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Chapter Text

Ferran doesn't remember how they ended up cuddling on Pedri's sofa, watching some subpar Marvel movie. After the last game of the La Liga season no one had energy to go out. Well, no one from the over-23-years-old part of the team which gradually became the majority in the latest years. He was sure the youngsters had been pulling each other out of dumpsters by this hour of the night. He did not fault them: the domestic treble still seemed huge for them. 

If he was being honest with himself, sometimes he missed the times when world domination wasn't the lowest standard set out for their group. Alas, in their first season since Flick decided to enjoy retirement (read: to coach his grandson's U-10 academy team back in Germany like they were facing PSG every week), they were out of Champions League in the quarterfinals. Their worst result in the last 6 years and the source of never-ending critical pieces on everything from Pedri's playmaking to the way Lamine tied his shoes. So, ridiculous as always. He knew they would come back stronger, he wanted to see Pedri lift the Champions League trophy for the third time, the World Cup and Euros trophies for the second time. He dreamt of revenge for the poorly officiated finale in the 28' Euros against France. There were numerous ideas of how they would make Chelsea of all teams regret the day they put Barcelona down 5:4 in that quarterfinal. Frankly, there were endless possibilities of how they could humiliate Real Madrid in El Clásico once again, especially after those fuckers took his knee out of its place at the start of the past season. 

Ferran came back after four months of rehabilitation, as he was sure he would. But having turned 30, it was not something that he could forget about and move on. Even now Ferran's leg laid on the coffee table stretched out while Pedri made a cute little pretzel out of himself on his chest. He looked lazily at the screen when Pedri giggled at something the characters had said. It was nice having his best friend relaxed for once. These past months it often felt as if the midfielder decided he had to have the whole world on his back all alone: refusing help, being more quiet, working more than he'd ever had (surprisingly still somehow possible). 

"Hey, would you notice if aliens replaced me with some other dude?" Ferran asked. Pedri hummed, burrowing closer into his chest and the blanket.

"Is this the worm thing all over again?" he asked.

"No, the worm thing is completely hypothetical. Aliens, though? It’s possible, it’s terrifying," his friend snorted, "Seriously, tío! Would you know?"

"Of course I would know. No alien could come close to replicating how annoying you are", Pedri pinched his arm to reiterate the point, "Nor your awful jokes, and definitely not your supernatural ability to score goals against the best teams in the world with the elegance of a half fried chicken."

"Hey! You just don't get my groove, Potter!" Ferran started tickling Pedri. For a while their limbs flew all over the place trying to get each other. 

"Stop! Stop! Ferri, madre mia, stop!" Pedri finally grabbed the striker's hands and put them at the sides of his head. Their chests heaved, Pedri now completely in Ferran's lap. Looking in Pedri's lovely eyes, Ferran was thinking for the millionth time in the latest years, 'Is this the moment?'

Then, Pedri quickly pulled off back to his seat, red tingling his ears. He picked up the blanket from the floor, made sure it covered Ferran's leg properly and laid down next to his best friend again. Not today then, that's okay. If there was one thing in the world Ferran could be patient about, it would be this. A couple of minutes passed in silence. 

"I would totally notice if some aliens took you," Ferran said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like... immediately," Pedri looked up again expecting Ferran's little smirk but he was looking at the screen with such determination that the Canarian felt something flutter inside.

"I... know. Would you go on a rescue mission?"

"Sure. I'd take Gavi with me though, his fury would be enough to take an intergalactic empire down," they laughed a little, remembering how their friend got a red card for accidentally (or so the man himself insisted) biting a Getafe player in the game before the last one. Thank God, they had already won the liga title at that point. 

"No alien in the whole universe could play football like you," there was a pause, Ferran's eyes drooping, "Or laugh like you, or be kind like you, or be my best friend like you."

"You can't know for sure, what if intergalactic football is like crazy good?" 

"Nah, you'd beat aliens' asses," when Pedri smiled up at Ferran, the man was asleep.

* * * 

The offseason went swiftly. Between going back home to Valencia and spending some time with friends in Greece it felt like no time had passed at all before they had to start preseason training once again. His trip to Tenerife was cancelled at the last moment because Fer's wife went into labour a week early and he decided it's best the González family could spend all their time fussing over the newborn and its mom, instead of entertaining a guest. Even though Rosy said he would still be welcomed as always.

Ferran would lie if he said he wasn't excited to start the season. Even though his leg was a bitch lately, he felt like there was nothing he couldn't achieve as long as he had his squad, Pedri and the Camp Nou crowd behind him. He woke up 30 minutes earlier than usual to do some stretching in the home gym. Looking in the mirror he saw his usual self: very short hair (for convenience, not because anyone around him preferred it, no) which also covered some unwanted grey on his sideburns, a bit of a longer stubble than in his past years and the laugh lines around his eyes just a bit more prominent. A sign of a life well enjoyed, if you asked him. It was a good day to start a new journey. 

No one to pick him up today as Pedri had some business with the front office prior to the session. He was fresh off of signing a new multi-year contract so it made sense Laporta, Deco and Marcelino, their new manager, wanted to talk with him. Especially with Rafa leaving for Italy, it was unanimously expected that Pedri would be chosen to be the new first captain. The only right choice in Ferran's opinion too. He couldn't wait to hear all the gossip Laporta would undoubtedly share with Pedri. Sometimes Ferran didn't understand how this guy could be so politically tactical but then be the most chatty guy around when it comes to spilling other people's business. Duality of a man, indeed. 

On his way to the Ciutat Esportiva he thought of what role fits and changes could be expected this season. Despite all the hate, Ferran managed to become the starting 9 under Flick. When Lewa decided it was time to go, Laporta made everyone wait for Álvarez and then didn't actually have money to sign him. Who would have thought. Then for a couple of years every season they would get some smaller name for good money, culers would be excited and then... Then Ferran worked his ass off while the other ones just did not stick and by the end of the season he would start. They won both of their Champions League titles with him as a starter. He would not pretend as if having guys like Lamine, Rafa and Rashy (who they had the brains to sign) didn't help. But he proved himself alright too.

At some point Flick had put his foot down: If you can't provide a superstar striker, then find some talented youngsters for him to develop and spend the money on high line monsters. That's how they got Alexandre, a great kid who over the last few years had proved to be exceptional in spacing. Ferran was really proud of him. He wouldn't be surprised if this year their roles would be more equal than before. Ferran didn't mind. He still had some good years left in him but the future of the team was bright and he expected the slow transition to happen over the next few years. In the end of the day their careers were awfully short and guys like LeBron and Curry proved that longevity wasn’t just hard work and talent but also being able to adapt to what the team needed most. Moreover, he knew from back when he was a teenager what kind of strikers Marcelino liked and Alexandre fit that image better than him more and more. 

Pedri wasn't there for their morning ice tub but Ferran thought he'd let it slide for the first day. He still had the whole season of Pepi's grumpy cold faces to laugh at. He started the routine with the guys exchanging what they did during the summer. Gavi made Ana and Fermín go to Antarctica with him, it went as well as you would expect. Eric's daughter walked for the first time. JKey had his first collection presented at the Paris Fashion Week. Joan picked up paddle and threatened to beat the whole team's asses in the tournament. Frankie's wife was pregnant again and the guys had a bet on whether they'd have another “21” baby. Balde and Lamine tried real hard to look like they didn't spend the whole summer break running after their girlfriends like lost puppies instead of partying. Marcus helped with a campaign advocating for a more stable child care law in England. Cuba and Bernal went to the USA for the first time on their own and refused to talk about their time in Vegas. Alexandre was talking about the new recipes he had prepared for FIFA nights when Pedri and Marcelino turned up on the pitch. 

Ferran could tell something was up just by how Pedri walked, his eyes down, jaw a bit open as if he was biting his tongue. He hugged the guys and some of the training stuff and went to stand near Ferran in line for the next exercise. The striker knew that Marcelino was annoyed when players shared information from one-on-one meetings but they were Ferran and Pedri. It was a basic assumption that if you told something to one of them, the other would know all about it by the end of the day, if not the hour. Still, Ferran knew he had to be subtle.

"Everything alright, captain?" he asked close to Pedri's ear.

"Huh?" his friend winced a bit, "Oh yeah, top tier."

Before Ferran could make fun of him for the weird word choice, the midfielder started the exercise and ran forward. Weird. Pedri had his moods though, so he wasn't too nervous. After almost ten years of finishing each other's thoughts he knew that one had to be a bit patient with Pedri and he would share whatever's on his mind when he felt more calm. However, for the rest of the day Ferran still didn't have a chance to exchange more than a couple of phrases with Pedri while in a group. If he didn't know better, he would think Pedri was avoiding him. 

* * *

They went to Asia for the preseason tour once again. Pedri was indeed the new captain. Ferran's leg wasn't giving him as much trouble as he feared even though he had to be more intentional when pressing. After a bit more weirdness Pedri kind of came back to normal even though he never really told Ferran what that meeting was about and spaced out more.

The Valencian had his guess though. Being a leader had always been tougher for Pedri than one could assume. He cared deeply for everyone in the team and supported those of them who needed it. Always there in hospitals, checking up on the training process, keeping the morale strong. That's his Pedri. But at the same time his hermano had a tendency of overthinking his every word and action when it came to being tough with the teammates and saying things that might not be nice but necessary. Flick (and Lamine's teenage days) prepared him well for it but this season was the first time he didn't have Araujo or Raphinha there too. Frenkie and Lamine were great in their place in the locker room but it was clear that even they turned their heads in Pedri's direction in tough moments. 

Ferran was sure Pedri would be great as captain and thought the dinner they were having at Ferran's that evening was the perfect opportunity to reassure him. It was obvious that he wanted to talk about something too. Pedri was the biggest food fan he knew, that's why he took Alexandre under his wing as soon as the kid turned up to the first team meeting with a set of healthy homemade treats. But now, just like before any big game, he was looking at his perfectly fine food as if it offended his whole family. 

"Tío, if you are done sulking, can you just spill? What's up with you?" Ferran asked, having almost finished his own plate. 

"It's all fine. Well, I think that it's going to be fine, you know, for everyone, the team and well... the team," he started off well but by the end of the phrase it was barely audible. Ferran cocked his head to the side. 

But when he was about to say something, his phone rang. 

"Huh, Ruphus is calling," Ferran picked up. He didn't notice Pedri going pale. "Buenas noches, amigo. Cómo está?" 

Silence stretched as Ferran listened to the carefully chosen words of his manager. It felt like the whole world fell away from him, eyes fixed on the plate as a nightmare he hadn't had in years crawled into his kitchen. 

"Si, I understand. I'll process and call you back, okay?" A pause. "Don't worry, Pedri is here, I'll be alright".

It felt like someone stole all the air from the room. God, he should have known life is never this kind to him. He suddenly remembered his grandma wiping his tears away when his parents announced they were getting divorced. She was trying to cheer him up and make it seem like anything other than the end of the world. She said: “Isn’t life exciting? Everything can change all of a sudden, and for no reason at all!”

He thought it was weird back then. But now he knew his gran lived had gone through more than enough life altering things in her time. When life suddenly spat you out on the concrete, you'd suffocate if you were trying to find reason for your suffering. And yet, while his mind was circling back to Ruphus' words again and again, he really didn't have it in him to breathe. 

"Ferri? Please, breathe, you are scaring me!" Pedri's hand was suddenly on his. Ferran looked up and saw his favourite eyes, huge and concerned. He let some air in, "What happened?"

"I... They loaned the last year of my contract out. To Valencia," he zoned out again. Next thing he felt was Pepi´s hands on his shoulder, his stomach against his head. Pedri said something next but Ferran didn't hear, "They just threw me away after years with this team! Just put it as a fact, no choice or headstart. Like I never even deserved that. Fuck."

"Please, breathe. Do you want water? I'll go get water!" 

"No, no, no! Stay right here. I'll go crazy without you right now."

"Okay, I am not going anywhere, Ferri." 

Ferran felt like he was hit with a second bullet. Because Pedri wasn´t going anywhere. No, it was Ferran who wasn't good enough to stay near him. A sob fought its way out. 

* * *

In the next two hours he had an emergency call with his therapist, two more calls with his representatives. A call from Deco which felt as apologetic as Messi making fun of goalkeepers. A call from the new owner of Valencia where he surprisingly wasn't asked to pretend to be happy. A call with his dad. Then with his mom. Dozens of messages from friends and teammates, current and ex. Even Sira left a message. He didn't open any of them. 

Pedri was quiet. They moved to the living room and while Ferran was walking in circles speaking on the phone, Pedri just sat there. Gifting his good-for-nothing friend the reassurance and strength to go through all of this. When the room was finally silent again, Ferran looked closely at him. It seemed like someone shot his dog. Well, in a way that's what happened. 

"Fuck, I am sorry, I didn't even ask how you feel, Pepi," Ferran sat down in front of the Canarian. "Hey, I know this sucks but you and me? Nothing can change that, you know this, right? I'll call everyday, I'll make sure Gavi and Fermín bother you on every training the same way I did. Hell, we'll still have international breaks together, right? They wouldn't take me out of the team, I might be spoiled goods but we haven't got more decent strikers for shit." 

"You are not spoiled goods," Pedri looked in his eyes, "Maybe it will be even better for you there? You know, full minutes and your city..."

"Pepi, that's not... Yeah, maybe you are right," he tried to reassure his friend, taking him into his arms, "I'll miss you terribly though".

"I'll miss you too". 

* * *

Before he knew it, he was back in Valencia, in a house he bought for his dad. Everything felt surreal like he just stepped out of the room and ended up in a universe that went to shit. In the last couple of days Ferran tried to put a brave face on. Yes, the club he thought was his family threw him away and, as it turned out, brought Haaland in as his replacement. Realistically, that sucks as much as things in general can suck. But he was aware football was a rough business. He knew who he was and if God, his whole life before that and Pedri taught him anything about falling to the bottom of the pit, it was that Ferran Torres always got back up and made everyone eat their words. That's what he decided he would do. Unfortunately, rationally deciding he was over it didn't mean his heart truly believed it too. His therapist said the only thing that could fix that was time. Well, he thought time sucked. 

Time sucked because his years in Barcelona ended before he could even realise it. Time sucked because it felt like he would never have a chance to almost kiss his best friend again. Time sucked because a couple of days ago he was one of the best football players in the world, no matter what people wrote on the Internet, and now he was back to square zero, in his childhood club that felt too small for his potential back when he was 19. Suddenly someone decided it was exactly the place for him now. Time sucked because apart from a couple of texts he didn't talk with Pedri for the longest time he could remember. 

Yet, there were some positives too. Valencia C.F. was bought out by an actually competent businessman who worked really hard to bring it back to its past glory. The work on the new stadium resumed, new executives and manager were brought in, the local academy brought back to life too. The team even ended up in the first half of the standings last year. Of course, he followed everything that was happening but never in a million years did it enter his mind that he could be back in a Valencia shirt. There was something sweet about it. 

Even though the local media was still a pain in the ass. They had already printed out papers that screamed from the first page: 'THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON', 'EL TIBURON IS BACK IN OUR PORT BUT DO WE WANT HIM HERE?', 'LIMPING BACK HOME ON ONE LEG'. Marcus sent him his favourite insulting headlines from the Manchester press as a sign of support. It did help a little. 

He went to his introductory press conference in good spirits. No question about Barca made him slip, he was genuinely excited to help out his home team and, above all, prove everyone wrong once again. He did notice, however, that closer to the end of the conference journalists started to stare in their phones looking dumbfounded. His publicist was doing something animated with his arms but Ferran couldn't figure it out. Then, when he finished answering a question about what he'd missed most about home, Vecencio Vega, a journalist he remembered very well and not very fondly, asked the question: 

"Ferran, welcome back! MARCA has just come out with an article stating that it has information from several reliable sources that Pedri González advocated for your loan and purchase of Haaland going as far as calling the striker himself and asking him to team up with him in Barca before the announcement of your loan. How would you comment on that? Did you know about this? How is your friendship affected by this? I know I wouldn't be happy," Ferran looked at his publicist who seemed apologetic. And laughed. 

"This is the funniest thing I've heard in the last few days, man. I would sooner believe that aliens abducted him than that Pedri would do something like this. He is my best friend, he would never go behind my back. If he felt I wasn't what Barca needed, he would definitely talk to me. He was there when I learnt about the loan and, believe me, he was as surprised as I was. These are nothing but baseless accusations," Ferran talked with such conviction as if he was stating that 2+2 was 4.

The journalists who started this press conference like they were the sharks and he their prey, now looked at him with pity. No one had any more questions. Ferran felt it was silly. He spent some more time with the team coach before going back to his house but kept finding those weird glances. 

Absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't wait to call Pepi and laugh about the media going with the most unrealistic narrative they could come up with. If there was one constant in his life, it was Pedri. His best friend who was always on his side, whose laughter was bigger than the world and who, for years now, shared an unspoken understanding with him on what they could be one day when cameras would not be as interested in them and there were no more goals left to score. 

His phone lit up with Pedri’s name. He didn’t hesitate for a second.

Chapter Text

A couple of days had passed since Ferran left for Valencia but he still couldn't get used to his friend's absence. On the first day he was almost late to training because he stopped his car by the entrance of Ferran's house and waited for him to come out. Pedri felt stupid. 

Then, when he got to the locker room the whole team looked at him cautiously asking how he was and if he was sure there were no more details to the abrupt loan than what they had been told by Deco. He explained to them that sure, it sucked to lose Ferran but their team was strong and it would work out in the end, he even put on a reassuring smile. No one seemed convinced, doubling down on questions about his personal well-being. 

Pedri felt annoyed. He wasn't some baby that needed coddling, he was their captain. He walked out on the pitch and looked back because his left felt too exposed. But there was nobody there apart from Gavi and Eric a couple of steps back who thought they were subtle in their whispering: "How is this guy always so aware?!" 

Thankfully he didn´t have to pair up with either of them for exercises as Alexandre asked to examine his form. Pedri felt grateful that the kid, who was still only nineteen, decided to shield him from all the questions and didn't ask any of his own. Yet, Pedri knew how it felt when sudden moves happened while you were young and expected to perform. So when they had a break in repetitions he sat down next to him on the ground.

"Hey, don't worry. Don't tell anyone but I heard the club is preparing a big signing," he looked reassuringly at the Brazilian.  

"Oh... that's great," the boy said not very convincingly, "I kind of expected that. It's just that..."

"What is it, angelito?" The striker's ears reddened, his blotchy attempt at a beard not covering up the blush.

"It's too quiet without Ferran. And, well, he taught me so much and any time I had a question he was always there with an answer, sometimes even before I figured out there was an issue in the first place," he toyed with the elastic band, "Don't get me wrong, everyone in the team is great but I just... I don't know." 

"I understand, hermanito. I felt so lost when Messi left. Not like Ferran is Leo but you get the idea. Losing your mentors is part of growing up, you know."

"Like Peter Parker," Alexandre nodded, not looking up.

"Huh, well, kinda of. But it's a bit better because you still have the whole team around you. I am sure Marcus would help you out too. It's important to learn from different people. And it's not like anybody shot Ferran in an alley, you can always call him."

"I don't want to bother him, he's got a lot on his plate already. It must hurt a lot to be... well, what's the polite word? Be left aboard?" Pedri smiled at him. Such a good kid they had. 

"It's overboard, bebé. Ferran is very strong, he can handle it. You, however, have the advantage of youth and baby fat on your face. Nobody can fault you for looking for support and nobody is able to say no to those big sad eyes of yours," Pedri ruffled his brown hair, "Ferri would still be happy to help you, believe me."

"Okay. Thank you, Pedri," the new exercise was starting, "Please tell him I said hi."

"Of course."

It felt good to reassure Alexandre. In all of his own worry for the season ahead he hadn’t realized that he wouldn't be the only one affected by Ferran going away. It struck him for the first time that Ferran grew into his own role as a leader, his stable support and lighthearted comfort treasured by many in the team. The time flew by so quickly he didn't notice how the boy that had charmed him on the beach of Valencia grew into this glorious gladiator fighting on the last grains of his prime. God, Alexandre was the same age Ferran was when they met, talk about feeling old.

* * *

As planned, Barca broke the news on Haaland's acquisition in principle late in the evening so everything was going according to plan. Pedri had arrived at his management's office the next morning for a meeting on his new big campaign with Adidas. Their management firm grew over the years so now there was a whole PR and Marketing department representing him. They'd worked with Adidas for years now but this next stage of his career had everyone buzzing with excitement. Over the summer they developed several concepts on the directions to take for his image. When he was younger, talks about perception made him feel uneasy. Back then he thought that his game spoke for itself. Now, after being slandered in the media for the way his defenders were unfocused, his strikers - inexcusable, he knew that an athlete like him was required to control not just the pitch but public opinion too. He was not a showbiz guy like Lamine who had to explain to numerous streaming companies and studios that he still had football to play before becoming the star of their shows. Yet, Pedri's image of an elegant magician who dictated the flow of any game was still highly marketable. At the same time his team pushed for progression. Laura, head of Marketing, put it like this: "Everyone loves Harry Potter, you know. But he can't be the Boy-Who-Lived for the rest of his life, it's important he takes the Wizarding World in his hands and becomes the Head Auror. You see what I mean?"

He guessed she was right even though Ferran didn't like the reference as he pointed out on their way home later that day: "It never made sense to me that this guy who hates authority becomes a fucking cop. He should be teaching kids at Hogwarts where his home is!" Pedri didn't argue but he didn't feel like peaking at 17 and retreating to be a teacher for the rest of your life was very promising or fair to the guy.

They would be launching his signature boots this year, stepping away from the Predators. He loved the model and colourways they came up with. Simple but clean: Tenerife white, blue and yellow; a full plátana yellow with proceeds going to 'The Hunger Project'; and neon blue and red with sparks-like design on the heels. A whole media programme was lined up with appearances on biggest spanish-speaking shows, sports and lifestyle journals. Pedri 2.0. as they called the project was all about his unwavering discipline, lethal precision and his puppeteer role. Gone was the little Mago, behold El NecromancerTM. A nickname one of the Arabic commentators gave him during their Copa del Rey final against Real Madrid where they came back from 0:2 despite being dead on their feet in the first half. Pedri thought it was a little cheesy but Ferran said that necromancer sounded hot and he came around. El Necromancer fit in nicely with the Black Mamba, the Red Baron and El Ilusionista, the marketing presentation stated. 

The meeting was mainly dedicated to polishing out the last details on his talking points and schedule. They spoke briefly on how to handle any questions about Ferran's loan (politely redirect attention back to the team and his goals this season while wishing Torres success and excitement over playing together on the national team). Then they quickly moved on to other things as Ruphus had given everyone a headstart on the fact that the wound was still fresh. 

Halfway through the meeting he noticed Riá, the girl responsible for coordinating their charity projects and involving sponsors into those activities, looking at her phone. He never judged other people for slacking off in these meetings plus her contribution was already discussed and limited. Yet, the quizzical look on her face combined with her glancing at the phone and then back at him was alarming, especially because she was composed as hell if Ferran wasn't around to make her laugh at some stupid word play. He couldn't explain the feeling, when she was working with him one-on-one they got on marvelously, they were around the same age and he respected her for the quiet determination to make the world a better place. But the second she looked up at Ferran he felt inexplicable annoyance. 

"Laura, sorry to interrupt you but I think we suddenly have a big problem on our hands," she said, coming up to the laptop and projecting a website page on the wall, "Dude, since when do MARCA do defamation so openly?"

The page read: "BREAKING! Pedri campaigned for Ferran Torres' loan, Haaland acquisition behind the scenes, reliable sources confirm." 

Pedri's blood ran cold. He looked up at Ruphus who appeared as caught off guard as Pedri felt. The pause lasted a second too long. The Adidas people shifting uncomfortably in their seats, one of his publicists texting something with her phone at light speed. 

"No fucking way, no, you didn't!" Riá said, piercing him with her eyes, "What did he do?"

"Riá, this is not the best setting or time, don't you think?" Laura admonished.

"Right, sorry," the younger woman returned to her seat but her eyes never left Pedri's. He suddenly felt ashamed even though he knew he was in the right. He looked the other way. 

"Should we reschedule so you guys can manage this?" one of the Adidas representatives asked. Pedri locked eyes with Laura but she did not seem as freaked out as he would've thought the head of PR would be in the situation where the whole launch was in danger of not happening.

"No, don't worry about it. It doesn't really change anything for us," Laura said, Pedri didn't like that he shared the confused look with Riá, "This is exactly the kind of leadership and striving for perfection we've talked about for Pedri 2.0. Being able to make tough decisions on and off the pitch is the price for greatness. Don't you think this amplifies our storytelling for El Necromancer?" 

She looked triumphantly at the Adidas people nodding, his publicist put her phone away. 

"If anything, we are getting additional exposure for the roll out. So much so that at least for the first three media comments we can pick and choose who to speak with and not pay them a cent for the boot mention! This is great!"

Riá didn't look convinced, just as Pedri wasn't. Marketing went on about the later steps in the campaign for several minutes. Suddenly a phone slid to him over the table. 

"Levante EMV: Ferran Torres dismisses Pedri's involvement in his loan: I would sooner believe aliens abducted him."

Pedri's chest hurt. He remembered the warm ambience of Ferran's chest under his cheek, the TV reflecting off of Ferran's determined brown-grey eyes. "No alien could be my best friend like you." As he lifted his head back up, Riá's gaze turned accusing. Again he felt annoyance mix with shame. He slid the phone back. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, not least to the people who didn't know how professional sports worked and the competitive level required for a team to succeed. His own phone vibrated in his pocket, Fer's picture on the screen. He declined the call, texted a short "on a meeting, will call later". 

This was far from ideal but the last thing he wanted right now, apart from having to talk with Ferran, was explaining everything to his brother. Around 9 months ago, after Valentina had entered her second trimester of pregnancy, Fer stepped away from his management role and dedicated himself to caring for his wife and their kid. Pedri was incredibly happy to see the family grow and he was pretty much the biggest fan of Valentina since the start. As much as Fer had supported him in the first chapter of his career, it was time to allow him to enjoy family life without endless travels and meetings on his behalf. Pedri was a grown man now, he could handle it just fine. He was handling it just fine. 

Everything that he had done lately was in the interest of Barca. He spent most of the summer break reflecting on the kind of leadership needed from him after hours-long conversations with Marcelino. He also cared deeply for Ferran and if there was one thing he knew about Ferran, it was that he did not deserve to get stuck to the bench and fade away slowly. Barca demanded everything from you, mes que un club. But he could see that Ferran's best just wouldn't be enough anymore for the length of the whole season with the World Championship waiting for them in June. Pedri still had nightmares about the equalizer Ferran missed on the 88th minute of the Chelsea game because the ball went to his bad leg first. It just wasn't sustainable anymore. 

On the other hand, Valencia's low pressure, rebuilding phase and fighting spirit could give Ferran a fitting environment to finish his career as a home hero, not hated by culers for his decay. He knew that Ferran wouldn't be happy about it at first, how could he not? But at the end of the day it would be better for both of them. That's what he thought and what Ruphus agreed was true too when he came to him to explain the situation shortly before everything went down. 

He did not believe for a second that Fer would be happy with his reasoning. 

* * *

The problem lied in the fact that everything shouldn't have happened so quickly. He was approached by the management on the first day of training camp. He felt elated when they told him City and Haaland didn't agree on some things anymore and a transfer was on the cards. However, Deco pointed out they did not have enough money for it and had to act swiftly to get some space under the cap. That was understandable even if he never liked saying goodbye to teammates. Then Marcelino said Ferran was the most viable option looking at him meaningfully. 

The knee-jerk reaction was to say no. But they'd discussed how much role fits and efficiency meant for this Barca. They'd discussed how crucial spacing and consistent pressing against tough teams were. In the end, he said it was their decision but he would be happy to help get Haaland if they needed him. 

Two weeks later, while they were in Japan, he called Erling and asked him to choose Barcelona using his broken English. The Norwegian laughed and said it would be a pleasure to share the pitch with him but did Barca even have the resources? Pedri said they could make space for the best striker in the world.

Then, before he knew it, Deco said that everything was lined up for the loan. Pedri asked to wait for the next day so he could speak with Ferran first. He didn't realise they meant the deal was literally made, papers signed. Ruphus told him he found new respect for Pedri and they would still take care of Ferran if things went south between them. Pedri was sure he had more time to talk Ferran through this, to show him reason. They could never stay cross with each for long, this wouldn't be an exception. 

In the end, he didn't even have the guts to tell him he had known about it before the call. Turned out they couldn't wait because someone had leaked the news to the press. It hurt to see his best friend in pain and no matter how rational the loan was he had a nagging feeling this would change things. Pedri knew no success ever came without sacrifices, that there was no space for feelings in pro sports. It would be for the better, he thought like a mantra while sitting on Ferran's sofa and any time the Valencian entered his mind since that. 

Especially now, alone in Ruphus' office with his finger hovering over Ferran's name on the screen, it was the only thought he allowed himself. He called.

"Hi?" his hands were sweaty as if it was his trial out for Real all over again.

"Hey, Pepi! I am so glad to hear you!" Ferran's voice echoed from the phone. God, he missed him so much, "Did you see that nonsense from MARCA already? I laughed right at the press conference. Isn't it ridiculous?"

"I... Ferran, I am sorry," he stood up from the chair, walking around Ruphus' new expensive mahogany table. 

"Ah, don't worry. You've got nothing to be sorry about, you don't control the press," Ferran was still cheerful. He didn't get it yet. Pedri's breath hitched. Just like a band aid, c'mon.

"I knew about the loan. I helped recruit Haaland," There. It was said. His nape glistened with sweat that wasn't there a minute ago. A small pause. Ferran chuckled. 

"Yeah, sure. Pepi, don't fuck with me. Did Laporta set you up to make the club's decision look better to the fans? You don't have to take respo…" 

Why did it have to be so difficult to get through to him? How the hell was Ferran so dumb? Why did he have so much faith in him?

"Ferran, no, listen to me. They asked for my opinion and I said we should go for Haaland. You were our best option to get some cash," Hell, this is as clear as he can be. He had his hand in a fist, nails applying pressure to the soft skin. It's for the better, he'll get it now, "You should understand it's what's best for the team."

"I don't believe you," Ferran said after another pause. He sounded more uncertain. Good, that was good, "Pepi, this is ridiculous, why would they even include you in the talks in the first place? It's a clear conflict of interest!"

"There was no conflict," Pedri suddenly felt annoyed at Ferran. He was captain, he could separate work and personal life, his voice mattered to the club, "I believe it was time for you to leave Barcelona too."

There was silence on the other side, no movement. It was like Ferran wasn't even breathing. Did he finally get it? Pedri didn't understand why there were tears collecting in his eyes. He was telling the truth. Wasn't it supposed to be easy and pleasant?

"Think about it, Ferri. You are not the same, it's okay that time takes its toll. Do you really want to fizzle out and be sent away to Saudi?" Pedri didn't want that fate for him. Hell, why was Ferran so naive in the first place? He was a grown man, "They wouldn't have renewed your contract, you should know it."

"I would have taken a cut and go full Szczęsny if I fucking had to, Pedri. I would have gladly fucking fizzled out in Barca, playing with you and our guys. What the hell are you talking about?" He never heard Ferran this angry. Not even in their biggest losses, never at him, not like this. It didn't feel right, "Did Marcelino get this in your head?"

"First of all, I can have my own opinions, stop trying to make me out to be so easily manipulated," There were too many emotions at once fighting in him. But the indignation at being seen as some obedient pawn for the second time in this conversation pushed his own anger to the surface, "Secondly, Tek could still deliver somewhat, the fuck would you do come April when we have a game every other day and all of them big?!"

"So what, you've just decided I am done?" 

How is he so infuriating? Couldn't he see the truth? He might be okay now but it wouldn't last. 

"Nobody said you were done! Listen to me, Valencia has fewer games and a very young roster. They'll cover for your pressing and speed and you'll help them grow the team while being a starter for several more years. It's a win-win! Please, think with your brain right now," here, words perfectly delivered just like he had practiced back before that stupid dinner. He chewed on his nail looking quizzically at the indents in his hand. Huh, he didn't notice doing that. 

"Well, it's clear you had an awful lot of time to think this through while you were lying to my face for weeks. When did you decide I am no good for you anymore?" 

This was not going as planned. Why did Ferran have to be so dramatic? 

"Ferran, c'mon, try to make sense of my words, be a man!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Pedri winced but he was not giving up yet, "Were you a man when you had no balls to tell the truth to my face? God, I was so worried about you and you just sat there enjoying the show, didn't you?"

"I was not enjoying anything! How can you say that?" He felt completely out of control. Why did Ferran always make him a mess? "If you would stop coddling me, maybe you would have noticed I am the captain now, I can't spend my season looking after your useless ass, I... we have the Champions League to win!"

No, no, no. That's not what Pedri wanted to say. 

"My useless ass?" Ferran sounded out of breath, like someone slapped it all out of him. He fucked up.

