#obvithebestsoph!paucubarsi

The gym is not your favorite place to be. Actually, it ranks somewhere between doing laundry and waiting in line at the bank. But this morning, for reasons you’re not quite ready to admit to yourself, you find yourself tagging along with Pau.

“Come with me,” he’d said last night, voice low and lazy from your shared spot on the couch. “We’ll stretch first. Just light stuff.”

Light stuff, your ass. Ten minutes in, and he’s already moved on to curling weights that are the size of his head. He’s got one in each hand, arms flexing, eyes focused straight ahead. You’re sitting on one of the benches behind him, supposedly tying your shoe or fixing your ponytail or doing anything that makes it okay for you to be staring.

You know it’s not the weights that are making your chest feel tight.

The gym mirror isn’t helping either. It reflects him in full - tall, lean, muscles flexed and sharp beneath his training shirt. There’s a little furrow in his brows like he’s actually deep in concentration, not just showing off for you. His hair is damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, and there’s a soft flush across his cheeks. You know it’s from the exertion, but still. It’s a look.

“You good over there?” he asks without turning around, voice casual but a little smug.

You snap your gaze down to your shoes, as if you weren’t just mentally undressing your boyfriend while he lifts dumbbells like he’s auditioning for a fitness magazine.

“Yeah,” you say, voice just a touch too high. “Totally fine.”

He finally turns, and it’s almost unfair how good he looks - sweaty and warm, with this barely-there grin that says he knows exactly what you were doing. He sets the weights down gently, stretching one arm across his chest.

“You’ve been tying that shoe for five minutes,” he points out.

You look down and realize you tied it three times already. You glare at him for catching you. “It’s complicated,” you say, which is dumb, but you’re in too deep now to back out.

Pau just laughs. Not a big loud one, but soft and under his breath, like he’s trying not to embarrass you in front of the others scattered across the gym. But there’s amusement in his eyes. And maybe something else.

He walks over to you and stands between your knees, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“You wanna try?” he asks, nodding at the weights behind him.

You blink. “You mean lift those?”

“No, the dumbbells from earlier. The lighter ones. Don’t worry, I’ll spot you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re just trying to get me to embarrass myself.”

“Maybe,” he admits, smirking. “But I promise, you’ll look good doing it.”

You groan and swat at his thigh, but he catches your wrist before it lands. His fingers curl around yours and his skin is warm, a little sweaty, but not unpleasant.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently to your feet. “You owe me. You made me do yoga last weekend, remember?”

You scoff. “That was for your own good. Your flexibility is criminally bad.”

“And now it’s your turn to suffer.”

You roll your eyes, but let him pull you over anyway. He hands you a pair of lighter weights and steps behind you, hands ghosting near your arms like he’s ready to help but not quite touching. His breath is at your ear when he speaks.

“Slow and steady,” he murmurs. “Elbows tight. Engage your core.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you mutter.

He chuckles, the sound brushing over your neck. “It means don’t half-ass it.”

You try. You really do. But your arms start shaking halfway through the third rep and you’re pretty sure your face is doing something deeply unattractive. Pau notices, obviously.

“You’re doing great,” he says, completely serious, like he’s your personal trainer or something. “So strong.”

You lower the weights with an exaggerated grunt. “You’re mocking me.”

He lifts his hands in defense. “Never. I’m just impressed.”

You look up at him suspiciously. “You’re trying to get laid later, aren’t you?”

He grins. “Always.”

You smack his chest lightly and he catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your knuckles like he’s some sort of knight and not a sweaty eighteen-year-old who smells vaguely like protein powder and cologne.

“Okay, gym boy,” you say. “I’ve lifted your little weights. Now what?”

He raises an eyebrow. “My little weights?”

You wave a hand. “Fine. Your macho, giant, gym-god weights. Happy?”

He shrugs, that familiar half-smile dancing across his lips. “I liked ‘gym boy,’ actually.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. He’s ridiculous. And charming. And annoyingly fit. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind doing this again, if only for the view.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face with the back of his fingers. “Wanna sit down for a bit? Or… we could hit the mats. Do some core.”

You blink. “You mean planks?”

He nods.

“I’d rather die.”

He laughs again, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Alright. Bench cuddles it is.”

“You’re so gross,” you mumble, but you let him pull you down onto the bench with him anyway, both of you sweaty and tangled, resting against the mirror with his arm slung around your waist.

He taps his phone on with his free hand and opens the front camera. “Smile.”

“Delete that right now,” you say immediately, seeing your post-workout mess on screen.

“Nope,” he says, pressing the shutter button. “Gotta keep proof that you lifted.”

