#obvithebestsoph!pedri

You never expected parenting with an ex to feel this normal. Comfortable, even. You and Pedri had fallen into this weird rhythm where you passed the kids back and forth like dance partners. He always showed up early. You always pretended not to notice. It was civil, it was warm, it was a little messy, but it worked.

Except recently, both kids had been acting suspiciously. Like full spy mode. Whispering. Running off whenever either of you walked into the room. And your daughter, Luna, had started giving you these looks. The kind that said she knew something you didn’t.

Today was pick up day. He texted that classic be-right-out message, and you caught yourself checking the mirror before opening the door. You told yourself it was because your hair was chaotic. Not because it was him.

Pedri smiled when you stepped outside. He always did. The easy kind. The kind that used to make your chest feel too full. He was sitting on the edge of the back seat, trying to fix the clasp of your son Mateo’s jacket. Mateo immediately looked up at you like he had been waiting for his cue.

“Mami, can we do the park again?” Mateo asked.

You blinked. “The park? On a school night?”

“It’s Thursday,” he said. “That’s not a school night.”

You lifted a brow. “It is literally a school night.”

Mateo frowned like you had just blown the most important plan of his life. He glanced over at his sister. She stepped forward, eyes shining with something way too deliberate.

“Mami,” Luna said. “Please. We want both of you at the park.”

Pedri coughed. It was subtle, but you caught it. He stood up straight and brushed off his shirt like he had not heard a thing.

“That sounds fun,” he said. He looked at you gently. “If you’re up for it.”

You told yourself your stomach did not flip. “Sure,” you said. “Fine. A little bit.”

The kids lit up so aggressively that it was instantly suspicious.

The park was empty except for a few joggers cutting through. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, and the air felt warm enough for pretend summer. Mateo ran straight for the swings, while Luna hung back with this look that was way too knowing for a seven-year-old.

Pedri gave you a small smile. “Want to sit on the benches?”

You shrugged like it did not matter, even though it did. Every little moment with him still held weight. You thought it had gone away after the breakup. It had not.

He sat next to you, elbows on his knees, watching the kids. You watched them too, but really you watched him watching them. He laughed when Luna pretended she was about to jump off the swing, hand instinctively twitching like he was ready to run in and catch her.

“You still do that,” you said.

“Do what?”

“Act like they’re about to fling themselves into space at any moment.”

He grinned. “Have you met them?”

You snorted, and he looked so proud of himself that your heart did something embarrassing. You leaned back on the bench, letting the silence settle. For once, it did not feel heavy. Just warm. Familiar.

The kids were whispering again. A lot. Something was brewing.

Pedri noticed too. “They’re plotting.”

“Absolutely,” you said. “They’ve been weird all week.”

He looked genuinely amused. “Think they’re trying to get us back together or something?”

You stared straight ahead. “Don’t joke like that.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. Not flirtatious. Not dramatic. Just honest.

Your breath caught, but you played it cool. “They’re kids. They don’t think about stuff like that.”

He tilted his head. “Luna absolutely does.”

You knew he was right. She had always been too observant for her own good. She had clocked the breakup before you two had even said the words out loud.

A shout interrupted you. “Mami, Papi, come here!”

Both kids were standing at the top of the slide. Luna had this grin that had trouble written all over it, and Mateo had that you’re going to love my plan expression.

Pedri looked at you. You looked at him.

“We should probably see what they’re doing,” you said.

“Probably,” he agreed.

The second you reached the slide, Luna pointed at the ground. There were two little plastic rings sitting in the dirt. Neon green and bright pink. The kind you get from those cheap vending machines in grocery store entrances.

“These are for you,” Luna said, hands behind her back like she was giving a presentation. “Because you two obviously still like each other.”

You choked. “Luna.”

“No, hear me out,” she said. “You always smile when he texts. And he always stares at you when you’re not looking.”

Mateo nodded. “And you make pancakes better together.”

Pedri raised a brow. “That is the reason?”

Mateo crossed his arms. “It’s a very good reason.”

You wished the ground would swallow you whole. “Guys, you can’t just decide something like that.”

“But it’s true,” Luna said. She held up the rings. “Try them on. Just to see.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, then finally managed a weak, “Sweetheart, love doesn’t work like that.”

“Actually,” Pedri said softly, “sometimes it does.”

Your head snapped toward him. His expression was steady. Sure. Nervous, but only a little.

Luna’s eyes lit up. The kids were standing too close for either of you to say what you actually felt, but you couldn’t deny the warmth in your chest.

“You don’t have to put them on,” Pedri said quietly. “But they’re right. I still like you. A lot.”

The world stilled. The air went warm and heavy. Your heartbeat got loud in your ears.

You swallowed. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you hissed, “we tried. It didn’t work.”

His voice stayed calm. “We tried when everything was loud and rushed and confusing. We tried when we barely slept, when the kids were tiny, when I was barely home. It wasn’t fair to either of us.”

You felt something in your chest shift. The painful part of the truth was that you had loved him the whole time. It had just felt impossible back then.

Luna shoved the pink ring into your hand. “Please. Just talk. We’ll be over there.” She dragged Mateo toward the monkey bars before either of you could stop her.

Silence settled again, but now it thrummed.

Pedri shifted closer. “I’m not saying we jump into anything. I just… want to try. Slow. Careful. For us. For them. For you.”

Your fingers toyed with the cheap plastic ring. You looked up at him. His eyes were soft. Hopeful. Scared. Honest.

“I never stopped loving you,” you said quietly. The words came out before you could stop them.

His breath caught. He reached for your hand, slow and gentle, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t.

He slid the neon ring onto your finger. It barely fit. It looked ridiculous.