"You know I didn't mean it like that..." Pedri said quietly, hoping to cool them both down.

"No, you meant it, stop pretending like this is about anything other than your own ambitions! It didn't cross your mind to speak with me about this before you signed off on throwing my oh so useless ass out, did it? It's clear why, stop with this bullshit. Did you ever even care about me? Or was I just there for entertainment until you've decided to be a big boy?" 

"Fuck you, you know I care..." 

Why did it hurt so much, they were just words! Ferran was too emotional, it wasn't true. He put his hand through his sweaty hair. 

"How would I know? I don't have any reason to believe that, Pedri. You've fucked it all up, put a dagger in my back and for what?! Little magician wants a third CL, huh? Nothing is good enough until you have your very own Ballon D'or to jerk off to? Well, it's nice to know my worth to you. I can't believe you are the man who I lo... who is supposed to be my best friend. I am so disappointed in you." 

By the end of Ferran's speech his vision blurred, air coming in but not out. He sat down on the floor, head to the cool table. He took a deep breath: 5 seconds going up, 5 seconds holding, 5 seconds breathing out, holding. Like Ferran taught him. He heard quick breaths from the phone.

"Ferran, I know you are angry right now but sports require sacrifices. You should understand me," he tried for the last time tiredly. 

"Shit, who are you? You can't be him, this is stupid. Pedri would never make others pay for his success, you don't go about life like this." 

Jesus, why did his chest hurt so much? Like something was chewing its way through his bones and organs from within. He couldn't do this anymore.

"I am sorry. Call me when you are ready to see the full picture."

He hung up. Ferran's accusations kept ringing in his head. 

"Fuck you, I didn't betray you. I did not," Pedri pressed his hands into his eyes trying to stop the tears. Not once had he called his actions a betrayal before this call. Nobody who knew had. He thought through how this was good for Ferran. Then why the fuck did it still feel like he betrayed his best friend?

* * *

The next day he woke up with his head still hurting. There was another message from Fer with a link attached. It led to a video of Ferran coming out of his house in Valencia in the evening, sunglasses on even though the sun had set. 

"Ferran, have you talked with Pedri since the news broke?" a journalist yelled. Ferran stopped in front of the cameras. 

"Yeah, I have. Intergalactic football must be nuts if they were able to swap in some random alien for my best friend. If someone is organising rescue missions, contact me, please. Be careful, there must be more of them among us."

"So does this mean..." someone else tried to ask.

"This discussion is over, I am not answering anything about P... him again, today or in the future. Please, vacate my driveway, next time somebody shows up I will have to call the police."

He got into his car and drew off. Pedri had no reaction, just regret pooling at his stomach. He read Fer's message. 

"Explain yourself." 

Shit.

Chapter Text

"Shit, who are you? You can't be him, this is stupid. Pedri would never make others pay for his success, you don't go about life like this." 

"I am sorry. Call me when you are ready to see the full picture."

Pedri hung up on him. Ferran did not move, remaining still on the sofa. This felt like a bad dream, the kind you would have when the temperature was too high, throat painfully sore, his mind playing tricks on his heart. He took a coin out of his pocket and spun it on the coffee table. It fell down. He pinched his arm. It hurt but nothing happened. He looked for anything out of place: a window view or a wall colour wrong. Nothing. He counted his fingers from left to right and the other way round. Still ten. He felt a tear sliding down his cheek. 

How could it be real? He slid his hands through the short hair. Another few minutes passed in silence, only the sound of the refrigerator humming in the back. Suddenly a slap reverberated through the house. 

"Why the hell am I not waking up?" he whispered, "When did I become useless?"

Slapping himself didn't hurt as much as repeating the word out loud. He took his phone, going straight to messages. He missed his therapist's name even though she said he was welcome to reach out any time. Instead he opened his chat with Eric and quickly tapped in a message. Deleted it. Tapped again. Deleted. God, what if everyone in the team wanted him out a long time ago? If Pedri was so done with him, all of them probably were. Their messages and calls – nothing more than polite decorum. God, it hurt. 

But... What if he misread the situation? Pepi was the kindest person he knew. The best one, the one he thanked God for in every prayer. Maybe he shouldn't have screamed at him. Ferran didn't even believe all the bullshit he spat at his best friend. Pedri was not the kind of person to demand changes in the roster, he didn't give a shit about Ballon D'or, always the first one to cheer him up after falling short in competition. He would never mistreat his family. All these years by his side, through wins and losses, family vacations and tired evenings at each others' places. Ferran still remembered the day they were dreaming about their lives post football. How Pedri was so sure to include Ferran in all of his plans. 'So you won't stop calling as soon as I am not your teammate anymore?' Pedri looked at him for a second, his face annoyed like Ferran said something stupid. When he had realized Ferran was serious, he replied shyly but not looking away, 'Ferri, you are family. I start missing you if I don't see you or hear from you even for a day. Don't ever question that'. Where was that boy now? 

Maybe the front office did pressure Pedri to go after Haaland but lying about the loan made no sense. Were they going to send him somewhere much worse that Valencia and Pedri bargained for him? No, he would have talked this through with their agents. With Ferran, for fuck's sake. The way Pedri described it during the call, you would have thought the striker got marbles up his head instead of brains. If Pedri couldn't give him a choice in this, couldn't he have at least given him the grace of knowing his fate beforehand? In the end of the day, it was Ferran's career he was signing off on. It was cruel. Unlike him at all. 

Objectively speaking, going after Haaland was not a crime. Any big team on the market was going after him. Hell, he himself would have loved to play with the guy. He'd know for years that Pedri was curious to team up too. Ferran's own limitations in talent and efficiency weren't a secret to the man. He worked harder than anyone to get better than others but there were some extremely special players in sports, the guys that just had 'It'. Haaland was that, Ferran wasn't. No hard feelings. He would've been elated to learn some stuff from the Norwegian. Pedri calling him to join the team did not hurt. It wasn't that. 

It wasn't even going behind his back that hurt the most. But Pedri's words, thought through and so matter-of-fact, still rang in his ears like when one tried to fall asleep, drunk, after a loud party. Small parts of conversation zipping around his head: useless, time takes takes its tall, I believe it was time for you to leave, useless ass, fuck would you do, you should understand, wouldn't resign, at least he could still deliever somewhat, be a man, see the whole picture, best for the team, fizzle out, useless, useless, useless...

He couldn't breathe again and it felt like a dam of tears welling in his eyes just refused to break. If Pedri thought he was useless, he must have truly become that. He scored several goals in the preseason games but they must have expected much more. Pedri must have expected more. When did he become a weak link in the team? Yes, he missed one of the last chances they had in the CL game against Chelsea but he scored a brace in that same match. It sucked but Pedri didn't score the last big opportunity they had and it reminded Ferran that sometimes things just didn't go your way. They all had a long conversation after the loss and agreed they will come back stronger next year. Maybe when Marcus hugged him tightly and said 'We'll get them back, don't even worry', he meant that they would get him without Ferran? But if they knew back then, it made no sense that he didn't even get an opportunity to say goodbye after almost a decade in Barcelona. 

Was he a burden to Pedri? 

Not until lately for sure. He could have pretended for a couple of months but years of always choosing to be by each other couldn't just be crossed out. They were inseparable on the pitch, both official and training ones. Every morning he would make a coffee for himself and tea for Pedri before walking out to Pedri's car to get to work. There were countless times they would stay over at each others' places. They would make each other soups when sick (Pedri's much better than Ferran's), they would go on nature hikes with their dogs, they would hug each other in their lowest moments. One of Ferran's favourite memories was Pedri helping him shave because he injured his hand during the game and couldn't move it properly. Ferran teased him about not being ready to die when Pedri instructed him to lean on the hotel bathroom's sink and not move while slotting between his legs with a razor. Pedri's movements were so gentle and careful that Ferran didn't want it to end. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of Pedri's hands on his face, directing and steadying him. 'Ferri, stop smiling!', 'I can't do that, mi luz, you are too good to me. How much should I pay for you to do this all the time?'. He still remembered the little huff the Canarian left out, his soft eyes and signature blush looking back at Ferran when he opened his eyes. The soft kiss to his shoulder when Pedri was done. The over-the-top hug he threw at Pedri when he examined the results, his skin clear of hair. 

Pedri enjoyed caring for Ferran as much as Ferran enjoyed caring for Pedri. Even if they wouldn't have ever become more, it was a friendship you bring with yourself all the way to your last day on Earth. And then maybe wait for the other at the gates of whatever's next. That he wouldn't have ever questioned. Before today. 

The tears still didn't come but at some point his body decided he had to breathe, starting to do self regulating exercises on its own. At least, years of therapy were paying off. 

Nothing made sense and, worst of all, it didn't change Pedri's actions. Unless it really were aliens. That was the last thing that hurt. He couldn't understand Pedri no matter how much he tried. Whatever his friend's reasoning for betraying him was... Because it was betrayal and fuck if that didn't hurt too. Whatever it was, Pedri decided he couldn't come to Ferran and talk to him. To figure it out together. Like they figured out long-term injuries, restaurant orders, presents for teammates, interlapping gossip, puzzles at family gatherings in Foios and Tenerife, strongest defenses in the world or installing a new water filter at Ferran's mom's kitchen. 

Pedri chose to lie for weeks, if not months. He chose to wash his hands off Ferran. He chose to believe Ferran's career was on its last breath and he chose not to be there for him even if it was true. He chose to say those awful words to him. Fuck, he didn't even apologise properly. He chose to hurt him. And he succeeded beyond measure. 

Ferran's phone chimed with a message. It was his sister: 'Get your ass to mom's, we are watching Princess Diary'. At least, he still had his family. He picked up the keys and his sunglasses to cover his eyes rightfully expecting the journalists to stalk him to his dad's house. He didn't know why he talked with those fuckers, maybe out of bitterness, maybe baceuse he wanted to have the last word in this argument, maybe because he wanted Pedri to face some kind of public backlash. Maybe because a small part of him hoped that he could still somehow get through to his best friend's heart if he even had it now. 

* * *

When he had arrived at their old house in Foios 30 minutes later, his stepdad was the one to open the door, his mom and sister arguing about something in the background. He was home. In no time they were all hugging him, asking if he had anything to eat, as if it would make a difference to their plans to stuff him full of his favourite food. They didn't talk about why he was in Valencia in late August or what the papers were saying about it. His stepdad went to sleep after dinner, giving him a head kiss and a meaningful glance: Yeah, the women were going to have a conversation about feelings with Ferran, no, I am not staying for that. He loved the dude.

They got comfortable on a coach, each sibling on either of their mom's side, and started watching the movie. That's what they had been doing for longer than he remembered. A scrapped knee, a fight with neighbour kids, a bad grade, a missed goal, a broken heart, a bad argument with dad, a university rejection, a move to England, a job rejection. No matter what it was, they ended up on their sofa with a film classic on TV. His mom had her hands on their heads while Ferran and Aranxa commented on the movie and bickered about everything and nothing at once. Sooner than he would've wanted, the third act was there. He closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep before the credits rolled so that there was no interrogation. He did not.

The TV was back to Netflix's home page. His mom shifted a little bit.

"Is it necessary?" he asked.

"Yeah," both of them answered. 

"Okay."

He tried to collect his thoughts. Where should he even start? 

"So you know the basic facts. Did you see the news about..." he fell silent, "the loan circumstances?'

"Ypu mean that article about Pedri?" his mom asked carefully, her hand still petting his head. 

"Yeah, that. I called him and," God, he didn't want to go through all the details, "it's true. Everything. He said I was useless to the team and that he didn't want me in Barcelona anymore. That he had a Champions League to win."

His mom's hand stopped moving for a few seconds, then resumed. He could tell without opening his eyes that they were having a silent conversation. 

"Well, fuck him then!" his sister said finally.

"Arri!"

"What, mom? You wanted to say it too!" 

"Not like this!" Ferran smiled at their antics, "Niño, I am so sorry. Did he explain why?"

"No, not really," he sighed, "He said that I was not the same. But I don't understand why he lied to me before that? And then when he talked about winning CL, he really hurt me. It was so weird too, like I was the only obstacle between him and the trophy and he personally really wanted it. It's just... It was like talking to a stranger?"

"Do you want me to kill him?" Arri asked, "Because I still have that mafia dude's phone number from a blind date. Just say the word and..."

"Hija, let's not do something quite as drastic?" his mom admonished, "I am really sorry, Ferri. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

"I don't know, I keep trying to pinpoint when he had given up on me but it just doesn't make sense. Life doesn't make sense right now. What did I do?"

"Hermanito, you didn't do anything wrong. You played well last season, your G/A would've been the highest in your career if not for that injury at the start of the year. Please, don't question your own ability because of this idiot. We are all really proud of you."

"Yeah, but you are my family, you are supposed to only see the good, maybe he realised..."

"No, that's bullshit," Arri interrupted, "He is supposed to be family too."

He didn't know what to say to that. 

"Everyone is going through their own battles, bebé. We can't know for sure what's going on with him. But believe me, I am as confused as you are. I think everyone is. It's not like Pedri at all. I called Rosy a couple of hours ago but she assured me the family had no clue this was happening. Fer is trying to reach him but he's not picking up calls."

"Oh. Do you think it might be something bad? What if he's in trouble? Or like not okay mentally?" his head raced with options.

"He's done some crazy shit, alright," his sister snorted. Ferran opened his eyes to look at her disapprovingly, "Chiquillo, he broke your heart and you are still worried about him..."

"Not like I can just turn it off," he grumbled while hiding his face back in his mom's arms. 

"I understand. I do. But you cannot help him right now. Whatever it is, he has still chosen to hurt you instead of talking openly. He's got his family around him, there is nothing Rosy can't figure out. But we want you to focus on yourself now," Ferran's chest hurt at her words. It felt unnatural to sit there and do nothing when Pedri could be hurt and all alone. He felt pathetic for caring so much. 

"Hijo, figuring him out isn't gonna help you right now. Yet, not all changes have to be for the bad. You have us, your home team is excited to have you back. Let's try to build from this and I am telling you, you are not alone here. The world is still standing, you just gotta regain your balance," his mom's words were intended to sooth, to uplift. And yet he felt himself crumble like he was fifteen again and his dad caught him kissing a boy in his room. The weight of rejection, shame and being wounded by someone who is only supposed to love you was finally too much to bear. 

"Mama, it hurts too much," he sobbed quietly. He heard his sister move and then she was hugging him from behind. 

"I know, sweety, I know. You can cry, we'll keep you safe," the two most important people in his life were holding him tightly. The tears flowed freely. 

"It only gets better from here," his sister whispered, "We promise."

He wanted to believe them.  

* * *

The next morning he woke up at 5 o'clock as he had to come back to Valencia before going to training. Ferran kissed his girls goodbye, chatted a bit with his stepdad over morning coffee and went back to his dad's place. He probably had to think about renting his own flat. His dad would be glad to have him there once he returned to Valencia but they could be too much for each other. He dressed casually and put the training clothes into a bag. A big meeting awaited him first.

When he was close to the Ciutat Esportiva in Paterna a lot of memories came up. The amount of time he spent at this place was unrivalled even by Barca's facilities. The building might have been a bit old but it was still sturdy and welcoming. Its orange roof made his heart beat faster. 

Surprisingly, there were some fans standing near the entrance. He didn't remember this happening often when he was younger. They waved him over and he lowered the window. 

"Bon dia!" he said to a couple of kids who got to him first with their national team shirts. Huh, that never stopped being nice.

"Ferran! Ferran! Please stay in Valencia!" one of them cried. 

"Guys, I've just got there, don't worry!"

"My dad says you'll demand to leave because you only care about money and hate it here," another kid said. Oh yeah, those fans. 

"Tell your dad he is wrong. I love it here, it's my home," he said reassuringly. He stayed there as long as he could but it was time to get moving "Guys, go to school now, please. You've got the whole season to catch me around here."

"You promise?"

"Scout's honor," he waved to them and rode to the gate. 

Another surprise, a familiar face welcomed him. Well, Valencian style. 

"Would you look at this little bustard?” Angel, the security guard that had worked at the Ciutat Esportiva longer than Ferran walked this earth, cursed at him, "And what makes you think I'll let a lousy guy like you back here, huh?"

"Angel!" he beamed at the old man, noticing a sly smirk behind the grumpy words, "I am so happy to see you!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, like I would believe you."

"Don Angel, don't wound me! I've always been your favourite!" He had to stay with the guy sometimes after training back when he still lived at home, his parents worked late. 

"Nonsense, Javi is my favourite!"

