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PEDRI -Elle a brisé son coeur sur moi

Words : 18,5k+

Warning : heavy angst, mention of depressed states, drug/alcohol use, mention of addictions

Summary : Pedro is losing himself, accepting the bone crushing feeling you would inflect on him because you had broken your heart, and he was on the receiving end of it.

☁️

“Fuck, Pedri!” shouted Pablo as he threw his hands in the air, an annoyed expression stuck on his face. It wasn’t his first complaint of the day towards the midfielder and he was beginning to get fed up with the older’s lack of involvement in today’s training. Pedro nodded and went back to his former spot, tugging at his yellow bib as if the fabric was uncomfortable. He had lost the ball, offered an easy point to the other team, but he hadn’t seemed fazed by it one bit, which was unusual. Even if Pedro wasn’t the most demonstrative person and was actually from a calm nature, he would still let his frustration sip out with a grimace or a groan. None of it had happened today, not even the rise of a brow. And this indifference, that the islander was showing, just added to Pablo’s irritation, while the older was calm, the Sevillian was everything but that. He lived football through passion, even during practices, and someone not giving their whole was unbelievable to him. Especially if this person was Pedro. It was unusual and he probably should have questioned it, but he was young and he favored his bold angriness over some psychological reflection.

Robert passed the ball to Gavi, starting the game again. Pablo dribbled past Jules and he was finally near the goal, eyeing Marc-André with a quirk in his brow. Alejandro was coming onto him, he knew a tackle was also coming. He couldn’t keep the ball so he looked around, as fast as he could and caught a glimpse of Pedri who had miraculously gotten the memo. He passed him the ball, avoiding Balde’s tackled in a same movement. he sighed, happy with his strategy. However, it quickly faded when Jules tackled Pedro and stole the ball, now sending it to one of his team’s players. Pablo didn’t really care at this point, he was seeing red. It would be the third goal conceded to the other team thanks to Pedri. He huffed, and stomped towards the older who was still lying on the ground, grass staining his kit.

“What the fuck?” he attacked, looking down without an ounce of pity in his eyes. He hated losing, even though he knew it was only some practice and it wouldn’t mean anything at the end of the day, he hated the feeling of not being enough. And his team was an extension of himself, therefore he hated his team losing. He normally wouldn’t actually be this pressed but Pedri had gotten way too much on his nerves since this morning, and the cold weather wasn’t helping at all.

“Try to focus, you are playing like a fucking toddler!” he added, crossing his arms on his chest. Pedri had finally gotten up, his fists hidden under his sleeves.

“Stop screaming, you psycho...” he said, low tone and empty eyes looking right at Pablo. Pedro was ready to leave him right here and finally do something productive, or at least more productive than being screamed at by a boy two years younger than him. But the strong grip on his wrist prevented him from doing so.

“I’m the psycho?” Gavi asked, offended. “You are the one who’s not taking it seriously while it’s your damn job, Pedro! You are the one who put zero effort in this fucking training and acts like it’s fucking normal while it should be your fucking passion!” he was really working himself up on this, but Pedri’s behavior had been too much and Pablo couldn’t recognize him. “You are the fucking psycho!”

Pedro huffed and also crossed his arms over his chest, creating a barrier between himself and the younger. His brows had furrowed a long time ago and the blush he would normally sport thanks to the effort he would put in football was replaced by an angry red that was the telltale of the fuming rage he was feeling.

“You don’t even know what psycho means, Pablo! I did nothing that would make me a psycho, you on the other hand... You have been screaming hysterically for hours now, acting like a damn child throwing a tantrum. For what? For just some football! There are other things in life than football, maybe you should get your head out of your ass and take in your surroundings. And maybe buy a fucking dictionary?” alright he had mixed things up in his rant but god, he hated being on the receiving hand of harsh criticism. Pablo had been poking at him since they had arrived at training, telling him he did this or that wrong, that he wasn’t pushing himself like he should and it had just piled up. Pedro was suffocating under all of that. Of course, he knew he had been doing everything wrong from the moment he woke up to this moment right now, he knew he was somehow lethargic and it seemed like he couldn’t care less. But hearing it from the younger, he didn’t know why, he couldn’t take it. And if Pablo wanted to be childish, then Pedro would be.

“If you have to buy a dictionary for you to be relevant, then it means your football is not enough for the team. You are not doing enough!” the younger’s anger wasn’t dissolving anytime soon, everyone could see it. That’s probably why Robert tried to pull Pablo away, asking him to calm down with a firm voice. Pablo didn’t seem to care, too agitated to actually understand what the Pole was telling him. He wasn’t used to be this angry, especially against Pedri. The other had always made sure to deflate the situation, to keep Pablo calm even when they were fighting. Pedro hadn’t today. He had pushed Gavi further, and Pablo wasn’t sure where he was standing now, how to regulate his emotions.

‘You are not doing enough’ that’s the words Pedro had whispered back, feeling his world crumble because how could it not? His best friend had thrown the words that were the main insecurity in Pedri’s mind: not being enough, not doing enough, not meeting people’s expectations. His breath was caught in his throat and every voice around him were muffled by his own train of thoughts. He was not enough, he was doing everything wrong and hearing it only confirmed what he had been thinking for a few days now.

Pedro wasn’t reacting anymore, he hadn’t responded to Gavi, neither had he flinched when Sergio had put his hand on his shoulder. On the outside, he looked as stoic as one could, eyes completely void of emotions, everything perfectly concealed inside him. His fists had even loosened just like his frown. Maybe they should be worried at how well the Canarian was able to hold everything together, but no one noticed, no one cared about that. The fight was the only thought around the pitch.

“Pablo, watch your mouth! And please, learn how to manage your anger, we cannot have problems like that again!” said Xavi, who had finally taken things in hands. His gaze was strong as he looked deeply angry at Gavi. It looked like he wanted to add something, but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. The coach nodded at Robert so the Pole could take Pablo somewhere else, probably at another practice spot. As he let out a sigh, the legendary midfielder turned around while pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and looked at Pedro.

“He is right about one thing... You haven’t been great today. I usually expect more of you, Pedro. I will let it slide because a bad day can happen, but tomorrow you are at your top form.” Disappointment was sipping out of Xavi, rolling down his figure to come crashing against Pedri like hard waves, hitting him right where it hurt. He hadn’t found his words back, everything stuck in his pharynx. The only thing he was able to do was looking down, hands clasped behind his back as he took in every word, repeating them in his mind like a sermon he would have heard at church.

And that’s how Pedro went through the rest of training: on shaky legs and short breath. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, scared that his voice would break, and he would only look at his shoes because he knew that if he met anyone’s eyes, especially the caring ones, salty water would escape from them. So, he had closed himself off, shutting the world out and focused on football, counting the minutes until this hell would end.

---

Then he was home. His home dipped in silence. No lights could be seen, just the streetlights trespassing inside to create shadows on the floor. He felt cold like that, not recognizing his own place, so he quickly switched the lights on. He noticed that no shoes other than his littered the entry, no coat thrown on the couch, no food or drinks discarded on the kitchen island. That could mean two things and he wasn’t sure which one he favored. With these thoughts running a hundred miles an hour in his mind, he went up, making sure his stairs wouldn’t crack and waited in front of a closed door, in silence. Always. He had to calm himself down because he was working himself up and nothing good could come out of it. He took a shuddery breath and finally found the courage to open the seemingly heavier door than the day before.

What he saw was exactly what he had imagined. How could he still be disappointed when every time it was the same thing?

He sighed and slowly came closer, delicately placing one of your stray strands behind your ear to have a look at your face. Your mascara had been smudged, staining your normally rosy cheeks with its dark umbra. The deep frown you were sporting had seemed like a permanent thing for a while now and, even in your alcohol induced sleep, it wouldn’t leave. His insides churned at the thought, because nothing seemed to erase it, not even all his efforts. It wasn’t enough.

After another shaky breath, the midfielder tore his gaze away from your sight, the sight that would bring an unwanted feeling of anxiety, squeezing his stomach until bile could be felt at the back of his throat. He, instead, focused on your shoes that were still tightly tied on your feet, and with practiced fingers, he undid the knots and took the pair of sneakers off, quietly deposing them next to him. Then, he tried to shake you awake, eyes fixed on your shoulder, he wanted you to catch a sliver of consciousness so he could take off your coat and put you under the thick covers of his bed. But you wouldn't budge, it must have been an especially hard night, he thought. So, he did it all without your help, moving you around like a rag doll, blinking tears away when he would see your head loll a little. When he was done, he left for the bathroom to bring a blue basin that had whitened because of the bleach it would often meet. The corrosive substance used to disinfect the plastic material but mostly to get rid of the putrid smell that would float around. He had set the blue recipient on the floor, on your side of the bed and made sure that you were lying on your side, facing it. That’s how he left you, making sure to not fully close the door so he could hear if anything was going on, and stepped in the living room.

Everything seemed so cold and even with the TV on, Pedro felt as if a thick darkness was surrounding him. The sound was off, figures moving around the screen in total silence as lights changed from cold to warm to electric then back to cold. It reflected on the youngster’s face, highlighting the deep hollows under his dark eyes. It took just enough of Pedro’s attention to soften the edge that was poking at him. Just enough for him to not be entirely consumed by his intrusive thoughts that seemed to linger longer and longer every time. A kiss was shown under an orange sunset, them on the rooftop of some city: the girl had the most loving smile he had seen in a while and the man looked shy, blush high on his cheeks. He wanted to hate this scene, to resent it even, but he couldn’t even muster that.

Then he heard it, the wrenching sounds coming out of your throat followed by gags. He wasn’t even sure of how long it had lasted, time notion slipping right through his fingers, him unable to grasp at it. He just knew that when your session had been done, long seconds of silence had plagued the room before your sobs had resonated. It hadn’t been near as loud as the noises you had let out before, but it was harder for Pedri to hear. He unconsciously bit his lower lip as he stood up, turning off the TV and going up the stairs. He wasn’t even aware of his movements, too used to this charade. He could have predicted your curled up figure on the bed, your head tucked against the crook of your arm and tear tracks crackling on the skin of your cheeks. A bit of drool mixed with the acidic vomit caked the corner of your mouth because you hadn’t cared enough to wipe it. You hadn’t even registered his presence, even though he had slid under the covers, spooning you as he whispered words of affection. He had only one goal, it was soothing you. He would try until he would fall asleep of exhaustion.