He grinned. “Beautiful.”

You laughed, pushing his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he said before he could stop himself. Then he froze. “If you want.”

You let the moment hang in the air, warm and glowing.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I want.”

His smile was the brightest you had seen in a long time.

Mateo screamed from across the playground. “I knew it!”

Luna jumped up and down. “I made this happen.”

Pedri laughed under his breath. You leaned into his shoulder, not worrying about what came next. The kids were right. It did not have to be complicated. Sometimes love really was this simple.

You always swore medical school would not break you. You said it with your whole chest, too, like you were built from titanium and iced coffee. But after weeks of nonstop lectures, labs, clinical observations, and study groups, you feel more like half-melted wax. A tired little candle that keeps flickering no matter how tightly you shield it with your hands.

Pedri sees it before you even admit it to yourself.

He always does.

It starts small. You begin leaving texts on read for longer than usual. You show up to plans with your hair tied in a loose bun that looks like it's begging to be put out of its misery. You mumble half-coherent sentences about pharmacology and anatomy, and you always sound like you’re apologizing through every breath.

He asks how you’re doing. You smile and say you’re fine, which is such an obvious lie that it feels almost disrespectful to the craft of lying.

Pedri doesn't push. He never does, but he watches.

It becomes a habit for him to swing by your place after training, claiming he is craving whatever snack you keep in your pantry. You always let him in, too tired to question it, and he sits there while you study. You forget he is even there sometimes. He just vibes on your bed or your sofa, headphones in, messing around on his phone while you drown in textbooks.

He never interrupts. Never judges. Never asks you to stop.

Sometimes he just looks at you. You never notice it, but the boy stares like he is trying to figure out how someone could lose the light in their eyes so slowly that it almost feels like watching a sunset dragged across a whole month.

You realise how bad things have gotten the night you fall asleep on your notes.

It isn't a cute, movie-style fall asleep either. It's the type where your hand goes slack, your pen rolls off the table, and your cheek smacks the page like you just tapped out of a fight and you wake up with a slightly bruised, red eye. You are out cold before your brain registers it.

You wake up in bed.

Your blanket is tucked around you. Your lamp is off. Your textbooks are stacked neatly on your desk. There is a little sticky note on your pillow in handwriting you recognise instantly.

You fell asleep. I didn’t want you to get a cramp in your neck. You should rest more. Goodnight.

There is a tiny heart beside his name. You stare at the heart longer than you need to.

When you see him the next afternoon, he looks at you like he wants to ask twelve different questions and bite his tongue at the same time.

You try to brush it off. You act normally. You make a joke about med school being a scam. He pretends to laugh along, but he keeps looking at you like a puzzle missing important pieces.

A week passes before everything snaps.

it's late. You should be asleep. You are instead hunched at your desk, shoulders tense, eyes burning. You cannot focus, which only frustrates you more. You slam your pen down and breathe out a shaky sigh that feels like it's scraping out of your ribs.

Your phone buzzes. You don’t need to check the screen to know who it's.

You up?

You respond without thinking.

Studying.

PEDRI: Can I come over?

You hesitate, because you know you look like a ghost who got rejected from haunting school for being too messy. But Pedri doesn’t care about stuff like that. He never has. So you type back a small yes.

He shows up ten minutes later in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair still damp from a shower. When you open the door, his smile falters for the shortest second. He sees your tired eyes. Your stiff posture. The dark circles under your eyes could probably get their own medical classification.

He steps inside without waiting for you to invite him properly.

You expect him to make a joke or tease you, something light. Instead, he turns to you with a serious look that knocks the air out of your lungs.

"You are burning yourself out."

You don’t even get a chance to deny it. He shakes his head before you open your mouth.

"You don’t eat right. You don't sleep. You are always stressed. It feels like you are disappearing."

You blink at him, startled. Pedri never talks like this. Not about you.

"I am just trying to keep up," you mumble.

"I know," he says softly. "But you cannot keep going like this. it'sn't healthy."

He steps closer. You feel your heartbeat stutter.

"You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to take care of yourself. You don't need to punish your brain to prove anything."

Your throat goes tight.

"Pedri, med school is kind of my whole future."

"And you are mine."

The words slip out so fast he freezes.

Your breath catches. You don't know if you heard him right. You stare. He stares back like he wants to rewind time but also doesn't regret a single syllable.

"I mean," he starts quickly, voice cracking a little. "Not mine in a weird way. I just mean that you matter to me. A lot. I worry about you all the time. And it scares me seeing you like this."

You don't speak. You cannot. There is something warm and heavy behind your ribs that you cannot name yet.

He runs a hand through his hair, flustered.

"Can we just take a break together? One hour. Just breathe with me."

You nod. Not because you feel obligated, but because the idea sounds like the first good thing in weeks.

He leads you to your sofa and pulls you down beside him. You lean into him without meaning to. His arm slides behind you in that natural, almost unconscious way he always does when he sits with you. You let your head rest against his shoulder.

"Close your eyes," he says.

You do.

You feel his breathing. Slow. Steady. Safe. Your muscles loosen for the first time in what feels like forever. When your body finally relaxes, you realize how tense you have been this entire month.

Pedri shifts a little to look at you.

"You have no idea how much I care, do you."

it's a statement, not a question.

You open your eyes and meet his. He is close. Too close. You feel the heat of his skin.

"Pedri..."

He shakes his head.

"I don't need you to say anything. I just need you to stop hurting yourself like this. Let me help you. Let me be here. Please."

You swallow hard.

"I did not know I was pushing you away too."

"You were not pushing me away. You were drowning. I was just trying to keep you above water."