"Oh, is he aware? I'll make sure to tell him today!" Ferran laughed when he saw displeasure at the man's face, "I'll come talk with you more but I really gotta get inside, have got a meeting with the big guys."

"Ok, go but this conversation isn't over, young man!" he opened the gate, "What poor girl did you steal this sweater from, by the way?"

Ferran didn't answer as he giggled and got to the parking. He was so glad the old man was still around. 

Before training, he had his first meeting with the new owner, Federico Avellaneda. A man who's made his fortune on construction around the world, was a Valencian and as the legend said, had bought the club because his grandfather asked him to, too tired of the previous owner's incompetence. Ferran didn't know if that was true. But whatever the actual reason was, the facts stayed the same. For Avellaneda it was a passion project and a way of giving back to the community. He supposed that some of the renovation projects that Avellaneda's company secured in the city after the deal were more of an added bonus. The businessman was out of the country when they first talked so Ferran's press conference was held with the manager and director of the club. They were nice enough guys but insisted that he waited to meet Federico before holding any serious discussions. Ruphus only sent his publicist with Ferran that first day as there was something big they were lining up for one of the younger players in the agency. If he was being honest with himself, it was obvious from the lack of effort that Ruphus knew about the loan beforehand and didn't do shit to represent him better. Ferran didn't have the energy to deal with it for now. 

He came up to a small office at the facility that was usually the sporting director's space. He didn't have the nicest memories from it but the people responsible were long out of the club. He knocked and opened the door. Avellaneda was sitting at the head of the table, flanked by the manager, Carlos Carberan, and the sporting director, who had a weird nickname Quincho. Avellaneda was of average height and built, pepper hair and a pair of thin rectangular glasses on his big nose. He was wearing a smart dark blue sweater with a white shirt underneath and old jeans. If Ferran didn't know the guy was a billionaire, he would've thought he was just someone's dad.

"Ferran, welcome!" Federico started, standing up to shake his hand, "Thank you for taking your time to meet with us this early. I am sorry I couldn't be there on your first day."

"Hello! That's okay, no worries," he sat down at the other side of the small table after shaking all the hands, "I am ready to start."

"That's the approach, tío!" Quincho said, "Look. I know this was unexpected for you but when I got a call from Barcelona about you, I almost thought Deco was pulling a prank on me! We are really happy to have you back."

"I really appreciate it," the mention of Barca laced his heart a little but he repeated his sister's words in his head. It will only get better from here, "I would lie if I said I wanted to change clubs but if it had to happen, I am happy that it's Valencia and not someone else."

"That's high praise, Ferran," Avellaneda started, "We want to bring Valencia back to the top but it's a long-term project. The financial obligations that we took on from the previous owners had restricted our opportunities at the market. So for the first couple of seasons Quincho and Carlos worked hard to get together a young team with some hidden brilliants in it. We are very lucky to have our leaders in Javi Guerra in the midfield and Julen Agirrezabala in the defense but we are lacking sharpness in the third part of the field. We always saw you as the ideal piece, we even enquired about you a couple of times before but you were not available. We know that the sudden transition can be tough but I will reiterate that we've wanted you here a long time and we believe in you. We need your energy, your experience, your lethality."

"Sr. Avellaneda, I am really grateful. But I am not sure you chose right," the businessman's brow lifted up, "I... maybe I am not as good as I used to be."

"Ferran, you are one of the most successful strikers in the world right now and you are still only 30," Carberan joined in, "We understand that you are in the second half of your career but we have no reason to think it's anywhere close to being over. We believe that if you and Javi lead this team, we could be looking at bringing trophies back to the Mestalla if not this season, then next."

"Next season?"

"If you choose to stay of course," Quincho added, "No pressure now but we are serious about you, my guy."

"Don't you have concerns about my knee? It's kind of fucked now," Ferran felt like he was being gaslighted. 

"So fucked that you were still Barca's starting player in the same season as the injury and got a treble?" Avellaneda asked, smiling at him. He did have a point, "It's gonna get better from here, we have a great medical team and if you need something we don't have, I will personally make sure you are provided with it, okay? You are one of the best Valenciano players in the world. We don't leave each other behind."

"I... thank you," Ferran said, "I can't promise you much but let's see how it goes, yeah? I'll give everything I have even if it's not... well.'

"It's okay, we have faith in you. You acclimatise, get to know the team, find your rhythm back," the manager said, "There is no pressure!"

"There is always pressure."

"Nothing that El Tiburón couldn't handle. And we are not gonna be the ones to add to it," Avellaneda assured, "Deal?"

"Deal."

Ferran felt something shift. Were things really looking up for him? El Tiburón never gave up. 

* * *

He followed Carlos to training after the meeting. They had already had the opportunity to discuss the kind of football the team played the day before. Now Carlos was going through the positions he wanted to try Ferran out in, the connections and plays. He didn't know all the names but Ferran was sure he'd get to know his new teammates well enough shortly. 

They came out on the pitch and some of the guys cheered when they saw him. Ferran waved and clapped back as he ran to the closest person on the pitch. Javi was the team captain now. They knew each other back in the academy days and were fast friends when in the national team. The fact that Javi was even able to break through Barcelona's monopoly on the Spanish midfield spoke for itself. While in Valencia he was doing the same work as Pedri in Barcelona, in the national team he was competing for a spot with Fermin and it was an equal battle. 

"Welcome back, fucker!" Guerra pulled him into a hug. 

"I liked you better when you were shorter than me," Ferran mumbled into his shoulder. It was really annoying when those kids grew so tall. 

"Karma," Javi said as he beckoned other guys to say hello too. Names were exchanged, Ferran turned his charismatic self to an eleven trying to memorize everyone. 

"I am glad you are home, hermano," Javi said when most of the greetings were exchanged.  

"Tell this to our ultras, man," Ferran answered, remembering the morning incident.  

"Well, you are already calling them yours too, a couple of goals and they'll come around. To hate someone so much that they never stopped those chants about you, I'd say it's way closer to love than you think", Javi winked as they started the routine. 

"Let's hope you are right," Ferran sighed. Javi pushed him into the back roughly, "Hey! Come here, fucker, I'll show you!" 

As the training progressed, Julen Agirrezabala, the team's pillar and a genuinely good goalkeeper came up to him. Ferran remembered some of his most stupid mistakes happening against him.

"I'll kick your ass every practice but I am glad you are not gonna be against me in games anymore," Julen said, shaking his hand. 

"Man, I've had some of the most embarrassing misses against you, it's not a big gain," Ferran said back looking at the guy.

"And I enjoyed every one I could get. But you have 3 hattricks against me, idiot."

"Oh, well... I guess I do, yeah," They laughed, "Okay, go into the post, I want the fourth one!"

"Over my dead body, Torres!"

Carlos pulled him to the side once training was coming to an end. The team was recovering from a preseason game so there was no game action. He still enjoyed interacting with everyone. 

"Hey, we have a bit of a superfan of yours on the team," Carlos said, "I don't know if you noticed but he got too shy to say hello."

"Oh, that wouldn't do. Where is he and what's his name?" Ferran looked around trying to figure out who he missed. 

"Kayo Gonçalves, we had a little injury so we had him do his own programme. He is shooting now on the farther pitch, see?" He pointed out a small figure in the distance.

"Your wonderkid midfielder is a fan of mine? I've gotta go say hi, he is really good!" Ferran was surprised with the boy's choice but you don't choose which player to imprint on when you are a kid, it can be pretty random. Unless you were born to be the second coming of Iniesta, then it's pretty straightforward. 

"Good, go on. But I want you to know that once he gets out of his way, it's very difficult to shut him up." Carberan smiled. 

"Noted." 

The kid was still getting some shots when Ferran approached. He played against the boy a couple of times in the last two seasons but early injuries had the wonderkid out for quite a bit. He remembered Pedri bitching how he felt too old playing against him. 'Thank God his prefrontal cortex isn't developed yet, he's gonna be an even bigger pain in the ass'.

Kayo was about 10 centimetres shorter than Ferran, dark skin and short black curls that bounced adorably on his forehead. He had huge eyes that were a lighter colour making them his most distinctive feature. The Brazilian was explosive on the pitch, intense in a way that reminded him of Gavi more than Pedri, and unpredictable in both good and bad ways, sometimes lacking finesse in the final third. 

"Hey, got space for me?"

"Yeah, yeah! Hi!" the boy was startled. He looked like he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. He passed Ferran the ball even though he came up with one of his own. 

"Go on," he passed it for a kick. Kayo missed spectacularly.

"Shit. I am not that bad usually!" he lifted his brows. "Sorry! Ergh... I am Kayo."

"Hey, Kayo, I am Ferran. But I think you already know that. And I know your name too," He smiled, sending a ball in the net.

"You do?" The boy looked up at him, all wonder in his eyes, an overexcited smile splashing his lips. 

"We played against each other, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but like... I didn't do anything those times," he put his hand up in his hair still not reaching for the next ball. 

"You did enough for me to remember you, though," Ferran missed the next one but he wasn't sure the kid even noticed, rolling from his toes to heels. 

"Oh... cool. Cool. Very cool. Yeah. Thanks," he finally moved for the next shot. Then, after it went in the higher left corner, "We have the same last name, by the way."

"We do?" Ferran looked with interest at the boy. He blushed. 

"Yeah, my mum is Torres, she's from here," Kayo said.

"Yet you chose not to play for Spain?" Sue him, Ferran loved teasing shy rookies, it was his second calling after scoring goals. 

"I... well, I..." Ferran laughed.

"Kid, relax, I am joking. So you are what, Kayo Gonçalves Torres?"

"No, it's the other way round in Brazil actually, Kayo Torres Gonçalves," he said proudly. One hell of a name, if you think about it. Ferran decided he was not going to.

"Oh, well, then you are a proper little shark, huh?" he teased again.

"I am! I mean, I went to your camp once!" Kayo said before getting embarrassed and reaching for the next ball. He missed again.

"Did you? So you are a fan. I am not gonna sign anything though," The niño laughed, finally catching up to Ferran's sense of humour. 

"Nevermind, not like you can sell it for much these days," he chipped back, "Plus, I already have one. Bought it like… online."

"Kid!" Ferran laughed, going to ruffle his hair. Damn. He just adopted another one, didn't he? Brazil would have to pay him once they were all grown and kicking everybody's ass. "Look, might be shit, but 20 euros I win in a shootout."

"You are like the coolest player ever, man, you are not actually shit!" Kayo said, trying to dodge Ferran's hands, "I will still win, though!"

"Okay, off you go!"

When he came back to his dad's place that afternoon, he felt better. Even if he ended up almost texting Fer a dozen times before finally calling his therapist. 

Chapter Text

Pedri had no reaction, just regret pooling at his stomach. He read Fer's message. 

"Explain yourself" 

Shit.

The argument from yesterday felt like it was years ago, hidden away in the corner of his brain never to be revisited again. Too much, too ugly, too irreversible. There was no point in dwelling on it more than he had already. If he didn't reach for it, didn't imagine how Ferran looked when he shouted at him, what he did afterwards and where he was going when he talked to the journalists... then it was not that bad. Ferran was an adult, he'd figure it out. Pedri had to focus on the team, not his own feelings. He didn't have time to untangle this mess he had found himself in, the first game of the season was fast approaching. Erling was going to arrive in a couple of days. Pedri still didn't finish his first presentation speech as captain. It could be the biggest season of his career. Everything else would have to wait. He didn't have that many years left on top to prove himself to the world and reach his own standards. 

Unfortunately, his family and friends didn't seem to think along the same lines. He had 7 missed calls from Fer, 1 from his dad and 15 from his mom. Several from his teammates. He'd never had this many unread texts, not even after the biggest wins of his life. He felt like a kid who forgot to tell his parents he was hanging out on the playground after school and ended up checking his phone way too late. A mix of indignation and terror. Explaining it all to Fer was one thing. He didn't want his brother to worry too much when he had a much more important little human-being to care for. But Fer was level-headed and Pedri hoped he'd see the logic. Or at least won’t scream for too long.

His parents, on the other hand? He winced at the idea of talking his mom through team fits and career cycles. He was pretty sure she would find a way to boink him on his head even through the phone before he could say the word 'legacy'. His dad would definitely use FaceTime and Pedri couldn't bear the idea of his disappointed calm eyes aimed at him. Pedri never disappointed people, he didn't know how to handle that.  

He couldn't possibly be doing all of this now. He would deal with them after training. 

Fuck, training. He checked his phone again while drinking his morning tea. He made it too sugary. Again. How did Ferran always make it perfect? The team chat had more than a thousand unread messages. He was so fucked. 

He didn't have his own cold tub at home like Ferran did (because, duh, Ferran already had one, why would they need two?) and the last several days he didn't have the energy to go into the one at the Ciutat Esportiva. So he went for a quick cold shower and was looking through his clothes for a clean training shirt when his phone lit up with a call again. At first, he wanted to ignore it but decided to at least check the caller's ID. It was Marcelino. 

"Hello?" he picked up the phone quickly, "Everything alright?"

"Good morning, Pedro," his coach's voice was energetic, "Yes, of course. I think you saw the news. I am sorry it went like this. The club and your team are managing the media reaction, there's nothing to worry about there. But I am sure that the guys are a bit restless. How about we address them before training today?"

"We probably should but," Pedri paused, the clean t-shirt he had finally found was Ferran's, "I don't know how to approach it. They can be very emotional."

"Tell me about it, captain," Marcelino chuckled, "How about this: I lead the conversation on what we want to achieve this season and how the decision was made. Make sure they know you didn't come to us first and were just doing your job as a leader. And then you can add to it, I think it would be important for them to hear your motivation for this season and expectations for the team."

"Sounds good, coach," he sighed. There were Ferran's Under Armour socks under the bed. He really needed to tidy up his place. If he was actively disappointing his mother today, might as well order cleaning, "I am not sure they would be happy with the explanation, though."

"Pedro, you are the leader of this team. Sometimes the knights have to just trust their king's judgement, no questions asked. They have to be mature too."

"I guess you are correct," he sat down next to Nilo's bed. Such a lazy sleepy dog, "Okay, I'll see you in an hour then."

"See you, don't doubt yourself, we have a really good season ahead thanks to you."

He made Nilo go out for a short walk around the block. The dog tried to pull in the direction of Ferran's house.

"Niño, Roma and Milo aren't there anymore! Let's go," they dog grumbled audibly, "I know, I know but we gotta go."

Nilo looked him in the eyes, very intelligently for a dog who didn't understand how glass doors worked. One could even say accusingly. And laid down on the pavement. 

"Nilo!"

By the time he had gotten to the training centre, most of the team was already on the pitch. Pau was sitting near his locker. 

"Hi there," he said calmly. Way too calmly, "Have you had the chance to check the team's groupchat?"

"Morning. Not really, fell asleep early yesterday," he said while changing his shoes, "Anything I can't deduct on my own?"

"It's not good, Pedri," Cuba said looking him over, "You need to be very transparent on the whole thing, guys are everywhere between angry and terrified."

"Terrified? What about?" he looked at the defender surprised.

"If you are actively pushing for roster changes and even Ferran wasn't safe, then well..." he waved his hand around the room.

"It's not like this at all!" Pedri tried to convey his sincerity to his friend, "We'll explain before the training starts."

"Okay, I believe you," he said. Thank God, they had Pau. Collected, smart, rational Pau, "Who are we?"

"Marcelino and I, we talked about it this morning," Pau frowned but before he could say anything one of the assistant coaches asked them to come join the team outside. 

Everyone was looking at him when they were collected at the centre of the pitch. He could see what Pau meant, especially with most of the rookies looking like they were brought out of the Soviet prison to stand near the ravine at night, not talk with their manager and captain. Most of the others had their serious faces on. Lamine looked weird like this. Alexandre was the only one to wave at him tentatively. He waved back. Gavi seemed like he wanted to say something but Fermin pulled him back from the first row of the crowd. Marcelino was starting. 

"Good morning, guys! Pedri and I decided to have a talk with you to clarify the situation. I am sure you have already seen MARCA's article. It's not factually correct," some whispers could be heard here and there. Alexandre elbowed Pepe, their young third goalkeeper: 'told you!'. Marcelino continued, "We knew we wanted Haaland in the team. Guys, I am sure there is no need to explain why and I expect you to be as excited to have him as I am. We needed a striker who could deliver throughout the whole season. This version of our team is highly in need of efficient and smart players in the opposite box. Do you agree with me on this?"

No one really answered, a couple of nods here and there. Marcelino looked the team over.