---

The door on the passenger’s side slammed, making the small Mini Cooper tremble with the force of it. Pedro only rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics and sighed, before starting the car while Gavi fiddled with his seatbelt. It was raining hard, offering an easy way out for the two Barca’s midfielders as practically no fans were waiting for them. And even though he felt awful to think that, Pedro was glad to be left alone today, no touching, no screeching and no cameras in his face, catching his deep dark circles.

“So Fifa, is it?” asked the Sevillian. His tone was light, clashing with the mess of feelings spreading through Pedro’s chest. He was also glad for that, for Gavi. He wasn’t even aware of how much his cheerfulness meant to the older, how much he needed it to stay grounded. But Pedro wouldn’t tell him, not when it meant telling more to him. It was not his place, he thought. So, as he had been doing a lot recently, he kept his mouth shut and nodded, flashing a small smile in his direction. Gavi accepted it and toyed with Pedro’s playlist, trying to find anything that would suit his taste.

That’s how they found themselves on the road, stopping at red lights and starting again when the lights turned green, under the heavy droplets of water that fell with an incredible speed. Pedri wanted nothing more than to get to his house and make himself comfortable on his couch, Gavi next to him, screaming about his loss. A faint grin appeared on his lips when he thought about the moment, it felt so familiar, he was used to it and he couldn’t wait to live it once more. To beat the shit out of Pablo on the screen and annoy him while the other would whine and pout like a child. The lightheartedness of the situation made him dizzy, because he felt like it had been decades since he had spent a night with his friends, doing things without caring of tomorrow. His insides were trembling with impatience.

“I practiced, so don’t be too surprised if you lose Pedri!” Pablo was bathing in cheekiness, throwing it at the older without a care. But deep inside, he knew he would lose, because it really wasn’t Gavi’s thing, however, he felt the need to put a show on. Whatever work he would put in, the results would remain the same. It was all it took for Pedro’s former grin to widen and squint his eyes.

“Stay humble, it will soften the blow when I’m going to destroy you...” he retorted, avoiding a quick jab from the younger. He stifled a laugh because of how easy it was to rile up the other.

However, his smile faded as fast as the rain washed chalk drawings off on concrete, when an incoming call appeared on his Bluetooth station. The name, all too familiar, glaring at him, daring him to pick up. He really didn’t have another choice, so with a wide intake of air, he pressed the green emoticon and answered the phone, getting ready for whatever was to come, whatever Pablo would hear.

“Pedro?” Isabela’s voice was unsure, like saying his name was already the hardest thing to do. He knew she knew. He knew that she was aware of how much she had been asking of him lately, he knew that she knew she was putting another stone on the already shaky pile.

“Yeah?” he responded, with fake assurance. It was just an image to maintain for the moment.

“Could you come? It’s like last time...” and the strength in her words diminished after every words. He understood with ease what she was talking about. Without any further information, he turned left on the next intersection, avoiding the confused gaze of Pablo on him.

“She would probably feel better with you...” and he hated those words, the ones she felt obligated to add. Because he knew there was a deep truth to them, but he also knew that wasn’t all. He knew that it would be easier on everyone to come and get you. Easier on everyone but him. He gulped, nodding slightly but she couldn’t see him, and he wasn’t trusting his voice to not break so he kept his mouth tightly shut and hung up, not adding anything to what had already been said.

In the eyes of Pablo, the older had shut off, harboring a cold demeanor that hadn’t been there minutes ago. His eyes had become darker, steelier, as if he had built a wall around himself, so high he wasn’t sure how someone could see past it. And it worried the Sevillian. Pedri wasn’t the type to be this closed off, especially with him, even when they fought. There would be screams, harsh words and sarcasm to top it all, but silent treatment wasn’t one of their things. And when one of them was upset with something, they would talk it out. Pablo wasn’t sure how he should act with this Pedro, this Pedro that he didn’t know and had never met.

“What’s going on?” he dared to ask when he had not recognized the road they were taking. His voice had been soft, trying to not set off the older.

“Y/N doesn’t feel well, so I’m picking her up.” and that’s all the Canarian said. Not elaborating on the true reason he had to pick you up. Many questions were bursting into Gavi’s brain, but he couldn’t ask. He knew it wasn’t the moment, and he wouldn’t get answers anyway. In the end, he would see by himself what was going on when they would arrive.

That’s how a tense silence filled the car, putting Pablo on edge and making Pedro slightly panic. The sky was becoming darker, minutes passing, buildings changing colors under the downpour, people rushing to keep themselves dry, streetlights turning on. Then the car had stopped. In total silence, Pedro had unfastened his belt and put his hood up, opening the door. Pablo wasn’t sure what he should do, not even knowing where Pedro had brought him. He wasn’t familiar with his actual surrounding, no buildings looked like ones he had seen before and it was nowhere near where you lived. So, he had stayed inside, watching as Pedro took quick steps towards the entrance, getting drenched. Something wasn’t adding up.

And things felt even weirder when he saw Pedro exiting the building with you under his arm, trying to hold you up in a straight position. You were laughing under the rain, tripping over your own feet while making him lose his trajectory. The window was blurred with water, so Pablo couldn’t quite grasp Pedro’s expression, but the older didn’t seem as enthusiast as you. When the both of you got close enough, Pedro reached out to open the backseats door, while you leant against the green car. If the Canarian hadn’t had the fastest reflexes, you would have fallen in a dirty puddle: water mixed with fuel and dead leaves. He had slid his arm around your waist, bringing you against his side. You giggled, throwing your head back as if this had been the funniest thing you had lived. And that placed a smile on Pablo’s lips, your happiness contagious. Pedro had settled you in the back seat, fastening your belt and throwing your bag next to you. No words had been uttered.

You would spurt nonsenses at the back, gaining laughs from the youngest midfielder. The drunk-you was the funniest thing he had been blessed to see, thought Pablo as you explained another dumb thing that your mind had created. However, entranced by your idiocy, he hadn’t seen the way your boyfriend hadn’t reacted to anything that had left your mouth, not even a rise of a brow.

A light suddenly turned red, forcing Pedro to brake forcefully. Everyone in the car was slightly projected towards the front. This had you wheezing, and Pablo following. His nerves were getting eaten bits by bits by the sharp sounds and the puffs of air.

“That was rough babe!” you had exclaimed in a funny tone. You stretched your arms towards the back of his seat, sneaking your hands around until they met his tense shoulders. Your head had followed, making your voice loud and clear to him and Pablo.

“If you could get that rough in bed I wouldn’t say no, the opposite actually!” and if your words were slurred, they still cut right through him, like a blade meeting skin. Bile rose up his throat and if it wasn’t for Pablo’s laugh, he was sure you would have heard his sharp intake of air. “I mean, can you believe it, Pablo? He thinks he is going to hurt me, if anything I just ask for more spices! Like, vanilla is fucking boring...” and his knuckles turned white, gripping the wheel like his last lifeline resort. But no words would come out. Sometimes, Pedro thought he had used up all of the words in the world to say what he felt, there was nothing else out there he could mean. And anger was all that stayed, raging under his skin when he had nothing to express it. It was fueled by every sentence that left your mouth, every giggle and snicker, the outright mocking laugh of Pablo that was there to tease Pedro and his said vanilla habits in bed. And if he knew, if he knew that he was far from the vanilla portray you had depicted. He could be rough, shove you around when you asked, shock you with brutal waves and deprive you from a sense or two when he knew you needed it. It had been spicy, he could explore new things. But he couldn't hurt you, that was a limit he wouldn’t ever be able to cross. You asked for a lot, always more, you wanted to bruise in a nasty way, to bleed and soak the sheets red. You wanted tear tracks and gasps to find the air back. You wanted a monster that wasn’t Pedro, he wouldn’t give you that. So, he would deny it every time, shaking his head and leaving the room if you were too upset to do anything else with him. There were limits he wouldn’t cross, but you would always push for him to do so.

And if Pablo had known all of that, maybe he wouldn’t laugh but he would cry next to Pedro. Maybe he wouldn’t be trying to stabilize his breathing right now while Pedro was patiently trying to keep his calm, biting the inside of his cheek. Only a frown was visible on his impeccably neutral face, the deaf role played perfectly. That’s only when Pablo had caught on that, that his laugh vanished and a confused expression painted his features. Why was he annoyed?

You continued to throw harsh words hidden behind jokes and light tones, giggling and requesting the follow of Pablo. But the younger was now hesitant, politely grinning at you but softening when his eyes would dart to the Canarian. He was more than worried now.

When he parked the car, Pablo asked if Pedro wanted his help to get you up the stairs, until you reached his apartment. He had refused, with only a shake of his head, before gently grabbing your arm and firmly holding your waist, giving everything to make you walk straight, even if it had costed him to bump his arm or hip on walls. Pablo didn’t understand why his friend was so obstinate to do this on his own. It only added to this weird uneasiness blooming inside him. But he hadn’t dared commenting on it, sensing the abrupt refusal he would face. Now he just looked at Pedro, hosting you up the stairs of his apartment once you had finally gotten inside. You would use your hand to hold yourself up against the wall, letting your nails graze the white surface. No movements of Pedro were harsh or rough, only gentleness filled his motion. But his face was still closed off, none of his features had softened since the call. Pablo feared that the deep frown creeping in the middle of the width between his brows would stay permanently like this. He didn’t like the idea, because it would make his joyful expressions less sparkling, they would be faded. He hated it, actually. But he hadn’t said anything as he had watched, standing in the middle of his living room.