Your chest tightens again, but this time it'sn't stress. it's something softer, something that scares you in a good way.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He gives you a small smile, the soft one he rarely lets anyone see.

"Always."

You sit like that for a long time. Minutes blur into something warm and gentle. His thumb draws slow circles on your shoulder without him noticing. You notice. You feel every point of contact like it's lighting small sparks across your skin.

When you finally pull back a little, he meets your eyes with a look that feels dangerously close to a confession.

"Pedri," you say quietly, "what you said earlier... about me being yours."

His cheeks flush, which would be funny if your heart did not feel like it was climbing into your throat.

"I meant it," he admits. "Maybe not in the way it sounded but... I care about you more than a friend should."

Your breath stutters.

"Same," you murmur before your brain can overthink itself into panic.

His eyes widen just slightly. Then soften. He leans in, not all the way, not enough to cross the line, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of the almost.

"We don't have to rush anything," he says. "But I am not going anywhere."

You smile, tired but real.

"Good. I kind of need you."

He laughs once, a soft low sound.

"You can have me whenever you want."

And maybe that isn't a full confession. Maybe it isn’t the leap. But it's the step that pulls both of you closer to something neither of you can ignore anymore.

For now though, he pulls the blanket over you, settles against you, and lets you sleep. He keeps watch while you finally rest.

The music is still thumping in your ears even after you step out of the crowded house. The night air is cool, a welcome relief after hours of noise, laughter, and too many drinks you can barely remember agreeing to. You sit down on the porch steps, pressing your palms against your cheeks. The world tilts just slightly, not enough to scare you, but enough to remind you that you’re definitely not sober.

Then the door creaks open behind you. Pedri walks out, hands in his pockets, the kind of casual look he wears when he’s pretending not to think about something too much. His dark hair is a little messy from the night, and his eyes glint under the dim streetlights. He spots you and makes his way over, sitting down beside you without a word.

You’ve known him for a long time. Close enough to notice the way his smile changes when he’s genuinely happy, close enough to recognize when something’s eating at him, close enough to know you shouldn’t let yourself feel the way you do about him. But alcohol has a way of quieting the voice of reason.

“You good?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

You laugh, though it sounds tired. “Define good.”

He smiles at that, but it’s faint. “Yeah. Same.”

For a few moments, the silence settles between you, broken only by distant bass from the party. You can feel the warmth radiating off his arm where it brushes yours, and suddenly it’s unbearable, the weight of everything you’ve never said.

“You ever…” you start, then stop. You chew on your lip, staring at the cracked pavement.

“What?” he presses, leaning just slightly closer.

You force yourself to look at him. His eyes are soft, curious. The alcohol in your veins makes you reckless. “You ever think we’re pretending?”

“Pretending what?”

“That we don’t want something more.”

The words hang heavy in the night air, and for a moment you wish you could grab them back and shove them down your throat. But Pedri doesn’t laugh or make a joke to defuse the tension. He just stares at you, expression unreadable.

“You think about that?” he asks finally, voice rougher than before.

“Sometimes,” you whisper. “Too much.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then he leans forward, his hand brushing against yours. “I thought I was the only one.”

Your heart pounds so hard you’re certain he can hear it. The confession lingers between you, shaky and fragile, but real. His thumb grazes your knuckles, slow and hesitant, like he’s testing the ground before he dares to take a step.

“I shouldn’t say this,” he murmurs. “But I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

The truth breaks something open inside you, a dam you didn’t even realize you’d built. The alcohol makes it easier to let the flood spill out. “Me too. God, me too.”

And then you’re kissing him. It’s messy, clumsy, the kind of kiss that comes from holding something back for too long. His hands cradle your face, desperate and warm, and you cling to him like the ground might give way beneath you. The world feels sharp and bright in that moment, your heart beating fast, your thoughts tangled with his touch.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and dizzy, Pedri rests his forehead against yours. “We’re going to regret this in the morning, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” you say. And yet you kiss him again anyway.

isthmus

The morning is brutal.

You wake up with sunlight in your eyes and a pounding in your skull. It takes a few seconds to remember where you are, and then everything hits at once. Pedri. The porch. The kiss. The whispered confessions that felt too big to be real.

You roll over and see him on the other side of the bed, one arm draped across his stomach, hair sticking out in every direction. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling.

The silence is deafening.

“Hi,” you say, your voice small.

He turns his head toward you, and for the first time you see the nervousness flickering behind his eyes. “Hi.”

Neither of you moves. The weight of last night sits between you, awkward and heavy, and you wish desperately for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“So,” you start, though you have no idea where to go from there.

“So,” he echoes, biting his lip. His usual confidence is gone, replaced with something rawer.

You sit up, clutching the blanket around you like armor. “We were drunk. We said things we didn’t mean.”

“Didn’t mean?” His voice sharpens slightly, though it’s more hurt than anger.

You hesitate, your throat dry. The easy way out is to nod, to laugh it off, to blame the tequila for every word that slipped out. But when you look at him, you see the hope buried in his expression, fragile but real. And suddenly lying feels impossible.

“I meant it,” you admit softly. “I just don’t know what it means for us now.”

His shoulders relax a little, though his eyes still search yours. “I meant it too. Every word.”

The room goes still again, though it’s a different kind of silence this time. Less suffocating, more delicate. You let out a shaky breath.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. “If we mess this up, we lose everything. I don’t want to lose you.”

Pedri sits up beside you, his knee brushing against yours. He takes your hand, slow and deliberate. “We don’t have to rush. We don’t have to label it today. But I can’t pretend anymore. Not after last night.”