"Don't get me wrong, we are very thankful for everything we've achieved with Ferran. But time takes its toll on all of us, it's a natural sequence of a footballer's career. Ferran was a bit more unlucky than others. We can't all be Messi. It was time to let him go in an environment where he would be of use more than in Barcelona. In order to get to the top, you need to sacrifice some things that you love. Ferran was the prize for Haaland. It is what it is, guys," Gavi huffed in the background, "I want to assure you that Pedri did not come up with this idea and it took a lot out of him to put the team first when we asked him to. This is why I believe there is no one better to lead you into the new heights than Pedro. There can be no ego on this team, nothing more important than winning it all."

He paused again. Pedri tried to decipher his teammates' thoughts but the stoic motionlessness persisted on their faces. He turned to Marcelino who gestured for him to speak.

"I know this came unexpectedly. The media made it look worse. But you all have known me for a long time. I love all of you and I love Barcelona," Pedri sighed, "We have been underperforming. I am not saying it to criticize anyone. I am saying it because I believe we deserve more. Sometimes changes are needed to take the next step. This is what happened here. Nothing less and nothing more. Do you think I would've participated, if I thought it would screw Ferri over? He's a fighter, he will bring Valencia back on top, I have no doubts. But here he would have just spent more and more time on the bench. We all know how that feels, don't we?" he asked gently, "I am not spending my afternoons with Deco deciding who gets to stay and who should go. This is not the first transfer that we've done, it's not gonna be the last. Let's be mature about it. Here, on the field we should be ready to die for each other. We have one of the strongest teams in the world without Erling. I want you to think about what we can achieve with him. The sky is our limit. So let's get to work, help and support each other and I promise you in the end it's all gonna be worth it."

They brought everyone in for the group chant. Pedri's heart raced but he thought he saw some understanding in their eyes. They gave him space for the rest of the training but it was not as charged as at the start. He stayed back to shoot a bit and clear his head. Okay, one of the most difficult conversations was done. Two to go. 

* * *

However, when he entered the locker room fifteen minutes later, he realised he might have interpreted the boys' reaction wrong. Most of them have already changed to go home or to the physios but none were leaving the room. It immediately turned quiet when he entered. 

"Bootroom, now!" Suddenly, Gavi appeared behind pushing him in the direction of the said room. He looked like he was nineteen again playing in El Clásico. Like he was ready to chew someone's arm off if things didn't go his way. Pedri went in more out of surprise than fear but it really didn't look good for him. Meanwhile Gavi pointed for him to go to the only chair in the room, against the farther wall, and motioned for everyone outside, "If you too are not satisfied with this bullshit reasoning, you can join us in here. God knows I will need eyewitnesses if I do try to kill him."

Suddenly everyone was trying to get into the room. They looked ridiculous all squashed up into a space that couldn't really hold more than 10 people comfortably. There was an awkward pause while Gavi continued staring daggers into him, arms crossed. Finally, Pau said exasperatedly:

"We can't all fit into the bootroom," he looked the crowd over and said decisively, "Rookies out."

"Why?!" Pepe asked while standing on one leg near the corner.

"I will discuss the situation with all of you later. This is an adult conversation."

"But, Pau!" somebody else objected. 

"Out," he repeated calmly. A chorus of 'Okay, Pau' and 'Yes, Pau' rang around the room as the boys got out. Pau looked at the room again. 

"Fermin, Alejandro, Lamine, out," another verdict. 

"Why us?!" Lamine asked, offended, "We don't wanna miss the drama! I mean don't you think we care too..." 

"Because Gavi is gonna tell you everything anyways," Cuba cut short what for sure would have been a long tirade. 

"Fair enough," Balde admitted taking his friends out. Only two more people towered over Pau in the room.

"Marc, you go too. I am going to tell you later," the midfielder sighed happily. He, on the other hand, loved missing all the drama and getting to listen to Pau's funnily reenacted reports during a round of evening FIFA. 

"Frenkie, JKey and I will go too, we've got physio," Joan said. He smiled encouragingly at Pedri and then said to Gavi, "Please, don't actually kill him."

"Wait a minute, I did not agree to go!" JKey interrupted looking between Pau and Pedri. The defender stayed merciless, "Okay, okay, Jesus."

In the end, only five of them remained: Pedri, Gavi, Pau, Eric and Marcus. The problem was they could clearly see the shadows from behind the door constantly moving, small thuds of ears echoing against it. Pedri felt like he was in a circus, not a professional football club. 

"Stop standing behind the door, we can hear you. Go away!" he urged sternly. After some more sounds it became quiet. Gavi opened his mouth but Pedri stopped him.

"You can start my execution in a second, wait," he analysed everything he knew about his rabble of boys. Yeah, definitely, "Alexandre, did everyone leave?"

"Yeah?" an uncertain voice could be heard from the outside after a little pause. Marcus laughed in his palm. 

"Great, thank you. Now you should go too," Pedri said patiently. 

"But what if someone decides to eavesdrop?" What a valid concern, indeed. Pau breathed deeply but the young striker went on, "I am on the lookout."

"You are what now?" 

"Okay, okay, Alexandre, you are on the lookout!" Pedri gave up. Better him than Fermin. 

"Yay!" quietly was said from the other side of the door. Even Gavi couldn't help but smirk. 

Cuba used the little distraction to start the conversation:

"Wanna tell us what really happened?"

"Don't make it sound like he has any choice. González, you are telling us everything right now, no bullshit", Gavi pressed. It did feel like an interrogation with all of them standing around Pedri while he was sitting. 

"Guys, there really isn't much more to it. Why would I lie to you?" Pedri was getting tired of the same questions. Gavi huffed. 

"Did you have a falling out over something? Everything seemed normal," Eric said. García would know, Ferran had spent half an hour last week talking about the presents he was preparing for Pedri's birthday. Yes, the one in late November. 

"What? No! Well, we had a fight yesterday. But I didn't have any bad intentions, honestly."

"Why would you only fight about it now, though?" Pau asked, "If you were aware, surely you'd have told him long ago."

"Yeah, about that..." Pedri couldn't find the right words. Eric and Marcus locked eyes briefly in surprise. 

"What?! You didn't even tell him?!" Gavi erupted. Yeah, about time, "What the hell, Pedri?! So you decided Ferran's life for him?!"

"I- I didn't decide anything! It's not like they gave me any choice, just said we were going for Haaland so they were going to loan him out. I didn't have any control over that decision," Pedri looked at the ground where Gavi's right foot was tapping on the floor. 

"Pedri, can you explain why you didn't tell him about it beforehand?" Marcus asked putting his hand on Gavi's shoulder to calm him down a bit, "Like you said, you had no control over it."

Pedri didn't know how to explain it.

"I tried, I really did. But at first I didn't know if that would even happen so there was no point in upsetting him," Pau frowned at that, "And then everything started happening so quickly, there wasn't a right time."

"You spent all the time together! What do you mean there wasn't a right time?" Gavi pierced him with an angry gaze. 

"I don't know, I didn't want to upset him! And then we were having dinner and right when I wanted to tell him, our representative had to call and tell him that it was done. He zoned out, how could I crush him more then?"

"So you chickened out?" Gavi asked. 

"No! Well, yes. Yes, I chickened out. Happy?"

"Not particularly, no," Eric leaned against the wall next to Pedri. Pedri was looking at the ground again, elbows on his knees. He wasn't proud of that. He realized what Ferran must have been thinking about him now, "Were you just never going to tell him?"

"What difference would it make?" Pedri huffed.

"Well, are you good after talking with him yesterday?" Eric was even more annoying with his questions than Gavi. 

"No, we are not good," he said, "I know I fucked up. And I didn't handle the conversation well, either. I suck for that. I get it."

"So did you guys break up then?" Marcus asked. Everyone looked at him, "What? It's a valid concern."

"What? What do you mean? We were never together like that?" Pedri didn't think the conversation would turn ridiculous this quickly. Fans loved to speculate but they were just close. Plus, they were both straight so there wasn't a reality in which anything could ever happen. 

"Yeah, you were, mate! There is no need to lie to me. Ferran told me you are his 'la pareja'! Many times! And he calls you all the cute Spanish nicknames!" the Englishman was looking at Pedri as if he was the one out of his mind. 

"He didn't mean 'pareja' romantically!" he defended.

"I checked my dictionary, there is only one meaning, 'romantic partner'?" Marcus looked for support. Eric and Gavi shrugged. 

"Buy a better dictionary then!" Pedri's cheeks turned red.

"It's like 'a partner', can be a partner for training," Eric explained to the forward.

"Do you really think Ferran would just go around telling people they are dating?" Pau asked sceptically.

"I am not just people, I am his friend too, thank you very much! He trusts me with stuff" Marcus shrugged, "Plus, I thought he was just chill about it, you know? I am not a Tory, I am chill about it too. And you do act like a couple, you come to training together, leave together, share hotel rooms and clothes, always take your dogs on romantic sunset walks, you kiss each other way more than others. Like Ferran never kissed me on the neck, you know? So that's not just a Spanish thing, that's a you thing. Damn, have you really never even hooked up?" Pedri put his head in his hands. This was the most embarrassing conversation he'd ever had. 

"Looking at it this way, it's a fair enough assumption," Eric said. 

"No, it isn't?! Just because you all think that everything is sexu..."

"Okay, enough. I am losing patience here. Explain your logic, oh dear Pedro, how is this loan better for Ferran?" Gavi was done with them. Okay, Pedri was done with that too. 

"Fine, yeah. So you all remember his injury last year?" the guys nodded, "It was really bad. And I don't mean just physically, you all saw his knee. I mean mentally. He struggled a lot. I didn't allow him to question himself too much but you know how he gets. He'd never had such big ones before, too. It's different having a several months long injury at 19 and at 30. We spoke a lot about it and I made sure he believed in himself. Then, he came back and it all kind of slotted back together. But I could see the difference, you know?"

"What difference?" Pau asked gently.

"Just, there were more times he didn't get there in time. Or he would press and not be able to be as intense. Or striking with that leg? Do you remember that chance he missed in the Chelsea game?" he was talking quietly. He hadn't allowed himself to voice his concerns before.

"Pedri, he had a brace in that game. If not for him and Rafa, it would've been 5:0," Pau tried to counter, "He had a great season despite the injury."

"I... Maybe but it doesn't change the fact that I noticed all this stuff. It's not like we can expect that in a year or two it gets better. Nothing gets better in your body past thirty. Our little lookout is getting stronger and at the end of the day, Ferran would have to come back to the bench. I remember when he fought for every opportunity out there, he wouldn't sleep trying to get better. But back then he had the advantage. Now I just... he doesn't deserve to go through a losing battle like this and be forgotten. When Deco mentioned Valencia, it all just made such perfect sense. He always wanted to come play home, the club means so much to him. I truly believe he would be able to shine there much longer than here."

Nobody spoke for a moment. 

"Hermano, I think you underestimate the impact this is gonna have on Ferran," Eric started, a tired dad voice on, "Let's not pretend like the way management went about handling the loan isn't despicable. He was shipped off overnight with no prior warning after almost ten years in the club and a ton of trophies. I understand he had been pushed to leave a club before but this is different. And even if that is something he overcomes, you being part of that betrayal makes it a hundred times worse. Ferran is all about confidence and belief. You know what's in the foundation of it though?"

"What?" Pedri asked. The word 'betrayal' sent a pang in his chest. He didn't really understand where this was going. It was unpleasant that they all seemed to know the answer and he didn't.

"You are. He thinks the world of you, there is no one whose opinion he cares about more. Have you truly never noticed how he preens when you praise him? But it's not just that. He relies on your little rituals together, on the support you give to each other. I know that at first it was more him caring for you but, man, you were the one to help him get better in those first Flick seasons. I can't imagine the scale of what he feels right now but if I've learnt anything about Ferran throughout our friendship, it's that he is definitely blaming himself for not being good enough. Not just for Barca but for you."

"I-He'll get through it. He has to," Pedri couldn't let doubt crawl into his mind, "We'll talk again soon and I'll use better words. He'll understand that's not what my intentions were."

"Pedri, I believe that you wanted to do good," Eric looked him in the eyes, "But I disagree. It seems to me like you pushed Ferran into a huge change and didn't think through how it would affect him."

That couldn't be true. Why hadn't anyone said anything like this before? Why did it not cross his mind? Of course, their opinions on each other mattered. Of course, Ferran was always too hard on himself. But there was no way he owed Pedri his confidence. He was so will-powered and ambitious, much more than Pedri could ever be. He was the strong one, the one who could handle being apart and having to work his way up from a cliff. Pedri would fall off so quickly, on the other hand. And yet, Eric was right. 

"Brother," Marcus started when it became obvious Pedri wouldn't reply, "I understand that you've never been given up on and it's never gonna happen to a player like you. But believe me, the kind of hit you take when the people who are supposed to be your family, who have been your home, reject you... That's not something you just 'get through'. I don't agree with your assessment but if you truly believe that Ferran doesn't have much high level football left, you should have talked with him. Not even when they started talking about the loan but when you first thought about it. Why didn't you?"

"I don't know," Pedri said looking tiredly at the opposite wall, "I was scared that if I said it, it would be true. And then Marcelino mentioned something, I just... I don't know why, I guess I wanted to protect him from the worst."

"This doesn't look like acting in his best interest, I am sorry," Marcus sighed, "This is... this is giving him up to vultures before they had even taken interest in your ass! And it wasn't even your ass... As it turns out."

The joke felt out of place but the words hurt. Gavi started walking around the small room to self-regulate a bit. Pedri was tracking his movement with his eyes. 

"I don't agree. I didn't send him to the vultures, I sent him home where he is gonna succeed," he defended himself. He wanted to say something else but Gavi stopped in place and arched an eyebrow at him. Pedri deflated back into the chair. 

"What is your argument on the team apart from Haaland?" Pau stepped into the conversation after listening carefully, "You know I love our rooks but half of them are not gonna see the pitch any time soon, our midfield is packed. Why didn't you propose loaning out some of them temporarily so that they can gain experience?"

Why didn't he? 

"I- I didn't even consider it," Pedri said looking at the guys, "Shit, I just assumed this was the only way, I-"

"Okay, fine, you didn't think about that. What about the team dynamics? Ferran is very important in terms of morale and advice, the guys respect him. Especially the kids," Pau pointed at the door with his hand, "Why start your captainship with something like this? Why did you agree to participate in the talks in the first place? Surely you understood that it was too big of a story not to get leaked?"

He did not.

"It didn't seem like such a big deal then!" Pedri tried to explain, "I was worried about the team's season, of course I wanted to help out. Laporta said they were struggling with Haaland's agents, isn't the captain supposed to represent the team in such matters too?"

Marcus groaned. Eric hit his head on the wall. Gavi started walking again. Only Pau stood still. 

"Rule number one of football?" Pau asked.

"Everyone wants to play for Barcelona, even if they say they don't, they really do."

"Good. Second rule of football?"

"Erghm... Always run back?"

"Well, yes, but I meant the other one: Never trust shit Laporta says! And what did you do?"

"God, it's not like that, I just made a call!" Why were they trying to make him into some kind of villain in this? 

"Pedri, it does look very bad. Like you were scheming to get rid of Ferran. It doesn't matter what you say now, most people won't believe it, the narrative is already out there. How many people knew that you were part of the talks?"

"Only Laporta, Deco and Marcelino, as far as I know," Pedri said, "Why?"

"Why? He asks why?" Eric bumped his head against the wall again.

"Who do you think leaked it then?" Marcus asked patiently. 

"Oh. But why would they do that?"

"Plenty of reasons. To make sure there's no scandal for them treating Ferran like this. To use your reputation as a shield from any critics. To make it seem like you are part of Laporta's camp to the council. To send a message to the players about your connection with Marcelino," Pau listed off. "Hermano, you've been played."

"Fuck," Pedri closed his eyes and put his hands in front of his face, "I just wanted to make the team stronger."

For several minutes nobody talked. Pedri felt out of his depth. God, why didn't they choose Pau or Eric to be captain? He fucked up before the season had even started. Suddenly Gavi, who hadn't talked in a long time, spoke up:

"Am I the next one then?" his voice was calm, posture straight. Everyone looked at him questioningly, "You know, I am a bit younger but my knee is much more fucked than Ferran's. How long do I have until I am not up to your standards, captain, and you decide to 'care for my well-being'? Will you send me to a nice place too?" 

"Gavi..." Eric tried to stop him.

"No! You are all babying him as if he had any right to treat Ferran like this!" Gavi had his hands in the air, articulating swiftly, "Pedri, you don't get to control people's careers like this, not even but especially of the ones closest to you!"

"Gavi, stop. It's not like that, I didn't want to control anything, damn!"