He tried to analyze the room, wanting to know if something had changed. something had definitely changed in his best friend’s demeanor. He just couldn’t quite grasp it and it was starting to freak him out. Maybe answers would be there? His apartment was still spotless, nothing out of place. The same pictures were hung on the wall, with his family, with his brother, with his friends, with his teammates, with you. You... He tripped on the thought. Maybe your relationship wasn’t as thriving as he thought? He knew it was healthy to fight for two lovers, it helped to express hidden feelings and to actually improve the relationship. But were you fighting too much? Or Pedro just hadn’t liked you getting drunk at your friend’s place. You were old enough to make your decisions and to enjoy a night with your friends. But the older was a fan of control. He hated losing it and not be able to understand his surrounding or be out of his depth, it would make him anxious the next morning when he would remember things he wouldn’t have normally done sober. He wouldn’t say anything to his friends when they would let go, had never lectured Pablo for getting shit faced at a party. Yet again, you weren’t Pablo. The youngest was sure you were the love of Pedro’s life, you were one of his source of happiness and maybe he just wasn’t used to see you like that. He could understand where his best friend was coming from: it’s hard to let your lover make potentially dangerous decisions, especially if it meant not recognizing them.

However, his thoughts were soon interrupted when he heard a door being softly closed and feet hitting the floor. Pedro was going down the stairs, avoiding any eye contacts with Pablo. He was holding a plaid and his pillow, his lips still sealed. He had gotten used to silence at this point, again, not daring asking questions. The older of the two threw the poor bedding on his couch, not caring arranging it nicely and then, finally, looked up to meet Pablo’s eyes. He had never seen these brown orbs this void of emotions, or drained. Maybe this word was more appropriate, Pablo thought, as he saw nothing inside. There had been something there before, it had been taken away.

“It’s a little bit complicated tonight, I’m sorry... Is it okay if I bring you back at your place?”

Pablo could only nod, he wouldn’t impose his presence to him. He wouldn’t put something else on Pedro’s already heavy shoulders.

“Are you going to sleep there?” and that’s the only thing he dared asking, the only thing that scratched enough the surface to give an idea of the depth of it all to Pablo.

“Yes.” and that was it. The only word that had left the midfielder’s mouth, in a hushed tone, before he grabbed back his keys and went to the door. Wanting to get as fast as he could to his car. Pablo followed, a feeling of urgency overwhelming his senses. Why all of it felt so abnormal. Why did it feel like he was discovering something that had been rotting away for some time already?

He had scratched the surface, now he wanted to dig. In a swift motion, he grabbed the other’s forearm and tugged on it, making hum turn around, just enough for their eyes to meet again.

“If you need anything, I’m here Pedro.”

---

“You okay alone ?”

Pedro had asked that with a concerned tone, worry sipping out of him. Pablo couldn’t hear what you had answered, but your words had slightly calmed his friend down. A sigh had escaped his chapped lips and his hand that had been gripping a handful of the blanket fabric had loosened.

Gavi frowned at those words, looking up at Pedro who was face timing you. He had his hood up while lying under the sheets of his bed. Xavi had made them room together for this clàsico, maybe the coach had sensed the weird thing going on with Pedro. Maybe he had thought that Gavi would be the solution, but clearly the younger wasn’t even aware of how he could help.

“We will talk tomorrow ?”

Another thing you had said that Pablo couldn’t hear. But Pedro had ended the face time not moving, weirdly focused on a spot on the wall. The shadows under his eyes had never been darker, and Pablo did try to find possible reasons that wouldn’t directly mean that his friend had a hard time sleeping. Pedro had been used to the Canary’s sun, the hot weather in winter and so had been his skin. He had probably lost his glow because he hadn’t been getting enough vitamin D, so on his now pale skin, the dark circles were darker, bluer. Or maybe it was the beard accentuating it. But Pablo was aware that it was just thoughts to comfort himself, because he had seen Pedro last year, and the year before and he hadn’t ever looked this tired, this grey. He sighed, and stood up wanting to meet the older boy on his bed. To talk? He wasn’t sure, but the nerves under his skin were pushing him to do something, anything. As he was about to move, asynchronous knocks were heard on their door with what he assumed was Ferran’s voice booming behind it. Bad timing, he thought.

With another sigh, he deviated his former trajectory to go and open the door. Pedro hadn’t reacted one bit at the ruckus. It had made his insides churn, it wasn’t normal. However, he quickly put the thought away, he would have time to dissect it later. Now, he had to manage his older friends who had five years old mindsets. He swung the door open, frowning at Ansu and Ferran who were standing outside in Nike slippers and barça’s tracksuits. The tallest of the two had a wide smile, proudly shaking his Playstation’s controller while Ansu was behind, a smile just as big and hands in his pockets.

“Hello hello, lover boys. We’re here to kick your ass on Fifa!” said Ferran, nudging Pablo so he would move aside, allowing them to enter. They did so, throwing themselves on Gavi’s bed and already fiddling with the TV.

“Eric and Ale should come down in half an hour, they were going to take showers when we asked them.” Added Ansu before turning his attention on Pedro. The said boy had barely acknowledged them, too focused on his phone for that. This had Ansu frowning.

Pablo nodded, dejected. He loved his friends, but he had wanted to talk and get things straight with Pedro, to finally know what is eating his friend away. They couldn’t read a room and he should’ve said something but that meant admitting to other people that something was clearly wrong with their midfielder. He wasn’t sur how much aware they were of the situation, or if they had noticed anything at all. He hadn’t wanted to explain it, in a rush, while Pedro was on his bed not even ten meters away. But now, he wished he had because they were being their hyperactive selves and it seemed like they couldn’t feel the tension in the room.

“Pedri! You playing?” asked Ansu, desperately wanting some sort of reaction from the younger. His frown hadn’t budged but his smile was still there, forming an unusual expression on his youthful face.

“Ask Pablo…” if the other 2002’s smile had slightly faltered, he had tried to hide it as fast as possible. He shrugged, feigning indifference and turning around so he could face the TV. Ferran had finally plugged his controller in and chosen his team. In the end, Pablo and Ferran played together for a while, the older winning easily. Ansu had excused himself, saying they were already making themselves at home in the two midfielders’ room, so he should let the youngest enjoy some videogames. Pablo was far from thankful for this, the older had just turned him away from his frenetic watch over Pedro. He had been so close to prod at Pedri’s bruises, so, so close, and now he was sure he would be back to square one once they would leave. Because that’s how it would always work with the islander: him letting one of his many defenses fall, allowing a glimpse of what would trouble his mind, just so he could rebuild his wall higher, thicker. And every second used to delay the feared conversation, was a step away from the issue.

What Gavi didn’t know, was that Ansu had taken over. He had settled himself across Pablo’s bed, facing Pedro’s, head propped up on his forearms as he analyzed him. The uneasiness he had felt regarding Pedro only deepened the more he took him in. He saw what Pablo saw, the dark circles, the exhausted look in his dark eyes, the mussed hair that would normally fall in small curls bathed in sea water across his forehead, his unusual paleness. But most of all, the constant frown that had settled between his dark brows, how it had created a small crease there, only adding to the pure weariness the younger was displaying. He wasn’t a frowner, nor a pouter, he was so open with his face, giving out shy smiles and sparkling gaze to everyone. Even when he had arrived in Barcelona, two or three years ago, Ansu wasn’t sure, he had never looked so worn out. It had been hard though, he had had to get used to the life in the mainland, especially in Barcelona where everything was stressful, always setting higher expectations. He only had his brother with him, leaving his family and his childhood friends on his small Island, hours away. Homesickness had been the main theme in the first months of his life there and Ansu had watched all of it happen right in front of his caring eyes, the way his smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes, the way he would linger on his phone when everyone would celebrate with their families. He knew how hard it could get, had went through La Masia and had given up on a big part of his childhood for his dream, but he thought that separating from what you had always known was harder the older you got. It must have been harder for Pedri, in that sense. Still, hope found a way to sip out of his irises, reassuring everyone who worried over him. They knew he was strong and was only falling under the long process of adjusting.

Ansu had also been there during the hellish year 2021 had been, for him and for Pedro. The amount of time the younger had spent on the field was astronomical, a little too much for the lack of reward it had brought. All of this for nothing. Obviously, it had taken a toll on the midfielder, how could it not when you give so much but receive so little? Yet, soft smiles and promises for a better future had slipped from his lips, again, reassuring everyone around him.

But what Ansu had in front of him was nothing he had known or seen yet, and he wasn’t sure how he should go about it. Sure, he had been there during these tough times before, had offered a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, and had found ways to comfort the younger. But he had never really been his first confident, Pedro reserving this role to Ferran principally, maybe Gavi now. But with the lack of concern the Valencian was showing, he wasn’t even sure Pedro was actually confiding in someone. This thought formed a knot in his stomach.

Pedri’s phone lit up again, deepening the frown already there and this caught the forward’s attention. This also was a new habit, being an awful lot on his phone. This was some type of addiction usually attributed to Pablo, who could never leave his phone even to go to the toilets, but Pedro had always been more laidback, able to separate from it easily. The artificial hit his tired features, weirdly showing off the storm of emotions dancing in his eyes, normally so well concealed. He was typing fast, chewing on his bottom lip while he waited for something, a text maybe? Ansu noted how he seemed to get even more closed off. He hated this feeling of being too far to reach him all the while being so close. When did their Pedro build this high wall between him and them? Somehow, this had to stop and Ansu knew what he had to do. He copied the midfielder by swiftly taking out his phone, texting Alejandro to wait for them in their room, changing the place of their Fifa tournament. Then, he proceeded to nudge Pablo with his covered foot, showing him the text. He knew that Pablo was more aware about the issue than all of them combined. Despite the credit people gave him, the youngest was observant and had set his eyes on Pedro practically as soon as all of that began. Pablo was aware and wanted to make things right again, so Ansu decided to help. A flash of understanding passed by his pupils before he nodded, conveying his gratefulness with a tight squeeze on his thigh.

“What are you both gossiping about?” chimed in Ferran, seeing how Pablo had turned his attention somewhere else, letting him score a goal without a complaint. He squinted at the duo, trying to pry the electronic device from Ansu’s hands.

“Nothing, Ale asked if we could meet up in our room, his lazy ass doesn’t want to come down.” Lying was bad, not in phase with his religion, but he believed God would forgive him for this white lie if it meant allowing some peace to their friend. Well, at least he hoped so.

“Really? But we’re all set there!”

“Yeah, but Ale doesn’t want to play if he has to move around, plus Eric is siding with him… It won’t be fun if it’s just the three of us.” Ferran had to stop there because Ansu was a bad liar and he was not sure he could keep up if another question was asked.