You stare at your intertwined hands, your heart twisting in your chest. His thumb rubs gentle circles against your skin, grounding you.

“You think we can really do this?” you ask.

His answer is quiet but firm. “I think we already are.”

Your chest aches in the best possible way. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it feels lighter, easier to carry when he’s looking at you like that.

When he leans in again, this time it’s softer. No alcohol to blur the edges, no desperation. Just him, steady and sure, kissing you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You know something is wrong the moment he steps through the door.

Pedri’s smile is there, the one he wears like a shield, but you can see the heaviness behind his eyes. Training days can be brutal, especially when the team’s morale is shaky or the media has been circling like vultures, waiting for the smallest slip. He tries to shake it off before he crosses the threshold, you can tell, but you’ve lived with him long enough to read between the cracks.

Still, he bends down immediately when Bea barrels into him, her little arms wrapping around his neck, her tiny voice shouting, “Papá, you’re home!” She’s in her pyjamas, even though it’s still early, her curls a wild halo from playing too hard all day. Pedri scoops her up, spinning her once, twice, before he sets her down and crouches to greet Leo.

Your son is slower, more deliberate, toddling over with his stuffed elephant dragging on the floor. Pedri lifts him carefully, pressing a kiss to his forehead, whispering something soft that makes Leo giggle. For a moment, it almost feels like everything is fine.

But you know better.

He sits with them on the floor, Bea showing him a drawing she made, Leo babbling nonsense words while Pedri pretends to follow every detail. His laugh is genuine when Leo trips over his elephant and then plops into his lap, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s like there’s a wall built there tonight, one he doesn’t want anyone to see past.

You don’t push. Not yet.

Dinner is noisy, Bea talking a mile a minute, Leo making a mess with his spoon, Pedri nodding and chuckling, pretending to be completely immersed. He’s present for them, and for you too, asking how your day was, teasing you when you roll your eyes at the chaos. If anyone else were here, they would never guess something was wrong.

But you feel it. In the way he exhales just a little too heavily when he thinks no one notices. In how his shoulders don’t quite relax even after the kids are tucked into bed. In the silence he carries when the house finally goes still.

Later, after you check that Bea is curled around her stuffed bunny and Leo is breathing evenly in his crib, you find him in your bedroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, fingers laced tightly together like he’s holding himself in place.

“You okay?” you ask gently, leaning against the doorframe.

He looks up immediately, forcing a smile. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

You nod, but you don’t press. You sit beside him, close enough that your knees touch, and he leans into you without even realizing it. His arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer, his head resting against your shoulder. He’s quiet like that for a while, and you let the silence stretch.

You know he wants to be strong for you, for the kids. He always feels the weight of being the one to hold everything together, the one who doesn’t falter. But there’s only so much a person can carry.

When the house has settled into deep night, you wake to find him still awake beside you. His body is tense, his breathing uneven, eyes wide open in the darkness.

“Pedri,” you whisper, turning toward him. “You’re not sleeping.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, finally, he admits, “I can’t.” His voice is rough, low enough that you know he’s been keeping everything buried all day.

You slide closer, pressing your forehead to his chest. “Tell me.”

He exhales shakily, like he’s been holding that breath for hours. “It’s just… everything. Training was hell today. Nothing felt right, every mistake got magnified, and I could hear the whispers. The pressure doesn’t stop. I try to push it away but it follows me even here. And I don’t want the kids to see me like that. I don’t want you to see me like that either.”

Your hand finds his, fingers untangling his clenched fist until he lets you hold it. “I always want to see you. All of you. Not just the strong parts.”

He swallows hard, his other hand covering his face. “I hate feeling like I’m failing. On the pitch, with the team, with you, with them. I come home and I want to be the dad they deserve, the husband you deserve, but inside I feel like I’m breaking.”

Tears prick your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want him to think you pity him. You want him to know you see him, every version of him, and none of it changes the way you love him.

“You’re not failing,” you whisper firmly. “You’re human. And you don’t have to carry all of it alone. It’s okay to let go here. With me.”

For the first time all day, he lets himself crumble. His shoulders shake as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He buries his face in your neck, and you stroke his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as the tension finally breaks. You don’t rush him, you don’t tell him to stop. You just hold him until his breathing steadies again.

After a long while, he pulls back, eyes red, face vulnerable in a way he rarely lets anyone see. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you promise, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’re in this together. Always.”

He nods, slowly, as if letting your words sink in. He curls into you then, arms tight around your waist like he’s afraid to let go. The silence that follows is different from earlier, softer, safer. His body relaxes against yours, and eventually his breathing evens out as sleep finally finds him.

You stay awake a little longer, watching the lines on his face smooth out, brushing your fingers over his cheek. This is what you’re here for. Not just for the smiles and the victories, but for the nights when the weight of the world feels too much. For the moments when the house is quiet and he needs somewhere to fall.

The rain was relentless, drumming against the glass of your apartment window as if it knew how badly you wanted to escape the thoughts swirling in your head. You pressed your forehead against the cool pane, staring out at the empty streets below. Each drop sliding down reminded you of the distance between you and Pedri, even though he was just a few blocks away.

He hadn’t called all day, and the messages you had sent sat in the void of unread notifications. You knew better than to expect him to drop everything, but that didn’t stop the gnawing anxiety in your chest. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold back the frustration. You hated feeling this small, this invisible in the life of someone you cared about more than you had any right to.

When the knock finally came, it startled you. Heart hammering, you rushed to the door, opening it to find Pedri standing there, hair damp from the rain, eyes soft but clouded with exhaustion. He wasn’t smiling, and that made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and it felt like a tentative offering rather than a greeting.