You grab for the phone, but he holds it above your head. “Pau.”

“I’ll crop myself in next to you with a dumbbell in each hand,” he says, snickering. “Caption it: couples who train together...”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t. I’ll just keep it for myself.”

You pause. “Really?”

He looks at you, his expression softer now. “Yeah. Gotta have something to look at next time I’m stuck at camp without you.”

You don’t have a comeback for that. Not really. You just lean into his side and let your head rest against his shoulder, listening to the faint hum of the gym, the low chatter of other players around you.

“You’re still a show-off,” you murmur.

“And you’re still staring.”

“Whatever,” you say, closing your eyes. “You love it.”

You’ve given up on walking anywhere without Pau sticking to your back like a shadow. Not that you mind. It’s kind of adorable, how someone so tall, so strong, so objectively intimidating in stature can be so soft when it comes to you.

He doesn’t say much about it. Doesn’t make it a big deal. But whether it’s a crowded street in Barcelona or just waiting in line for coffee, Pau’s always there, calmly placing himself behind you like it’s second nature. Like his six-foot-something frame was built to shield you from the world.

Today is no different. You’re walking through the Gothic Quarter, browsing street stalls and taking way too many photos for your camera roll. You’re half-aware of Pau behind you, his hands in his pockets, keeping a polite distance but never straying too far. Every time someone brushes too close, he shifts. Just slightly. Nothing aggressive, nothing rude. But enough to say, Back off. She’s mine.

You glance over your shoulder. “You don’t have to hover, you know.”

He lifts a brow. “I’m not hovering.”

“You are literally walking three inches behind me.”

His eyes crinkle with amusement. “I’m just… being nearby.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

He grins. “Sure. A very good-looking bodyguard.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his arm playfully. “Well, don’t scare the tourists.”

That makes him laugh, the sound low and quiet. He’s never loud, never boastful. But there’s something in the way he exists, solid and certain, that makes you feel like nothing could touch you.

At one of the stalls, you stop to look at some handmade rings. Pau stays back at first, letting you browse. But when a group of guys walks a little too close, he’s suddenly there again, not even looking at them, just resting a hand on your lower back, as if to remind everyone that you are not alone. The guys take one look at him and veer off in another direction.

You turn your head slightly. “See? You scare people.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You don’t have to. You’re built like a brick wall.”

He shrugs, barely hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just doing my job.”

You buy a ring and slide it onto your finger. Pau takes your hand without asking, tilting it to admire the way the metal catches the light. He doesn’t let go afterward.

“You like it?” you ask.

He nods. “But I like your hands more.”

You groan, but your heart flutters anyway. “You’re actually disgusting Pau Cubarsí.”

He leans down, lips brushing your hair. “You love it.”

Unfortunately - yeah, you do.

Later, you sit at a bench near the cathedral, sipping a fruit smoothie while Pau stretches his legs in front of you, one arm draped behind you along the back of the bench. You’re watching a street performer play guitar when you feel his fingers brush your shoulder. Not for attention. Just to keep you close.

“You cold?” he murmurs, already pulling his hoodie off.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

Still, he drapes it over your shoulders, letting the sleeves hang down your arms. It smells like his cologne and that fresh-soap scent that’s just… him. You don’t bother returning it. He probably knew you’d keep it anyway.

People are watching the performer, clapping, throwing coins into the open guitar case. Pau’s watching them all, his eyes subtly scanning the space around you. You almost laugh.

“Pau. You’re not actually my bodyguard.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like one?”

He glances down at you, soft and easy. “Because I like knowing you’re safe.”

“You think I’m going to get attacked at a tourist market in the middle of the afternoon?”

His smile returns. “Probably not. But just in case.”

You lean into his side, bumping your shoulder against his. “You really think anyone would mess with me, knowing you’re around?”

He considers that for a second. “They’d be dumb to try.”

You laugh, and he looks at you like you hung the moon. That’s what gets you every time. Not just the protectiveness. But the way he’s so content just being there. Present. Steady. Quietly in love.

“I like it when you stand behind me,” you admit, playing with the string of his hoodie.

“Yeah?”

“Makes me feel…” You pause, trying to find the word. “Safe. But not in a suffocating way. Just… like you’ve got me.”

He tilts his head. “I do have you.”

You meet his eyes, and there’s that look again. The one he saves only for you.

“I know,” you say.

summary: you spend a sunny afternoon admiring your boyfriend.

The living room was quiet, which was rare considering how often Pau filled it with music or TV or some sort of noise just to have something going on in the background. But right now, it was all still. The curtains fluttered gently with the breeze from the window, and sunlight spilled onto the rug, painting golden shapes on the floor. Pau sat beside you on the couch, legs stretched out, his hand lazily resting on your thigh, thumb tracing little shapes like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

You were both in that peaceful post-lunch haze, bellies full, minds slow. The kind of mood where you could sit in silence for hours and still feel perfectly content.

