer. “Yes, yes of course I’ll be your valentine.” he grins and tilts your head up. “¿Puedo besarte (can i kiss you)?” you nod, and a few moments later, those gorgeous plush lips of his are on yours. You pull away a few seconds later and laugh, still close, your forehead resting against his, looking into his eyes once more.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?” “Saying yes.” the taller boy smiles. You laugh, shaking your head slightly, “Of course I said yes. I’d be an idiot not to.”

Lamine pulls away and reaches for the box on the bed once more, he takes it out and gestures for you to turn it around. You feel the cool, delicate (gold/silver) on your neck and his fingers carefully doing up the clasp behind you. 

That night, you have your first sleepover together, and cuddle in bed most of the night, deciding homework can wait until tomorrow.

You’ve never had a Valentine before. Yep, 20 years old and not a single Valentine. So it’s kind of crazy that you’re first ever one will be the Pablo Gavi. 

You didn’t think he’d ask you, considering you were dating and it was probably just assumed, but alas, you arrived home from the grocery shopping to find a whole display of flowers, balloons and various other things on the dining room table, a proud Pablo standing next to it. 

You laugh in shock, almost dropping the grocery bag in surprise. Instead, you deposit it onto the kitchen counter and go over to him. Grinning his usual wide smile, he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you passionately for a good while, but when he gets distracted and his kisses start trailing down your neck, you laugh and pull away, bringing his head back up again. “Save that for later, amor.” He chuckles and presents the table to you properly. You take a closer look and there are multiple bottles of your favourite perfume and skincare products. There’s no makeup as always as Pablo refuses to buy it for you because he thinks you look even prettier without it. Dotted around are multiple bags, Dior, Mercadona, Victoria’s Secret (you can hardly imagine what he’s picked out from there), shoes, and a new dress, with flowers all around the place, and a big sign in the middle of the table. 

“Will you be my Valentine?” 

You laugh, just taking it all in. “What kind of question is that? Who else’s would I be?”

He shrugs and kisses you again. “Is that a yes then?” you roll your eyes and laugh for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Of course, mi amor. Siempre, sí (forever, yes).”

Once more, that cheeky grin appears on his face. You squeak when you’re lifted up the waist, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. As he carries you past the table, he picks up the Victoria’s Secret bag, making a beeline for the bedroom.

Right now, you’re laying on your boyfriend of three years after yet another long day of uni. The silence had been comfortable as he gently scratched his fingers through your hair and kissed your forehead over and over again, in fact, you were almost asleep. But your half-dozed-off state is interrupted when Héctor speaks up.

“Can you look at my foot?” “What?” “My foot.” you just stare at him for a moment.

“Your foot?” you repeat, slower. He nods as if that was a perfectly normal request. 

“Why exactly?” “Because it hurts and you’re training to become a physio.” After staring at him for a moment longer, you sigh and relent, moving to crouch at the end the chaise of the couch, pulling off his sock. “Do you not have professional physios for this?” “Yeah, but I like you better.” Inspecting his foot, you frown. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” “Yes, because it’s the other one.” You pull off his right sock instead, and your eyes widen.

“Héctor Fort García, what did you do?!” you gasp, glancing up to his face, which had the biggest grin on it. On the inside of his right foot, are your initials and birthday, as well as your anniversary date, all written in your handwriting. 

“Got another tattoo.” “I can see that. Why that, and why there?”

“Because that’s the foot I score goals with. So now, every goal I score, every pass, every tackle, every run, is dedicated to you, like you’re there helping me kick, in thought, of course.”

You watch him in surprise for a moment before laughing in disbelief and coming back up to kiss him and give him a hug.

“Estás loco (you’re crazy).”

“Sólo para ti, mi amor (only for you, my love).” he laughs back, pressing yet another kiss to your nose. 

You lay together in silence for a moment, before Héctor speaks up again.

“If you couldn’t tell, this was a very long way of asking you to be my Valentine?”

“Yeah, alright.” you laugh. You two are always laughing when you’re together, because there’s always something to laugh about. Whether it be Héctor messing up an English word, or you spilling something all over yourself, you both find humour in everything. 

“Just, ‘alright’?” he sniggers, shoving you a little.

“What would you prefer I say then, hm?”

“How about a ‘Yes, please, dear boyfriend that just got my name and birthday permanently tattooed on his body.’?” “Mmmm… I think I’ll stick with ‘Yeah, alright.’” you tease, which earns his fingers under your arms, tickling you until you slide off the couch and are crying tears of laughter.