You studied him, searching for the warmth you usually found in his gaze, the ease of the boy who could make your chest ache with a simple laugh. Tonight, though, he looked like someone carrying too much weight for his own shoulders, and part of you resented the fact that it wasn’t even your burden to bear.

“Hey,” you echoed, voice brittle. “You look… tired.”

Pedri ran a hand through his damp hair, shrugging as if he had no defense for it. “I am. It’s been a long day.”

You wanted to reach out, wanted to close the space between you and make him feel like he could lean on you, but anger surged instead. Anger that he hadn’t reached out sooner, that he had let the silence stretch this long, that he had made you wait.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you asked, the words coming sharper than intended. “You think I didn’t see the way you just… disappeared today?”

Pedri flinched at your tone, guilt flickering across his features. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t,” you cut him off, voice shaking, tears threatening. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You can just leave me here, waiting. You always do.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, and then he spoke, voice low, almost a whisper. “I never want to hurt you.”

“Then why do you?” you asked, your hands clenching into fists. “Why does it always feel like I’m the one who cares more? Like I’m the one holding on while you… float away?”

Pedri’s eyes softened, but there was no easy answer, no reassurance that could fix what had been simmering for weeks. He stepped closer, and instinctively, you didn’t step back. You couldn’t.

“It’s a nasty business, that’s what they don’t tell you about loving someone,” you said finally, words spilling out in a torrent. “You don’t know how much it hurts to want someone and not feel like it’s enough. You don’t know how cruel it feels to give everything and still wake up alone in the silence they left behind.”

Pedri’s gaze dropped, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but the words failed him. He reached out, placing a tentative hand over yours. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the chill of the room, and it made the ache in your chest twist sharper.

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” he said after a pause. “I don’t want you to feel anything but safe with me. I swear.”

“You can swear all you want,” you replied, pulling your hand back but not stepping away. “It doesn’t erase the times when I felt like I was standing in the rain by myself, waiting for a storm to end that you didn’t even notice.”

Pedri stepped closer again, closing the remaining distance. This time, you let him, the tension in your chest coiling tight as you both stood in the small space of your apartment, dripping wet from your own emotions rather than the rain outside.

“I hate that I made you feel like that,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I hate that I didn’t call. I hate that I can’t fix everything with just one word or one touch, but I swear, I am trying.”

The edge of your anger softened, replaced by the ache you felt for him, for the boy who never wanted to hurt you but somehow always did. You wanted to lean into him, to find the comfort you had been craving, but there was still the sting of frustration lingering.

“You have to understand,” you whispered, more to yourself than him, “I can’t always be okay with this. With being the one left waiting, the one feeling all the hurt.”

Pedri nodded, eyes glistening with unshed tears, a mirror of your own. “I know. And I’ll try. I promise. I don’t want to lose you, not ever.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, two broken hearts in a rain-soaked world, neither of you entirely whole but somehow enough when pressed together. You finally let a shuddering breath escape, letting him pull you into his arms.

He held you like he was afraid to let go, and for the first time in hours, maybe days, you allowed yourself to feel safe again.

The rain outside continued, but inside, there was a fragile calm. A quiet acknowledgment that loving someone could hurt like hell, but that sometimes, it was the only thing that made you feel alive.

The thing about growing up with Pedri is that you never realized when friendship stopped being just friendship. One moment you were two kids kicking a ball around in the dusty street of Tegueste, laughing so hard your stomach hurt, and the next you were old enough to notice the way his hair curled at the ends when it got too long, or how his smile pulled something fierce and warm inside your chest.

But you never said anything. Not when you were fifteen and felt your cheeks flush when he called you “mi mejor amiga.” Not when you were seventeen and he started traveling more often, chasing the career you always knew he would have. And especially not when you were nineteen and he came home after a long season, his name plastered across headlines, his life too big for the small town streets you still lived on.

You stayed silent, because silence meant safety. If you said nothing, nothing could break.

And then, one summer, Pedri introduced you to her.

Her name was Lucía, and she was beautiful in the effortless way that made your stomach sink the first time you met her. She had glossy hair, soft lips, and a laugh that sounded like it belonged in the center of every room. Pedri’s eyes shone when he looked at her, the kind of shine you used to think was reserved for you, when the two of you would share private jokes no one else understood.

You smiled when you met her, shook her hand, told her it was nice to finally meet the girl Pedri couldn’t stop talking about. You pretended your chest didn’t ache when he slung an arm around her shoulders instead of around yours.

You told yourself this was what growing up meant. People moving on. People falling in love.

But the nights alone in your room betrayed you. You would scroll through your phone, fingers lingering on the photos of Pedri and Lucía together, and you would feel something ugly coil in your gut. Not just jealousy, though it was that too, but a hollow sort of grief.

Because it wasn’t just that Pedri had a girlfriend. It was that he hadn’t chosen you.

One evening, weeks after meeting her, you sat with him at the edge of the beach where you had always gone as kids. The waves lapped lazily against the shore, the sky painted with the faintest traces of pink as the sun dropped lower. You wanted to tell him then, your throat tight with all the words you had swallowed for years. But Pedri was smiling at his phone, typing something that made his dimples show, and you knew it was her on the other end of the screen.

So you said nothing again.

“Everything okay?” he asked, glancing up at you. His voice was easy, gentle, like it always was. He didn’t notice the storm inside you.

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

He accepted the answer without pushing. He always did.

And that was the problem.

It only got worse when the season began. You used to be the first person he called after matches, whether it was to celebrate or to rant about a rough night. But now his calls were less frequent, his texts shorter. Sometimes when you sent him a message, he didn’t reply for hours. And when he did, it was usually with an apology that didn’t sting any less for being sincere.