Pau had his head tipped back against the couch, curls falling messily onto his forehead, eyes half-lidded like he was seconds away from a nap. He looked completely relaxed, hoodie loose and sleeves pushed up to his elbows, skin warm from the sun and the closeness of you.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and something inside you just buzzed. Not in a loud or chaotic way. More like that soft, overwhelming feeling that makes your heart thump a little faster just from existing next to someone like this. He was just… so pretty. In the kind of way that made your breath catch for no real reason at all.

So, without really thinking, you reached out and touched his cheek.

Pau blinked slowly, looking at you in that calm, sleepy way he did when he was content. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and thick with laziness, though his lips curled into the beginning of a smile.

“Just…” Your thumb brushed over the edge of his cheekbone. “Appreciating. You’re too pretty, it’s distracting.”

That got a proper smile out of him. He turned his face slightly into your palm, kissing it quickly, the stubble on his jaw catching just a little on your skin. “Distracting, huh?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling bold in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Your fingers slid from his cheek to his jaw, tracing along the bone, then down the smooth column of his throat. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just let you explore like it was something he was used to. Like your hands on him were always welcome, expected even.

“Your skin’s warm,” you murmured, half to yourself.

“You’re warm,” he replied, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you closer so you were practically in his lap. His voice had a lazy drawl to it, and the corners of his eyes were creased with affection.

You took the opportunity to rest your other hand on his arm, thumb brushing slowly over his forearm. You watched the way the veins shifted under your touch, how the muscles in his bicep twitched just a little. He was so solid. Not in a bulky, gym-obsessed way, but in a quiet strength sort of way. The kind that made you feel safe. Protected. Yours.

“You’re staring,” Pau teased, though his voice stayed soft.

“You’re letting me.”

“I like when you look at me like that.”

You didn’t stop. Your fingers drifted higher, up his arm, past the cuff of his sleeve, onto his bare shoulder. His hoodie had slipped just a bit, letting you brush over his collarbone, warm and golden in the light. You flattened your palm against his chest next, feeling the steady beat of his heart underneath. “I think I’d look at you forever if you let me.”

He tilted his head and grinned, a little crooked, a little amused, a little smug. “So do it. I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to the spot just under his jaw. “You smell good.”

Pau chuckled, his hands moving to your waist now, holding you in place like he didn’t trust you not to slip away. “You’re being kinda handsy today.”

“Don’t act like you mind.”

“Oh, I don’t.” His grin turned mischievous. “Just surprised. You usually pretend like I’m the one who’s obsessed.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t deny it. Your fingertips trailed back to his cheeks again, both hands cupping his face this time. “I just love your face. Like, actually. Your cheekbones? Crazy. Your jawline? Rude. Your eyelashes? Unnecessary.”

Pau’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Still pretty, though,” you shot back, and leaned in to kiss him - quick, soft, barely there. But he didn’t let you get away with just that. His hand found the back of your neck, keeping you close as he deepened it, slow and warm, like he had all the time in the world to kiss you breathless.

When you finally pulled back, your head was spinning a little, but you didn’t complain. You tucked yourself against his chest, letting your fingers rest on his ribs, his heart still beating steadily under your palm.

He kissed your hair. “You done admiring me, or…”

“Not even close,” you said into his hoodie. “You’re gonna have to sit through this for at least another hour.”

Pau laughed again, and you felt it in his chest more than you heard it. “Then I guess I better get comfortable.”

You grinned, eyes closed, thumb brushing over his skin in slow, lazy patterns again. “Already are.”

You still remember the first time Pau Cubarsí made you a paper ring.

It was back in school, when you were both barely teenagers, sitting on the worn-out benches of the playground. He had ripped a page out of his math notebook, folded it clumsily, and slipped it onto your finger with all the seriousness in the world. The ring had been crooked and fragile, but to him it was a promise. He told you that one day he would give you a real one. You laughed, thinking he was being silly, but the memory stuck.

Since then, paper rings had become his thing. He would fold them in the middle of class and pass them under the desk. He made them while you waited for buses, while sitting together on long train rides, and even on quiet nights when it was just you and him and the sound of soft music in the background. Sometimes he decorated them with little doodles, sometimes he scribbled his initials inside the fold. You had kept most of them, hidden in an old shoebox beneath your bed.