"Then how is it, tío?! You keep talking about this as some kind of inevitability, like you couldn't do anything about it. But the problem is you could and you should have! Instead you sold him out for another couple of trophies! Man, you are not this naive. You should have seen what was going on and go straight to Ferran with this. You say all of this nonsense about being worried for him but it's not about his feelings, his security or his success, it's all about yours! You didn't want to see him decline. You didn't want to deal with his knee! You didn't trust him to be good enough when it mattered! None of us think the same way! Marcus is older than Ferran, for fuck's sake! So you just chose to not actually think about the motives of people around you nor the consequences this would have on anyone but yourself! Pedri, this is worse than anything I could've imagined. What the hell is going on with you?!"

"Nothing is going on with me, stop!" Pedri stood up from the chair, hands in fists. Pau motioned for the guys to get ready to hold them, "You might not understand my decision, whatever! But this is better for the club, stop pretending like I am the only one who cares about it! And how dare you accuse me of such things, Ferran is the most important person in my life! You think I really wanted to lose him like this? Did I fuck up with the way I was going about it? Yes! I get it, okay?! But don't make me out to be some selfish asshole just because you don't get what it means to care for someone so much! I needed to protect him!"

"Fuck, you are hopeless," Gavi all but spited out, "I am out of here, this is your mess, you sit in it! But when it finally catches up to you, don't come crying to me!"

He opened the door, storming past Alexandre, and left. Everyone breathed out. Pedri felt capillaries in his eyes bursting from pressure. He glanced up at Alexandre who now seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but on the lookout. 

"Anything to add to all the ways I am wrong?" Pedri asked. 

"I mean, the guys covered it better than I ever could," the forward shrugged, "I, too, thought you were a couple?"

"See, I am not crazy!" Marcus motioned. Pedri felt a headache start. 

"Kinda feels like my parents' divorce all over again, to be honest with you", the Brazilian continued. 

"Do you wanna talk about it, chico?" Pau asked. He dreaded the conversation with all of the rookies because he was pretty sure they all would feel this way. 

"Not particularly, thank you, Pau," he turned to the midfielder again, "I just hope Ferran can forgive you one day. You two don't really make sense without each other."

"Of course, he'll forgive me, Angelito. Right, guys?" he looked for support, suddenly uncertain. Eric was looking up at the ceiling, Marcus at his watch and Pau still at the rookie. He breathed out.

"I would not," Cuba whispered.

"Neither would I," Marcus admitted, "Sorry, Pedri."

"Eric?" he looked hopefully at the defender.

"He loves you more than anything but... Man, if he asked me for advice, as his friend? I wouldn't want him to give you a second chance." 

"I would," Alexandre tried to encourage.

"Thank you, bebé."

* * * 

He had another meeting scheduled with his agency that same day on managing 'the Situation' as it was marked by Laura's calendar invite. He frankly didn't want to be there but the alternative would be dealing with Fer's messages who apparently had talked with Gavi in the last two hours. Fucking snitch. 

His publicist was explaining that they would not be giving any comments on the matter to the press before the scheduled appearances on TV. Then, as Laura explained, they would not confirm nor deny any degree of Pedri's participation in Ferran's loan. Honestly, this meeting could've been an email. 

"Ok, so then on the 16th you will have a media day with the team before lunch. Then, instead of that charity thingy, we are going to the podcaster I mentioned. He is dumb as rocks so there won't be any uncomfortable questions but his ratings with young men aged 20-30 are massive so it will be a good place to give a more lively look at 'Pedri 2.0'."

"Hey, Laura, what do you mean Pedri's not doing the charity 'thingy'?" Ría asked, confused, "We've already bought tickets for the kids, I've been planning everything for months!"

"Oh yeah, Ría, I am sorry, we gotta prioritise some things here. Can we make up some other activity for them? Maybe give them some merch, have them run around the field at the Ciutat?"

"They are wheelchair users!"

"Oh... that wouldn't look good. Then it's better to cancel it altogether, I think," Laura looked through her phone answering some messages. 

"Pedri?" Ría looked at him. God, his head was killing him. 

"Is there any chance to reschedule?" he asked. 

"No, they have school starting too, the special needs buses are sold out on other days. The plan was to give them an excursion around the Camp Nou and have them meet you in one of the conference rooms. We went through the plan for the discussion about their career paths last week, remember? Then some time to take pictures and talk one-on-one. It would be a surprise for them but all their teachers and parents are aware, we can't just bail like this!"

"Laura, could we bring the podcaster here?" he tried, "Wouldn't it be good to show the charity work?"

"We are working with a different plane of image here but..." she looked at their determined gazes, "If it's that important for you, let's try that. But you still will have to cut the programme short."

"I can work with that," Ría answered not backing off, "We can have you take the pictures and then I can lead the discussion while you fuck off to your podcaster."

"Language, Ría," Laura asked, "I don't know about your country but here we are respectful of our clients."

"Of course," she smiled at her. Women's arguments were scary. 

"Alright, that's settled then," Laura went on, "Now to social media. We don't want you to unfollow Ferran or take down any pictures. We can like some of his pictures in Valencia throughout the season to show your support. You are staying neutral and supporting. We have an idea to have Ferran have a bit of a one-sided beef with you..."

"I am sorry, what?" Pedri asked. 

"Well, he's kind on this dramatic trajectory, a couple of shady stories would fit the narrative well for both of you," she explained like it was obvious. 

"Sorry, I am not very quick with this PR stuff," Ría asked, "How would that fit their narratives?"

"Well, Ferran is this rejected antihero out for revenge, his fans would eat it up," she said, "But the journalists would take Pedri's side as the one who's had to act tough and remain respectful. So, a win-win!"

"How is it a win-win if Ferran gets only the approval of people who already support him and the critical pieces from the media that actually holds power on public perception?"

"Well, see, people will have plenty of arguments online so everyone would end up with their own truth, the narrative not really damaging Ferran's actual brand."

"Did Ferran agree to this?" Pedri asked. He didn't think he would.

"We haven't had the chance to ask him but I wouldn't worry. It's not like he'll have to do anything, we'll have our intern go through trendy sad Tiktok songs and arrange some posts."

"Don't ask him, he would never agree to this," Pedri decided, "I don't like this either. I don't want any more drama."

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport!" Pedri was getting annoyed, "Fine, fine! I'll still ask him just in case though."

"Whatever, okay."

"Okay," she looked through her AI-collected plan for the meeting, "Last thing I want to discuss is minimal but I think it would work wonders for us."

She smiled excitedly at Pedri. He braced himself. 

"We think you should start keeping your beard for the games," Laura said, "I know you have this cute story with your mom but Barcelona's captain doesn't always listen to his mom, you know? Gotta channel a bit of a bad boy BDE, you know? And your hair, I really think you should grow them out and style them back. It's not that hard, right?"

"Why would that make any difference?" He asked. All of those things were so silly especially considering the fact that he knew Laura's salary numbers. 

"It's a perception thing, just trust me on this one, please?" She put her hands in a mock prayer, "The girls would run after you on the streets."

"I guess I could try it out," he conceded. Didn't mean he would actually follow through, he decided. Getting out of here was a priority now.

"I thought your hair only swung one way," Ría noted, smirking at him.

"Oh, how funny! Ría, you can't say it like this in our language," Laura laughed with her assistant and the publicist, "Hair can lay one way, not swing."

"How silly of me indeed! Sorry, not my first language," Ría smiled sarcastically back.

"No worries, girl, the fact you are able to speak it this well is a miracle in itself!" Laura smiled up encouragingly. Pedri wished he could evaporate from the power of his cringing. 

"Ok, we are done here now! I don't know about you but I need a power snack now, so I am out!"

Pedri breathed deeply. Her suffocating perfume was still in the air when almost everyone cleared the room. Ría was still clacking away on her laptop.

"Hey, I am sorry about all of this," Pedri said tentatively. 

"No worries, I have such changes in plans with my other clients all the time. It's just the first one with you, we'll make it work for the kids still," she said, now packing her stuff.

"Thank you," Pedri paused, "I am also sorry for the way she is treating you."

"It happens so often, I kind of started enjoying how stupid she sounds in these moments," Ría smiled at him, "But if it really worries you, next time you can say something about it while she is still here, you know?"

"Right," Pedri blushed, "I will."

"Okay."

She went for the exit but then stopped as if she changed her mind.

"Pedri," she looked at him for a second, "They won't stop at your hair, you know?"

"Don't be dramatic. It's a bit silly but it's just her job to care for my image."

"Exacto. They don't earn anything off of caring for you, though."

"I can care for myself," he tried to smile at her.

"Sure. But don't turn away from people who already care for you, Superman hair or not," he felt uncomfortable at the thoughtful gaze she gave him, "After this event, I won't be in Barcelona for a couple months but if you need anything, contact me."

"Thank you. Where are you going?"

"Mi pareja studies in Valencia, wanna spend some time there," she smiled. Huh, he didn't know she had a boyfriend.

"Oh, enjoy! The beaches are still nice in early autumn but take an umbrella everywhere!"

"Will do, bud. See you!"

"Bye!"

On his  way home Pedri was still thinking about their short trip to Valencia last year. They decided to go out for an evening walk and returned absolutely soaked. Cuddling in bed... for warmth. He missed their hugs. 

Pedri opened the door to his house but Nilo didn't run to him like he usually did. Weird. Then he heard the sounds of cooking in the kitchen. He walked carefully down the corridor.

"Wow, look, he actually is alive and has hands he could answer his phone with. Who would have thought?" his brother asked while cutting meat on the counter. 

Chapter Text

Ferran was slowly settling in his new reality. 

His new teammates were great: supportive and understanding in a way that showed the team had really changed since he was last here. And yet he couldn't get past a certain distance. They would laugh together, do teambuilding exercises and argue in the groupchat. But his mind kept labeling them as coworkers, not friends or brothers. Carlos reassured him that the chemistry needed time to build up, that playing in actual games together would do wonders and he would find his place in the team naturally. 

A part of him longed for the sense of community, another didn't see any point in building those kinds of relationships. Most of the guys called him 'unc' and made fun of his strict regime in training and conditioning. At the same time, he could sense how sometimes they treated him like some kind of a legendary figure, as if he reappeared in their land after thousands of years away. Javi joked he was his Merlin. Ferran replied that Guerra was more of a Prince Caspian and rightfully so. He also didn't like the idea that if Javi was Merlin, then Pedri could only be Mordred. 

He didn't speak with Barca guys much. Eric and Marcus texted him here and there, some interesting news or a meme on Instagram. Pictures of Eric's daughter and her little milestones always made him smile. He only wished he had been there to share them with the family like a good godfather would. Pau asked answers for a weekly crossword in the NYT, if he had trouble. Ferran didn't have the heart to tell him that he had stopped doing those years ago and looked up answers on Youtube for the defender. Lamine sent him some weird memes and sometimes edits of Ferran, 'they still say you are hot, hermano!!!'. He loved the dumbass. Gavi would randomly share his opinion on the upcoming NBA season. Ferran reminded him not to gamble on the most stupid statistics ever. Some of the rooks asked for advice on dogs because he took them to a shelter last year and half of them walked out with a puppy. Alexandre sent him new recipes titled "FOR BEGINNERS" to try. Ferran pretended that it didn't hurt that the striker stopped asking questions about football. He had more competent people in the team to learn from now. 

So all in all, it was fine. He appreciated that they still communicated with him even if it was nothing of substance. 

A part of him wanted to ask what they really thought about the situation. Did they know? Were they happy with how everything turned out? How did Erling slot into the team? Was Pedri okay? Another part dreaded learning the answers to those questions. So, instead, he decided he would answer politely and be engaged when they texted but not initiate anything himself. 

It hurt and he missed them so much. But the fear of being laughed at in the locker room or the group chat was too much. He didn't want to be the guest who long overstayed his welcome in their lives. It was bad enough he didn't notice it the first time.  

He also missed his dogs like crazy. They stayed behind with a friend in Barcelona until he figured out his living situation. The last time he didn't see them for so long was Euros in 2028. He finally found a good enough house thanks to the help from the club. It was smaller than his house in Barcelona but he didn't really plan to have a lot of guests. This was a temporary fix. His dad still insisted it was a house in a private area, not a flat, but Ferran didn't care much either way. He found it hard to care for small things lately. His clothes, the car insurance renewal, any food that wasn't preplanned. It all just seemed pointless. 

But he couldn't wait to get his dogs back. He planned to go to Barcelona on his way from the international break and pick them up after a meeting with his agency. Roma and Milo were the two creatures he would never doubt. They didn't deserve to be forgotten somewhere far away from their dad. He got daily updates from his friend and he knew they were both fine without him. Yet, he believed he could be a bit selfish about his dogs, at least. He still had several weeks without them. 

The new house was simple and had all the necessities. He liked that it was in-between Ciutat Esportiva and Foios. It was minimalistic in style and pretty new, basic white walls and neutral wood floors. A kitchen with a bar counter for dining, a living room with a big TV and an equally oversized grey couch, 2 bedrooms with bathrooms. The terrace didn't have a pool but it was big enough for his ice water tub and some space for dogs to run around. The sauna was preinstalled. 

His mother urged him to make a trip to IKEA and buy some decorations but he didn't have the energy for it. He went on their website once to maybe order a delivery just so she got off his case. The first thing in the catalog was the classic alien 'BELIEVE' poster. He closed the tab immediately. 

He only unpacked one of the suitcases he had with him from Barcelona. He kept glancing at the second one with guilt but it was easier to just order something new. He wasn't lazy, truly, but he remembered what he had put in there for comfort. Pedri's pajamas for when he stayed over at his house. 

He didn't want to deal with the choice of what to do with them. Didn't want to end up keeping them too close and be pathetic in his longing or getting frustrated and throwing them out on one of his bad nights. When he had his stupid brain go through every memory one by one to find that moment Pedri gave up on him. It only ever ended with more doubt. So the suitcase stayed peaking from behind the curtain in his bedroom.

* * *

The first game of the season approached seemingly out of nowhere. He stuck to his rituals pretending like it didn't feel like he lost a limb every time he wanted to comment on something only to remember there was no red ear next to him to hear his nervous energy rumblings. However, there was someone extremely energetic jumping laps around him once he got to the stadium. 

"Ferran, it's the start of the season! Finally!" Kayo almost sang with enthusiasm, "I am so nervous, I could run a maraphon! So much ass to kick this season! Aren't you excited?!"

"Niño, I am excited but don't you think your energy is enough to overflow the room?" Ferran chuckled, "Little Sonic the Hedgehog."

"Am I being too much?" he asked while jumping in place, "Because I can't control it, you know. If I sit down even for a second, it feels like I turn too hot and then get anxious. It's silly but I have to keep moving!"

"Oh, kid, I used to be the same way at your age, don't worry," he smiled up encouragingly, "bounce away, excess energy can be your biggest enemy on the field."

"Really? How so? I always thought you should never stop moving on the pitch," the Brazilian asked. 

"Well, yeah, during play it's important to move and find space, you are excellent at this," the boy preened a little, following Ferran's lead and starting on stretching exercises, "But when I was your age sometimes my brain didn't catch up with my legs. You can't move all your energy down in the cleats, some of it has got to stay in here," he pointed at his temple. 

"Ohhhh, but how do you control it?"

"I have a routine so that my mind is in the right space. An ice tub every morning, an extra minute in there on match days," Ferran smiled again when the boy shivered, listening attentively and copying his movements, "then I do these exercises and meditate for a little bit to get my head in order. Sometimes I visualize what I have to do in the game, how I want to score, which players I mark, etc. It doesn't usually end up happening the exact same way but the thing is to have a clear understanding of what your energy needs to achieve. It's also about reminding yourself that you can achieve it if you try hard enough. Then, I usually... Well, I used to go bother a friend of mine who is also nervous but in a withdrawn way. So I can get my excessive energy out and he doesn't have time to overthink it all."

"Sounds really cool," Kayo said looking up at him, "I can't meditate though, too little space up here, thoughts go by too quickly!"

"Kayo, there isn't a right way to meditate, you don't have to be Avatar Aang to do it," Ferran admonished. He noticed that the youngster tended to go in extremes when talking about himself, coming off either too brash and overconfident or too timid and insecure. The Valencian didn't need to solve that puzzle, the overcorrection of low self-esteem too familiar. He didn't understand how adults in professional settings couldn't see it back then and treated him like shit for it. 

"Who is Avatar Aang?"

"You haven't seen it?" Ferran felt mortified. Weird TikTok dances and meta memes he could accept. This was not an option though, "Only the best animated TV show ever created, duh! You must watch it, cariño!"

"Ok! Chill, unc!" Kayo laughed, "I will watch it. Was it made back when you were young and they didn't have words in films yet?"