“I was with Lucía, lo siento. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

The words blurred together after a while, a pattern you couldn’t escape. You told yourself it was fine, that this was what normal relationships looked like, that of course she would come first. But it didn’t stop the sting of being replaced.

One night, after another match you watched from your couch alone, you saw the Instagram story. Pedri and Lucía, grinning into the camera, his arm tight around her waist, her kiss pressed against his cheek. The caption was something lighthearted, a string of hearts and inside jokes you didn’t understand.

You dropped your phone on the couch and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. It was pathetic, really. Crying over something that had never been yours to begin with.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about all the years you had been there. All the birthdays, the heartbreaks, the secret dreams shared under the stars. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you had held back every confession, every feeling, because you were afraid of ruining what you had.

And for what? To watch someone else take the place you had always wanted?

The first fight came not long after.

It was a Friday night, and Pedri had promised to come by your place. You had cooked dinner, something simple, just wanting to spend time with him the way you used to. But as the hours passed, your food grew cold, your texts unread. When he finally showed up, it was almost midnight.

“Lo siento,” he said immediately, running a hand through his hair. “Lucía’s car broke down and I had to help her. I should’ve called, I know.”

The apology was real, but it didn’t soothe the sharpness clawing at your chest.

“You always should’ve called,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. The bitterness in your tone startled you both. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for hours, Pedri. Hours.”

His brows furrowed. “I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to remember that I exist,” you shot back, your voice cracking.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Pedri’s expression shifted, confusion flickering into something you couldn’t name.

“You’re my best friend,” he said quietly, like the words were supposed to fix everything.

But all they did was break you a little more.

Because you didn’t want to be just his best friend.

You had never wanted that.

You didn’t speak for days after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because every time you tried, the words got stuck in your throat. You saw his name light up your phone and let it go to voicemail. You typed out messages and deleted them before you hit send.

And then, one night, your phone buzzed with a different name.

Lucía.

You stared at the screen, stunned. You hadn’t even realized she had your number. Her message was short, almost casual.

“Hey, just wanted to say thanks for being cool with me and Pedri. He really values you.”

You read it three times, the words digging into you like splinters. He really values you.

Not loves. Not needs. Just values.

You didn’t reply.

Instead, you lay in bed, headphones on, Adele’s voice spilling through the speakers. Send my love to your new lover. Treat her better.

The lyrics clawed at something raw inside you. Because wasn’t that what you were doing? Handing him over, piece by piece, pretending it didn’t feel like bleeding?

The next time you saw Pedri, you swore you wouldn’t let it get to you.

But then he smiled at you, that same boyish grin that had been yours long before it belonged to anyone else, and all your careful walls cracked.

You hadn’t planned to let your feelings spill out that night. You had promised yourself you would keep it light, keep it safe, the way it had always been between you. But sitting across from him, his eyes warm and familiar even as everything else felt different, it was impossible to hold it all in.

“So,” he started, reaching for the soda can on the table. “We’re good again? No more ignoring me?”

You laughed, but it came out hollow. “We’ll see.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve been weird lately.”

The words hit like a challenge. You swallowed, fingers twisting in your lap. “Maybe because things have changed.”

Pedri frowned. “Changed how?”

You wanted to scream at him. How could he not see it? How could he not notice the distance stretching wider every day? But then his phone buzzed on the table, her name lighting up the screen, and your chest tightened until you couldn’t breathe.

“Like that,” you muttered.

He glanced at the phone, then back at you. His brows furrowed deeper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” you said quickly, rising from your chair. You moved to the kitchen, needing space, needing air.

But Pedri followed, his footsteps heavy against the tile. “No, tell me. What’s going on?”

You turned, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I’m tired, Pedri. Tired of being the second choice. Tired of pretending I don’t notice when you cancel plans or forget about me because she called. You say I’m your best friend, but I don’t feel like it anymore.”

The silence stretched. His eyes widened, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how. You had never seen him look so unsteady.

“That’s not fair,” he said finally, voice low. “I’ve never stopped caring about you.”

“Then why does it feel like I lost you the second she showed up?” Your throat burned, your voice breaking. “You don’t even see it, do you? You don’t see what this is doing to me.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I’m choosing between you. It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” you whispered.

He froze, eyes locked on yours. For a moment, everything hung in the air between you: years of friendship, years of unspoken feelings, years of silence that had finally cracked open.

And then his phone buzzed again.

You laughed bitterly, wiping at your eyes. “Go ahead. Answer her.”

Pedri looked down at the screen, then back at you. But this time, he didn’t move to pick it up. His hand hovered over the table, then dropped back to his side.

“I’m not answering,” he said softly.

Something in your chest shifted, sharp and unsteady. Because maybe for the first time, he was choosing not to look away.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the faint crash of the waves from the distance, even your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Pedri stood in front of you, his phone still buzzing on the table, but neither of you moved to grab it.

“I’m not answering,” he repeated, slower this time, like he wanted to make sure you heard every word.

You swallowed hard, anger and something else tangling in your chest. “Why not? She’s your girlfriend. Isn’t she the one who matters most now?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” you shot back, your voice rising. “Like I don’t matter? Like I’ve been sitting here for months pretending I’m okay with being pushed aside?”

Pedri flinched at the sharpness in your tone, but he didn’t back away. His eyes were steady, almost desperate. “You do matter. You always have. You’re… you’re everything.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. “Then why does it feel like I’m nothing?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold something back. Then, finally, he spoke. “Because I didn’t realize. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been hurting you.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over. “It’s not just that you hurt me, Pedri. It’s that I let you. I let myself believe I was fine with it because I was too scared to say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost breaking.