Years passed, and the paper rings never stopped. Even when his football career began to take off, even when life started to feel overwhelming with training and traveling, he never forgot to give you one. You would find them tucked in your bag before a big exam, folded neatly on your pillow after a tough day, or placed in your palm when words weren’t enough. They had become part of your love story.

And through it all, Pau kept saying the same thing: “One day I’ll replace it with the real one.”

You always smiled, always kissed him, always tucked the paper ring safely away. But deep down you never knew when that day would come.

It’s late spring when everything changes.

The two of you are walking down the quiet streets of Bescanó, the town where he grew up, hand in hand. The sky is fading into soft pinks and golds, and the air smells like freshly cut grass. You love visiting with him, because here Pau is just Pau, not the young Barcelona star, not the football prodigy with endless pressure on his shoulders. He’s the boy who used to walk you home from school and make you laugh so hard your stomach hurt.

You glance at him as he talks, his free hand gesturing in that animated way he always has when he’s excited. He’s telling you about a new training session, but he keeps looking at you like the words barely matter compared to your presence.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” he teases, squeezing your hand.

“Not really,” you admit with a grin. “I just like watching you talk.”

He groans playfully but his cheeks flush red, that familiar boyish embarrassment that never seems to leave him no matter how old he gets.

You walk further until you reach the little park where you spent countless afternoons as teenagers. The swings creak, the benches look exactly the same, and you almost feel like kids again. He guides you to one of the benches and sits you down, his expression oddly nervous.

You frown. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, Pau pulls something from his pocket. At first you think it’s another paper ring, and your heart warms automatically, but then you notice the way he’s holding it. Carefully, deliberately.

It’s not paper this time.

Your breath catches as he opens the tiny box to reveal a delicate gold ring, the stone glinting softly in the fading sunlight. It feels surreal, like something out of a dream, yet so perfectly aligned with the years of promises he has made.

He clears his throat, his voice a little shaky but sincere. “I’ve been saying it forever. That one day I’d replace the paper ring. And I figured… I don’t want to wait anymore.”

You blink at him, your hands trembling slightly. “Pau…”

He continues before you can finish. “We’ve grown up together. You’ve been there through everything. From the first time I made one of those silly rings, I knew you were it for me. I love you. I don’t just want to imagine the rest of my life with you, I want to live it with you.” He swallows, eyes shining. “So, will you marry me?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst. For a moment you’re too overwhelmed to speak, tears already blurring your vision. All those years, all those paper rings, all those quiet promises - it all led here.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice breaking. “Of course I will.”

His relief is instant, his grin stretching wide as he slips the real ring onto your finger. His hands shake slightly, but the fit is perfect. The gold feels heavy compared to the flimsy paper ones, but in the best way possible.

You throw your arms around him, laughing through tears as he lifts you slightly off the ground in his embrace. The world feels softer, brighter, as if it has been waiting for this moment just as much as you.

When he pulls back, he presses a gentle kiss against your forehead, then your lips. “Finally,” he murmurs. “I’ve been planning this for so long.”

“You mean you’ve been carrying that around?” you ask, wiping your eyes.

“For weeks,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “Waiting for the right time. I almost gave it to you yesterday, then I thought maybe tomorrow… but I couldn’t wait anymore.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He takes your hand again, lifting it so the ring catches the fading light. “It’s real. No more paper. Well,” he smirks, “maybe still paper sometimes. Just for fun.”

You groan, swatting his arm. “I swear, if you keep making me those…”

“You’ll still keep them,” he interrupts confidently. “You have a whole box, don’t you?”

Your cheeks heat up. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” he says softly, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “And because I kept every note you ever gave me. We’ve been keeping pieces of each other forever.”

You can’t even argue with that. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, the quiet of the park wrapping around you like a blanket.

For a long time, you just sit there. No words, no rush. Just the steady beat of his heart under your cheek and the reality of the ring on your finger. It’s everything you dreamed of and everything you never knew you needed.

Later that night, after you’ve told your families and endured the inevitable happy tears and congratulations, you find yourselves lying on his bed, the world finally quiet again.

Pau has his arm wrapped around you, his fingers still tracing absent circles over the back of your hand. He hasn’t stopped glancing at the ring, as though he needs to keep checking that it’s really there.

“Do you remember the first one I ever made you?” he asks suddenly.

You laugh. “Of course. It was barely holding together.”

“But you wore it for a whole day.”

“Because you looked so proud,” you tease.

He smiles at the memory, his voice turning thoughtful. “I used to think about this moment back then. Even when we were just kids. It was silly, but I really believed it would happen.”

“And it did,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“It did,” he echoes, tightening his hold around you. “And it’s even better than I imagined.”