"You little shit! Come here!" Ferran ran after the boy. He didn't have many chances to catch up on his own but it was not like the kid really wanted to run away anyways. 

He didn't get Kayo to meditate with him that day but it was a start. 

They had their pregame meeting with the team. Ferran wouldn't start but they were planning to get him on in the second half, have a gradual start. He chatted with his teammates, answering their questions and trying to be as open and sociable as he could. He felt weirdly numb about the game. He knew he wanted to prove himself and have a good match but it didn't press on him like it usually would. It was his job to come out there and play football. He couldn't ask for a better one. And yet, the addiction to football, to scoring and winning, the one that got him to be one of the top players in the world... it wasn't there that day. Scariest thing of all he didn't feel anything about its absence. 

By the time he had been called up to sub in on the 63rd minute, they were losing 0:1 to Athletic. The draw and even a win were still very much on the table. He went out to his home pitch as the home player for the first time in ten years. His whole family was somewhere in the stands. Javi and Kayo clapped him on the back excitedly. He felt the rush of being on the football pitch again. And then, while running into position, he heard it.

"Ferran Torres! No et volem! Ferran Torres! No et volem!" the ultras chanted again and again. It was not unexpected by any means. At least, they chose the one that didn´t mention his mother this time. Small mercies. It wasn´t like they were the only ones who didn't want him anyways. The feeling in his chest quieted down. It was his job and he was gonna do his job. 

In the end, they lost 0:3. Ferran missed four big chances. He felt tired. Maybe Pedri was kinder than the truth. Maybe he wasn't good enough for professional football at all, not just Barcelona's. 

He was sitting at his locker long after everyone left. There wasn't much on his mind but he didn't want to move either. He sent his family home and promised he'd visit the next day. 

"Hey, Ferran?" he picked his head up and saw Carlos, "Wanna go debrief in my office?"

"Isn't the review tomorrow morning?"

"The team post game review is, yeah. Debrief is when you bitch about everything that went wrong and I listen and don't judge," the manager explained, "So, wanna debrief?"

"Thank you but I am not sure..." he reached for the right words but none came so he just motioned with his hand at himself.

"I saw a lot of positives today for our season," Carlos said decisively, "Don't get me wrong we sucked in transition and goal execution wasn't there from anybody. But I also liked what I saw quite a bit."

"How so?" he looked over his knee with its ugly scar.

"Gotta go debrief if you want to learn before others, Ferran,” he said with a chuckle. Ferran made a couple of deep breaths. No one here wanted him to fail. No need to tell the guy what was truly on his mind 90% of the time since that stupid call. He could just discuss the game. 

"Okay, let's go debrief," he conceded. 

They left the Mestalla two hours later after arguing about the chances he didn't score, the positioning of their defense and then even pulling up the footage to see the moment Athletic's manager failed to catch the ball at the sideline. 

The next two weeks were full of training, working not just on himself but actively discussing with the assistant coaches what could be changed on conditioning and athleticism of the team. Top clubs worked harder than others. If they wanted to be one, they needed to put in the work.

They had a draw in their second game against Celta. Even though Ferran didn't have any goal contributions, he felt good about his defensive moments and pressing. He also found a rhythm of directing their wingers and establishing better communication between them and the midfield. The chants were there, his opportunities not maximized. He still went out to dinner with his family after that game. 

The third one was an away game against Sevilla. He made Kayo try meditating before the game. The midfielder kept opening his eyes every second minute but he did admit it helped his nerves. Ferran had his first assist after the kid striked a beautiful goal from out of the box. The ultras in the guest stands didn't chant anything against him that day, just supporting the team. He could admit that he had missed their passion for the club in comparison to Barca's crowded but barely unified support. They won 2:1. Javi had to do 20 push-ups after losing his bet on how many games would pass before Kayo scored. He laughed a lot that day. 

When he was relaxing in his hotel room later that night, Kayo snuffling quietly on the bed next to Ferran, he decided to check Instagram for the first time in a couple of weeks. The posts on his account about the games were neutral enough, thankfully no songs attached. Stupid fucking Laura. He answered some messages and went to the Discover page. Pedri's face was looking at him from the cover of Mundo Deportivo. Barcelona had a strong start to their season with 3 wins. Pedri already had 4 assists. He had a strong stubble on his face, choosing not to shave before games anymore. He could only imagine what Rosy had to say about it. The Canarian's hair was a bit too long, falling in the eyes. Blush high on his cheeks, the captain's armband proud on his arm. He looked so gorgeous, Ferran didn't notice Haaland in the background of the picture at first. Then he saw the headline: 'PEDRI: BARCA IS CAPABLE OF WINNING IT ALL'. He swiped to the next post.

A couple of minutes later he ended up on a Reel from some dudebro podcaster. Pedri hated guys like him. 'So, El Necromancer, now that you've got all the corpses out of the team, what do you want to achieve?" Pedri smiled at the guy. Before Ferran could hear the answer, he swiped. His hand trembled a bit. He didn't move, a compilation titled 'Dogs getting confused by sounds' playing on replay. There were no thoughts on his mind, just something pressing down on his chest.

"Ferran, did you fall asleep?" Kayo asked suddenly.

"What? No, I was just resting my eyes," he stopped the video.

"All old people say that!" Kayo giggled at him, "You should go to sleep though, we have an early training tomorrow before the flight home."

"Yeah, you are right," Ferran agreed, turning off his bed light, "Goodnight, tiburoncito."

"Goodnight, Ferri," his heart stopped on the nickname for a second.

A couple of minutes passed in silence. Ferran's mind racing with possibilities of what Pedri said to that insensitive shit. He wanted to pick up his phone again but dreaded seeing the worst.

"And fuck him," Kayo said quietly. 

"You don't know what he answered."

"I've seen that video," the kid replied after a pause, "Fuck him."

Ferran felt tears prickle in his eyes. Hell, he refused to cry in front of the kid. 

"Okay. I trust your judgement. Fuck him then.”

"Good,” Kayo replied and let out a big yawn, "Next game I am gonna wack his old ass for ya. The whole team agrees."

"No need to do it for me, chico," Ferran smiled, "Let's just win the three points for the fans."

"Can do both at the same time," the Brazilian whispered, falling asleep again. 

* * *

When they came back to Valencia, Ferran finally found time to pay a visit to Angel. The old man lived in a small house five minutes away from the Ciutat Esportiva keeping up a small garden in front of the entrance. Ferran brought some pastries from his mom and an update for the man's collection. His living room was a small museum of the club's history. Yet, not a lot of people were granted access by the grumpy man. Ferran kept him number 7, despite not wearing it at the club in the past, so it was only fair he brought the new shirt to Angel. 

"Ah, there he is, come in, chico!" Angel welcomed in, "Did you bring the goods?"

"My mom's cookies aren't drugs, don't call them 'the goods'!" Ferran laughed, giving him a quick side hug and coming into the house. 

They settled in at the kitchen with two cups of tea that the old man had taught him to make when he was little. Angel lit up a cigarette almost immediately.

"I didn't know people your age are still allowed to smoke?" Ferran asked cheekily.

"Well, those losers aren't, no," Angel answered, "What my daughter doesn't know can't hurt her, though, so shut it. Sometimes she calls the second I light it up. Let's not attract her energy here."

"I get it but she is absolutely right, you know?"

"No, I don't," he grumbled, "We are not here to discuss my problems. We are here to discuss yours."

"I thought we were here to drink tea and gossip about the club?" Ferran asked hopefully.

"Everything in its due time and nobody is taking your tea away, drink up, niño," the man answered, "I want to talk about this nasty boy with you."

"He is not nasty," Ferran said almost automatically. 

"What is he then?"

"I am worried about him. He is not like this at all. He's always been there for me. I owe him so much you can't imagine. He is kind and passionate about helping people. He is the smartest football player I know. He cares deeply about his family and the team," Ferran breathed out, "He is lovely."

"He sounds really nice," Angel agreed, "What about this Pedri guy on my TV, though?"

"Angel!"

"Don't 'Angel' me, young man! He looks like every other self-centered player out there, talking through the text media people drew up for him. No brains, just pretty blush and shameless eyes!"

"He is one of the most intelligent players of this generation, slow down!"

"I don't care what he can do with a football, I care how he treats you. And only a brainless idiot would treat you this way!"

"I- Thank you, Angel. Really," he folded his arms on the table and put his head on them, "I don't know what is going on with him. I saw that TV stuff too. You are right, it does seem like he is just saying the stuff they told him to say. He looks lost and disinterested. Me being shit at football aside, I am scared something is happening to him. You know, what if he is in actual trouble and ca-"

"Enough," Angel stopped him, ruffling his hair up, "You are not shit at football. Even if you were, it was not for him to decide. I don't know what is going on with him, if anything, but he is a bad friend. It's not on you to fix that, it's on him."

"Everyone has been telling me this. I understand where all of you are coming from but Pedri and I..." he tried to find the right words, "I would die for him, no questions asked. Even now. I can't just stop caring about him. I don't know how to live and not have him next to me. I... I am..."

He couldn't say it. 

"You know, when I was young and first met my Lotta, I was an actual idiot. Didn't know the treasure I had in my arms every night. One time we had a big fight and I said it was over. Said I didn't even love her that much. She packed all her stuff and left. I didn't care the first month, had fun with my friends, flirted with other girls. But gradually I started noticing how much I missed her laugh. How going out wasn't fun without her. How there was no joy in watching football when I didn't have to run for snacks during breaks and warm her hands in mine in winter. I realised I was so scared of starting a family and losing my bachelor life that I didn't notice that there was no life for me at all without her. I came crawling back but she didn't want to do anything with me. Rightfully so. I slept on the street under her windows for a week before she even talked to me. The night she screamed for me to get fucked, I felt like the happiest man alive. It took me another year to win her back but I did."

"You've never told me this story, it's beautiful," Ferran said, "But what does it have to do with Pedri?"

"If he is your person, he'll figure his shit out on his own and will find his way back home," Angel said, starting another cigarette, "But you can't just sit around and worry yourself over the idiot he is now. You've got to find out who you are without him. What if this guy isn't the best you deserve? You won't know until you try."

"Angel, it's not like this!" Ferran sat up straight, looking at the old man surprised, blush on his cheeks, "I am not- We-ve never-"

"Tiburoncito, I wasn't born yesterday. I won't judge either. My grandson brought a boy to a family gathering a couple of years ago. At first, I wasn't sure about it, I am not gonna lie. But his Miguel is such a crafty young man. Did you see those flower beds in the front? Made them for me! They visit to help with the house all the time now. I don't care what they do in their bedroom as long as my cabbage patches are weeded and Cisco is smiling this much."

"Oh. That's very nice. I am happy to hear that," Ferran admitted, "But how did you know about me?"

"Straight guys don't wear such trousers," the man winked.

"Angel! It's fashion, straight guys are allowed to dress nicely too."

"Whatever you say," he ate another cookie, "I always knew, chico. When you started leaving training with this guy... What was his name? Aaron, Arlo?"

"Arturo," Ferran helped.

"Yeah, that one. It was obvious."

"Oh. You never said anything."

"It wasn't my business, was it?"

"No, I guess not... I like girls too, though."

"Still not my business. I don't wanna talk about all the twenty eight new genders your generation has come up with. I just want you to allow yourself to be happy and remember there are other people around who can love you, not just this sleaze."

"Angel!"

"If he ever comes back, you are not giving in easily and you will bring him here to prove himself, understood?"

"Understood," Ferran felt warmth in his heart, "Wanna tell me what is going on in the club right now?"

"Ok. So have you met Cornelia, the stadium medic? We think she is messing around with our Guido!"

"No way! I thought she was married?!"

"She is!"

* * * 

He got a call from Luis Enrique that evening. The legendary coach and his ex-almost-father-in-law was back to train the national team this World Cup. He asked how Ferran was doing and how he liked his new team. It was pleasant to talk with the man, the awkwardness having faded a long time ago. 

Then he said they wouldn't be calling him up for the break. 

"It's not because we don't want you on the team. We just want you to adapt to your new place without any added pressure. I am planning to call you up for the next one if you are healthy," he explained. 

"I- Did Pedri ask not to call me up?" Ferran asked. He didn't want to think that was the case but... Well.

"Ferran, I am the only one who can make the decision on the roster. If Pedri asked something like this from me, I would tell him to go to Hell," he explained patiently, "But I want you to understand that when I do call both of you up, you'll have to work together."

"I won't have any problem with that, I promise. You should talk with him about it, though. If he is dead set on me not bringing any quality, it's obvious who you will choose out of the two of us."

"Okay, I will talk with him but, again, I am not making any decisions based on a player's wishes. Is there anything else I need to know about the situation?"

"Not on my side," he sighed, "Nobody knows what's happening with him. If you could check on him..."

"I will, don't doubt me, Ferran. I am really sorry about what you are going through. I'll see you in October, okay?"

"Yes, coach."

"It was nice to talk with you, hijo."

"Goodbye."

So here he sat, out of the national team too. He wanted to believe Luis Enrique. But a big part of him just did not. He would see how it would work out in October. Nothing he could change, just play his heart and legs out for Valencia and hope that it was enough. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be the biggest blow of the year anyways. You couldn't end up disappointed if you had kept your expectations low. 

His therapist said it was not a healthy coping mechanism but oh, well, he was trying to get by here, not enjoy his life to its fullest. It would have to do. Thankfully, he had a good therapist so when he lamented to her once again how even his agency gave up on him, she asked him seriously: "Ferran, but don't you pay them to represent your interests no matter the level of your performance?" Truth be said, it had not really crossed his mind before. 

They had several days off so Ferran went to Barcelona early after having a long conversation with Avellaneda in his office at the Mestalla. The meeting with Ruphus and several other representatives from the agency was held at the office. Having asked them for some time to acclimatise away from the marketing responsibilities, Ferran was now sure what he wanted to do going forward. They thought it was gonna be about his new marketing strategy at the so called 'smaller market'. 

Ferran came in with Avellaneda's lawyers. He didn't talk much while the guys pointed out how the company had neglected his interests when the contract on the loan was being drawn up and in its immediate aftermath. Ferran just sat there, emotionless, looking at Ruphus' neck going red while they laid out the exact ways the agency would be fucked if they didn't let Ferran terminate the relationship without any legal or public pushback.

"Ferran, are you out of your mind?" Ruphus finally asked, "You will be nothing without our support, don't you realise?"

"Is this a direct threat, Mr. Marquez?" one of the lawyers cut in, looking at the voice recorder in the middle of the table. 

"What?! Of course not!" the agency's lawyer who was unexpectedly called up to the meeting was trying to make Ruphus shut up but, alas, "Your career being flushed down the toilet is the result of your own inability, not the agency's!" 

"Mr. Marquez, are you admitting to the fact that your subjective assessment of Mr.Torres' performance led you to change the way you conduct business as his representatives? How would you explain that one of your biggest clients was kept in the dark about such a fundamental change in his contractual status?" another one of Avellaneda's lawyers chipped in. 

Ferran smirked. He went back to changing the passwords on his social media. The e-mails to sponsors indicated that he chose to part ways with the agency and, until further notice, all business inquiries were to go through his personal manager, Arantxa Torres.

Once he got out of there, he went to visit his goddaughter Lilian. Whatever Eric's position on the loan was, he was on a fishing trip now and Ferran's favourite little princess deserved to spend some time with her "Tibuwon", drawing dinosaurs and running around the living room. He bought way too many presents, which Eric's wife was not happy about, but it was a good day and he would give the girl all that and more. He put her to bed for a midday nap, rejected a cup of coffee and was on his way again.  

Now the only thing that separated him from his dogs was Martin's front door. He rang the bell. Before the door was even open, he could hear their excited barking. 5 seconds later he was sitting on the floor of his friend's hallway while Roma and Milo ran circles about him, jumped into his arms to lick his face and then restart the cycle.

"Hy, mis bebés! I missed you so much too! Don't worry, we are going home now!" Ferran caught both of their heads under his arms and looked up at Martin. He was taking a picture.

"Don't mind me, I just live here," he laughed. 

"Tío, sorry, I've got my priorities," He kissed their heads and scratched their necks. 

Martin made him stay for lunch and play some video games. Then they went to walk the dogs while Ferran described all the new people he had met and what his expectations for the season were. He was surprised to realize that he did actually have some wishes for the season. They revolved mainly about changes in the team and helping out other players, rather than his own success, but they were still there. He was excited to play Barcelona because they tried out a good formation in the last game and he wanted to see how it would hold up against a stronger opponent. They did not speak of Pedri, apart from Martin saying that he didn't contact him after the loan because Ferran had been his friend first. It did feel nice a little. 