You laughed, but it was hollow and bitter. “You really don’t see it, do you? After all these years?”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “Then tell me. Please.”

Your hands were trembling. Every instinct screamed at you to shut your mouth, to walk away, to keep the friendship intact. But something inside you finally snapped.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” you whispered, the words spilling out like they had been waiting years to be spoken. “And I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But watching you with her, watching you give her all the things I used to dream about… it’s killing me, Pedri. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

His lips parted, his eyes wide, like he had just been knocked breathless. “You… what?”

You shook your head quickly, wiping at your cheeks. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that. Just… just forget I said anything.”

But Pedri stepped forward before you could move away. His hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm, holding you there.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking. “Don’t tell me to forget it. Not after that.”

You stared at him, your heart racing, your body frozen.

“I had no idea,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was afraid you might disappear. “All this time… I thought you didn’t feel that way. I thought we were just-”

“Best friends,” you finished for him, your voice hollow.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I think… maybe I’ve been lying to myself. Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you either.”

The words cracked something open inside you, but fear rushed in just as quickly. “What about Lucía?”

Pedri closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, like the weight of her name was too much to carry. “I care about her. But it’s not the same. It’s never been the same. I think I was trying to convince myself I could move on from… from you.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “From me?”

He opened his eyes again, and the rawness there almost knocked you back. “Do you know how many nights I’ve sat in hotel rooms wishing you were the one I could call? How many times I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me but I was too afraid of ruining what we had?”

Your chest tightened, your breath catching. “You can’t just say things like that, Pedri. Not when you’re with her.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me for being an idiot. But I can’t keep pretending either. Not when I’m looking at you like this.”

The room felt too small, too charged, like every secret you had both buried for years was spilling out into the open.

“Say something,” he begged quietly.

You had been dating Pedri long enough to know when he was nervous. The signs were subtle, and anyone else would probably miss them. His hands would fidget in his pockets, his foot would bounce when he sat down, and his usual easy smile would tug at the corner but never quite settle. Tonight, all of those little things were there, and you couldn’t help but notice.

The two of you were supposed to be out for a casual dinner, nothing fancy, just a quiet restaurant near the beach where you could escape from the constant noise of football, media, and fans. You had gone together many times before, so when he suggested it tonight, you didn’t think much of it. But the way he was acting now, playing with the salt shaker on the table and avoiding eye contact, made you raise an eyebrow.

“Pedri,” you said softly, resting your chin in your hand. “Are you okay? You seem… distracted.”

He looked up quickly, almost like he had been caught. Then he smiled, that boyish smile that made your heart do an unnecessary flip. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About the game?” you teased, nudging his foot under the table.

He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Not about football for once. Something more important.”

That alone made you stop for a second. For him, football was always important, and to hear him say something else outweighed it felt strange, almost surreal. But you didn’t press, because you knew if he wanted to say more, he would.

Dinner went on as usual after that, with him slowly relaxing as you talked about random things: a new show you had started watching, how your week had been, and even a story about Ferran being the butt of a running joke in training. Pedri laughed with you, leaned across the table to steal bites from your plate, and held your hand when the waitress brought the check. It felt normal again, like any other date night.

But then, when you were leaving the restaurant, he tugged your hand in the opposite direction of the car.

“Walk with me?” he asked, tilting his head toward the beach.

You glanced at him curiously, but nodded, letting him lead you down the dimly lit boardwalk until you reached the sand. The night air was cool, brushing against your cheeks, and the waves crashed softly in the distance. It was quiet, just the two of you with the occasional sound of footsteps from other late-night walkers.

Pedri shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, walking beside you in silence. For a while, you thought maybe he just wanted some air, but then he slowed down and stopped near the water, looking out over the horizon.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah, sometimes. Why?”

He turned to face you, his expression serious now, though his eyes still had that warmth you loved. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About us. About where we’re going.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t sure where this was going, but you felt your chest tighten anyway. “Okay…” you said carefully, trying to read his face.

Pedri exhaled slowly, like he was trying to work up the courage. Then he pulled one hand from his pocket, clenched around something small. “I know we’re still young, and I know people probably think we should just take it day by day, but… you’re the most important person in my life. And I want you to know that I’m serious about you. About us.”

Your breath caught as he opened his hand to reveal a small velvet box. He looked nervous, more nervous than you had ever seen him before a match. His fingers trembled slightly as he flipped it open, and inside sat a delicate silver ring, simple but beautiful, with a tiny diamond in the center that caught the moonlight.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he said quickly, searching your eyes. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or think I’m rushing things. It’s a promise ring. Just… my way of showing you that no matter what happens, no matter where football takes me, I’m not going anywhere without you.”

You stared at the ring, your heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but in the best way. It wasn’t about the ring itself, though it was lovely. It was about the thought, the meaning behind it.

“Pedri,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “That’s… that’s beautiful.”

He swallowed, his lips pressing together like he wasn’t sure what you were going to say. “So… will you wear it?”

Instead of answering right away, you launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He laughed in relief, holding you against his chest as you buried your face into his jacket.

“Of course I’ll wear it,” you said, your voice muffled. “I love you so much.”

He kissed the top of your head, then pulled back slightly, his cheeks pink with both the cold and emotion. Carefully, he took the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger. The fit was perfect, and you couldn’t stop staring at it, your chest full to bursting.

“I love you too,” he said softly. “More than I can explain.”

You stood there for a moment, just holding hands and letting the waves crash nearby. Everything felt so right, so steady. The kind of moment you wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Finally, you looked up at him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “So, did anyone help you pick this out? Or do I have to be impressed by your taste?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe my mamá helped a little. But I picked it because I thought it suited you. Simple, but special.”