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace settle over you. The paper rings will always mean something, always remind you of where you started. But now, with the weight of the gold on your finger and the boy you love beside you, you know you’ve stepped into something lasting. Something permanent.

You’ve been around football for as long as you can remember. Being Robert Lewandowski’s eldest daughter means you’ve grown up on the edge of pitches, tucked into stands, sitting quietly during press moments, slipping inside training facilities while pretending you’re not witnessing half the squad make fun of each other. You’ve always blended into the background, gentle and quiet, content just watching your dad do what he loves.

That’s how most people describe you. Gentle. Soft. Sweet. You don’t mind. It fits you.

It’s also probably why Pau Cubarsí notices you long before you realize he has.

You first catch his eye during a random weekday training session. Your dad had told you he wanted you to come along, since you hadn’t visited for a couple of weeks. You sit a little away from the staff, sleeves of your jacket tugged over your hands, watching the drills repeat and repeat again. The boys are sweating, laughing, shouting instructions, and it’s all so familiar that your thoughts drift.

Until someone’s gaze hits you.

You look up. Pau’s staring. He’s mid pass, completely forgetting to move as the ball bounces away from him. One of the guys shouts his name, and Pau jolts back to life. His ears go bright red. You pretend not to notice, though your lips curve without your permission.

From then on, he looks at you a lot.

At first you think you’re imagining it. He’s shy. Really shy. But every time you visit, without fail, Pau finds you. Not in a bold way. Not in a confident way. More like he’s drawn to you and doesn’t know what to do with himself once he gets there.

He always gives you a small smile. You always give one back. Your dad teases you once about how bright you suddenly get whenever Cubarsi does anything remotely impressive, and you swat his arm, face burning.

You and Pau never talk much, just little greetings here and there. But somehow every interaction leaves your heart running faster than it should.

Eventually, those short greetings turn into soft conversations.

He starts asking if training was fun to watch. You say yes. You always say yes. He starts asking if your uni classes are going well. You tell him they’re alright, even though you hate math and he laughs at the way you scrunch your nose every time you bring it up.

You ask him about his studies too. He lights up every single time. You love it.

You slowly grow closer, and everyone notices. Except your dad. Or so you think.

Match days make everything worse. Or better. Or just unbearably flustered.

You always sit near the pitch when possible, and Pau glances your way so often that Ferran once nudges him and whispers something that makes Pau’s whole face turn pink. You see it, of course. Your dad sees it too. He raises a brow at you, but you pretend to be fully invested in the warm ups.

It’s adorable. Painfully adorable. And your dad has definitely started piecing things together.

Which leads you to today.

A home match against a mid table team, nothing too stressful, but you’re still nervous, because you have a plan. A very specific, very embarrassing plan.

You bought Pau flowers.

You don’t buy players flowers. You barely give people gifts at all. You’re very quiet and very private, but the idea popped into your head and refused to leave. You’d walked past a florist after class and the bouquet practically called your name. Soft white roses with a few light blue accents. The kind of thing that reminded you of Pau. The kind of thing that made your heart flutter for no rational reason.

You hold the bouquet tight the whole match, though you try hiding it behind your legs. Your dad glances at it once, then gives you a little smile like he knows exactly what you’re doing and is trying very hard not to tease you. You ignore him.

The match finishes in a comfortable win. Pau plays beautifully. Predictably, he keeps glancing your way after the final whistle, searching for you. Your stomach twists in the sweetest way possible.

Your dad’s still giving you that look.

You don’t wait for him. You slip away toward the tunnel, bouquet clutched so close your knuckles ache. There’s a mess of media and staff around, but you wait at the edge, heart pounding.

Eventually, Pau appears.

He’s talking to a teammate at first, but the moment he spots you, he stops mid sentence.

He walks over with that shy smile that always threatens to melt you.

“Hey.” His voice is soft. It always is.

“Hi.” You feel like you’re vibrating out of existence. “You played really well.”

“Thanks. I saw you watching.” He blushes right away. So do you.

You hold out the flowers before you can lose your nerve. “These are for you.”

Pau freezes.

You swear you’ve never seen anyone go as red as he does in that moment. His eyes go huge, cheeks warm enough to heat the entire stadium. He takes the bouquet with careful hands like it’s made of glass.

“For me?” His voice cracks. It actually cracks.

You nod, shy. “I thought you might like them.”

He looks like he might pass out.

“I love them.” He stares at the flowers, then at you, then at the flowers again. “I really love them.”

He’s so emotional that you laugh quietly. He catches it and immediately reaches out, pulling you into the gentlest hug known to mankind. It’s quick, barely a second, yet you feel the warmth of it everywhere.

Your face is burning. His is worse. You’re both smiling at each other like complete fools.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Of course.”