He ended up sleeping over at Martin's, went for a short trip home and took everything he might need but didn't have time to pack initially with him. Then, for several hours it was just him and his precious mutts in the car, singing radio songs out loud and not caring about a thing in the world. 

His life might have gone off course from what he expected it to be. He might have lost people he loved. He might have been not good enough. 

But he was not finished. He had people around him who still believed in him and chose to stand by him. He had a team that relied on him. 

He might be lonely and heartbroken. But for the first time since all of this went down, if only for a couple hours, he felt absolutely free.

* * *

The video session before the game against Barcelona was more detailed than their usual ones. Carlos went at length on the high expectations he had for everyone in order to pull it off. They watched players position by position. Ferran's ear was picked when Carlos said something about Barca's centerbacks. 

"Hey, Carlos," he said, "They wouldn't be caught out like this, they have a system on this kind of a run for an offside trap."

"Yeah, you got to time it well," the coach agreed.

"No one can time it well against Cubarsí," he replied, "But there is something else we could do to make them disorganised..."  

Unexpectedly for himself, he started giving out options for how to deal with Barca's scheme, pointing out systemic issues as well as players' personal quirks. He was sure Barcelona knew everything about his style of play, even if they did not spare time on him in their own session. It was only fair he helped his team prepare the best.

"And how do you stop Pedri?" Kayo asked him.

"Kid, you can't stop him, you just do your best," Javi snorted. 

"Come on, there's got to be something there!" 

"Kayo, you can't beat him through individual actions alone. You might have a successful tackle or a steal, sure, but he is gonna be right at your neck in the same second," Ferran explained, "Pedri is a system. You need to pay attention to the flow of the game, to the position of all 22 players to predict his next move. And then, still, like 80% of the time you won't guess right or you will but the execution is so perfect, there is nothing you can do about it. So you just do your best, as Javi said. The only thing is... don't move too quickly, if you can. He is moving off of predicting your next move."

"Okay, fine," he grumbled, "I was hoping you would have like a secret weapon, eh."

"He is scared of tickling, if that helps," Ferran answered, ruffling his hair.

"Not really, no," then, he whispered, "I'll figure his ass out still."

On the night before the game Ferran felt restless. It was just another time he had to do his job. It was inevitable he would have to face his old friends and family. They didn't really have any chance to win anyways so nothing to care about too much. 

Fuck no, he cared. He really, really cared. He didn't want to think of Pedri, who since that call didn't even try to reach out once. Not once. Not to say sorry or wish good luck before his first game for the new club. Even though he claimed he cared about Ferran's success there. Not even when he left the agency. Obviously, Ferran was just a turned page for the guy. He didn't want to have some dramatic showdown against him, though. He didn't want to see him at all. But, alas, the guy didn't have the brains to send him to another league so here they were. 

At the same time, he wanted Valencia to win. He wanted to see Deco's stupid face when the guy watched his 'greatest deal' lose to a written-off veteran of the same age. He wanted to show Marcelino that having him as a starter at Valencia all those years ago and giving him space to grow was the move he should've done to win trophies with a club that hadn't gifted him a ready-to-go dynasty. He wanted to remind all the fans that spammed his social media with 'Pedri is always right, bye, loser', 'Finally Pedri saw the truth, we've been dreaming to get rid of you for years', 'Only was in the club because Pedri needed a dick to jump on'... He wanted to remind those idiots who scored the winning goal in their second Champions' League final. 

Barcelona might have been done with him. But he was only just starting with them. 

In the morning he felt focused, determined. The fact that his car decided to break down on him was a small obstacle. He called up Javi who lived ten minutes away and asked to pick him up. 

"I didn't know giving you lifts was part of my responsibilities now, Tiburón," Guerra chuckled. Pau and he were pretty similar in both their appearance and character, even though Javi was a bit more humorous while Pau - booksmart. Either way, both of them really were some of his first football little brothers, if not kids. 

"Comes with the job, my guy," Ferran smiled, getting in the car, "I have the worst luck ever when it comes to cars, they always break down on me."

"Nothing to do with the driver, eh?" Javi asked.

"No idea what you could be hinting at," they exchanged a look and laughed. The rest of the way to the Mestalla was just as full of laughter as they talked about everything and nothing. They stopped shortly at the entrance to sign stuff and take pictures with the fans and joined the first of the players already in the gym. 

Kayo was waiting for him at their usual spot, bouncing slightly in space with a notebook in his hands.

"Hey there, Sonic!" Ferran greeted the boy, going for the notebook, "What'cha got there?"

"Nothing, just my notes for the game," Kayo giggled as he wrestled for his book back.

"Since when are you preparing notes?"

"Since I am going to make Barcelona's life a hell today and need to remember a lot of stuff about it," he quipped. 

"Kayo, don't you think that's an overkill?" Javi asked, sitting down next to them, "You played well against Barca before, no notes needed."

"Oh my god, you are like an old married couple, don't baby me so much," the midfielder lamented. Then he quickly took his phone to film an Insta story, "Oh, papa y papa! Papa y papa! I've got parents, yall!"

They laughed at him and after a short convo, Javi went off to do his own routine. 

Soon they were out on the pitch for pregame warm-ups. He went through them without looking much at the other side of the stadium where Barca's players were. But when Ferran was walking towards the touchline for water, suddenly somebody jumped on his back.

"EL TIBURÓN! I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!" Lamine dangled on him, kissing his head. Before long almost all the guys came in for hugs, as if he scored an equalizer in the 90th minute. Joan didn't let go of him, whispering that he needed to feed off his twin energy. Everyone was asking him questions, hardly giving him time to answer, smiling and laughing at his every word. He felt warm. 

"Guys, I- I didn't expect you would care this much," he admitted, looking them over.

"What?" Pau asked, putting his serious tone on, "Ferran, you are our hermano, same badge or not. Of course we care. We didn't want you to leave."

The agreeing nods and words from everyone followed. 

"Oh... Thank you, I wasn't sure," they all looked at him questioningly, Gavi muttering swears under his breath.

"Is that why you went to visit Lilian when I wasn't home?" Eric asked.

"Well-"

"Ferran, are you stupid?" Before he could say anything, they had him in the tight circle of hugs again, laughing and fighting to be the ones closest to him.

"It's actually you who is forgetting about us!' Alexandre smiled, "I've just told Kayo and I am telling you now, I am the only Brazilian son you are allowed to have! No insta stories coddling others anymore, I am the only bebé!" 

They laughed again, Ferran going to hug his boy. 

On his way through the tunnel, he thought he caught Pedri's head in the distance. He refused to look closer. The Canarian wasn't his issue to deal with today. He trusted his midfield. 

The whistle blew. They got the ball to their defenders, going for a positional attack at first. Suddenly the ultras behind their back started chanting something he would only expect to be heard at Mestalla during national team's games. A prolonged word was sung thrice:

"Pedri, Pedri, Pedri!"

Ferran was ready to admit this was the lowest Valencia's ultras had ever gone against him when suddenly they chanted strongly:

"Que et follin!

Pedri, Pedri, Pedri,

vete a la mierde!"

They lost the ball but didn't allow Barcelona to run away into a counter attack, kicking it out of bounds. Okay, Ferran told himself, they are just chanting against the opponent's best player. That he could work with. 

But then, right when Jules was throwing the ball in to Pedri, the Mestalla sang so strong, he swore he felt it in his legs:

"Pedri, Pedri, Pedri!

Puta traidor! Puta traidor! Puta traidor!"

It seemed like everyone at the stadium, including the players, was only looking at Ferran and Pedri. The locked eyes for a second. His heart rate spiked, all the anger and disappointment he repressed for so long burning in his chest. El Tiburón was out for blood. Kayo used the pause to run in and steal the ball from under Pedri's foot. 

The game picked up a crazy rhythm. The whole team was pressing and putting in intensity unexpected by Barca. On the 15th minute Javi cleared the ball on the miscommunication between Balde and Lamine. He flew through to the halfway line and suddenly they were three to two. Their captain dribbled past Pau, sending the ball to Kayo unexpectedly for Barca's defenders. They didn't have enough speed for the youngster, he went close to the post and passed it back to Ferran. 

The Valencian breathed out and struck with his bad leg.

He placed it perfectly into the top bin.

The stadium roared up, his teammates running at him from behind, screaming. He refused to celebrate against his old club. But he was looking at the ultras section. For the first time since his comeback he was not afraid to look those guys in the eyes and see hatred there. He simply put his hand up. 

Louder. 

Daddy was back.

"El Tiburón! El Tiburón és a casa! És el nostre!"

Pedri ran to the net to get the ball into the starting circle. Ferran could see him muttering something under his nose, pissed off. The job was not done. He commanded the team to get back into it. Javi was already shouting instructions to their defenders. 

For the end of the half Barca has them pinned, Pedri controlling the game, ultras chanting at him again. But Valencia's defenders acted like they were at war, no shot on target. Another corner kick. Ferran jumped out and got the ball out of the box close to the left sideline, his heart hummering. Another attack, Rashy dribbled past two of their defenders. Cross to the box, Haaland finished with his head. 

1:1. They went to the break. 

Carlos gave them more instructions, praising their fighting spirit. He could see the team follow his every movement. Every single one of them was going crazy to avenge him for something that had happened when most of them didn't even know him personally. Those guys weren't just coworkers. 

"I don't know about you, guys, but I am not losing to those fuckers at home. Let's put the whole weight of Mestalla on them!"

Javi and Ferran led the team out for the second half, walking shoulder to shoulder.

"Told you, you'd win the fans back!" he smiled. Ferran smirked back. 

The second half started off the same way. Both teams had their moments but couldn't score. Ferran noticed his guys getting tired. They went into a positional attack, ball moving endlessly under Javi's control, no matter what Gavi threw at him. In the 78th minute he sent it to the right side, where Ferran had moved in a prepared scheme. He took a split second look at the box and sent the ball glazing right between the legs of Barcelona players to their winger Hugo who was running into the box.

Goal.

They tumbled Hugo to the ground with their celebration.

JKey argued that it was offside. The referee went on to check, whistles were all over the Mestalla. Javi never took his hand away from Ferran's shoulder while they waited, towering over him protectively. He saw Pedri looking at them with something akin to hatred. He didn't understand but neither did he care much at that moment. The initial decision stayed. That was the only thing that mattered.

It's 2:1. 

Marcelino took off Haaland, subbing in Alexandre. This could be a huge problem, they didn't have the depth to cover fresh legs. Ferran half expected Carlos to take him off but the manager shook his head. They made their substitutions in defense.

In the 88th Lamine did a Lamine thing, putting a crazy kick from outside the box on his right side. It didn't go in but Alexandre was there to pick up the second opportunity. 

It's 2:2. 

3 minutes of extra time added. 

* * * 

Pedri got the ball at Barca's half. It seemed like the whole stadium was now chanting 'Puta traidor' at him, not even bothering with other parts. He made a cutting pass that could easily lead to Marcus going one on one with Agirrezabala had Frenkie and Gavi not miscommunicated on who was going for it. Suddenly Valencia's young midfielder was running to their box full speed. Pedri ran at him from the side, going to kick the ball away from under his feet. 

In the last millisecond his boots bounced up from the ground, spikes going into Kayo's ankle. He fell tumbling down on the pitch, cries of pain deafening to Pedri's ears.

The Mestalla was on her feet, full of rage, bottles thrown on the pitch, whistles not stopping. Ferran was running towards the two of them. Pedri stood up and winced, expecting hands to fly at him. 

Ferran didn't even look at him, running past, towards the kid, and sitting down next to him. He was talking to the boy but the Brazilian was still in so much pain he couldn't hear him.

Torres waved his hands frantically for the medical stuff to come out on the pitch. He looked up at Pedri finally, other players running close to them now. There was only rage there.

"Doing to kids what Kroos did to you now?!" he told him, not even screaming, face hard. A second later his focus went back to Kayo. Suddenly hands did fly at him, the two teams at each other's throats. It was chaos. He walked away from it while Valencia players were tangled up with Barca, trying to get through to him. 

Pedri couldn't take his eyes away from the kid on the ground, Ferran words echoing in his brain. Kroos acted intentionally. Pedri didn't. He knew it was a reckless move but he didn't expect his legs to bounce up. He didn't mean to. He only got caught up in all the emotions, the idea of losing unbearable.

The referee came up to him, showing Pedri a red card. He'd never got one before. 

* * * 

Ferran was furious. Who the fuck did he think he was? What was this motherfucker thinking?! The game finished in a draw, the last minutes spent on more fighting, the crowd in the stands completely off the rails. He was standing near Kayo's cot in the medical room while the doctor moved his leg this way and that. Ferran felt a weird sense of deja vu. 

"The good news is it's not as bad as it could be," the doctor said, "The bad news is you are out for at least 4 weeks. We'll have to do additional tests."

"Noooooooo," Kayo stretched the 'o', pouting, "I wanted to go to the National team again, I made friends there..."

"Kid, you could end up out for a season with the move that piece of shit pulled on you and you are sad about the World Cup Qualification?" Ferran asked, astonished. 

"It's not that bad, relax, Papa Shark," he answered, "Doesn't even hurt that much!"

Ferran raised his eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, hurts like a bitch but it was so worth it," Kayo said, smiling, "in those five seconds I read Pedri's shit to the ground and was running off to win us this game? Man, this was the coolest thing I've pulled off in my career so far! And now I am the home hero! There won't be a cafe in Valencia that will take money from me any time soon, I am telling ya!"

"But-"

"No buts! That's not my first injury, remember? I know how to deal with this stuff already. But all the previous ones felt so stupid. This one isn't! This is me being a warrior for my team! I told you I was gonna wack his old ass for ya and I did!" the boy preened, then winced when the doctor applied a compress to his leg.

"Kayo, Jesus... I told you not to act reckless, didn't I? You shouldn't have tried-"

"Tried to win us the game by outsmarting the best midfield trio in the world and then getting injured through no fault of my own?" the kid retorted, "Ferri, it's all good, relax, please!"

He left Kayo in the hands of medics and Javi who changed after his shower. After going through his own post-game routine, he took his phone. There was a message from Gavi: 'Come to the gym in the west wing, please'. 

He sighed deeply. He hoped they didn't bring Pedri there, he wouldn't be merciful. 

When he entered the gym, Pau, Eric, Gavi and Marcus were all there. No Pedri. Fucking coward. 

"Well?" he asked. He knew they were not at fault but he was just so pissed.

"We are really sorry about what happened," Eric started, “How is the kid?”

"At least 4 weeks out but could’ve been worse. You are not the ones who should be apologising though, are you?" 

"No, we are not," Gavi agreed, "That's why we wanted to talk with you."

"We know that we fucked up too. Not being clear enough that we didn't know anything about the loan and didn't support it," Eric said, "We just thought it was obvious and didn't want to push you too much. We all told Pedri he is an idiot for this move."

"Numerous times," Marcus added quietly. 

"But we thought he made a mistake, that the front office pushed him too much about the captain armband. Lately, though, we've started noticing it's getting worse," Pau picked up after Eric. It felt like they discussed it many times before, "What happened today with Kayo... It's unacceptable. But it also shows that Pedri is not okay."

"That's one way to put it," Ferran snorted bitterly. 

"Ferran, we think he needs help," Marcus said, "Like professional help. But he won't listen to any of us."

"He had a fight with Fer, told him to stop controlling his life and sent him back to Tenerife" Gavi said, "They didn't tell their parents because of their dad's heart problems but it's bad."

"What? This is bullshit, I don't believe you," Ferran said. Pedri loved his family, he would never... Fuck, he did do a lot of things he would've never done before lately.

"We don't know how to deal with this."

"So what? You want me to help?" he asked, "Guys, I- Fuck!"

"Yeah, we get it" Gavi agreed, "But please, do you have any ideas?"

Ferran sat down on one of the benches. It made sense Pedri wasn't okay. Fuck, this alien in his best friend's body was anything but Pedri. But he didn't know if he could do anything about it. Pedri had been clear he didn't want Ferran in his life anymore. He didn't want to humiliate himself trying to talk reason into the person that chose to harm him every step of the way lately. Ferran deserved better. 

"Guys, I can ask my therapist to recommend some other specialists for him on our next call. But I won't talk with him, I am sorry. I am going through a lot myself. All thanks to him. Having mental problems isn't a good enough justification for his behaviour. Fucking me over I could forgive but Kayo? No way… I don't think he would even listen to me. I am sorry."

"We understand," Pau said, "Please, do ask for recommendations."

"If he won't listen to you, is there even a person on this planet that could make him get his head out of his ass?" Gavi asked.

Ferran thought for a second.

"Call Flick."