“I’m on this with Ansu, and Eric is the only one I’m sure I can beat, so…”

With the help of Pablo, Ferran gave up and agreed, turning off the TV and retrieving his things scattered around the room. A wave of relief hit the two youngsters.

When both intruders were finally out of the room, Pablo turned around, eyeing Pedro. He hadn’t moved one bit, still huddled under the heavy blankets of his bed, hood on and eyes fixated on his phone. The Sevillian sighed and came closer, quickly snatching it from his hands. This caused the other midfielder to look up, anger showing on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You need to sleep, you look like a zombie. This means you have to let go of that one.” He said, shaking it in front of the other’s eyes. “I’m taking this up with me just to be sure you sleep. You will get it back when you wake up.” He added, tone firm. Pedro knew he wouldn’t be able to negotiate and he hadn’t enough energy to try to fight Pablo on this. So, he sighed, pissed off, and slid further down his bed, turning around so only his back was visible. Pablo hated doing this, but he knew he was doing the right thing. Even if it meant being slightly hated by his best friend.

When he came back, three hours later, Pedro was waking up. He had tried to be as quiet as possible, but the heavy hotel door was anything but that. Pedro was a light sleeper, Pablo had anticipated that. Still, he didn’t turn the lights on, didn’t talk until he heard Pedro’s voice. Small. Unsure.

“Thank you.” That’s all he had said when the younger had finally sat down on his bed. Pablo looked up confused, not sure what this was about since he couldn’t decipher the older’s expression through the penumbra. Sensing that Pablo wouldn’t answer, Pedro continued. “For making me rest.”

“It’s alright”

Then, silence covered the room. The two were facing each other, not knowing what to say, if there was anything more to say to begin with. Anxiousness could be felt, tensed movements and breath held in. This was uncomfortable and unusual for the both of them. But Pedro was sitting there, head hanging, toying with his fingers, probably hurting the inside of his cheeks with his teeth, and Pablo understood that this had nothing to do with him. That’s probably why he stood up and went to the other bed, sitting next to him. He slid under the covers, four feet bumping together. Everything was easier when you didn’t have to face the difficulties frontally.

“Isabela sent many texts…” he hadn’t brought up the phone yet, but he had to talk about it at some point. Perhaps, beginning with this was the best way to get something out of Pedro.

“Hmm?”

“You both seem close”

“We are not.” Pedro had defended himself directly, slamming the idea down as fast as possible.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Like that silence returned, sitting there like a king on its throne. Pablo hated silence. They waited and waited. Someone had to break first and the Sevillian was impressed by the way Pedro was holding on, like used to this.

“I believe this has something to do with Y/N… That’s what I meant.”

“Hmm”

And God, did he hate it when he didn’t receive straight answers. But this lack of direct response was the hint he needed to know that he had hit the nail. That’s why Pablo pushed, and pushed and pushed, prodding and toying with words just to put his fingertips on the guarded truth inside of his best friend’s heart. He kept going until the other would break, until the questions would be too much for him. And it had seemed like an eternity before the older let out a faint trace of reality. He had said it with all the calmness he had, concealing his emotions like a professional, explaining all sort of things. Allowing Pablo to meet his deepest insecurities, fears even.

He wasn’t enough, didn’t feel like enough. He felt like his shoes were too big for him, the world too wide and like everyone around him saw it. He wasn’t enough for you, hadn’t been for a while and whether it’s his fault or not didn’t change a thing, he couldn’t do more and you had distanced yourself from him for that. He felt alone, had been left alone in his apartment, dotted with traces of you. And he wasn’t even enough for himself now, unsure of what to do, there by himself. He also knew he was vanishing little by little from his friends’ backgrounds, not being present enough, hiding away. He wasn’t enough for his friends. And even in football, he wasn’t enough, for the team, for his fans, for his teammates. All of that was weighing him down and he was waiting for the breakpoint.

Pablo understood, knew he had had a part to play in that. He knew words could affect someone and he knew, while angry, he could throw them without a care, slicing through the other’s skin. He felt incredibly guilty right at this moment. He remembered what he had said weeks ago, using these exact words to describe Pedro, wanting to hurt as much as possible to vent his frustration. He hadn’t known, never would he have said that if he had an idea of what was going on inside his friend’s head. But these words had left his mouth and had hit right where he had aimed at. They hadn’t talked for days after that, yet it had still been Pedro who had come back, asking for a truce, always the mature one. It made something churn in his stomach, so ugly and uneasy. Pedro had gone to him, put aside his overwhelming worries, just to get his Gavi back. The more he thought about it, the worse it was. He had pushed his friend further down the dark alley the young man had already been pried in.

An apology was on the tip of his tongue, screaming to be said. But he kept his mouth shut, not sure if he had to make this about this fight, about himself. Pedro was next to him, putting all his energy into keeping his tears at bay, forbidding them to fall.

Now, Pablo wasn’t even sure if he could touch him to relieve him from this burden, even a little bit. Touches were his love language, using it to sooth people around him and to show them how much he cared. But that wasn’t Pedri’s.

Pablo didn’t know what it was now.

---

“Y/N...” the way he had dragged your name had you looking up from the couch, brows furrowed. You tried a smile, making it as natural as possible, wanting to ease the closed off expression on your boyfriend’s face. It hadn’t worked. He had sat down on the floor, in front of the couch, but had let quite the distance between the two of you. His knees were up in way that allowed him to circle them with his arms. You copied him, feeling as if it was the right thing to do. One of the right things you could do, for him? Maybe.

“I saw Isabela’s story.”

How much you had hoped that he hadn’t.

Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes when you connected the dots, when you understood what it meant. You wouldn’t let them fall though, it wasn’t your right to do so. Maybe, that could be the thing you owed him. Strength and honesty.

“Why?” the way he had croaked out this small word told you how much strength it had taken from him, he felt drained. He hadn’t ever known how much a word could represent and hold, before.

You were looking at him without moving, trying to swallow a sob that was coming up your throat, ready to erupt and break the silence that enveloped the room. You had no answers, or maybe you had but you refused to force them on Pedro. His ears should never meet your rotten words. It would be unfair. He was such an important part of your life, the healthiest one. He was your anchor, the one that kept you afloat when the waves hit you so harshly that it felt like you were drowning. But every time, he would hold on tightly, for the both of you because, of course, you couldn’t help but drag him with you, down in the Abyss that was the nauseous path of your life. He had never complained, always mediating things and reassuring you. How much longer before you would be the one drowning him?

“Please, YN...”

You hadn’t known your heart could break again. You had pushed him so far, he had to let out pleas. You were a monster, how could you put him through that? Why did he stay? The heartbreaking sound that had passed his mouth was enough to finally let the tears flow, running down your pale cheeks. Your eyes hadn’t dared leaving his, but you wished you had. Because, right at this moment, you were seeing how much you had taken from him. His beautiful, hazel eyes, were supposed to hold the world, shine under the soft sun rays and sparkle at everything. They weren’t supposed to look this somber, like nothing could bring back the amused glint that made you fall in love. They weren’t supposed to look like they had been drained from everything they held, and now only two dots remained on a fatigued face. You took a deep breath, wanting to calm down so you could explain. He at least deserved that. He deserved so much more. Through the tears, you had opened your mouth, working around your abused vocal cords and the lump that felt all too suffocating.

“I wasn’t myself, I was stoned and drunk and he was there.” another intake of air filled your lungs. You could feel a sharp sting on your thumb where you had torn a dead skin, blood circling your nail by trailing down its curve. “I was so lost, Pedro. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I needed to feel something and I don’t know why my brain didn’t scream at me when I agreed. I regret it!”

He had turned his head, preferring the sight of the foot of the couch rather than your curled up form. You were able to see his knuckles, white from the force he was gripping his elbows with. Now, unable to see his eyes, you understood you had lost the right to delve into his soul. It had been only a question of time, he should have taken that right from you a long time ago.

“You have to believe me when I say that! I regret it, I don’t know why I did it! But you have to believe me, Pedro!” and sobs were racking your body, making your voice tremble. You had never been this desperate. You wanted him to know that you were beating yourself up over that. That he was irreplaceable, the most important constant in your life, and nothing that had happened last night meant a thing next to him. You hated yourself for it, for everything you had done. “Please, believe me.”

“How far did you two go ?”

His voice was uneven and if his hands were shaking, you tried to erase it from your memories. Because you couldn’t be the one to bring him to this state. He couldn’t be your relief in life while you were his poison. That’s why you had diverted your eyes, instead focusing them on the fabric of your jeans. It was uneven, or maybe it was the thick droplets your eyelashes had collected that made it hard to see. Silence was filling the room and you knew you had to explain yourself, he deserved it. But you were such a coward, he should have known by now.

“Ok...” and the sigh he had let out, murmured and shaky, made you look up. He couldn’t stay with false information. He couldn’t believe what his mind had created, even though your truth wasn’t much better.

“We... It wasn’t all the way” God, why was it impossible for your voice to be stable ? You hated yourself for looking this weak when you should be the figure of force, you had inflected such pain on him. You should be rotting in hell, not sitting here, in front of him while you knew he was only waiting to understand. You knew he was too good for you, too good to be in your life. He hadn’t moved one bit. “It was just some teasing, with our hands...” you had whispered the last part, feeling incredibly ashamed by the person you were. You were describing the foreplay you had done with a random guy to your boyfriend, the boy you were supposed to love. You had to hide most details, you couldn’t hurt him more. He should never know how much you had enjoyed it, easily chanting a name that wasn’t his, easily adapting to another body. What was so wrong with you, that you couldn’t deny having taken pleasure with someone else while perfectly knowing you were inflicting torture on Pedro.

He had snorted. Had shaken his head.

“Just some teasing...”

"That’s not what I wanted to say!” you exclaimed, seeing how awful your phrasing had made it look like. It hadn’t been nothing. “We didn’t make love, Pedro.”

“I hope so. Making love is normally reserved to the people you actually love. I do hope I’m still that to you.”

His voice had been so cold. You had never heard his voice be this flat, not letting out any emotions. Your Pedro was supposed to be an open book, venting his frustration when he needed to and always having this mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, his voice a testimony of his usual happiness. Your tears had stopped when you had heard his tone, so shocked that you didn’t know how to respond.