Someone coughs behind you. You jump. Pau jumps. Your dad stands a few meters away, arms crossed lightly, amused beyond belief. He doesn’t say anything though, just raises one brow and gives Pau a slight nod of approval. That somehow makes Pau even redder.

He mutters a goodbye, promises to text you later, and disappears back into the tunnel with the flowers pressed to his chest.

You stay frozen for a moment.

Your dad waits a few seconds before speaking. “Ready to go?”

You nod, refusing to meet his eyes.

The car ride home is quiet at first. Your dad hums along to the radio, totally normal, totally casual, totally pretending he didn’t witness the most painfully obvious budding romance in club history.

You hope he won’t bring it up.

He absolutely brings it up.

“So.” He doesn’t look at you, still focused on the road. “You and Pau seem close.”

Your head snaps his way. “We’re not. I mean. We’re friends. Just friends.”

“Mhm.” He hides a smile. “He looked happy about those flowers.”

“Dad.”

“I’m just saying.”

You cross your arms. “It wasn’t anything.”

He finally glances at you. His face is too calm. “If you say so.”

“You’re not believing me.”

“I never said that.” He chuckles under his breath. “You can tell me if you like him.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t.”

“Alright.” He nods, obviously entertained. “I believe you.”

“You don’t.”

He laughs outright this time. “It’s fine. Really. Pau’s a good kid.”

You stare at him. “A good kid?”

“A very good kid.”

“You didn’t say that about my last crush.”

“Your last crush was an idiot.”

You groan, sinking into your seat. “This isn’t a crush.”

“Of course.”

“It’s not!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking you’re my daughter and you can tell me anything.”

You soften a little. “I know.”

He gives your knee a gentle pat. “And for what it’s worth, if something is happening with Pau, I approve.”

Your face heats again. “Nothing is happening.”

“Not yet.”

“Dad!”

He laughs.

You try to stay annoyed, but you can’t. The embarrassment fades into something warm. Something proud. Your dad’s protective, always has been, but he trusts Pau. That means something.

It means a lot.

Later that night, your phone buzzes.

PAU: Thank you again for the flowers. They made my whole day.

Then another.

PAU: I wanted to ask something. If that hug wasn’t weird or too fast or anything.

And another.

PAU: Can I take you out sometime?

Your heart stops, then restarts in a sprint.

You smile into your pillow, typing back with fingers that shake a little.

YOU: I’d really like that.

There’s a long pause. Then:

PAU: Good. Because I’ve been wanting to ask for a while.

Another pause.

PAU: I hope your dad didn’t tease you too much.

You stare at the screen.

You groan and bury your face in your blanket, giggling.

PAU: I’ll make it up to you on our date.

YOU: You better.

You fall asleep smiling.

The next morning, your dad catches you at breakfast and raises an eyebrow again.

“You’re glowing,” he says.

You sip your orange juice without meeting his eyes. “No I’m not.”

He laughs. “Sure.”

But he doesn’t ask anything else. He just gives you a small, knowing smile that tells you he’s happy for you. Really happy.

And you know, without saying it out loud, that things with Pau are only just starting.

Your gentle boy with gentle eyes. The one who goes red every time you smile at him. The one who carried your flowers home like they were the most precious thing in the world.

You’re starting something with him.

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.”

You’ve always been the type to win people over without trying.

It’s not just the way you move on the pitch, calculated, sharp, with the flair of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing and dares anyone to challenge it, it’s everything else too. The way you laugh easily, tease even easier, and carry that quiet, untouchable confidence. Everyone at Barça adores you. The fans, your teammates, the coaches.

Even the men’s team.

Lamine always daps you up like you’re his idol. Héctor and Marc Bernal act like your personal bodyguards. Gavi’s started showing up to your games unprompted. But none of that ever phases Pau. Not really.

Not that you notice.

Because Pau Cubarsí has always just been there.

You’ve known him since you were kids at La Masia, back when you were both just scrawny and full of dreams. You grew up chasing the same footballs, sharing the same meal tables, sneaking snacks into your rooms and getting yelled at together. If there’s anyone you trust more than your right foot, it’s him.

You’ve always called him your best friend.

You don’t know that it kills him every time you say it.

Today, the vibes are good. Hansi Flick and Pere Romeu have combined the men’s and women’s teams for a friendly mixed match at Ciutat Esportiva. Nothing serious, no tactics, just smiles, bibs, and a whole lot of playful competition.