Your heart melted even more at that. You lifted your hand to admire the ring again, then reached up to kiss him softly. He kissed you back, gentle and sweet, like the promise he had just made.

When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against his. “This means a lot to me, Pedri. More than you know.”

“I wanted you to know,” he whispered. “I wanted you to be sure. I’m in this for real.”

You nodded, your throat too tight to say much more. Instead, you let your actions speak, keeping your hand in his as you walked back up the beach together, the ring glinting under the moonlight with every step.

Later that night, when you were curled up in bed beside him, you kept tracing the band with your thumb, unable to stop smiling. Pedri noticed and laughed softly, pulling you closer.

“You’re going to wear it out before the season even starts,” he teased.

“Shut up,” you said, though your grin betrayed you. “I just can’t believe you did this.”

“Get used to it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m going to spend a long time proving to you that I meant it.”

It started as an ordinary Tuesday.

You’d been feeling… off for a week, and after insisting to yourself that it was nothing, you finally gave in and went to the doctor. You’d gone in for a routine check-up, fully expecting to be told you were perfectly healthy and overreacting. You weren’t expecting the words “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

You remember the look on Pedri’s face when you told him.

He froze mid-bite of toast, eyes wide, jaw slack. Then he laughed nervously, coughing into his hand like he was trying to process it. “Wait… what?”

You grinned, heart racing. “I’m pregnant, Pedri.”

There was a long pause. Then: “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He blinked several times. “Like… really?”

“Really,” you said, laughing a little at the way his brain seemed to have short-circuited.

It took a full ten minutes for him to stop pacing and just sit down, staring at his hands. Finally, he whispered, “We’re… we’re going to have a baby?”

“Yes,” you said softly, sitting beside him and taking his hand. “Our baby.”

And then he did something you weren’t expecting. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, and then buried his face in your shoulder. There were quiet murmurs you couldn’t make out, probably happy tears, and you couldn’t stop smiling. He’d been so calm during your relationship, so measured. Now, he was unraveling in the best way.

The gender reveal came a month later. You wanted it to be simple but memorable. You’d invited a few friends and family to your apartment, keeping it low-key, and had prepared a box filled with blue or pink confetti. The plan was simple: Pop the balloon together.

Pedri was nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands running through his hair, pacing the living room while the confetti box sat on the table between you. “What if it’s a girl?” he muttered.

You smirked. “What, like you’re hoping it isn’t?”

“No, I’m saying… I’ve never done girl stuff. I don’t even know how to hold a baby girl.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m going to be terrible,” he said.

“You’re going to be perfect.”

Finally, everyone gathered, cameras ready. You both gripped the string to pop the balloon. On the count of three, you pulled. A cascade of pink confetti burst into the air.

Pedri froze for a moment, staring at it, then turned to you, eyes wide and shining. “A girl.”

“She’s going to be all yours,” you whispered.

He laughed, voice cracking a little, and pulled you into a hug. “I don’t even know what to do with this information.”

“You’ll know,” you said softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He buried his face in your neck, whispering things like “I can’t wait to meet her,” and “We have to name her something amazing,” and you couldn’t stop smiling. This was exactly how you imagined the two of you - nervous, fumbling, full of love, and already completely obsessed.

The baby shower came a few months later. You wanted it small, cozy, full of friends and family who had been a part of your lives for years. You decorated the space with soft pastels, pinks and golds, little banners and streamers.

Pedri had insisted on helping, even if it meant getting tangled in streamers and looking like a disaster half the time. You watched him struggle with balloon knots, laughing as he muttered under his breath, “Why does this hate me?”

He finally stepped back, hands on his hips, surveying the room. “Okay. I think it looks… acceptable.”

“You did fine,” you said. “It looks perfect.”

He gave you a sheepish grin and ruffled your hair. “I’m still scared, though. Seeing everyone here, seeing all this… it’s real now. I’m going to be a dad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m going to be a girl dad,” he added, voice full of awe. “And she’s going to destroy me.”

“You’re already destroyed,” you said.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss your temple. “I don’t care. I’ll survive. Somehow.”

During the shower, friends and family played silly games - guessing names, predicting birth dates, and passing around little baby clothes for Pedri to hold. He handled the pink onesies like they were priceless artifacts, muttering, “This is mine. I can’t let anyone ruin this.”

At one point, someone handed him a tiny pair of socks. He stared at them for a long moment, then grinned. “I don’t even know what to do with these. They’re… so small.”

You laughed softly. “That’s kind of the point.”

He looked at you, eyes shining. “I’m going to love her so much.”

“You will,” you said.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of gifts, laughter, and quiet moments between the two of you. Pedri never left your side, constantly checking in on you, making sure you were comfortable, and stealing glances at the gifts. He picked up one stuffed bunny and pressed it to his chest, whispering, “She’s going to love this.”

Later, when the crowd had thinned and the room was quiet again, he pulled you aside. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said. “She’s coming soon. Our daughter.”

“Yes,” you said, leaning against him. “Our girl.”

He hugged you tight, resting his head against yours. “I can’t wait to meet her. I can’t wait to hold her. I can’t wait to mess up every diaper and still somehow be her favorite person.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair.

He smiled softly, eyes closed, breathing you in. “I hope so. I really do. I love you.”

You kissed him then, softly, before resting your head against his chest, letting yourself imagine the tiny human who would soon fill your lives with chaos and love in equal measure.

It felt strange, surreal, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. Every first - first kick, first hiccup, first time Pedri made you laugh until you cried - felt monumental. Every step leading up to this moment made the coming days feel tangible.