“Am I, though?”

The question hurt so much more than everything else because you were slowly becoming aware that your betrayal hadn’t only been a physical one, but you had pushed him so far that he wasn’t even sure that you loved him. However, your lack of answer told him the opposite of what you were feeling. His guard came up, so high, higher than you had ever seen. You quickly stood up, wobbly on your legs and breath short. One step, a second one, and a final third before you finally squatted down so you could be eye to eye. Your shaky hand took a hold of his but you knew he wasn’t responsive. Usually, his fingers would caress the back of your hand in slow and small circles. It was just a dead weight now, one you were desperately holding on.

“I do! I love you so much, Pedro!” and sobs were being inserted between your words. “You are the love of my life.”

The way he had retracted his hand when you had said the intimate sentence, the one usually whispered in between your bedsheets, secured in the dark of the night and only your two breaths present, was all you needed to understand how fucked up all of it was. His frown had deepened but you knew that it was to make the tears pass, so he could go back to being the strong young man, stable and healthy, Pedri everyone knew. He pushed himself up so he could stand, taking steps back away from you. He had never felt farer.

“Forgive me, please” sobs wracked your body. Your hands were twisting the fabric of the dark hoodie you were wearing, crinkling it. “I will do anything, literally anything! I can’t live without you.”

Pedro shook his head, thinking, racking his brain with confusing thoughts. He passed a hand on his face, letting a shaky sigh out before ruffling his hair. Those were his anxious tics, you knew it. His curls were a mess, his fringe sticking to his forehead and with the way some strands seemed to stick out, it was evident he had tugged on them. And that broke you, completely, unforgivingly, shattered your heart and all the butterflies that Pedro had introduced to your stomach. They had all died with his trust and faith. Now you were a shell that had sheltered his love, your heart a Roman pit displaying the remnants of your relationship, buried under months of hurt and distance. You had done this, just like Pompei had shrouded Napoli with its thick cover of ashes, suffocating every ounce of life there was. Maybe, in the years to come, you would find perfectly conserved pieces of what you had had with Pedro, but now you could only see devastations, what you had selfishly destroyed.

“I can’t do it if you’re not there” you had whispered it and you knew, that you were again putting it on his shoulders. Asking for more, taking more than you should ever have in the first place. But how could you help it? He was your anchor, one of the rare things that still linked you to life. He knew it too. You hated holding him with that, using culpability and fear, but you had to. You weren’t sure you would survive if not.

“We never talk about that again, ever. Tomorrow, we will pick up where we were, and this has never happened.”

As his words had left his mouth, he left, not looking at you, never. He hadn’t slammed the door, just shutting it softly so only the faint click could be heard. He had bent, and weirdly, this made you feel even guiltier. There hadn’t been shouts, nor violent movements, just pure sadness in sideration.

That night, you went to bed, sliding under the thick blanket but still feeling cold and you had inhaled his scent on his designated pillow, not messing his side of the bed so when he would come back, he would make himself comfortable. You didn’t want to refuse him his pleasures. That night, you fell asleep looking at your window, trying to see if you could see his shadow reflecting on the road’s concrete, if he ever passed under the streetlight right under your room. That night, you fell asleep without ever knowing that he had come back, hours later, getting next to you but not daring touching you. That night, you were sleeping while he was awake.

---

“Is your brother in town ?” the physiotherapist asked Pedro. The midfielder looked away, his gaze fixed on the space the door wasn’t hiding. he could see the corridor and the staff moving around, his teammates still on the pitch.

“No, he’s coming back in a week I think... He had to help my parents at the restaurant.” he shrugged as he let himself be prodded at, poked around and stretched. He hated this part of his job, even though he knew his body needed it, especially now, with an injury straining his muscles, burning under his skin. The physio sighed as an apologetic expression appeared on her face.

“Do you have anyone who could stay with you? I believe that you can’t really put pressure on your thigh for now and I would be reassured if I knew you would be staying with someone who could keep you still.” she continued, pressing at the front of his thigh with cold fingers. It had stung, so hard, but in a fucked-up way, he relished in that. The way every press of fingers felt like needles piercing his skin.

“I will find someone.” he said, not meeting her eyes, still focused on the corridor. If he had watched her face, he would have seen the deep frown, the worried feeling emanating from her green orbs, everything that transpired concern. But he hadn’t. She knew injuries weren’t that greatly accepted by players, especially the younger ones, but Pedro was usually calm and mostly collected. It was rare to see him so out of touch with his own emotions. She didn’t like it, and she wanted to know that he wouldn’t withdraw himself from the rest of the team during his healing time. She knew how the new generation, Gavi, Baldé, Ansu, him, felt like no mistakes were allowed and wanted to give their best. She knew that an injury meant time off, she wanted them to relativize. It was easier said than done.

She let him off the hook so he could go change, and maybe process everything that had happened and would most likely happen. He had limped towards the changing room, accepting in silence the half hugs of the staff and the encouraging words, only nodding and trying to smile. Once inside the large room, alone, he sighed and began to take off his kit, wanting a warm shower.

The hot droplets of water hit his skin, sliding down every bump and crease, some would trail at the tip of his fingers, holding on before letting themselves fall and crashing against the white tiles. His brown curls were flattening against his forehead, long enough to peak in front of his eyes. He knew the physio was right, he shouldn’t stay alone. He was already mobilizing his thigh by standing there when he should stay sat. But he couldn’t call you, ask you that. You were already a mess, Pedro was the one who was supposed to take care of you. He couldn’t demand that of you when you were struggling so much. So, he would keep you free, and not put something else on you. He hoped that Ferran would be alone this week, until his brother came back, so he could at least dare to ask him if he could stay at his place to keep an eye on him. How was he going to make sure you were safe ? Another worry settled under his skin, it all felt too much.

When the skin of his fingers had wrinkled and the hotness of the water hadn’t seemed to be enough to warm him up, he decided to get dressed. His movements were slow, careful to not abuse his thigh. Socks on, shoes tied, hood up. He was now sitting on the bench, inside the changing room, waiting for his teammates to come back. He hadn’t checked his phone once, not wanting to see worried messages from his parents or pity comments on social medias. His ears perked up when he heard the happy chatter of his team in the corridor. There were shouts of “vamos” and laughters. He would have lied if he had ever said that right at this moment, his insides weren’t painted green with jealousy. He wanted to be out there, with them, celebrating and chanting Barça. He wanted the carefree spirit that seemed to surround them and bath in the same light as they were. He wanted so much, had dared to take it at some point, but now he seemed content with the sour taste of envy and didn’t care enough to try to grab it too. So, he stayed there, waiting for them to burst in the room, all sweaty. And they did, seconds later, with wide smiles and jerseys already off.

“Sorry for your injury bro, hope it’s not too serious!” Ansu said, genuine worry visible in his eyes as he patted Pedri’s shoulder. He had been the first one to come closer, and break Pedro’s bubble by touching him.

“It should be okay... They want to run more tests though.” He tried to show confidence, wanting to keep all of them collected when he was falling apart himself. That was enough to satisfy the foreword who had let out a “thank god” with an appeased smile. He had left to change not long after. And a chorus of the same questions and remarks followed, each by a different player, even Xavi. He answered the same way, for each of them. He knew the coach would have his medical file anyway, they would discuss it later.

Ferran finally entered, a wide smile playing on his lips and eyes shining. His facial expression had softened once his eyes had settled on Pedro’s form, but the glint was still there. he came closer, his jersey hanging on his shoulder. “You good?” he had asked, squatting down so he could entirely face the midfielder. Pedro couldn’t really lie to him, Ferran had been such a constant in his life that he felt like he owed him the truth. However, the words of truth wouldn’t live his mouth, so he shrugged, sighing heavily. The older nodded, trying to put himself in his friend’s shoes, squeezing the other’s knee. He wasn’t sure what else he could add to that other than offering a needed silence to his best friend.

“What’s gotten you so happy?” Pedro decided to ask, wanting to switch topics and divert the attention to Ferran. He wanted to know why he was happier than ever, surely his joy could be felt miles away.

“Sira came to the game and I saw her just before... You know, it had been some time since we last saw each other, so you know... Got me feeling all mushy inside!” he had laughed while saying the last part of his sentence, a faint blush painting his cheeks. Pedro didn’t know. It had been a while since he had felt all ‘mushy inside’ because of you.

“Oh...” he frowned, avoiding the other’s eyes. “I thought she had to be away for a competition ?”

“Oh, yeah! Well, it had been delayed because the weather is way too harsh out there right now.” Ferran had said that while throwing his sweaty jersey on the floor, right where the others were. It had created a pile of smelly, red and blue fabrics, all wet and scrunched up. “I’m so happy man, you have no idea!”

And Pedro had tried to give him one of his bright smiles, he really had. But it had seemed all too hard to do, too close to fake. He had only been able to muster a faint grin. He was relieved to know that Ferran was so absorbed in his own bubble of love that he hadn’t detected the deflect on Pedro’s shoulders. neither the trembling sigh that had left his lips once he had decided to leave him alone in order to get changed.

He surely couldn’t ask Ferran to stay at his. Not now. He had madly missed Sira, always complaining about the remaining days that kept them apart. And Pedro wouldn’t ever steal this moment from him, the moment where he could finally reunite with the girl he loved so much that he had completely changed for her. Pedro wouldn’t dare take that away. It’s okay, really. He would just do it on his own, a week wasn’t that long. He could easily spare his thigh during this short amount of time. He had to plan it all, but he could do it. And a white lie wouldn’t hurt the physio, he hated not being honest, especially with people who were there to care for his health but he didn’t really have any other choice anyway.

He had stood up, readjusting his hood. He was ready to leave, wanting to be as quick as possible back at home to crash in his bed and sleep it all away, until next morning. However, the firm hand on his forearm had prevented him to do so. With furrowed brows, he looked up, finding Pablo standing in front of him, wet hair from his shower and practically fully dressed.

“Wait for me...” he said, eyes boring into his, as if trying to make his point across.

“Wasn’t Aurora supposed to bring you home ?” he was sure he had seen the oldest Gavira before the game had begun, he was also sure that Pablo had told him not to wait for him once the game was done. The younger shook his head while sitting down in order to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, but we need to grab your things at yours, so I’m going with you.”