You get drafted into a team with Pau, Lamine, Ingrid, Ona, and Ferran. You’re grinning all the way through the first half, chirping Pau about his slow passes and yelling “¡AQUÍ, AQUÍ!” every time he has the ball. You can feel his stare on the back of your head every time you joke with Ferran or accidentally bump into Gavi, but you chalk that up to him just being his usual, quietly grumpy self.

You don’t notice the way he’s always hovering a little closer to your side than necessary.

You don’t notice the way he clocks every single guy who dares get too familiar with you.

You don’t notice that the longer the match goes on, the more tense he gets.

What you do notice is when it happens.

You’re flying down the left wing, dribbling past Pedri with ease, already setting up your next move, when a tackle comes flying in from your blind side. You go down hard.

There’s a loud thud as your shoulder hits the turf and your knee twists under your body. You don’t scream, but the breath punches out of you and suddenly everything feels sharp and hot.

“Mierda,” you breathe, grabbing at your knee.

“Oi, what the hell was that?!” someone shouts.

You hear it before you even lift your head, his voice.

Pau.

When you blink through the pain, you see him sprinting over, jaw clenched, eyes livid. And standing over you, awkward and guilty, is Alejandro Balde.

“I didn’t mean to-” Balde tries, but Pau’s already in his face.

“You don’t just slide in like that in a training match,” Pau snaps, voice low and furious. “What were you even thinking?”

“It was mistimed, not malicious, relax-”

“No. You don’t touch her. Got it?”

He says it like a warning. Like a line in the sand.

You stare, frozen, your heartbeat louder than the ache in your knee now.

Pau drops to his knees beside you without another word, brushing your hair out of your face and gently lifting your leg to check the damage.

“You alright?” he asks, but his voice has softened now, just for you. “Can you move it?”

You nod slowly, still stunned. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Don’t force it. Let me get you to the bench.”

“Pau-”

He ignores the protests and scoops an arm around your back, the other under your knees. You’re lifted off the ground before you can blink, your face heating up.

The entire squad is watching, but you don’t dare look around.

Because all you can see is him.

Later, you sit on the medical table with a compression sleeve on your knee and an ice pack in your lap. You’re fine, thankfully. No damage, just a strain.

What’s not fine is the way Pau’s been pacing the room like a storm cloud since they cleared everyone else out.

“You’re scaring me,” you say finally, with a small laugh, hoping to break the tension.

He stops, turns.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just-” He runs a hand through his curls, frustrated. “When I saw you go down like that, I- I lost it.”

You swallow, heart racing for a completely different reason now. “Yeah. I noticed.”

His eyes flick to yours. Something unreadable passes over his face. Then he sighs, like he’s been holding something in for years.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath catches. “Get what?”

“That I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen.”

The room goes quiet. You don’t move.

“I’ve tried to hide it,” he goes on, voice low. “Tried to just be your friend. But every time you hug Ferran or laugh with Gavi or call me your best friend, it drives me insane. Not because I don’t trust you. I do. But because I want more. I always have.”

You stare at him, speechless.

Pau’s never looked this vulnerable. Not on the pitch. Not in the locker room. Not even when he was twelve and broke his nose sliding into a goalpost.

You suddenly feel like a thousand things are clicking into place. Every time he showed up early to your matches. Every time he walked you to your dorm after late trainings. Every time he stood between you and the world like you were something sacred.

And you were too stupid to see it.

You blink, your voice soft. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to lose you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

You set the ice pack aside and stand, wincing slightly, but determined. You cross the distance between you and rest your hands on his chest. You can feel his heart hammering beneath your palms.

“I didn’t see it before,” you whisper. “But it’s not because I didn’t feel it. I was just scared to lose you too.”

He looks down at you, startled. “You mean-”

You nod. “I’ve always felt safe with you. Protected. Important. I just didn’t let myself realize why. But today… when you looked at me like that, when you picked me up like I mattered more than anything…” You smile, eyes watery. “It finally made sense.”

Pau swallows hard. “So… what does this mean?”

You lift onto your toes and press your lips to his.

He stiffens in surprise before melting into it, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you smile.

You’re not a prankster. Not usually, anyway. But when Irene pulls up a TikTok and says, “We have to try this on Pau,” her grin widens. That mischievous older-sister energy is too strong to ignore, and honestly? You’re a little curious too.

You’re going to do the ‘rude sister’ trend. The one where the sister acts super rude to her brother’s girlfriend just to see how the brother reacts. The whole thing sounds ridiculous, but Irene swears Pau will either go full big-brother protective or flop so hard it’s embarrassing. And either way, it’s going to be hilarious.

“You in?” she asks, holding out a pinky.

You hesitate for a split second. “I swear, if he gets mad at me-”

“He won’t. I’ll be evil. You’ll be sweet. We’ll tell him after like, ten seconds.” She grins. “Unless he fails. Then we let him spiral a bit.”