“What are you talking about, Pablo ?” Pedro’s brain was slow, slower than it should be and he couldn’t quite grasp what his best friend was saying. He had an idea nagging at the back of his brain, but he certainly didn’t want to entertain it. Not when he had resigned himself just minutes ago.

“Well for your stay, obviously. I love you bro, but I don’t really feel like offering you my closet, especially my boxers, that’s crazy disgusting.” and Pedro had still a confused frown etched on his face, eyeing Pablo as if he was spouting nonsense. Gavi sighed, eyes softening at the lost sight of the Canarian. “The physio asked Xavi with whom you were staying. Sira is here, and I know you, I know you would hate it, putting yourself between them and since you aren’t one to ask for help, I’m doing it for you.” he rented while messily tying his shoes, knots weirdly formed but apparently it worked for him. “You’re staying at mine, and I won’t take ‘no’ as an answer.” he finally declared, standing up again to face Pedro.

Silence was what got Pablo after his long speech. The older hadn’t moved an inch, but his face showed how much he was absorbing all of these words. Pedro had thought about asking Pablo, when he had understood that Ferran’s place wasn’t going to be possible. But he couldn’t rely on the younger too much. He was young, so young, and having Pedro staying at his place seemed like a burden. Pedro felt like a burden and he would hate it to be Gavi’s ankle ball. He was younger, by two years, and if anything, it was Pedro who should take care of him. Pedro had to take care of a lot of people, he knew it, and Pablo was one of them. The other way around was barely acceptable in his mind. So, he had resigned himself and decided to not ask, avoid the topic overall with the Sevillian. But he hadn’t thought of how relieving it would be, to not have to ask and to have someone do it for him. Pablo had taken care of him without asking, without demanding of him to make the effort and ask for help. It was such a weird feeling that a thin shin of water had gathered at the corner of his eyes. If Pablo had seen it, he wouldn’t be one to comment on it.

Just like he wouldn’t comment on the whispered ‘thank you’ he had received in the car, when they had collected a bag full of Pedro’s things, on their way to Pablo’s. Just like he wouldn’t comment on why staying at yours wasn’t a possibility. Just like he wouldn’t comment on why Pedro hadn’t even mentioned you.

Pablo had a heart made of gold, he proudly wore it on his sleeve and prided himself on understanding other’s feelings thanks to it. Pedro thought that nothing in the world could be truer than that.

His murmured ‘thank you’ wasn’t just for the coming week. It was for everything the younger was and had done. These two words couldn’t even come close to what Pedro had really wanted to say.

---

“Oh my god, Pablo! How many times do I have to tell you to not leave your shoes in the middle of the entrance!” Aurora yelled as fumbling could be heard. “I almost tripped, you idiot!”

Then she finally appeared in the living room, one of her hands holding onto a steaming coffee cup while the other was gripping her phone and a not so tidy binder. She had her hair down with golden hair clips to keep the locks at the front to get in her eyes. So dressed up, so put together and it was still so early in the morning, well not that early but for his overworked mind, nine A.M was too early, he wasn’t sure how she was able to be this hyped.

“Oh, hi Pedro! Sorry, I thought you were still asleep…” she laughed as she finally settled everything down on the coffee table. He shrugged, straightening a little bit to make some sort of good impression. He had known Aurora for as long as he had known Pablo. She had been such a strong presence for her little brother, always babying him, making sure everything is going well. Pedro would see her at every game at home, screaming and clapping with a giant smile on, probably flaunting her brother’s talent to her friends. Then she would be here every morning, when he would be pick up the youngest of the team, dragging him outside, excusing him to Pedro for his tardiness. She cared so much, and he knew his own brother cared as much, and in his biased mind, he was even sure that Fer cared more than Aurora. But their love language wasn’t as soft as the Gavira’s one. Because a punch in the arm and a teasing remark was the equivalent of a forehead kiss and a hand running through brownish locks for them. And sometimes, he would love to have it too, having these genuine and feminine marks of affection that are characteristic of a mother or a sister. He missed his mom. And he wasn’t sure how, nor since when had he started craving the softness of love, the gentle touches and the soothing words. He had never needed it much before, plenty aware of the love that was surrounding him, but now it felt suffocating to be without it. Like the world was too cold, too hard, too violent to continue without healing touches.

“No, it’s okay, I couldn’t sleep much anyway.” She nodded and moved around, getting her blazer off, tying her hair up. She then slumped on the couch, right next to him, a sigh of contentment leaving her lips.

“Where is Pablo?” she remarked after minutes of being here and not having had a glimpse of her younger brother. Which was weird since she had nagged, the exact attitude that would get him riled up and ready to fight back, smart responses on his lips. She frowned, turning around to see if his jacket was hung on the coat hanger, but the beige clothe wasn’t.

“He said something about seeing Ana before training.”

“Ah, right! She’s in Barcelona for two days, I think?” she said, unsure of what Pablo had told her. “Be ready to not get a glimpse of Pablo the entire time she’s here, this boy acts like they haven’t seen each other for years, when she had been there last week.” she added, rolling her eyes. But Pedro could easily decipher the fondness in her tone. He knew Aurora loved Ana for Gavi, she loved the fact that her brother was secure, feeling complete and loved and even though the relationship was long distance, nothing compared in her heart to the beaming smile Pablo would wear every time Ana was mentioned. She knew they had something solid and beautiful. Aurora knew how to share and she would gladly give up a little bit of Pablo for that.

“I would know…” she had said, after seconds of silence. This had Pedro facing her, confused about what she had meant by that. The girl rose a brow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed, a weird blush creeping up his neck when realization hit him. The airy laugh of Aurora met his and it only added to the giggling mess they formed, his hands covering his face when he felt like he was dying. Dying of laughter. She was also losing herself, wanting to talk through her hysterical fit but the lack of air made her voice go higher and higher, impossible to form coherent words. There it was, another wave of laughter thanks to her. She grabbed his forearm, tugging at it so she could see his face. He tried to escape, wriggling and catching his breath at the same time.

“Thank you but I really didn’t want to know that!” he said, still giggling. She opened her mouth to respond but she laughed again, slapping his knee.

“You think I wanted to ? It was so weird to hear it!” he snorted at that, making a disgusted face which had her laughing again. They had let this joyful tide nip at their skin, trying to get through it and inject serotonin in their veins, making them euphoric. They were finally regaining their breath when the comic situation had settled, allowing them to stay sat, a content smile on their faces.

“And ? What exactly did you hear?” she rolled her eyes, slapping his knee again. He was sure he would gain a bruise or two by the end of the day if she persisted on hitting him. “No, really! Did it sound fake?”

“Do you think I tried to analyze it? We are talking about my little brother, Pedri! This shit, he already disgusts me on a daily basis, knowing he indulges in these kind of activities makes it worst!”

“You do know that she is not his first, right? He has been dipping his wick for a long time, nothing new.” He teased, eyeing her, noticing the scarlet color on her cheeks. Oh, what a great audience she was, so receptive and ready to pounce. A Gavira, he would say. If he hadn’t known the two were related, he was sure he still would have been able to make the connections.

“Do you want me to puke?”

He snorted, nudging her. Such a dramatic woman. She exhaled with a faint grin on her face, relaxing and looking at him fondly. She was now completely facing him since she had turned around on the couch, bringing her legs up so she could sit cross-legged.

“And you?”

“What? Want to know since when I’ve lost my V-card?” she rolled her eyes, slapping his knee, again. Did she want to injure his other leg? That crazy woman… He really had to stop hanging out with Pablo, he was beginning to speak like him, about his sister. Yes, the younger was definitely rubbing off on him.

“Gross!”

“As if it didn’t cross your mind…” he teased, poking her cheek.

“I was asking about you and Y/N” her voice was above a whisper, soft yet still prying. Never in his life had he felt his emotions change this fast. It was like a switch had been flipped, passing from day to night in a matter of seconds. He knew that she had been suspecting some things, but he couldn’t fathom the idea that she would bring it up.

“We can talk about it” she added, her eyes softening so much that it was overwhelming to Pedro. He felt so much compassion from her and he couldn’t understand why. Why was she looking at him as if he were bound to break any moments? He hated it, he hated bringing attention especially this way.

“There is not much to say, really” he responded, trying to ease his answer with a smile. It fell flat, her serious expression telling him she wasn’t believing him one bit.

“I’m not dumb, Pedro” she frowned but she hadn’t moved other than that. “Why aren’t you at hers?”

He sighed, turning his head to look at the kitchen and the wide window there. He could see trees that hid the rest of the buildings surrounding Pablo’s, big and luxurious. “We are just going through a rough patch. It will get better soon.”

“I believe it’s more than a rough patch… How come it’s been months since I’ve seen you laugh this genuinely?” and he had no answers to that statement. Aurora was correct and a gnawing feeling was invading his stomach, letting the sour taste of bile climbing his throat. If she had remarked, everyone else probably had because sure they were close, but he was far from spending all of his time with her. The idea made his head spin with worry and he absolutely had to find a way to get out of this conversation.

“Look, Gavi actually told me some things…”

“What?” he turned his head quickly, finally meeting her concerned gaze. If he hadn’t felt this betrayed, he might have caught on the frown that had settled on her lips and the nervous habit of hers of playing with a dead skin around her finger. “Are you both talking about me behind my back?”

“It’s not like that!”

“Am I your good deed? So you can feel at ease with yourself, so God can be proud of you?”

He was becoming hysterical, irrational, standing up, so he was way taller than Aurora, so he could grasp a little bit of the control she had egoistically taken away from him. She also stood up, fury evident on her face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We just want to take care of you! We care for you, Pedro!”

And, magically, those words slightly appeased the wild storm that had formed in his brain. He knew he had made no sense, and the two siblings wouldn’t ever see him like that. But it was soon replaced by guilt and the nauseous feeling of being caught. He was trapped and she wouldn’t let go.

“Well, I don’t need it. I appreciate the effort, but it’s not your role.” His tone was harsh, wanting to scare her away. Hurt her? Aurora was strong and impossibly stubborn. She wasn’t the type to give up because Pedro had used condescending words.

“And why wouldn’t it be? As a friend, it is in fact my role.”

“No! Your role isn’t to be burdened with my problems.”

“So when I told you about being homesick, missing Sevilla and all of the other things that were wrong in my life, I was burdening you?” and if it had been a game, she would have scored, hitting the right corner, deforming the net while the goalkeeper wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“It’s not the same!”

“Stop that! With the ‘I’m older, I have to shoulder everything and bottle things up because I don’t want to burden my friends who happen to be younger’ trope. Pablo is strong, he is clever even if he doesn’t look like it. He can understand things and be there for you, actually I believe he is more loyal than some of your older friends. You have to give us credits, we are younger, not dumb or too sensitive for life, Pedro. We can help you: you can confide in us and rely on us. You are only punishing yourself by keeping to yourself.”

She was panting by the end of her rant, worry mixing with anger. The sight was so unusual that swallowing was hard, feeling so small under her passionate eyes. She was intending to make her point come across, breaking through his skull.

“Yes, I’m younger than you. But I still see you as a little brother. Is that weird? Is it because you are like glued to my brother or is it because you remind me so much of him? I’m not sure, but I do have this sentiment that pushes me to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. It’s the same one I have every time I see Pablo frown. But Pablo vents, he runs his mouth and can’t keep shit to himself, so I know what’s going on and it’s easy to help him. On the other hand, you are so closed off, Pedro. And I don’t know how to be here for you, because I have to be there. I have to look out for you because how can I not? We are a family, the moment you chose to take my brother as your passenger princess you were a part of our family. Not to mention you prevent him from getting his head chopped off every games. And as a part of my family, I have to protect you at all cost, younger or not!”

He was pathetic. He must be a sight, right? The Barça golden midfielder standing in the middle of a living room, tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to fall, hands trembling with the sick need of running away from a small woman who only wanted to give him the help he desperately needed.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not. And that’s okay! I’m prodding right where it hurts. But it’s beginning to take a toll on you, you have to let people in. Pedro, please.”

She had slid a firm hand down his arm, grabbing his hand so gently that his shakiness seemed to transfer to her. She tugged at it, trying to coax him on the couch and he obliged because she had poured so much for him. Ranted and exposed her own feelings and opinions so he could find comfort in them. He owed her that. So, he had sat down, not letting go of her hand and sniffing, trying to keep the salty water at bay. After a deep breath, words and sentences he had buried deep inside him slipped out, meeting Aurora’s full attention. The months of hurt were finally known along with feeling of not being enough, never being enough. His insecurities, yours too, the no man’s land your relationship was now. It all spilled. And with a little push, Aurora had made him say what he thought deep in the night, scared and sick of his own need, but never acting on it. He didn’t want to be selfish, especially not with you because at some point he had been sure he would give up on his life for you, and he had believed you would do the same. Before, you would have. But it all had went to hell five months ago, and Pedro knew the reasons, he understood. He knew you had given up on yourself, not directly on your relationship, but it still hurt and he wanted so much to hold onto it. He sincerely believed it had only been a rough patch and you would go back to being yourself, but one month had passed and you were more outside than in your own place, less with Pedro, your home. The second month held hope because you had tried so, so hard to heal, for him, and you were filled with proudness when you saw him at the World Cup, he was shining and your heart had been beating for him. But they had lost and when Pedro had come back home, the person you were was far gone. He had buried his own doubts and hurt to try to keep you afloat, bottling everything up so he could be available. He had had no time to reflect on their loss, on what it had meant and not processing it made the sting come back, sometimes. He hadn’t had a healing touch from you, you hadn’t reassured him or told him it was alright and things would be fine after a while, you hadn’t and he had felt like something was missing. Then December came, family time, right? You had refused to spend Christmas with his family, even if he had told you that it was alright, that last year you had spent it with them and it had been great. And when Eric had asked him if he wanted to come to the new year’s party him and Ferran were throwing, he had denied, preferring staying with you. They didn’t have to know that you had went at Isabela’s and came back around four in the morning, completely drunk and a giggling mess. You had forgotten about him, but he hadn’t said anything. It had been alright, maybe you had needed the time out. But then it had been the same the next Saturday, and the next, and the next and you wouldn’t show up at any of his games and as time passed, you were more drunk and partying than sober and with him. He had tried, he had cleared his schedule as well as he could to go back to your place rather than at his, he had asked his manager to just focus on his principal sponsors and his club, so he could have time. But it had been no use. He couldn’t count how many times he had opened your door to nothing but emptiness. You had said sorry, but it sounded blend in his ears. Maybe he should have shaken you before, making it clear that you also had to take care of him at some point, that you couldn’t take him for granted. But he hadn’t and it was his fault, really. Plus, he was far from being the one who suffered the most, if anything, all of that was because of how much pain you were in. He had no rights to want to let go and give up on what you had.

“She has no one, Aurora. No one.” His tears were falling freely on his skin, but slowly, the kind of tears that bore witness of relief. It was so appeasing to let go of the eternal pressure that had been squeezing his insides that he hadn’t moved to dry them. He let it be. “And I’m here, crying while thinking about myself. I have so many people who care for me, I have my family, I have Pablo, I have Ferran, I have you. She has no one. I’m horrible.”

“No.” Aurora seemed so confident here with her hands cradling his face, trying to let her sleeves soaking the dampness of his skin. “Listen to me, it’s okay to let go. You are also a victim of her condition, and it’s okay to not know how to manage it. You can let go, it doesn’t mean you are a bad person. It’s not selfish to put yourself first.”

And he hadn’t even brought up the idea of leaving to the young Sevillian, hadn’t mentioned it. But she had and maybe hearing that he wasn’t guilty, that it wasn’t his fault and he had the right to choose for himself, maybe hearing it, was soothing. Because someone knew and understood. He was legitimate.

“If she loves you, she will understand.”

---

The sun had set a long time ago, leaving the city in a heavy penumbra, perfectly matching with the coldness of winter. Only the fog was missing, thought the young midfielder as he looked around, searching for your figure in the street. He would be reassured if only he would be graced by a shadow of you, just the sound of your voice would suffice. But he had been there for half an hour, sitting on the steps of your building, under the yellowish glow of the streetlights. He had his hood up, hiding his face, hands in his pockets, clutching his phone in case you called. You never did.

God, did he seem pathetic.

By now, even the stars were hidden behind the thick clouds, only offering a black patch in the sky.

He sighed, leaning his head on the cold wall behind him. He couldn’t even feel his fingers now, his muscles numb. Numb. Everything was numb, his muscles, his limbs, his mind, his heart. It was like he had been put under anesthetic and the world around him was asking for him to move, to interact with it. He couldn’t, didn’t feel like doing this extra effort. So, he had decided to stay there, limply sitting against the building where his lover should be right now, safe and sound. You weren’t and he had been done worrying, even frustration wasn’t a part of the equation now. He was done feeling, he thought. He knew that it wasn’t true, that he could feel things, but right now he wished to stay in this unmoving side, where the sea was calm and still, where the wind stopped blowing and the Earth stopped spinning. He craved for the emptiness his mind could offer sometimes, the void, even if it meant being entirely disconnected from his surroundings. He wasn’t sure how it was possible for him to dissociate so much, every time he heard or saw something that should ignite infinite anger and wrench, he would put a wall between them and just stand there, reacting with his mind. Doing what he should do, in a logical way. That wasn’t healthy, he had heard many people talk about that. He wasn’t down to a bad habit anyway.

Another sigh left his chapped lips, leaving his mouth in a white steam. And his absent mind was brought back when he felt something bump on his foot. A pair of Stan smith, matching with his own.

“Need some money?”

Your voice had been light, a slight lull at the end of your question which hinted that you were in a euphoric state. He looked up, a frown marking his brows. Your coat was zipped up, showing how cold you were, cheeks flushed and nose running. But something in your eyes wasn’t adding up. They were unfocused and dilated, in a way he had never quite seen. That was probably why he hadn’t responded to your jokes, hadn’t laughed.

“Did you smoke?” he finally asked, standing up as he said it. He was hovering over you, his frame wide next to yours. You were facing each other, gazes fighting for the truth. You shrugged, rolling your eyes. That wasn’t a big deal in your mind.

“Shit? Weed?” venom was dripping from his voice and maybe if you were more yourself, you would have heard worry meeting disgust.

“Weed” a giggle had left your lips. You wanted to rile him up, to make him so angry so he could rough you up. You stepped on the side, pressing your key’s magnet on the door of your building to open it, ignoring Pedro at the same time.

“Oh, at least it’s natural, huh?” how much more sarcastic could he get? You nodded, proudly.

Why were you doing this to him? So harsh in your reactions, that all the worry and the relief from seeing you safe had vanished, replaced by white anger.

He had to calm down, he couldn’t let you eat his nerves like that. He couldn’t let you push him on edge every time, unsure if he would fall or not. He had to stay stable and collected. He had to keep on being himself. So, he followed you, silence filling the space you were sharing as you climbed up the stairs, reaching your front door. You opened it, not caring if he was coming in or not, not even taking off your shoes. You took off your coat, letting it fall at your feet and slumped on the couch. Dirty clothes were pushed on its side, creating a small pile of dark shades, replacing the giant velvet heart pillow you had bought in your favorite indie store. Cups of what he had imagined being tea were collected on your coffee table, the former hot liquid now cold inside the white porcelains. Your bed, visible behind your couch, was unmade, the blanket rolled on the side he usually used and his pillow on your floor with your spoilt blankie. All of the pictures that had been adorning your walls had been taken off, taking residency in your bin, some torn. A weird relief washed through him when the ones with him were intact, under the trashed one. The roses he had offered you last month were still in the vase on your kitchen table, completely dead. The red had turned brown, petals nibbled, thorns robbed from their defenses.

He hadn’t set a foot here in two weeks.

While he had been focusing on your small apartment, you had stood up, opening the window to let the steely air enter. You were searching for something, rummaging in a drawer under your TV. He rolled his eyes, now used to your frantic mimics. Redirecting his gaze next to your bed, where was your desk, left untouched since Christmas. University was a sore subject, one he had never dared bringing up. But he knew, he had guessed you were done with it. You had dropped out.