It’s official. You're about to bully your boyfriend, all in the name of fun. Love is strange.

That afternoon, the Cubarsí house is buzzing. Pau’s just gotten back from training, hair damp and curls messy, wearing an oversized hoodie and hugging a bowl of strawberries in his lap. His parents are setting the table for lunch in the next room, and he looks too relaxed for what’s coming.

You shoot Irene a look.

She nods.

You step into the living room with a casual, “Hey, Irene, do you mind if I borrow your charger later?”

Irene flips the switch flawlessly. “Maybe get your own?”

You blink, surprised even though you’re in on the plan. “I- I left mine at home.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a you problem.” She says it flatly, looking you up and down like you’re a mildly unpleasant bug on her wall. “Not everyone’s here to babysit.”

Pau’s head lifts slowly from the snack bowl.

You glance at him, pretending to shrink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother…”

“You didn’t mean to, but here we are.” Irene leans back on the couch dramatically, flipping her hair like she’s in a daytime soap on TV. “Some of us were trying to enjoy peace.”

Pau blinks twice. His whole brain does a buffering circle. He looks at you, then at Irene, then back at you.

“…Wait. What?”

“I just asked for a charger,” you say softly.

“She has a million,” Irene cuts in. “She’s needy.”

Needy?

Pau straightens like someone just poured cold water down the back of his shirt. “Irene, what are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying,” she says, arms crossed. “She’s always here. Using my stuff. In our living room. It's weird.”

You try not to laugh. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it might bruise. Pau looks absolutely horrified.

He stands up fast, almost knocking his bowl off the couch. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Irene raises a brow. “I’m being honest. Maybe she’s not the one.”

Oh. Oh. He’s steaming now.

“Okay, that’s it.” He points a very dramatic finger at Irene. “Apologize.”

Irene shrugs. “For what?”

“For being rude, irrational, and totally unfair.” Pau takes a step toward you and puts an arm around your shoulders. “She’s my girlfriend. You don’t talk to her like that.”

You peek up at him. “It’s okay…”

“No it’s not,” he says, voice rising. “You’re the sweetest person alive, and you never take anything from anyone. You barely let me open doors for you.”

“That’s true,” you admit. “I’m aggressively independent.”

He softens a little, but then spins back to Irene. “Why are you acting like this? Did something happen?”

Irene opens her mouth.

“Wait,” Pau says, stepping back like he just cracked the code. “Did mamá say something?”

“What?” Irene frowns.

“About her staying too much? Or papá? You’re always trying to protect me from family drama.”

“No-” she starts.

“Because if they did, I’ll talk to them. Seriously. They love her. Everyone loves her. Irene, what are you doing?”

She starts laughing. Hard.

Pau narrows his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

You break too. The tension, the act, everything crumbles as you double over with giggles. Pau’s still trying to solve the mystery while the two of you absolutely lose it.

“It’s a prank,” Irene giggles. “It’s a TikTok trend. I was being fake rude to see how you’d react.”

You nod, barely able to breathe. “You passed with flying colors, by the way.”

His face. The betrayal.

“You guys are the worst,” he mutters, plopping back down on the couch and covering his face with a pillow. “I was about to write a whole speech.”

Irene high-fives you.

“I was gonna fight *Mum*,” he says dramatically from under the pillow. “Like, actually confront her. About the love of my life being ‘clingy.’ I was about to go full telenovela.”

You pull the pillow away so you can see his face. “Love of your life?”

He blinks. “Okay, don’t use it against me.”

You grin. “Too late.”

There’s footsteps from the dining room, and suddenly Señor. Cubarsí pops his head in. “¿Qué pasa? We heard yelling.”

Pau groans. “They were pranking me. It was fake.”

Irene calls sweetly, “You want in next time, papá?” 

He tilts his head, thinks about it for a beat, then nods once. “Absolutely.”

Pau looks like his whole world is collapsing. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”

“You’re surrounded by hilarious women,” you tease, poking his cheek. “You did good, though. Protective and dramatic. Honestly? Ten out of ten boyfriend behavior.”

He glares. “I’ll get you both back.”

“Oh, I’m shaking.”

“You should be.”

You and Irene laugh, already tossing around ideas for the next prank. But for now, Pau’s hand finds yours, and despite the chaos, he squeezes it gently.

“You know I’d always take your side, right?”

“I know,” you say. “That’s why we picked you.”

And even though he pretends to sulk for the next half hour, the proud little smile he hides behind his snack bowl says it all.

He loves you. He’d fight his entire family for you. And he’s absolutely plotting revenge.