“Another one? You’re still high from your previous one!”

You had lit another blunt, the acidic odor perfuming the room. A grimace had settled on his face at the sight, the heavy smoke filling his own lungs and squeezing his heart. You brought it to your lips, breathing in the euphoriant plant. “Why?” and for the first time this night, you dared really looking at him, deposing your eyes on his dejecting form, matching his tone. Guilt appeared in your stomach, closing it around its ugly shape. You took another hit, blowing it out towards the window, stealing all the courage the synthetic happiness had to offer before looking at him.

“My mom called…” he frowned, getting closer. “Same old, Pedro, that’s it.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Getting high won’t help”

You turned around again, now definitely facing the window. You weren’t the most rational right now, but the need to hurt him, as much as you were hurting, seemed primitive. You wanted your words to cut as deep as the ones you had heard hours prior, making him bend over, asking for a break. But you knew he had nothing to do with it, that it was so unfair to him. Instead, you focused on the street outside, plunged in the dark and settled for something you deemed less hurtful.

“Oh, because you can help?” and your flat voice couldn’t sooth what you had implied.

His breath caught in his throat, the weight of the situation finally crushing him. It had pushed him down, applying an incredibly heavy pressure on his sore shoulders. Another blow, another hit that made him stumble. And in this mix of pure pain, his anger, contained for months, asked for release.

“What do you think?” his tone had lowered, calm anger was the worst and hurt you the most. He wasn’t aiming at that, but it had reached a point where the spikes were too sharp for him to raise his voice. Flat anger was the calm before the storm.

“Nobody can help me. Certainly not you.” you stumped out the tip of your blunt on the hard surface of your window frame, turning around, letting your ugly side win. Tonight, you would shred him, making him bleed on your pale carpet. His confused eyes, darker than you had ever seen, met yours and you scoffed. “You and your perfect little life, with your perfect little family, your perfect loving parents and loving brother and your perfect little friends, huh? How could you help?” a giggle, accompanied by a pointed index, pinned him. “You cannot understand and your stupid attempts are futile, they won’t ever help me. You’re just making it worse by always nagging. There is nothing to do anyway, so leave me alone!”

“Nagging? I’m taking care of you every fucking day! I’m the one who has to pick you up every night, when you decide to get trashed, I’m the one cleaning after you. No, I’m not nagging, I’m making sure you’re safe, can’t you see that?”

He was losing his calm, you were close to making him fall, so you pushed, again. You wanted to see him wobble on the edge, catching the moment where he would lose balance and succumb to the ugliest things in his heart. So, you opened your mouth, delivering the fatal blow. “Oh please, I’ve never asked for your help. Don’t blame me for what you wanted to do!” a roll of eyes, the perfect picture of indifference. “Your life is so bland that you cling to me so you can taste a little bit of adrenaline. I cheated on you, Pedro! But you’re still here, fussing over me. I humiliated you, screamed someone else’s name and you did not leave. Don’t you have self-respect?” you saw his eyes darkening, glistening under the artificial lights. But you couldn’t stop, not now. You were close to get what you so desperately wanted. “No, you don’t. You’re twenty, fucking rich, and here you are, crying over me. You could do anything you want, getting shit faced at parties in villas with your little footballer friends, travelling the world and cheat on me with any chicks around Barcelona. But no, no, you religiously follow your diet, you call your parents every two days and you fuss over me. That’s your life. Pretty sad, no? You live like you’re in your forties with kids. You can’t even get angry! You’re a coward.”

“Shut up!” his voice had resonated in your apartment. You both were looking at each other as you were completely shocked by his outburst, yet it had been what you had wanted. He was panting, fists tightly clenched at his sides. “Just shut up!” he got closer, red high on his cheeks and his hot breath fanning your skin. “You don’t want my help? I’m a coward? Without me, you would be dead, Y/N. Be realistic, if I were not here, you would probably have sliced your wrists open already. Not being able to face life without getting high or being drunk isn’t living in my books. That’s pitiful. Don’t lecture me on how I live my life when all you do is destroying yours.”

“You’re the coward, you’re such a coward. You cheated on me, because you cannot love correctly. I don’t cheat because I’m not some freak who can’t deal with my emotions. Be honest with yourself, for once. Admit it, Y/N! You’re fucking unstable, and I’m not like you. I’m not interested in throwing everything away and hurt the ones I love.”

You had never thought that he would go this far, spilling all his swirling thoughts to you, everything he had kept hidden at the back of his head, desperately trying to not prod at it. You had pushed him too far and now that you had obtained what you had asked for, you regretted it. Hearing these words coming out of his mouth, it had hurt, because you knew there was some truth to it. “You really think that?”

After your question, a tense silence had enveloped the room, every corners. Both of you were staring at each other, eyes full of sorrow, unshed tears trapped in your lower lash lines. Even the street had kept quiet, not wanting to disturb the time you needed to process things. It felt like hours, it could just have been seconds, but your breath was short and you were suffocating. A dull ache behind your heart was pushing, and pushing, making a clawing feeling course your body. Was it guilt? You knew you had to add something to this, it screamed for it to come out.

He wouldn’t answer. You knew.

“I wouldn’t kill myself”

Pedro sighed, his shoulders slumping while he let go of one of his dozens of worries. Still hidden behind his shell, the one he used to protect himself with from the prying eyes, the scary ones that would search for his depth, everything he wanted to keep to himself, he had sighed. Had accompanied it with a firm hand running over his tensed face. Then, he had let his limb fall at its side, hanging there without any moving attempt.

“Y/N, I think we should stop this…” he had whispered it. Yet, the words had cut deep enough. However, you would lie if you ever said it was a shock to you. It hadn’t been. You had been wondering for months when would it be coming, when he would finally allow himself some peace. Even if these words were the blade across your skin, you couldn’t even fathom the idea of resenting him for that. You would let it slash, make your scarlet blood dribble at the tips of your fingers while leaving angry red streaks on their track. He could even add salt if he wanted to, you would let him, leave your wound in open air being washed down by the rain. You would let his words hurt you, but you weren’t sure if you could let him act on it.

“Yes, let’s stop fighting. We can discuss about it tomorrow, when we are calmer.” You played dumb. It was always the easiest way to get away of something in your mind, contouring the problem and continuing as if it had never happened.

“No…” His eyes had locked with yours, shining under the artificial light of your rusty chandelier. “Let’s stop us.”

You saw how much these words had also affected him, his voice had wavered by the end of his sentence. You weren’t capable of letting any sounds out, looking at him with a crushed expression because your world was crumbling around you. You were finally losing him.

A honk was heard outside, then an airy ‘bye’ mixed with a feminine giggle. A car door had slammed for your building’s to open, hinted by the faint sound of the digits combination. And here you were, holding yourself up against the frame of your window as the boy who had given up so much of himself for you was two feet away.

“We should break up, Y/N.”

You had nothing to answer to that. He was right, the toxicity that had seeped between you was taking more place each day and even for you, you knew it was the best thing to do. You had to heal, to try to love yourself and go on without leaning on someone. You had to fight for peace and it was not fair to bring him into this, not when it meant stealing his light. You had to learn and he couldn’t do that for you. But it hurt so much, even if it was what should be done, your heart still felt like it had been ripped out of your chest. Your quietness only comforted him in his decision, proving his point. You weren’t fighting for it.

In a haze, he left your apartment. He hadn’t uttered another word, scared to break the brittle agreement you had come up with in silence. He didn’t quite remember how he had moved, if he had looked at you one last time or if he had heard anything, even a simple sob that would let him know you were as broken as him. He didn’t remember, everything was a blur mixed with unshed tears, blocked out to protect his soul. He was pretty sure he had skipped a step in your stairs, wasn’t aware how he had caught himself, had he closed your door while leaving? He had no more control, he hated it. He hated himself.

Now, he was standing in the middle of the street, under the same streetlights that casted a yellowish glow over him, wind numbing his skin. It felt as if the world was falling on his shoulders, crushing him. Everything he had tried to repress while talking to you came back full force, clutching his lungs and making his head spin. He had put an end to your relationship, he had thrown away what you had. It all felt too much, coming up his throat and strangling him. The tears he hadn’t shed finally ran down his face, dampening his cheeks, drained of colors. He was sobbing, not able to keep every ounce of emotion inside. With a trembling hand, he took his phone and called the first person he thought of, the only person who would comfort him without asking too much questions. The sound of the call, right before he picked up, resonated in his mind with all the hurtful things he could think of. Then, the soothing voice could finally be heard.

“Fer, can you pick me up?” he was sobbing, his voice slurred, barely intelligible, cut by hiccups. Fernando could hear him working himself up and he was scared that his little brother was going to pass out. After every cry, his heart pace picked up.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” he tried to keep himself composed, couldn’t risk to bring Pedro to the edge he was already dangerously dancing with. He had already put his shoes on, skipping steps towards his car.

“I’m at Y/N’s”

“Stay there, I’ll be here soon.”

But he could still hear the agitated breathing, the sniffling, the chocked-up whines. He knew that Pedro was heartbroken, had never really seen him in this state. He didn’t need to answers to his questions to understand.

Once his feet touched the car’s pedals, he whispered in the most comforting tone he could muster the words he knew his brother craved. “I’m coming, Pedro. I’m here.”

☁️

I need to say it there, because it is really important to know that. You deserve help, you deserve people surrounding you and holding your hand while you go through the hardships life throws at you. You are not less deserving, less lovable. And you are certainly not a problem. But sometimes, the help you intimately need, is the one coming from a professional and nobody can replace that.

That’s why, if you are the helper, you also have to know that it’s okay to leave. You deserve to leave and put your health first, it’s okay to give up, not on the person but on the role you play in their life. You deserve appeasement and healing as well, you deserve to say stop when it’s too much. You are not guilty, nor a bad person. You cannot be the sole support of someone’s life, and if you can’t handle that, leaving is okay. You can change your role, step out but still be there. Of course, you can. Nobody has the right to blame you, because you did your best and you tried.

Both of these cases deserve love, appeasement, healing, care. Both of these cases are strong, deserving of the best. Every feeling of yours are legitimate and putting yourself first isn’t you being egoistic.

All the love to everyone ♡

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